NB: To the reviewer who asked if the previous chapter had been used in one of my other stories, that one and this one are all that survived from the initial post of this story! If you really want to feel the mood of this story I highly recommend the song as I think it perfectly conjures up the image I'm trying to depict.
PS: I'll try and update once more before Sunday but if not, it'll be possibly August before my next update!
Lee Ann Womack – Last Call
I bet you're in a bar, listening to a cheating song;
That Johnny Walker Red,
With no one to take you home.
I bet you're in a bar;
'Cause I'm always your last call.
June 18th 2013
Dear diary,
Isn't it ironic how our hearts can still get hurt by something we've seen coming?
E x
Life got so much harder after that. I thought things couldn't get any worse when I'd fell face flat onto dirt, I thought I'd suffered enough humiliation when Damon had rejected me over and over again, I thought he'd lost his hold on me. He hadn't. He never had. Sometimes I don't think he ever will. When my phone rang at half one in the morning on a random Tuesday and I saw his name light up my phone, I knew there was no way I could ever ignore it.
"Hello?"
"'Lena?" He sounded very, very drunk.
"Damon? What do you want?" It was the first contact I'd had with him in a long time. Since that night in his garden, I'd been trying my best to keep busy – my parents were away on holiday so I didn't have the distraction of their company. I had been skipping my lectures to avoid him which left me with an extensive amount of reading to catch up on. On top of that, I was working over 40 hours a week and had started volunteering at a law firm one day a week. Between it all, I didn't have much time to think. Which was the plan; anything to keep my mind off reality. Reality was the devil.
"'Lenaaaa, I neeeeed you." He was trying to sound sexy but with his slurred words, he just came across as a drunk asshole who knew I would do anything for him. I don't know what was more embarrassing, the way he was tripping over his words or the fact that he was right: I would do anything for him.
"Damon, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"No," he paused briefly to belch. "Late?"
"Goodbye Damon." I sighed. I knew that was my cue to terminate the phone-call but the chances of me hanging up were pathetically low. Still, it did grab his attention.
"Elena. Wait. Please."
"Go home, Damon." I growled.
"'Lena, please." He was mumbling his words but even through his drunken slumber, I could sense the fear in his tone. Fear that I might actually be finished with him. A completely irrational fear. "Please, please help me."
I grumbled but I was already out of my bed, grabbing my car keys and a jacket. I loved him; that was the only real reason I was doing this and no matter how much he'd hurt me, I'd always keep loving him and I would do anything for him, whenever he asked and whatever it was.
"Where are you?" I snapped.
He still managed to look beautiful even in his intoxicated state; his favourite leather jacket reeking of beer and slouched over the bar nursing an old man's drink.
"He's been like that for a while." The bartender with the push-up bra informed me. When I'd arrived she'd been pushing a glass of water in his direction and seemed almost disheartened that I'd actually shown up. I think she was hoping if I didn't appear, she could have taken him home for the night.
Damon was managing to cling to the edge of consciousness by the skin of his teeth when I got to him. I half-carried him to the car, surprisingly not receiving as many weird looks as I'd anticipated. We looked a picture – him sweaty and about to collapse and me struggling along, still wearing my pyjama shorts. Still I suppose, in a dive bar at 2 in the morning on a Tuesday night, we weren't the strange ones. Damon passed out before I'd even had time to put my seatbelt on, giving me the car ride back to his flat to torture myself with his scent and push back tears to the thought that he wasn't mines.
"Damon," I shook him awake. He woke up with a jump. "Damon, you're home. Go to bed."
"'Lena," he mumbled. "Please."
"Please, what?" I sighed.
"Don't leave me here." He mumbled. "I don't want to be alone."
I didn't even know what that meant but I was so pathetic. It had been so long since I'd spent time with him and I yearned for his company as much as his intoxicated self apparently yearned for mines. Ok, I agreed, starting up the ignition.
When we arrived at my house, he had started to sober up enough to make it up the stairs without my help. I started to help him take off his jacket and t-shirt but he grabbed my hand and held it in place. Everything moved very slowly then; his free hand reached up to push hair back from my face and I was transfixed by his glassy gaze. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes trailing downwards towards my body, lingering on my low cut pyjama top. Without a word, he reached up and pushed the strap of my cami off my shoulders.
His intentions were clear but I forced myself to save some dignity and put some space between us. I went downstairs to get him a glass of water and by the time I came back, he had taken off all his clothes except his boxers and appeared to be asleep on my bed.
Watching him lie there, I couldn't help the strangled sound that escaped me as I realised how much I missed him. "Why do I let you do this me," I mumbled to the boy on my bed.
"'Lena," he murmured. Shit. So he was awake.
"Just go to sleep, Damon." I sighed.
"Elena, please." He whispered.
"Please what?"
"Just please,"
When he didn't say anything else, I'd assumed he hadn't meant anything by it. When I heard him shuffling about, I thought he was just getting comfy. When I felt his hands tug on my pyjama shorts, I thought he'd made a mistake.
"Damon—"
"Please," he begged, the desperation evident in his voice, moving closer towards me. "I just need you, to be here, with me."
How could I deny him? He was offering me everything I'd ever wanted.
The next morning I awoke to a cold pillow and a note scribbled on the back of a receipt. "Doesn't change anything. Sorry.
The saddest thing is when you are no longer surprised when someone breaks your heart.
