Title: Cheater, Cheater
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Damon and Elena
Prompt: Cheat
Word Count: 1,900
Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries or its characters. Anddd I'm not sure if I like this one-shot very much.
Elena peers at the outside world through her window, a pen poised to write above the paper of her diary. This little bound book was one place that held every single one of her secrets, the one place where she could get it out and relieve the pressure that seemed only to gather on her chest. Secrets had gathered around her; secrets that she could not tell her own family or anyone else for that matter. So Alaric was in on it now, it didn't help the guilt that welled in her chest every time she saw her aunt or the confusion and horror that painted her face every time a tragedy struck in Mystic Falls. A part of her wished that she had asked Damon to erase her memories that night, live in blissful ignorance to the intrigue that surrounded her past and the violence that had blown into her live right as the Salvatore brothers had returned.
Shaking her head she turned back to the blank page that sprawled before her, waiting to be filled with her latest secret. One that could threaten everything if it crawled its way out into the bright, revealing light of day, create more problems for everyone than what was necessary. She kissed him and he wasn't hers…and she wasn't his but for that moment. Damon Salvatore did not taste like Stefan, did not smell like him or act like him in any way. He reminded her of a wolf, all grace and danger with sharp teeth and knowing eyes that could pin anyone in their place. A moment of weakness was all it had amounted to, right? Elena had been grieving over another spat with Stefan, another gut-wrenching loss and she wanted to forget and Damon was the only one she knew of that could do that for her.
But it was all a mistake, a sick joke that confused hearts play on their masters because somewhere inside of her she had felt something and it had scared her. After that kiss she had run away like a frightened animal, leaving Damon standing very still and quiet behind her. He didn't chase her like she had expected him to and maybe that was because he knew that if he did like he had chased Katherine he might have lost her forever.
"Shit…" Resting her head against the surface of her desk Elena Gilbert knew that she was doomed; whether or not she did the right thing was unimportant. All of it would break one day regardless and possibly destroy everything and everyone around her with its entrance into the world.
He is restless and pacing, brow furrowed in concentration as the cogs and gears of intrigue that wire his brain together whir and hiss. Damon could not deny that the kiss was like a cattle prod, jolting him out of whatever coma he had been living in, granted he had been rooted to the spot when she ran away from him. It's rather frustrating always being the person people leave, even when he was human it had always appeared to be that way and nothing had changed thus far. His usual haunts were now places he made sure to carefully avoid in case he saw her because as time wore on he was getting…angry and perhaps there was a little hurt in there.
The cynic in him told him that this was never bound to become anything because she would not let it. Elena was more concerned about protecting everyone then what was best for her. And you're it? Jesus Christ what is going on with me? A growl of impatience edged itself out of his mouth as he stared out at the world going on without him. The sun was gradually dragging itself higher and higher into the sky and still she had not come to explain what the hell had happened and it surprised him somewhat. She was always so quick to do the right thing or at least spare Stefan's delicate feelings. He could be telling his dear little brother all about the incident and she would be none the wiser. Why hasn't she come yet, god damn it?
And then it hit him; he was letting it happen again after he swore that he wouldn't. Damon Salvatore was wriggling on the end of a beautifully cruel hook once more and it was driving him mad waiting for absolution. Why wait for the inevitable let down, the lengthy excuses that were sure to come as she slunk off regretful and contrite to Stefan who would probably be out for his blood?
SMASH!
He watched the vase splinter into thousands of pieces as it hit the wall and he turned away from it with a disgusted grumble before stalking away, leaving it on the floor for someone to find later. He had somewhere to go and a girl to question.
As the hours rolled by Elena was alone in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator as she considered making herself something to eat before she retreated to her bedroom. Pull the covers up over her head to guard against the world outside her protective cocoon, try to put out the fire that had been started in her heart. She wanted her skin to forget the way it felt to be touched by his fingers and his lips felt; she bore the invisible brand of Damon Salvatore and the worst part of it all was that she was not sure she wanted it to fade.
Her common sense told her that nothing could come of it, that this was not a road that she wanted to walk down. God, I don't want to be like Katherine. That terrible thought prevailed above everything else, the dark cloud that hung over her head every single day since she had found out about her terrible look-a-like. Knowing that your every move, every act is quietly being compared to those made by a sociopathic black widow could drive someone mad and as much as she knew that some of the lengths Katherine had gone to were those she could never find herself reaching it was still frightening. She is terrified that she will be responsible for something horrible happening to the men that had now become fixtures in her everyday life.
Making dinner: that was something that temporarily carried her away from herself as she measured and cut and preheated her problems away, after all most women are experts at avoidance when they want to be. Standing in front of the stove her skin prickles and she simply knows. She did not want to turn around to face him, to be confronted and be laid bare before a man that was little more than a monster (or at least that was what she was trying to convince herself of.)
"What are you doing here, Damon?" Her voice struggles to even itself out but he must have heard the quavering undertones. If she turned to look at him fully he would see it all in her eyes and then he might never leave.
He doesn't know how she does it, the only person that ever seemed cognizant of his presence when he tried his best to be as inconspicuous as possible. And the best part is she won't turn the hell around and look at me! No matter how badly he wants to grab her and twist her to face him he wills himself not to do it, she has to face him and whatever lies between them.
"I just wanted to talk to you, that's all," He also tries to quash the emotions in his voice but he knows that it's probably not working out to his advantage at all.
Silence.
"I'm not going away until you talk to me, Elena."
This statement of fact makes her turn, frustration blazing in her eyes and settled into the slight trenches her furrowed brow created as she regarded him with arms crossed over her middle as though warding off some kind of attack. His lips twist into a triumphant smirk and he can see that this only serves to incense her further and if her blood boils enough he will get what he is looking for: a reaction, an answer.
Her tongue darts out and nervously wets her lips and he feels the wing beats of desire quicken in his rib cage but he suppresses any and all urges. He needs to hear her talk her way through this; he wants to know how she is going to rationalize that desperate, soul-touching kiss. Write me off, I dare you.
"Fine, what do you want to talk about?" The heavy sigh in her voice is evident as she signals her defeat but maddeningly enough she still stubbornly dances around the elephant in the room. Simply amazing.
"You are one of the most obtuse women I have ever come across, you know that don't you?" His words are edged with bitter ice, impatience a flash bang grenade. Drawing closer, no, drawn closer to her by some unnamable force he sees her shiver and back into the stove as though expecting to be the victim of his onslaught. Guilt wraps its spidery hands around the mutilated remains of a heart done wrong so many times before but it is no longer in his nature to wilt in the presence of adversity.
"The kiss, Elena, tell me what that was or what it wasn't. Tell me why you did it, I want you to try and explain this one to me because I feel like I missed a memo or something." His voice is surprisingly soft, his words subdued by the chains of fear and…pleading? Damon rarely implored anyone for anything and he was doing it now—nearly reduced to begging for the answer that would only serve to break him.
So break me.
"I-I…" She stumbles over her words, eyes pinned at some spot behind his head. Why oh why does everything always have to be so fucking difficult? "I was feeling…vulnerable. You were there and I-I made a mistake, a stupid mistake."
A peal of laughter breaks from his lips and it sounds exquisitely desperate and he wonders if she can hear it and if she cares at all. His lips twist and untwist as though they can't decide how to settle, he does not know how to compose himself and he turns to leave. Congratulations, you have officially achieved a pathetic status worthy of Stefan. Halfway to the door he hears a small cry come from the kitchen and he stares at his hand, the hand that is white-knuckling the door handle. Just go, Damon.
"I can't."
He turns, even though everything he's learned over the years tells him there is no chance in hell. He turns, even though he knows that this will only torture him. He turns, because he can't shut his emotions off anymore…the button he had been stomped on for so long was now one that he couldn't even bring himself to look at anymore.
She is on the floor, curled in a ball like a child and she's mumbling something over and over again, "I don't do this, I don't do this."
He pulls her dinner out of the oven, every action so matter-of-fact as he shuts it off and places the lasagna on the counter, vaguely aware of the welts that had been raised on his skin from handling the pan with bare hands. Slipping down to the floor he curls himself around her like the lovelorn idiot he was, "It was just a kiss."
She turns her body slowly until she is facing him, nose red and eyes already puffing up, "I don't want to be like her, Damon. I don't want to do this to both of you or me." It is as if she knows that saying those words had been nearly impossible for him to say but she appreciates the gesture.
"I won't tell if you don't tell."
He pulls her off the floor, sets her down at the table and they both pretend that it is a normal occasion, eating lasagna and salad. They pretend for each other out of necessity, out of a fledgling affection and out of love for Stefan.
And that's the moment that she realized it, paused with the fork near her mouth.
