12:
December 10, 1996
Post Bar, Detroit MI

The environment was electric. Sultry bodies were pressed against one another, grinding to the pulse of the music. Damon was on the outskirts, absentmindedly two-stepping, as an exotic redhead wiggled her hips at him. After a few minutes of dirty dancing with his eccentric companion, he excused himself and hurried to the men's room. He splashed some icy tap water onto his face and beheld his reflection in the mirror. "Liar, fraud," it yelled at him.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Kol forced the situation," Damon appealed to his reflection.

"Oh, but you could have stopped it Damon, you could have and should have. But you didn't, and you'll have to bear the consequences," his reflection cautioned. Damon was determined to resolve the situation. He reached for his cell phone and prodded at the keypad, as he pushed the door of the men's room. Kol did not answer his phone.

When Damon reentered the Post Bar, the environment was different. The once vibrant dance floor was now desolate. The masses now seemed to be intrigued with some sort of entertainment at the bar itself. Damon, consumed with curiosity, semi-shoved himself through the throng to observe it firsthand. From a distance, he could hear a fiery argument between a man and a woman. As he approached the scene, he realized that Elena and Matt were the lovers involved in a rendition of "The Blame Game."

"So, how many of the Red Wings have you fucked already, huh? All of them? Are you making your second round? Or perhaps your third? Oh, I bet Damon Salvatore was the best, right? You must have been so fucking pissed that I've been idolizing him all these years, so you decided, 'Why don't I fuck his brains out? That'll make up for it,'" Matt screamed, as the hot tears scalded his cheeks.

"I told you, I never satisfied any sexual requests! I only took this job to help pay the bills! I'm sorry, I'm not made of money like you! I have to toil for hours and days and months and years to make ends meet. I can't just take my parents' handouts, because I don't have parents!" Elena shrieked.

"Oh, so now it's because I'm rich and you're not! Well, stop being Caroline's friend too, she's fucking richer than I am! And so what if I would have offered to pay your student loan if you told me about it? What's wrong with that? Can't you just take that as a boyfriend helping a girlfriend?" Matt insisted.

"Look, if you can't understand why I have a problem with it, then maybe we shouldn't be together. You're right, I haven't been honest, and honesty is the foundation of any relationship. So let's just end it now," Elena propositioned, while she massaged her throbbing temples.

"Well, I guess that's best. I don't know how I would have continued on anyhow, wondering how many clients you've fucked over the past few months. But you know, this is a tragic ending. I really thought that we'd end up getting married and having kids and living happily ever after. But I guess Caroline's always been right about one thing. There's no such thing as love. It's just this fucking overrated word," Matt concluded, as he pushed out of the crowd. Elena collapsed into a frantic fit of tears, as Damon rushed to her side.

"Alright, there's nothing left to see! Go on, continue dancing," Damon addressed the crowd, as he waved his hand to shoo them away. "Elena, why don't you leave your car here, I'll drive you home. If you give me your key later, I'll pick your car up and drop it off at your place, okay?" Damon soothed, as he tenderly kneaded her back. She replied with a grateful nod.