~Chapter Twenty~


I'm a rough boy around the edges

Getting drunk and falling into hedges

She's my weakness, fucking genius

Swear to God and I'm not even superstitious

~Green Day, Youngblood~


Damon doesn't know what is wrong with himself—he's turning into someone responsible. And dependable. He feels odd hanging around, smoking a joint with Tyler. He even went so far as to ask Bennett if she was alright with him meeting up with his go-to weed supplier. He's gone from not giving a single shit about her opinion to valuing it above everything else.

She said she didn't care, which Damon found perplexing. Her moral ground is much higher than his, so he had been expecting disapproval or at the very least a "Whatever, Damon— just don't show up stoned for your apartment tours." But all he got was a "Have fun. I'll be napping, so if you need anything you'll have to call me." He is a little concerned, because she didn't sound like herself. It probably has something to do with the conversation they had with Rudy and Abby a few weeks ago. As of the last time she updated him on the situation, her dad has barely spoken two words to her.

She puts up a good front, but Damon knows that not living up to her father's expectations is killing her.

Tyler passes him a joint. "How are you doing, man?"

"Okay. What about you? Is dating Caroline as mind-numbing as I think it is?"

"Caroline is cool." Tyler says. "Really fun. You know she likes to be the life of the party—even if there isn't one."

Damon starts to loosen up a bit. He looks over at Lockwood and begins to laugh uncontrollably. He isn't even sure what he finds so funny, but whatever it is; it's hilarious.

"So, dude, are you and Bonnie Bennett a thing now… like are you dating?"

"Yeah," Damon nods in between guffaws. "She's actually pretty awesome."

"You're just saying that because of the thing."

Damon thinks about Tyler's words. Thing? He imagines he and Bonnie with a variety of different inanimate objects on their heads. Rubber ducks, unicorn horns, clown wigs. All of those things are really entertaining, but they aren't what Tyler is getting at.

"What thing?" He asks.

"You know…" Lockwood trails off and makes an odd gesture around his abdomen.

Ah, now he understands. "The baby? I'm pretty sure it's not a thing. I mean, at first she totally looked like an abstract painting thing… like a…Pi—you know the painter dude, but now she totally looks like an alien thing."

Tyler looks as if Damon has completely blown his mind. "Whoa, that sounds interesting… but won't it suck? I mean, when are you going to find time to do this, bro?" He puts his arms out, as if this moment in time is the most important one in their entire lives.

Damon stares at the joint in his hand and then at the Lockwood's expansive backyard. They have a huge pool with a hot tub off to the side. Both are closed down for the winter, but the area is still-well maintained. From where they sit on the lounge chairs, Damon has a great view of the wooded area behind the fence—which is still the Lockwood's property. They are about as rich as the Salvatore family, but Ty's parents were a lot less flashy and much more laidback. Right now, Carol and Richard are inside the house, completely aware of their son's recreational activities. The only reason they are outside freezing their balls off is because Mrs. Lockwood doesn't want them to stink up the house.

"I dunno," Damon ponders this. "I think there's probably more important things. Totally never thought I'd say that."

They sit like that for what seems like a very long time, not saying anything. The thing he likes and hates the most about getting high is how introspective he gets. On one hand, he feels like the world's greatest philosopher. Enlightened. Like he has all the answers and has discovered the true meaning of life. On the other side of things, he wonders why he can't actually articulate these concepts any other time. Maybe if he could, his father wouldn't view him as such a failure.

All he can really do now is break the cycle.

He checks his phone.

3 o clock.

Damon stretches and stands up. "I gotta leave, man. Apartment tour-thing is an hour and a half and I'm going to have to have Steffy drive me. He's worse than Bonnie—and that's saying something. I'll be lucky to get there before I'm eighty."

"See you later. Thanks for not ripping my intestines out through my nose, by the way."

Damon shrugs. "You kept your mouth shut. That was all you, buddy. Sucks your date with Blondie got ruined. Elena needed to calm the fuck down and stop playing telephone tag. Telling everyone I knocked up her best friend was totally unnecessary."

"Elena didn't tell me you and Bonnie…" He makes a lewd gesture with his hands. Damon can't help but snicker. "You did. Elena called Caroline, but I didn't know you were involved until you threatened to disembowel me—totally overdramatic, bro."

Shit. He really needs to learn when to shut up. Well, he certainly isn't going to tell Bon Bon that. He gives Tyler a final goodbye and walks to the front yard. When he reaches the gate he has to giggle the latch to get it to open. He hears Lockwood chortle in the background—he doesn't appreciate being laughed at. He turns around, giving Ty the finger. He doesn't stick around to see the response. Tyler is probably too high to care.

Time to go do this adulting thing.


"I'll take it!"

"You do know that isn't how it works, right?" Stefan whispers when the real estate agent turns around to grab the necessary paperwork from her bag. "That's not how any of this works."

Damon elbows his younger brother. "Shhh! I'm using my devilish good looks to seal the deal."

Of course, Damon knows he has to fill out an application and yada yada, but a little charm and cajoling couldn't hurt.

"Are you still high?"

The woman—who introduced herself as Melanie— turns back around, so Damon can't reply. A smile is plastered on her overly-painted face. Damon might have openly compared her to a clown if he wasn't trying to get his act together. "You'll have to answer all of the questions truthfully. If you're approved, we will need a few things before you can move in."

"No sweat," Damon takes the clipboard and pen from Melanie, who stares at him with wide brown eyes and what might be considered a flirtatious pout. She runs her hand through her curly blonde hair and tries to act nonchalant.

He had expected to like this place. It's on the expensive side, but there's two bedrooms, a sizable bathroom, a cute kitchenette, and a hook up for a washer and dryer. The walls are painted a light shade of beige, the flooring is all hardwood, and it is the farthest thing from dank or dreary. Sure, he is only going to live here part-time, but he really wants to show his uptight girlfriend he is capable of being a provider. That they could be great parents. That he can be serious and deserves the support she is giving him. It is nice to finally have someone that doesn't think he's a total fuck-up. He never thought that person would be Judgy, but he's glad it is.

He listens to the woman rattle of a list of requirements. "You'll need to put down a deposit. And of course, we will need your first and last month's rent."

Okay, that is going to take up a huge chunk of his family severance pay, but he will still have a decent amount left over. God, it's nice to be a trust fund kid—for once. Okay, he can recall a few instances where it came in handy. This is the most important one, though.

"… and your approval is dependent on your credit score. You'll also need someone to co-sign for you—it will be especially beneficial for you because of your age. I still can't get over you being so young…if you hadn't shown me the your license I never would've believed it."

Damon completely bypasses the questionable comment about his age (especially because the woman couldn't be older than twenty-three herself) and gets stuck on the co-signing bullshit. "What do you mean co-sign?"

"It means—"

"I know what it means," He says impatiently. "Is it a necessity?"

"Well, yes." Melanie seems at a loss for words.

Damon scribbles his name, current address, and cell number on the form. He writes so hard the pen almost. A small set-back, but not a huge issue. His dad will never co-sign anything on his older son's behalf—not even if someone is holding a gun to his head. He just has to find someone who isn't a minor to do for him. Hell, he can probably get Melanie to do it with just a smile.

"Fine, I can do that." Damon hands the information over to her. "So I'll just get a call when you run my financials and everything?"

She nods. "My number is on the card—if you have any other questions. You can call me any time."

Damon gives her a disarming smirk. "Thank you, I have to tell my girlfriend what a great help you've been." He salutes her with the business card she handed him a moment ago and walks away.


On the walk back to the car, Stefan shakes his head in disbelief. "Only you can manage to get what you want when there's no way it should happen."

"I still have to find some willing old person to sign off on how reliable I am."

Damon counts the worry lines on his brother's forehead, only half-listening to his answer. "I mean, I have no doubt you'll do something morally questionable to get it, but you'll get it."

"Hey… I have morals! Kind of—I mean, I'm trying to get my shit together. I want to; it's just a long process."

"I'm actually proud of you. We can tell you are serious about this. Maybe stop smoking weed, though. You know they drug test you before you sign up for the service."

"Bon Bon said it was okay," he sticks his tongue out at Stefan.

"You're definitely still high." Stef concludes, unlocking the car door. "Because Bonnie would never tell you that."


"If you're trying to make me jealous it's not working, FYI."

We are sitting at a table in the cafeteria, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Damon has been regaling me with tales of his apartment hunting adventures for the past ten minutes. He said everything went well and then launched into a story about how he thinks the girl showing him around had a crush on him. I've been listening as intently as I can manage, but I feel like I've been hit by a semi-truck. I also spent the majority of the night puking my guts out—almost literally. It feels like my stomach is caught in my throat. The lunch Damon brought me isn't helping any. I don't have the heart to tell him that the yogurt parfait he purchased for me reminds me of vomit.

"I'm not. I'm just reminding you that I'm extremely hot and you're extremely lucky."

"I know that already."

"I also just wanted to say that you're so pretty and I have to find someone to co-sign on the apartment for me." He says the last part so fast I can barely understand him.

I tried to tell him he'd have to jump through hoops to get the place he wants, but he told me not to stress over it. So I didn't. Mainly because I have been stressing out about the silent treatment my father has been dishing out. Oh, how the mighty fall. Hard. I'm no longer the world's greatest of everything in Dad's eyes. I'm a sorry excuse for a daughter.

The last thing he said to me was: you know Sasha is going to Berkeley. You guys could've shared a dorm room. I am pretty hurt by this. My cousin Sasha is the same age as me and she's always viewed me as a competitor rather than a family member. It normally doesn't bother me when comparisons are made, mostly because I've always come out ahead. Now that I'm not, I realize how badly it sucks.

I give him a halfhearted smile. "We can talk to my mom about it—she's good with financial planning and stuff. I'm sure she can help you—there's more than one way to get things done."

He glances at my untouched lunch. "You're still feeling sick."

"Only a little," I say unconvincingly.

"You should go home," Damon advises, pressing his lips to my forehead. "You're all clammy."

"I'll be fine. Besides, I have a test next period. Worth thirty percent of my final grade. I will be valedictorian. No way am I letting Sophie Devereaux steal my thunder." That, and I'm pretty sure the nurse gives me dirty looks when she thinks I'm not looking. I know she did when I brought her my excusal note for gym.

"Just be careful." He says, sounding concerned.

"Be careful of what? It's not like I'm going to stab myself with a pencil and bleed out. Your Bonnie Bennett love is showing."

"Right. Gotta put it away—I don't want anyone to know my dirty little secret. It's not like everyone doesn't know the situation already."

I laugh and I try to hide the fact that it's a painful action. "Fair point. Let your freak flag fly, then."

Caroline, Elena, Tyler, and Stefan take their respective seats around the lunch table. I fight the wave of nausea that washes over me. I really wish the cafeteria wasn't serving beef stew today. Elena tosses a package of crackers my way and Care hands me a water bottle. I'm grateful that my best friends have come around, even Elena seems to have pushed her jealousy aside.

"You look… tired." Tyler says through a mouthful of beef and carrots

"Nice save," Damon says sarcastically.

"Thanks. I'm pretty smooth, aren't I?"

I don't hear if anyone tries to dispute Tyler's claim. I take a swig of water and close my eyes. This next half of the day is going to suck, but I'm going to have to power through it. I can't let my grades slip. I've been able to maintain them thus far and I'm so close to achieving the only thing that might make my dad understand my point of view. If I can graduate first in my class, with all of the things I have going on, then he will have to believe in my ability to succeed against the odds.

"Bon?"

"Huh?"

"Did you hear Caroline?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm sorry. Just nervous about the test in the next class. You know Mr. Tanner is brutal with those."

Elena's expression mirrors the one she gave me on the first day of school. Thankfully, she takes what I said at face value. "Don't make any plans on the 23rd. We want to have a girl's day. We haven't had an actual sleepover or anything this year. We want to have fun before—"

"You open up like the elevator doors in The Shining."

I grab the orange that's sitting on Elena's tray and send it hurdling towards Tyler's face. At the same time Damon slaps him on the back of his head, so my projectile doesn't hit its target. It falls on the floor, rolling right next to the trash can. Care frowns at her boyfriend as she goes to retrieve the orange.

"That's mean, Tyler."

"And disgusting." Damon adds, though I'm pretty sure he'd say something similar under different circumstances. I might have even had an equally horrifying remark.

However, I've been avoiding doing any research on childbirth because it puts me on edge. I don't want to think about it until I absolutely have to. Ask me any question about any subject and I'll happily tell you every bit of information I'm able to find on it. Except this. It's too personal.

"It's fine." I assure everyone. "I'm cool. That's probably accurate, Lockwood. Thanks for the visual."

Tyler doesn't seem to know what to say. I can see his ears getting red, and I can't tell if he's embarrassed or angry. "You're welcome." He mutters after an excruciatingly long pause.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch period.

Damon helps me up and takes my book bag off of the table. "He's actually a bigger asshole than me. That takes talent."

"That's one way to put it."

"It'll be okay," he says, taking my hand. "I'm sure of it."