Damon was in a foul mood, not lessened by the clean up waiting for him in the kitchen following the dinner he'd created for Abigail. As he cleaned, he wondered where it had gone wrong, where HE'D gone wrong, since he was certain he'd made some wrong turn. It wasn't finally giving in, he felt sure of that, as he scrubbed the pans with enough force to worry that he might punch through the metal. She'd practically demanded he keep going. No, Abigail Morgan wanted what happened as much as he had.
His eyes snapped shut, the bright blue orbs going dark in an instant, as he remembered the rush of it. Feeling her skin against his, the bareness, the smoothness. But it wasn't the memory of how her pulse raced alongside his, or how her warmth almost burned him that forced his eyes closed, it was how she'd tasted. Not just the intimate flavor of HER, but of her BLOOD. He'd bitten her, his teeth breaking through her skin as if she were nothing more than a ripe peach, and that was the wrong turn. It had to be. Even if she'd asked him to, even if she tempted him like Eve with the apple, he should have shown restraint. Instead he proved that he was nothing more than the monster she expected him to be.
Abigail, in her hotel alone with Cat once Ric left later in the evening, was making a list of the things that she would need for her new home. A flash of a memory from long ago, a time past, a voice from before - Sallie's bustling around her, breathless and excited for a new adventure, free of the burden of the Salvatore mansion. A piercing pain of grief, knowing that it was because of her, of their connection, that Sallie died such a horrible death would never be easy to understand.
Shaking off the chill of death long past, she went back to her list, the chirp of a message coming through on her phone cutting in as she added another trivial item she'd seen in passing during her walk home. Looking down she sighed.
Damon. He'd given her almost a full day, perhaps that was something of a marked record, but given that she had nothing to go on, she couldn't say. His message was simply asking for her to let him know if she was alright. Tapping out a quick affirmative, she hit send and went back to her list, but the urgency was gone.
To say it didn't hurt, knowing that her parents were wrong, that she was wrong about Damon's place in her life and heart, would be a lie. It cut deeper than she wanted to admit or allow, but having spent over a hundred years locked in her own mind, in a house with nothing, with no one, had taught her at least one thing - and that was that she shouldn't hold it in. The pain, the grief, the anguish of it.
Her phone rang and she glanced at it, the same number that the message came in from, Damon. If she heard his voice, Abi knew, she'd break. She'd crumble and she'd let him soothe her ruffled feathers and convince her to let him see her, touch her. Damon's voice was the first weapon in his armory, his eyes the second, and the rest of him was his arsenal. Letting the phone ring, letting it go to voicemail - was difficult, one of the most difficult things she'd done since waking. Almost as hard as sliding out of his embrace and dressing in silence while he slept, slipping out of his house, and walking away. Her sanity and pride demanded it. Just like it demanded this. Damon Salvatore wanted Katherine Pierce OR Elena Gilbert. And while he thought he could make due with Abigail Morgan, she couldn't live with being the second - or third - choice.
The chirp came, telling her he'd left a message, but she swiped it aside. Not now. Not yet.
It didn't take nearly as long as it could have to move. While Abigail and Ric worked to get her settled in her new house, Founder's Day festivities continued in full force around them. It was inevitable that Abi would bump into more descendents of those she'd known in her past life, and so it happened when Ric insisted on a celebratory dinner at the Grille.
They'd taken a table tucked away in a corner, and Abigail was happy to note that she barely noticed the cacophony that was rampant in every public place she found herself in. While they waited for their starters, a pinched looking woman, oozing with the type of welcoming that reminded Abi of those women who had once told her how to deal with a philandering husband, approached.
"You must be Abigail Morgan," the woman offered, a smile so firmly affixed that Abi wondered if she'd had surgical aid - she'd seen ads on the television for so many things. "I'm Carol Lockwood, the mayor's wife." Ah, hence the not quite sincere kindness. "It's not everyday that a member of a founding family returns to Mystic Falls."
Abigail smiled, far less fake than Mrs. Lockwood and offered her hand. "Yes, well, I've heard stories of my family's roots for so long, how could I not come see for myself?" The other woman took her hand and nodded, eyes scrutinizing Abi's words for flaws, lies, or any other loopholes. "And since I'm the last of the family -" Always make it awkward by bringing up orphanhood, Abi thought, silently thanking - of all people - Katherine Pierce.
Carol Lockwood looked chastened. "Oh, I didn't realize -" Taking her hand back, her smile became far more kind. "The founding families all take part in the festivities during Founders' Day, since you're new, at least know you're welcome."
"Thank you," she smiled back. "If I weren't up to my elbows in boxes and decorating, I'd be more amenable, perhaps."
"I think you could take a break for the pageant at least," Ric cut in, causing both women to remember he was present. "Caroline is a contestant."
Abigail sighed. "She won't take it well if I miss it, I suspect." Both Mrs. Lockwood and Ric chuckled to prove her suspicion correct. "And what is the dress for this particular event?"
Damon wasn't feeling particularly calm, nor was he feeling particularly warm and fuzzy toward the world at large. Abigail had returned exactly ONE text. One. Calls went to voicemail and then nothing. Not a peep. He hadn't seen her, which was a feat of epic proportions in a town the size of Mystic Falls, but with the Founders' Day crap going on all over, along with a tomb full of vampires that Pearl was TRYING to domesticate, well maybe that wasn't such an epic wonder after all.
He was on edge, and adding to the mix was his darling little brother slinking around sneaking sips of blood bags, while Elena played worrywart in the not so background. If he could just figure out how to sit down with Abi and TALK about it, but how?
The pageant was coming closer, Caroline was being as confident as a head cheerleader could be in a beauty pageant. Elena was hoping it would occupy Stefan enough to keep him clean - good luck with all those Happy Meals just bouncing around in evening dresses. And Damon just couldn't fight the feeling that it was going to be a turning point, a catalyst for everything, and he hoped it was a good one.
Abigail's eye caught on the dress as she was making her way along the street to finalize the paint colors for the guest rooms. Since she didn't know many people, she put those rooms off for last, deeming the rooms she actually lived in more important.
Carol Lockwood had told her that the pageant audience should wear formal day wear, whatever that meant. The dress, the fabric, it was like nothing Abigail had ever worn before, even considering the first dress that Damon had brought her. Entering the boutique, one she'd been a somewhat frequent visitor in the short time she'd been awake and among the living, she was drawn to the dress, ignoring the other patrons and even the shop's owner.
"Abigail Morgan?" The voice pulled her free of the gown's hold, a voice from the depths of her history and when she looked up, eyes meeting Pearl's she recalled Damon's search for Katherine and instead of finding his lost love, finding a tomb filled with her cohorts. "Abigail, you haven't -" her voice was a breath, careful so no one else in the small shop could hear them. "Anna told me, but seeing you -" disbelief, as if she were seeing a ghost.
"Yes, it is a bit difficult to believe, isn't it?" Abi studied the other woman, searching for the same coldness she'd found so easily in Katherine, but felt none of it. Pearl still felt safe to her, no undercurrent of danger, at least not to Abigail, no stench of death and destruction. Her face hadn't hovered like a ominous cloud, keeping sleep from Abigail, warning of doom. "You're well?"
Pearl's lips curled into a natural smile. "You truly haven't changed a bit." Teasing, but also happiness that at least some things haven't changed in the intervening years. Then again, Abigail had been as much a prisoner as Pearl. "Abigail Morgan, always so very interested in those around her." She shook her head, but her smile held. "Yes, I'm well, as is Anna." Her eyes moved to the gown that had held Abigail's attention until she diverted it. "This is quite different from what you'd have worn once upon a time."
The burn of a blush creeped along her cheeks even as her eyes slid back to the gown. "I'm more than aware of how indecent it looks, but there's -"
"I'm only teasing," Pearl assured her, putting a kind hand out on the still younger woman's arm. "You'll look lovely in it, Abigail, I'm certain."
"It is gorgeous, isn't it?" She sounded wistful, so different from how she'd sounded when she found the last dress she'd picked for another event at the Lockwood's. "I think I will buy it, if they have my size, that is."
They had Abigail's size, and shoes to match, along with hair accessories and a handbag. Pearl promised to tell Anna that Abigail sent her best, and they parted, Abi continuing on her way to the painters', Pearl onto her own errand with John Gilbert. Perhaps, Abigail thought, as she finished her errands and ended up back at home, things were finally settling into normalcy.