A/N: Twitter has spoken and I'm posting this. I had written this, at least the opening scene some years ago, came back, added more, but I was undecided about posting for a lot of different reasons. I can't promise with a money back guarantee that I'll be continuing this, but I wanted to share in honor of May 10th being Bamon's anniversary of sorts. You'll probably have to reread the first chapter to get the gist of what's happening in this one. Now, without further ado…

"It was a brilliant move."

"Marchand certainly didn't know what to make of it. I can admit I wasn't a hundred percent sure how things would turn out. Call it dumb, blind luck on my part that things worked out the way they did, and we came to a peaceful agreement."

"Give yourself a bit more credit, sir. You're a gifted strategist. While everyone else is busy playing checkers, you're playing chess. Having an analytical mind is a trait worth coveting."

"And is that what you want for yourself from me? An analytical mind?"

Sheila Bennett picked up her porcelain coffee cup and helped herself to a sip. "Well," she licked droplets of French vanilla cafe from her lipstick-stained mouth, "I certainly don't want you for your body."

Smiling to the point his sloe eyes became crescent moons, Marcel Gerard wet the seam of his mouth, crossed his legs beneath the table that he leaned his elbow on. Perhaps that's something we can change, he said through the magnetism emitting from his dark brown irises. He watched in stark male pride, the blush settling across formidable Sheila Bennett, Archwitch of Salem's butterscotch cheeks. Despite her being a year younger than his grandmother, Marcel couldn't deny she was beautifully stunning mature woman so comfortable in her skin she took pride in looking her best at all times. Her dark sable hair peppered with gray stopped at her shoulders and was a riot of moisturized curls that bounced with every step she took. She wore clothing that complemented her slender and curvy figure. The only blemishes that could be found than the occasional wrinkle and age spot, were the lines that surrounded her mouth.

"I know I'm not your type. I'm too young," Marcel demurred.

"That and the fact you have too many muscles," Sheila waved a dismissive hand in the air. "But I didn't come all this way for you try to flirt your way into my good graces...The contract."

"Right," Marcel sighed and sat back against his chair. "The contract."

"You've had six months to have your lawyers look everything over. What's the issue that's preventing you from signing?"

Marcel adjusted his shirt sleeve, pulling it to cover the expensive time piece on his wrist. He averted his gaze for a moment, taking an avid interest in watching a beetle crawl across the herringbone brick to a patch of grass. They were seated in the courtyard of his summer house in Tangier Island, Virginia. It was an off-season visit and the only reason he was here was because of the contract and the woman seated across from him. Sheila Bennett was seeking a merger, a familial merger between his clan and hers through holy matrimony. In plain terms, she wanted him to marry her twenty-year-old granddaughter who was set to inherit everything the second Sheila either abdicated her role or died. It would be a lucrative deal he'd be stupid not to take; however, Marcel couldn't see himself marrying someone he didn't know. Call him "radical" but arranged marriages in his estimation were archaic and a setup for being miserable with a total stranger. Yes, many arrangements lasted to the couple's golden years, but Marcel wasn't willing to join that particular club. He enjoyed his life the way it was. Not having a wife to answer to. Doing what he liked without being under a cloud of suspicion, or having to deal with a guilty conscience. On top of living up to expected expectations. His was a charmed existence being the sole proprietor of numerous businesses in New Orleans. It wasn't a reluctance to give up his flings and one-nighters with the world's most aesthetically pleasing women. He just didn't want to fucking do it!

So he sat out to stall, hoping the constant delays and excuses would put Shelia off, and she'd decide he wasn't her number one choice in suitor for her beloved grandchild after all. Unfortunately, her tenacity in getting her way was overshadowing his ability to impede her initiative.

Marcel toyed with the handle of his coffee cup. "Don't you think your granddaughter is a little too young to be married off to the first guy who, on paper, seems like a prince? You know the business side of me, Your Grace."

"Please with the 'Your Grace' bullshit...call me Miss Sheila."

"Of course," the handsome man smiled, "Like I was saying, you know me on paper and by word of mouth. How can you trust I'm a good match for the duchessina?"

"If you had thoroughly read the contract, you would have noticed right away that you wouldn't be marrying Bonnie until her twenty-sixth birthday," Sheila arched a chastising brow. "If, for whatever reason, a wedding couldn't take place by the time she reached that age, you'd have until she's thirty to marry her. So no, I never had any intentions of marrying off my barely-out-of-her-teens granddaughter to anyone. Was that your only concern? Her age?"

"The contract also stipulated we have two children...I don't want kids." Marcel waited for Sheila to balk. Waited for outrage, because who didn't want to be a parent, raise children was her generations way of thinking. Waited for judgement that he was too young to make such a staunch decision for his life.

Sheila's eyes narrowed at the corners. Well, that caught her a little bit off guard, she couldn't deny. Bonnie had to produce heirs. There simply was no getting around that. She had to pass down her magic to the next in line for theirs was an unbroken line of succession. Though Sheila would look over the technicality that she was jumping over her daughter to bequeath everything to Bonnie. She had her reasons.

Sheila tapped her polished nails on the table's shiny surface. "That does pose a problem. You said you don't want kids...Is it simply a strong aversion to children or because you can't have them?"

"I can make them all right it's just...I'd feel irresponsible bringing a child into my world knowing the people I deal with and if you cross them, how they get even. I can't take the risk of a tiny human being, being used as a bargaining chip or pawn."

"Any child you'd have would fall under Bennett protection. A person would have to be a psychotic idiot to lay a hand on them."

"Maybe so but there's always that one psychotic idiot that'll try."

Sheila wouldn't disagree. She sighed and then sighed once more when the head of her guard came rushing to her side. Levi came to an abrupt stop one pace behind her chair and bent to whisper furtively in her ear.

Marcel frowned and got to his feet when the Archwitch stood. "What's the matter?"

"I have to head back to Mystic Falls. We're going to have to table this discussion. When do you go back to New Orleans?"

"In two days."

"That's how long you have to sign the contract."

Marcel spluttered, "Your Gr—Miss Sheila, wait!"

Sheila had already wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and stepped away from the table. She paused and stared at Marcel questioningly.

"You still want me to sign even knowing I don't want children? Are you going to force my hand?" He felt his skin growing hot with anger.

"No. You'll come to your senses. You're a rich man. You want for nothing. However, there's something you want and only my granddaughter can give it to you, but that'll only happen when you marry her," she pivoted and strutted away, Samson falling behind her. "Two days, Marcel. Don't keep me waiting."

The feeling of substance beneath his feet was his first clue that it had worked. The feeling of wind blowing against his skin was another. When his eyes opened, he was almost disappointed by the view. He knew exactly where he was yet he wore a look of utter confusion. His confusion was briefly interrupted the moment a vampiric body crashed into his, arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed fiercely. The entire right side of his face was engulfed in dark brown hair, and he could faintly smell smoke coming off the clothes of the person embracing him.

"Damon! You're back. You're alive. You're okay." Laughter ensued but Damon Salvatore was having a difficult time figuring out what the hell was there to laugh about?

He was immediately swarmed by the others and felt like roadkill. He looked at his brother, and the two communicated without having to exchange one word of dialogue. Stefan turned his grave face away as he waited for the inevitable.

"Bonnie? Where is she, Damon? What happened to her?"

Damon reached for Elena's arms and with the flex of his muscles, pulled her away from him. Bonnie had done what Bonnie did best and now he had to look everyone in the eye and tell them what they hadn't wanted to see since this whole fiasco with Markos and his gotdamn travelers started. Actually, he amended, the trouble began with the dark-haired, dark-eyed cousin-siblings in front of him.

Jaw muscle tightening, Damon stared at his boots and off to the side as if peering into another dimension. She saved the day, saved their lives, and now left him with a mess to cleanup. Thanks, Judgey! Damon fumed.

"Damon?" Elena prodded and looked around as if expecting to see Bonnie emerge from the shadow of the trees or thin air. It was finally sinking in that her best friend had not returned. "Where's…"

"She's gone," Damon interrupted.

"What?" Caroline barked. "What do you mean she's gone? What did you do to her? She was right here."

"Caroline," Stefan chimed in softly, "you saw what sending us back was doing to her. It was killing her."

Caroline hugged her arms around her middle, diverted her attention to the ground.

Jeremy added through clenched teeth, "There was never a way for her to come back and she knew that. Like always, she chose to keep the truth quiet because she didn't…she didn't want to let anyone down." He snapped his mouth closed but then let out a tired and mirthless laugh. "She said goodbye to me over the phone. The phone. She chose to spend her last seconds alive…with you," Jeremy glared at Damon.

Damon scowled right back. "What the hell are you staring at me like that for? I didn't tell her to keep the truth from anyone."

"We should have stopped her," Jeremy argued. "We need to find Luke and Liv. Get the spell going again. If there's a small chance she's still on the other side, we have to take it."

"They're long gone by now," said Tyler.

"We'll find them," Elena rallied. "We have to figure out a way to bring her back."

"How? She was the anchor holding the other side together and it was falling apart. How exactly are we going to bring her back from something like that? Especially if she wasn't able to figure out how to save herself. Look, I'm sorry that she's…gone," Damon swallowed thickly, "and that we were too caught up in our own shit to help her. If it's any solace, she did tell me to tell you, her friends, that she loves you."

Caroline's nostrils flared and she bit into her lip as her eyes turned glassy. Jeremy's hands balled into fists and he stared down at his feet, whereas Elena's chin quivered. Stefan stood there stoically while Tyler shook his head. Damon observed them individually and then collectively before turning and walking away.

"Damon, where are you going? Damon? Damon!"

He ignored the hard pleas for him to come back. He just kept walking.

"If you evermake me worry like that again," he whispered in her ear, "I'm putting you over my knee, duchessina."

Bonnie dug her nails into Damon's flesh which made him wince, but not loosen his grip. He chuckled a little. She should have known he'd find pain kinky.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she knew this question would seem absurd since she wasn't automatically ordering Damon to take his gotdamn arms from around her. Nevertheless, she was going to ask it anyways.

"What is today's date?"

Damon answered, "May 10th."

She would remember it. Bonnie would remember it as the day she entered hell.

Bonnie maneuvered out from under Damon, slipped back into the bedroom heading for the door of which she grabbed the knob, "I'm going to need you to leave."

It was his job to take her orders, but something was clearly wrong; therefore, making it his duty to assist Bonnie in her best interest. Her best interest wasn't in him leaving her alone and he was prepared to fight it out, but his subordinate just had to choose that particular moment to return with a bundle of clothes in her hand.

Relief washed through Bonnie who clasped Elena by the wrist all but yanking her inside the bedroom.

The two women stared at Damon who rolled his eyes and stepped out into the hall.

"I won't be far," he promised.

Bonnie promptly closed the door in his face.

"Duch—"

"Just Bonnie, please."

"I brought you something to change into," Elena placed the garments on the bed.

"Thank you." A thought popped into Bonnie's head. "Do you have a cell phone on you by any chance?"

"I do," Elena reached for the device out of her back pocket and handed it over to Bonnie who did her best not to snatch it.

Elena watched as Bonnie frantically stabbed in a series of numbers before holding the phone up to her ear. She wondered who the duchessina was calling as she heard the line ring once before an automated voice chimed in letting her know the number she was trying to reach was out of service.

"I knew it was a longshot," Bonnie whispered and shut her eyes as she tried to conjure up a different number but couldn't remember the sequence. Deep in her belly she knew she'd get the same result, or the call would go through, but it would be a total stranger answering.

Elena could do nothing except watch her pace back and forth. "Duch—Bonnie, will you please tell me who you're trying to reach? I can call them for you if you don't remember the number."

Bonnie laughed despairingly. The person she had tried to call was…her grandmother. If Grams had answered, well Bonnie supposed that wouldn't have proven or disproven anything. She still wasn't positive she wasn't dreaming. What she knew was that the last twelve months of her life had been hell. Living as a ghost in both incorporeal and corporeal form. Able to feel pleasure but the pain outweighed it. Not being able to practice her craft and having to instruct others how to use what had been a major part of who she was. That she knew as undeniable fact. But this place, with its familiar setting and people who behaved unfamiliarly, what was she supposed to do?

"There's no point. They're not here. Wherever here is," she muttered dejectedly yet paused. Being a ghost kept her from practicing magic yet that might not be the case now. Bonnie eyed the flames in the fireplace. Could she?

Anticipation pumped furiously through her veins as she walked the short distance to the stone fireplace. Bright, red-orange flames danced in the grassy green hue of her irises while its warmth drenched her skin. Slowly she extended her arm and willed a flame to jump to her hand.

Elena saw what she was doing and held her breath. From firsthand accounts, witches who had their magic tampered with and/or stolen by Spathi daimons, were unable to wield their gifts for upwards of two weeks. Yet the Duchessina…she could…

Minutes ticked off the clock. Bonnie felt her knees begin to buckle, her arm get heavy, and her head begin pound. She begged, coerced, coaxed, even threatened the flames to obey her yet they chose to lick away at the logs in the hearth. Defeated, she dropped her hand with a curse and blurry eyes. Nothing, not a flicker, not a spark. She was just as disconnected from her magic in this world as she was in hers.

"Don't give up," Elena murmured gently. "You'll get your magic back. This usually happens anytime a Spathi attacks a witch. Their spells disrupts a witch's magic. The longest you'll be without your abilities could be a few days to two weeks. It's not gone for good." Hopefully, Elena kept that little tidbit to herself.

Bonnie faced her. "Has this happened to me before? Losing my powers, I mean?"

"No, it's never happened. You had challenges but that's normal for any witch first starting out."

"How long have you…protected me?" The question made Bonnie feel lightheaded. Elena protecting her was a concept that felt more foreign than being stuck here.

"I've been proudly serving you for the last three years. The Petrovas, my ancestors, have been squires of the Bennetts for centuries. I'm just following in my family's footsteps," she beamed.

Bonnie barked an incredulous laugh. She couldn't help it. All right, this definitely couldn't be a dream, because there was no way her imagination would have conjured up a world in which Petrovas served anyone but themselves.

Elena felt embarrassed heat flood her cheeks and the back of her neck. She wasn't sure what was so funny, but she got the distinct impression she was being laughed at for saying something absurd.

"Sorry," Bonnie sobered up. The weight of so much information pressed on the blood vessels in her head, and she was beginning to feel tired again. And cold.

"Has nothing I've told you triggered anything?"

"No, not a thing."

Frowning, Elena warred on what to say next. This was out of her scope. "You should get dressed, Duchessina. The doctor will be here soon," she suggested instead and left the room.

Ten minutes later Bonnie was greeted to another shock and whispered in disbelief, "I don't understand any of this."

She was out of the silky nightie, and was now covered in the softest pair of jeans she ever touched, and a sweater that fell off one shoulder and brushed against her hips. She had thrown her long hair up in a ponytail, unnerved by the feel of it along her back when for the last several months she had been used to its shortness. Currently, Bonnie was in the Salvatore library noting how similar it was to the one at the boardinghouse in her world. All the same books, same furniture some of it arranged at different angles, it even smelled the same. Yet what was different, what had her gulping, swallowing with difficulty, and experiencing goosebumps was seeing a hand painted portrait of herself hanging on a wall.

There she was, an eight by eleven head shot of her stoic face painted in shades of van dyke brown, alizarin crimson, and yellow ocher. Her mouth had the right amount of purse to suggest her time was valuable and not to be wasted, her gaze inviting enough to draw you in but keep you at arm's length. There wasn't a crown on her head, a scepter in her hand, or even an ermine cape around her shoulders. Yet looking at herself, at this version of herself, Bonnie could see the regality oozing through the paint.

She backed away from the image.

"You've always hated that painting."

Her breath hitched at the sound of Damon's voice. She spun to face him. The vampire who some minutes ago had accosted her in his bathroom, threatening to spank her if she made him worry again. The vampire who hated Elena Gilbert in this reality, and the guy responsible for her personal safety. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded.

He had changed as well and now wore a black suit with a black Oxford shirt buttoned all the way to the collar, black tie. His hair that usually fell across his forehead, it was tamed with product offering anyone who wanted to look and ogle the chance to take in the preternatural handsomeness of his face. His head was tilted down as he studied her.

"You said it failed to capture your true likeness," he volunteered. "You think the artist took creative license with your features and I agree. Your mouth isn't that symmetrical to your nose. Your eyes aren't that dark, and your widow's peak is more pronounced giving you an undeniable heart shaped face. In this painting it's not even there. Your cheeks are also a bit fuller."

"If I hated everything about it, why is it still up?"

"Well," Damon pushed from the wall and within an eye blink he stood beside her. Bonnie was used to Damon, of her world, standing on top of her as a form of intimidation. But this...this closeness felt different. It was too intimate is what it was. "You ordered it destroyed but I couldn't...the thought of you burning in effigy didn't sit right with me. So, I stole it."

Their eyes connected, held…until Bonnie looked away.

She sidestepped Damon to get some breathing room.

"Is your head still bothering you?" he asked gently.

"Everything is still bothering me! The Damon I know wouldn't even have a picture of me in his phone. So, seeing a painting of myself in this house...it's creeping me the hell out."

Damon studied her and the longer he stared the more Bonnie fidgeted and felt her frustration rising. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask to go home but she was afraid of what she might or might not find. The knowledge Grams was alive, and her mom was in her life didn't bring comfort but caution to Bonnie. These people were expecting her to act and be a certain way. Their Bonnie...she was gone, or they were sharing a body. How would they feel if they she told them? She supposed they'd have to believe her first.

"Bon—"

She cringed, hating that dulcet tone he was using, or rather hating how some part of her responded. Ugh, what was wrong with her? Seriously.

Elena with her perfect timing, cleared her throat as she loitered in the doorway, "Dr. Yang is here."

Bonnie said, "I don't need a doctor" at the same Damon said "Show her in." He lumbered to the drink cart where he poured himself a bourbon.

Elena waffled for an uncertain moment. Damon was her boss as was Bonnie, but after her confusing conversation with Bonnie, Elena decided she did need to speak with a medical professional. Besides, it was protocol that any time the body of the duchessina was injured, she had to be examined. She left to collect the physician.

During the brief intermission, Damon sipped his drink. On the surface he appeared aloof about the situation at hand, but beneath the surface he was worried. The hit to Bonnie's head had to have been so great that she was convinced she was an entirely different person. And though some of her responses and behaviors suggested the neuroplasticity of her brain had altered, he wasn't a hundred percent convinced. Was she merely using it to put distance between them?

He couldn't help it. His gaze wandered to her, absorbing every detail. Her posture, the way she seemed to want to cave within herself. He sniffed quickly three times taking in her scent shifting through the varying fragrances trying to find anything that didn't match with how he knew she smelled. He could smell her nervousness, the light dampness of sweat forming in the palms of her hands and her armpits. Other than that, nothing was standing out to Damon.

He was getting concerned about her increasing heartrate.

"You honestly believe you're someone else?" he questioned.

Bonnie jumped a little at the sound of his voice, "I know I am."

Footsteps drew his attention away from her and toward the entrance of the library.

Dr. Yang was a woman of South Asian descent who wore her jet-black hair in a sharp and sophisticated asymmetrical bob. Her full lips pulled into a warm smile that plumped up her swarthy cheeks. She was average height and build for a woman in her thirties who had given birth to two children. Dressed in a black turtleneck tucked into a pair of black leather pants, in her hand was the telltale doctor's bag.

"Duchessina," Dr. Yang bowed her head. "It is an honor," she looked up after a beat passed. "What seems to be the problem?"

Bonnie disguised her wince the best she could after being called that title. She wanted to scream that the problem wasn't medical but magical, but everyone assembled in the room would just look at her like she was crazy, and definitely suffering from a delusion brought on by blunt force trauma to the head.

"If I explain what's going on...you might prescribe anti-psychotic meds. I need...I need to talk to my grandmother. Once I talk to her, explain, everything will be cleared up. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"It's my duty but let me check your vitals. I understand you were in a coma for five days. That is serious."

"Let her do her job," Damon jumped in once he realized Bonnie was about to object.

Their horns locked. Elena volleyed between the commander and the duchessina surprised it was the latter who had a nerve ticking in her jaw. They've had some pretty spectacular rows in the past, but lately things between them had become cooler, friendlier, headier.

"Fine," Bonnie growled lowly.

Grinning triumphantly, Damon guided Bonnie to the sofa. His fingers on her elbow burned her through the dense fabric of her sweater. She wanted to personally fight the shivers that raced across her traitorous nerves. This body is used to his touch. Likes his touch. Responds to his touch. Yeah, well my mind isn't about that lifestyle, so cut that shit out, she barked internally.

Bonnie sat and endured the routine check-up. Her blood pressure was a little elevated, but her pupils dilated correctly, her temperature was normal, and her glands weren't swollen. She answered questions about mundane things like her name, age, the state of her birth, but had gotten who the president was wrong. After learning who it was, Bonnie was positive she was definitely in the twilight zone.

"Have you experienced any sense of time loss or confusion?" Dr. Yang placed her stethoscope aside.

"Yes," Bonnie admitted. An hour ago she had been in Mystic Falls Cemetery sending her friends back home from the other side that was crumbling to pieces. An hour ago she broke up with her boyfriend over the phone. An hour ago she had accepted her fate of death and was ready to find peace. But she ended up here.

"What's the last clear thing you remember?"

Bonnie glanced at Elena who swallowed. Damon glared at the back of Elena's head.

Should she go with what Elena told her or tell the truth? What was the worst they could do to her that hadn't already been done? And, according to her friend, she had power here. She could order them to leave her alone and they'd have to do it. However, the idea of doing that made her feel wrong.

Bonnie opened her mouth to respond but the chirp of Damon's phone interrupted her. He pulled the device from the back pocket of his trousers. His brows narrowed to the top of his Parisian nose.

"Shit."

"What?" Bonnie said.

"Her Grace, your grandmother is en route. She's requesting to see you on her arrival." He looked at Dr. Yang. "Is the duchessina cleared for travel?"

The doctor nodded. "I can write her a prescription for rizatriptan if she starts experiencing a severe migraine or she can take an ibuprofen if a headache occurs. But get her in for an MRI as soon as you can."

Damon and Dr. Yang conferred for another five minutes while Bonnie had a mini-anxiety attack. She was going to see Grams. In the flesh. Not a ghostly apparition, but her flesh and blood grandmother who was taken from her too soon.

She couldn't control it. Tears flooded her ducts, held on with all their might to her lashes before cresting down her cheeks.

Damon stiffened at the first potent scent of saline. He jerked to attention but motioned to Elena to comfort Bonnie while he got last instructions from the doctor. It was a secret...his feelings for Bonnie and hers for him. He couldn't be seen being too emotionally involved with her. He could be deemed unfit to be the commander of her guard and thus reassigned to another Bennett, someone who barely made a blip on anyone's radar. And since he trusted no one else to properly keep her alive, he couldn't afford to get taken off her detail. Over his dead body.

Elena approached, sat across from Bonnie on the coffee table and laid her hand on top of the duchessina's. "What's wrong, highness?"

Bonnie shook her head, "Please...just call me Bonnie. I'm sorry. It's been a long, confusing night. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to see my grandmother."

"I'll bring the car around."

Dr. Yang took Elena's place, "I want you to call me if you start to experience discomfort of any kind, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am, I will. Thank you."

Dr. Yang blinked but smiled and got to her feet. She left soon after.

Alone with Damon once more, when Bonnie looked up at him, he held a coat. Wiping her tears, Bonnie stood and allowed Damon to drape her coat on her shoulders. He brushed his chin along the rim of her ear and kissed her temple.

"I won't be able to do that, to do this when your Grams is back. I hate this."

He waited for Bonnie to reply with her usual platitude of: she hated it as well and one day they'd figure out how to be together despite knowing a relationship was impossible. That it could mean his death if her family thought he was a big enough threat. Yet when Bonnie remained silent and Damon finally picked up on how stiff she was with her back against him, he frowned and spun her to face him.

She didn't meet his concerned gaze. In fact, she wormed her shoulders from his hands as if the idea of him touching her revolted her. He tried to lift her chin, but she slapped his hand away. What had those Spathi motherfuckers done to her?

Or, had she been playing him this whole time, using him to get out of her arranged marriage that every time he stopped to think about it, he wanted to drain someone dry? Wouldn't be a first time a Bennett conspired to get out of their duty and used a vampires as a means to do so. Anger speared through him.

"You never answered the doctor's question on the last thing you remember," he challenged. "Do you...do you remember what we did two weeks ago? What happened?"

"Damon...I'm sure the car's been pulled up to the front. We should go."

"No," he barred the way with his arm when Bonnie took a single step to walk around him. "No. Tell me, right now how much of your memory you've lost."

Bonnie moistened her dry lips. "I don't have to answer anything."

"You're talking to me. You said you wouldn't keep anything from me. Or were you lying?"

"I don't lie." Heavily omit, sure.

"But you're not telling me the truth."

"You're not going to listen to the truth, and the only person I want to talk to right now is my grandmother. Move or be moved. Your choice."

Bonnie saw it. Or could see. Could see how these next twenty seconds was about to play out. He was going to grab her around the waist, haul her forward crushing her chest against his. His mouth would slant across her lips in a demanding kiss that would be designed to teach her a lesson. She would fight him off as he rushed them to the nearest wall trapping her between it and the monument that was his body.

Wait, no. That wasn't a prediction, but a memory.

She could see it and feel that it had actually happened.

Her eyes widened…and she took a step back. She had to get out of this room, out of this house, away from Damon.

Now.

Spinning on her heels she fled.

A/N: Thanks, babes for reading.