Pre-Note: Please be aware this story is rated 'M' for a reason. My stories contain strong language, uncomfortable topics, and graphic smut. You've been warned.

The Vampire Diaries and all characters belong to their respective owners.

A slowly burning cigarette hung loosely between my index and middle finger as I took a deep drag, bathing my lungs in a thickness that often nearly choked me. I wasn't really a smoker, but it helped to keep me calm. My other hand held the handle of my rolling suitcase as I stared up at the 1840s, brick-built Victorian home. The house had white trimming, ridiculously tall blue shutters, and a wrap-around porch – a copycat of all the decrepit old homes in small town America.

Jutting from the left of the home was a round tower, the roof extending up into tight point. My peripheral vision caught the movement of a black curtain inside as it was pulled back then released. Not creepy at all, I thought to myself as I sucked in another toxic puff of smoke.

My eyes roamed away from the tower and toward the other windows of the home. Each had a dark curtain hanging within the windows – all drawn together – and the glass frames were all closed shut despite it being a nice day outside. My mom had always preferred opening the windows when the weather allowed. A chill crept over me as I stared at the massive structure and I unconsciously wrapped the hand holding the cigarette around my midsection. From the outside, the house seemed normal enough, but there was an edge radiating from it that I couldn't quite pinpoint. Something was off with it.

"Thoughts?" Jeremy asked, pulling me from my visual inspection of our new home.

I shrugged. "Seems foreboding."

Jeremy's bark of a laugh made me jump slightly. "Seems what?"

"Foreboding," I repeated, flicking my cigarette with my thumb to shake the charred ashes. "Please tell me you know the word."

"Ha ha," he rolled his eyes, repositioning his duffle bag that was slung over his shoulder.

"There's just something… menacing about it, I guess," I elaborated. "Something disturbing."

"The only disturbing thing out here is your hair," Jeremy chuckled. "I swear, Elena, did you even brush it today"

I shot daggers toward him and quickly attempted to run my hand through the nest hanging past my shoulders. It had been a rough few days. I really hadn't been too concerned with my appearance. This morning before getting on the airplane in California, I had quickly run a brush through my hair, thrown on a white tank, baggy, dark grey sweat pants, a black leather bomber jacket, and old, worn Converse tennis-shoes. I truly did not care what I looked like.

"I'm just joking with ya'," he smiled before reaching down to take my suitcase and starting up the steps of the front porch.

I followed after him, throwing one quick glance up to the sky as if to ask it, Why me?

Jeremy sat the luggage down beside the door then pressed the doorbell. I heard the chime from inside the home and briefly questioned why no one had come out on their own earlier. Clearly someone saw us arrive when they looked out the tower window.

Several minutes passed before Jeremy rammed his finger against the button again. Almost immediately the door swung open and Alaric – a.k.a Uncle Ric – smiled down at us.

"Hey!" he greeted enthusiastically, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "I was out back doing some yard work. Didn't hear the bell. Come here, give me a hug!" He stepped forward and pulled both Jeremy and I into a small group hug, squeezing our shoulders tightly.

Alaric was not actually our uncle, but our parents' closest – and only – friend. He was given the title of our "god father" the minute we were both born. We hadn't seen him in probably three years, but with the way the economy had turned and how busy our family had become as Jeremy and I got older, it was just difficult to find time for trips or to have visitors come to us.

Now we'll never get that chance, I thought morosely as I stepped back from his embrace.

Exactly 14 days ago, both of my parents had been killed in a car accident. Truly not a unique way to die, but tragic nonetheless. There was no foul play involved, just fate throwing a curve ball in a little thing called our life. Jeremy was processing through their passing fairly well – as well as can be expected from a teenager who just lost both parents. He had a better understanding of and a stronger grasp on reality. People live. People die. There's nothing anyone can do to stop the cycle. We just have to accept what's given, pick ourselves up, and try to push forward.

I was neither willing nor ready to accept that way of thinking. I just wanted my parents back. I wanted to be back in my own room with my own things and my own father standing at the door to greet me. This house was not enough for me. Alaric was not enough.

I had done everything possible to convince the local judge that Jeremy and I were old enough to take of ourselves. I was nearly 18 and Jeremy was coming up on 17. We were practically adults. We didn't need to be shipped across the country to Mystic Falls, Virginia to live with Alaric.

Truth was, I didn't fully believe that we didn't need an adult. I just didn't want to leave my house. My memories. The only place that physically tied me to my parents. When I packed my suitcase and walked out the front door, I felt as though I was abandoning them.

Ric opened the door wider and made a grand gesture with his arm. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said with an overly proper tone.

Jeremy lifted his duffle bag and pulled up the handle of my suitcase and stepped inside first. I lifted my foot to step over the threshold when Ric quickly swung in front of me, his hand held up a few inches in front of my chest. My brow furrowed in confusion until I watched his eyes travel down the length of my arm and to the still burning cigarette between my fingers.

"I didn't peg you for a smoker," he commented casually.

I shrugged and flicked what remained out into the yard.

"Is this going to be a phase type thing or do I need to run out for an outdoor ashtray?" he asked with a slightly lifted brow.

I just lost my parents, I don't need another one, I wanted to throw into his face, but instead I remained silent and walked past him into the foyer.

Ric dropped the subject there and closed the door behind me. Just as I was turning to ask which way to my room, movement from the staircase caught my attention. A guy, probably not far from my age, came strolling down the steps, his thumbs hooked casually into his front pockets. I couldn't help but notice his smile was brilliant beneath forest green eyes and styled, but not overly so, brown hair.

My eyes flickered to Ric, searching for an explanation as to why this stranger looked as though he was expecting us, when suddenly a conversation had with my Mom nearly two years ago came back to me in a rush.

"Did your dad tell you what Uncle Ric's been up to?" Mom asked me as I sat beside her on the couch. We each had a basket of laundry in front of us and were separating the clothes into piles based on whom they belonged to.

I shook my head. "Nuh-uh."

"Well, you know, he and Isobel had been trying to have kids, but it just didn't happen. Then the divorce happened and he was left alone in that gigantic house of his so he decided to take in some foster kids."

"Foster kids? Like he's adopting?"

"Not exactly," she said as she picked up a tank top that belonged to me and threw it in my pile. "He's taking in like older teenagers. You know ones that aren't exactly going to be adopted before they're legally adults. He'll be their guardian, so to speak."

"Hm," was my only response. That was nice of Uncle Ric to extend his home like that.

"Yeah, your dad said he's really enjoying it."

"He's already got some kids there?"

She nodded. "Two brothers. I don't know exactly what kind of life they come from, but Ric told your dad they're adjusting well. They seem to really like him and he feels the same."

I blinked away the memory and looked back at the guy. This must be one of the brothers. He was surprisingly… handsome. A grey knit henley hugged snugly around his torso and his dark jeans relaxed low on his hips. His facial features were chiseled with strong angles, but there was a softness lining them. His body was tall and lean with hints of meticulously trained muscles appearing against parts of the henley fabric.

A flutter of self-consciousness hit me as I thought back to Jeremy's hair comment and tried once again inconspicuously running my fingers through the mess. Probably could've gone without the sweatpants, I thought as I glanced down at myself.

"Guys," Ric spoke up, moving to the bottom of the staircase where the guy was stepping off. "This is Stefan."

Stefan walked over to Jeremy with an extended hand. "Jeremy, right?"

Jeremy clasped his hand and gave a firm shake and nod. Stefan then turned to me offering the same hand. "And Elena?" he asked softly, his voice sending a melting sensation through my body. I nodded and took his hand, but instead of shaking, he raised my knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently. My cheeks went up in flames and I averted my eyes. I felt him chuckle slightly as he pulled away.

"How was your trip?" Stefan asked both Jeremy and I.

"It was alright," Jeremy shrugged. "Our plane got delayed because of some mechanical issues, but other than that no complaints."

Stefan nodded slightly and smiled. "Well, I know Ric here has been just giddy waiting for you guys to arrive."

Ric rolled his eyes and shoved Stefan lightly. "Yeah, sure. Very funny. Why don't you do something productive and show them the way to their rooms?" Ric grinned.

Stefan laughed and offered Jeremy assistance in bringing up the luggage. He threw Jeremy's duffle over his shoulder and reached for my suitcase but Jeremy declined and carried it up the stairs himself.

I briefly noticed that no one had mentioned my parents, either to offer condolences or otherwise. Maybe Ric had discussed this with Stefan earlier and suggested they leave it alone. I appreciated that. For a week now all I'd heard was, "I'm so sorry for your loss." People telling me this did nothing for my grief and helped me in no way. It just made me angrier than I already was.

When we reached the second floor, Stefan turned left and began down a long hallway, pointing to doors as we passed.

"This is Ric's room," he motioned to the first door on the right then lowered his voice. "Between us, I think he chose this room so he could hear if anyone's sneaking out. The floorboards squeak something fierce near the stairs and I've learned on more than one occasion he can hear it in his room," he laughed quietly.

"This is a storage closet," he went on as we continued walking. "A guest bathroom, a linen closet, and this," he said as he shoved open the next door on the left, "is your bedroom, Jeremy." He walked in and sat the duffle bag on the bed in the center of the room. "You've got your own bathroom to the right over there, a closet here. A small balcony is out that door there and looks out toward the street."

Jeremy sat my suitcase by the door and followed in after Stefan. "Pretty nice," Jeremy smiled as he looked around the room.

Stefan nodded and headed back toward the door. "Yeah, my room is the next room over if you need anything. I'll let you get set up and show Elena the way to her room." He bent down and picked up my suitcase by the handle before exiting back into the hallway and going in the direction of the staircase again.

I looked back at the rest of the hallway and noticed a door at the very end. I recalled the exterior of the house and noted that must be the entrance to the tower where I'd seen someone look out. "What's that room down there?" I asked Stefan before following him back down the hallway.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, that's Damon's room."

"Damon?"

"Yeah, my brother," he answered before turning back around and walking.

I followed after him, briefly glancing back at the door again. "Is he here?"

"I'm sure," he said. "Probably up in his dark room."

"He's a photographer?" I asked as we passed the stairs that first led us up to the second floor and started passing new doors.

"Amongst other things," Stefan replied and I thought I heard a new strain in his tone at the mention of his brother.

We walked down the hallway until we stopped at the door completely opposite Damon's. Stefan pulled open the door and I saw more stairs leading up to the right.

"Um… I'm in the attic?" I questioned as I hesitated at the bottom of the steps.

Stefan chuckled and reached down for my hand. "Something like that. Come on."

My stomach flipped slightly as I looked to his outstretched hand. Slowly, I reached for it and he began leading me up narrow steps.

Back in California, before the whole mess with my parents, Stefan was definitely the type of guy I'd go for. He was strong, attractive, and gentlemanly. When he looked at me, I swooned a little. But now, here in Mystic Falls, I wasn't quite sure if I was the same person. The old me would have never smoked outside on the lawn. The old me would have never traveled in a tank and sweatpants with barely brushed hair. The old me was never sarcastic or rude.

But I wasn't the old me anymore. Their death had changed me from the inside and I wasn't sure how to make my way back to whom I was.

When we crossed over the top step and turned the corner to the left, a room nearly the size of the entire second floor stretched out in front of me. The décor teetered on being modern and antique all at the same time. A small sitting area was directly in front of me with a beige couch, beige love seat, and a glass coffee table. An area rug covered the hardwood floor beneath the sitting area in a soft shade of grey. Beyond that was the bedroom portion of the room. A wooden four-poster bed was pushed against the farthest wall with soft white drapes tied to the posts they hung beside. Two matching in-tables sat on either side of the bed with glowing silver lamps on top. A large dresser with a mirror on top was against the wall to the right and a closet door was beside it. A few paintings hung on the wall in random places and decorative nick-knacks sat on the dresser and coffee table. All of the colors in the room were very pastel and very feminine.

"Ric decorated this?" I asked in disbelief after surveying the area.

Stefan rolled the suitcase near the bed and shook his head. "No. Before he and Isobel… you know," he started with a pointed look, "she renovated the attic. Whenever they would have problems, Ric said she'd come up here to get away for a bit. He thought you'd appreciate the quiet space, especially with four guys down on the second floor. Guess he thought we'd drive a pretty girl like you a little crazy," he said to me with a smile and… a wink? Did he really just wink at me?

The old me might have fawned over that sentiment. I wasn't sure how I felt about it now. A little… repulsed? That may be too strong of a term, but I definitely wasn't feeling it.

Instead of responding, I walked to my suitcase, threw it on top of the bed, and began unzipping it. I was hoping that like Jeremy, Stefan would give me some room to get set up if he saw me working on it.

Instead of leaving, he walked over to the dresser and picked up one of the random nick-knacks, rotating it between his hands. "So, Ric told me about your parents. I'm really sorry…" Oh no, I thought, "…for…" Don't say it. "…your…" My eyes closed and I breathed in through my nose. "…loss."

My hands paused midair with a pair of folded jeans between my fingers. Apparently my earlier assumption that Ric had told Stefan not to talk about the deaths was incorrect. And what's worse was he said those words I was so sick of hearing. Whatever attraction I felt toward Stefan earlier flew out the window.

Calmly – despite my first reaction protesting fiercely – I sat back down the pants and turned toward Stefan. "You know," I started slowly, "it's really been a long day, Stefan. I kind of just want some time to…" I trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

A beat passed before he understood and his eyes grew wide. "Oh, yeah, sorry, I should've realized…" he sat the decorative item he was toying with back down on the dresser and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I'm gonna' head out then." He started toward the door and I watched, not wanting him to find a reason to stop. "Hey, just like with Jeremy, if you need anything, I'm downstairs. Just let me know."

I nodded but otherwise remained silent.

He looked back at me once more before turning the handle and descending the stairs.

My muscles were taught until I heard the door on the second level open and close. When I was sure I finally had some space, I exhaled deeply, turned and sat on the bed.

I knew Stefan was just being polite, but the last thing I needed right now was more sympathy. All it did was serve to remind me of what I had lost.

I missed them. My parents. So, so much. I still didn't understand why they had been taken. It wasn't their time. It wasn't right for-

Quickly, I grabbed my iPod tucked away in my suitcase, hopped off the bed and walked over to an MP3 docking station that sat on the in-table. I hit shuffle and put the iPod in place, hoping that the music would drown out whatever train of thoughts I was about to travel.

Grabbing a few clothes from the stack, I walked over to the closet and threw the door open, relieved to find hangers already in place. I sat the clothes on the dresser and began picking through them to hang up. The first article of clothing was my dad's old plaid button-up. I had stolen it from his box of things before leaving the old house. I stared down at it and a wave of sorrow hit me. At exactly that same moment, the music finally filled the room from the speakers and my body froze.

Manchester Orchestra's "I Can Feel a Hot One" wove its way around my body and into my mind. My hands began to tremble and my eyes became fixated on my dad's shirt. I could still smell his spicy scent rising from the fabric and my face heated with oncoming tears.

Stepping into the closet, I turned and let my back slide down against the wall, my knees bent up to my chest, the shirt clutched tightly between my hands.

With a shuddering exhale and comfort from the fact I was finally alone, I allowed myself a moment to break. Bringing the shirt against my chest, I began to sob, hot tears rolling heavily down my cheeks.

I just didn't understand. Out of all the people in the world, both of my parents had to be taken from me. Why? They were my world. They meant everything to me. I would never be happy again, not with them gone. I needed them here with me. With Jeremy. It's where they belonged. Why weren't they here for us anymore? How could they leave us?

My body doubled over as all of the frustration and anger I had pent up barreled out on the tears. My chest heaved with shallow exhales and my eyes clenched tightly, almost as though I could block out the pain with darkness.

Suddenly, the music stopped playing, a deafening silence filling the room, and I sat up straight, wiping at my blurry eyes with the back of my hands and forcing my breaths to quiet.

My feet pressed against the floor and I scrambled to get up when a guy I didn't recognize stepped in front of the closet door.

"Who the fuck are you?" I gasped, cowering back into a corner of the closet.

His eyes were cautious and slightly amused as he looked down at me. "Okay, one, we frown upon vulgarity around here. Two, I'm Damon. I came to introduce myself when I heard… you know," he trailed off with a slight gesture toward my disheveled form.

Damon. The other brother. My eyes surveyed him quickly. He was taller than Stefan by a few inches, and slightly more lean. He wore black head to toe from his v-neck t-shirt to his boots and his nonchalantly tousled hair was nearly as dark. A few stray locks fell into his face, a stark contrast to the nearly colorless crystal eyes that stared back at me. His bone structure was all angles and hard edges – nothing soft like Stefans. I immediately felt something dangerous radiating from him, something sinister and equally exciting.

I folded my arms across my chest and stayed where I was, doing my best to hide the sniffling my nose was trying to do. "Oh, yeah. Well…" I stopped there and looked down, not quite knowing how to explain my reasoning for sitting in the closet crying.

His arms mimicked mine and I watched as the muscles of his biceps flexed against the sleeves of the t-shirt. Apparently he worked out as often as Stefan seemed to. His lips pressed into a tight line for a moment before he spoke again, his eyes taking on a slightly sympathetic edge. "You know Ric told me about your parents."

My fists clenched onto my dad's shirt as I realized what words were coming next.

"Please don't say-" "That sucks."

Both Damon and I began speaking at the same time and as the words left his mouth, I stopped, my mouth hanging open slightly.

"Wait, what?" I asked, not quite sure I heard what he had said.

"That sucks," he repeated, watching me intently.

I closed my mouth, the muscles in my jaw tightening.

That sucks? Who says that sucks to someone that just lost their parents. I didn't know how to respond. I was not expecting any sort of phrase as simple as that sucks.

But the truth was, I was relieved to hear those words instead. When you really got down to it, they were the only real acceptable words. The situation did suck. Entirely. Damon was just stating the truth.

Finally I brought my attention back to him and nodded once. "Yeah. It does," I agreed quietly.

Without saying more, he turned and walked away from the closet. Slowly, I stepped out and saw him sitting down beside my suitcase on the bed. A playful glint lit up his eyes as he reached into the bag. "So, please tell me you sleep in these," he smirked as he lifted a pair of black lace boy shorts.

Immediately, I felt a blush rise from my chest to my cheeks and I rushed over, snatching the garment away from him. "That's absolutely none of your business," I responded snidely as I threw them back into the bag and closed the lid.

"Someone's feisty," he teased with a quirked brow.

I rolled my eyes and ran a hand over my face and into my hair. "So, you were just coming to introduce yourself?"

"I was," he replied.

"Well, then you won't mind if I ask for a little alone time. I need to get unpacked and stuff."

"'And stuff' meaning crying in a closet?" he asked bluntly.

I opened my mouth to respond but closed it quickly, shocked and irritated by his brashness.

"Thought so," he said after a minute before standing to his feet. He latched his thumbs into his back pockets and strolled toward the door. "When you're done moping, come and find me. I'll give you a tour of your new town," he called over his shoulder, swinging open then door and heading down.

I stood motionless, staring at the now closed door. Agitation roared inside me as I replayed the last five minutes of Damon being in my room. First, he barged in here with no regard to what I may be doing. Second, he invaded my personal space by digging through my luggage. And third, he said I was moping. Moping? I was crying about the death of my parents and to him, that was moping? Who the hell was this guy? Who the hell did he think he was?

I turned slowly and sat down on the bed, my head reeling from my encounter with him. He was entirely different from his brother, but I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

I flopped down on my back and lolled my head over to the side. Today had truly been a draining day. Blinking my eyes, I focused over on the now silent MP3 player. Gasping, I shot up and felt my jaw drop.

The iPod was gone.

…

Stomping down the steps I tried keeping my anger in check. Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe he hadn't taken the device at all. Maybe he sat it down somewhere and I'd just overlooked it during one of my four scans of the room.

Crossing the length of the hallway, I came up to the door Stefan had pointed out earlier and pounded my palm against it.

Almost immediately the door opened and Damon propped his hip on one side of the frame.

"Yes?" he smirked down at me and I had a feeling he already knew why I was there.

I held out my hand. "iPod."

His brow furrowed in mock confusion. "iPod? What is this you speak of?"

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, Damon. Don't be an ass."

"Again, vulgarity," he chided in a smooth drawl.

"Damon," I snapped, feeling my annoyance growing. "Don't make me search you because I will."

Placing both of his palms on either side of the doorframe, he leaned out over me slightly with a wicked smirk. "Can I get that guarantee in writing?"

I scoffed and shook my head. "You're disgusting."

"And you're adorable. Are you always this angry?"

I sighed. "Just, please, give me the iPod back."

He chuckled and turned away. "Come on, tiger." He walked away from the door and I hesitated before following after him into the room.

As I stepped in, it was obvious his room was indeed inside the tower. The walls were completely curved with a few windows randomly spaced. A modern round mattress on top of a black frame was against the curve of the wall and several shelves hung above it. There was an antique chest at the foot of the bed and several shoes were lined up beside it. A dresser sat opposite the bed, but its surface was clear. A spiral staircase was immediately to the right of the door I came in and it led up to a painted black door.

For a guy, his room was surprisingly clean. No dirty clothes laid on the floor and none were tossed across furniture. There were no naughty posters hanging on the walls or typical guy things, just rows of collegiate-style books sitting on the shelves. Damon's room was pretty nondescript, giving no suggestions as to what type of guy may live there or if anyone lived there at all.

Damon walked over to his mattress and picked up the iPod that was sitting on the sheets.

I folded my arms and stared at him with incredulity. "So, you did take my iPod. What the hell? Why would you do that, you don't even know me."

He shrugged and walked it back across the room. "You can tell a lot about a person from the music they listen to."

"Yeah? And what did my music tell you?"

"Well, considering I shuffled between all of five songs before you stomped down here like a mad woman, I saw you listen to a lot indie rock. Which means you, Elena, are a sappy, hopeless sucker for emotions, intellect, and guys that don't bathe."

I grabbed the iPod back probably a little too forcefully and slid it into my back pocket. "So, you listen to five songs and suddenly you're an expert on me?"

His smirk lingered beneath the surface. I could tell he was amused by my irritation. "No, but I wouldn't mind becoming an expert…on you…" he replied in a low tone, a darkness haunting his eyes.

I bit the inside of my cheek and commanded my blush to bow down. No need to boost his cocky attitude. Instead of responding I spun around and headed for the door. As I reached for the handle, I heard a click and whir and I quickly spun around to find Damon lowering a manual camera from his eye.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" I gasped, too ashamed to think of how I must look at this point.

He leaned against the dresser, his eyes fixed with mine. "In the twenty minutes that I've known you, Elena, I've already reached the conclusion that you're going to look better coming…" a pause and impish wink, "…than going. I just don't want to forget what the other side looked like."

"In the twenty minutes that I've known you, Damon," I began with a scowl, "I've reached the conclusion that you're an arrogant prick."

"And. You. Love. It," he responded, punctuating each word.

I let out an exasperated half cry, half sigh and threw open the door, making certain to slam it behind me.

I could hear him chuckling on the other side and the sound infuriated me more. I made my way back up to my room and leaned against the door as it closed.

Damon was such an egotistical jerk. The old me would have never, never found someone like him attractive.

I closed my eyes, tilted my head back against the door, and tried to ignore the question rolling around in my mind:

Why was my heart beating so hard?

A/N: Hey guys. Okay, first, let me stress to all of you that I'm am not finished with "Addictions." I've simply hit that point that most fanfic writers come to where inspiration is sparse and I'm struggling to get out the next chapter. Part of the reason I've been so distracted is because I've had this plot bunny bouncing around in my mind for months now, so I thought that maybe if I go ahead and get it out, then "Addictions" will start rolling again.

No, this chapter didn't have most of the things the pre-note warned about, but those of you that know my writing know that it's coming. ;)

For images that correspond to my chapters (such as the house and characters), follow me on Tumblr: aphobiac(DOT)tumblr(DOT)com

See you guys next chapter!