Feeling pretty good about where this story is going. Appreciate those of you faithfully along for the ride. Your views, reviews, and everything else give me life in this dead world.

Soundtrack:
Lorde - "Supercut" from Melodrama
Soulwax - "E Talking" from Nite Versions
The Bronze Medal - "Tunnel" from Darlings

October 21, 2010

"You're not trying! We've been at this for over an hour."

"The spirits are angry with me. For leaving you. Maybe they didn't want me to have my powers again."

"I had all of those dreams for a reason. The spirits wanted me to find you because your my mom. It's not them, it's you. You won't open yourself up to it. You know Dad never talked about you? And neither did Grams. I had no memories of you. So you know what I use to pretend? That you were dead. It was easier to do that than to wonder why you never came back for me."

"There is no way I can tell you how sorry I am for what I did."

"Yes there is. You can help me."

February 7, 2014

"Look, whose idea was it to invite him?"

"It was yours!"

Bonnie screws up her face. "Okay, yeah, fair. But he's your boyfriend. You have the ultimate say. And you asked him"

Caroline scowls and does her best to tear her gaze away from the bar of the club they're in, where a very intoxicated Stefan has been waylaid by a crowd of Whitmore freshman in indistinguishable uniforms of sorority sashes over black cocktail dresses on his way to get them more drinks. Bonnie would probably be terrified if she were to find herself in the same predicament—piranhas are less menacing than Whitmore Greek life drones—but the charming vampire seems to be enjoying the attention.

"How is it that, biologically, I'm at least a year younger than them, probably closer to two, and yet they look like children to me?" Caroline takes a drink from her paper coffee cup, which they had collectively decided was the least conspicuous vessel for a pregnant woman to be drinking out of at a place of debauchery—even though it's actually full of B-negative and cinnamon.

"Maybe because they're hitting on your boyfriend?" Bonnie suggests helpfully.

Caroline pretends to ignore her. "Do you think this could get through all of their necks if I threw it hard enough?" she asks, fingering one of the small ceramic appetizer plates at their table.

"You should carve it into a boomerang first," Valerie says.

"I think you should aim for his neck," Bonnie adds, watching with an amused expression as Stefan high-fives one of the girls for some reason and then finally walks back over to them, drinks balanced precariously on a serving tray held by his other hand. Seeing the expression on Caroline's face, he laughs.

"I was just being nice."

"Save it, sleaze. We know better than to trust you or Damon around college girls." A grin twitches at the edges of Bonnie's lips, but she stares at Stefan without flinching.

"It being your birthday doesn't mean I deserve to have my creep factor lumped in with my brother's," Stefan counters, trying to put an arm around Caroline who exaggeratedly shies away from his reach.

"Maybe not. But it being my birthday should mean we don't have to keep doing the 'struggling Steroline' bit when we all know your relationship is perfect. Mine, on the other hand…"

Stefan and Caroline both stop swiping at each other and look guiltily at the ground. Caroline is the first to say something: "Still no word from her?"
"None. I guess she told the school she was going to be out sick because Dr. Ghanda told me to tell her to feel better. But that's more of an explanation than even I've been given. Beau doesn't know where she went. Mary Louise is still down for the count so I guess I can be grateful they aren't gallivanting around like old times, plus we'd probably have seen a lot more bodies by now." Bonnie sighs and stirs the fresh cocktail Stefan ordered her. At first she was upset, hurt, even angry about the breakup and subsequent ghosting, but now she just feels numb. And yet she still doesn't miss Nora any less. Not even a bit.

"I know she's safe, that's about it." Valerie takes a long swig and sighs. "To be honest, part of me was waiting for something like this to happen. She's made so much amazing progress as a person, but it's always been her nature to cut loose and self-sabotage when things get good, and according to her they were very good." She looks pointedly at Bonnie, who blushes. "She'll be back. It doesn't excuse her actions. But she'll be back."

"And you're sure she's safe?" Bonnie knows the answer to this, that there isn't another reason Nora isn't there other than her not feeling like she can be around her human girlfriend. But she tortures herself anyway.

"I'm sure. I would be out looking for her if I wasn't." Valerie puts a hand on Bonnie's arm. "I'm sorry. I've never seen anyone give her that kind of love, the kind she doesn't think she deserves. It probably scared the shit out of her."

"Could've fooled me," Bonnie half-mutters, trying not to sound too bitter. A thought she can't ever seem to work herself out of is the anticlimax of everything: all that hardship and struggle and emotional investment, only for Nora to just give up. It can't have just been what Mary Louise said; there has to be something else afoot. But it's pretty much impossible for Bonnie to figure out what that "something else" is when Nora is stubbornly nowhere to be found. "Where's Damon?" she asks a little too loudly in an attempt to change the subject.

"Weren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?" Caroline asks.

"It's my birthday! I passed that chore off to Val." Bonnie looks to the auburn-haired heretic, who shrugs.

"He's a grown man! Why does he need a chaperone?"

Bonnie raises her eyebrows.

"Alright fine, sorry, my bad. He can't have gone far though."

"I'll go look for him. I need some air anyway." Bonnie grabs her coat, pushes in the stool she was sitting on, and walks toward the front door of the club, trying not to stumble on the tiled walkway that skirts the large dance floor drenched in purple light as little tremors from the pound of both the bass and countless pairs of stomping, shifting feet shake the three-inch heels of her sleek black shoes. It's a different club than the one she met Nora at in December, but they kind of all look the same to her: glow-stick necklaces, revealing clothes (not that Bonnie is complaining), lights just slightly too dim to be able to see where you're going, and overwhelming noise that just shrouds and saturates you to the point where you don't even notice how loud it is until the moment you step outside, which is what happens now, the sharp bite of the winter winds coaxing an involuntary shiver from her as she slips on her coat.

Bonnie looks around, squinting around the area in front of the building as her eyes water from the sudden temperature change. Some people smoking cigarettes in a small huddled circle, a guy in a giant fur coat by the curb talking on the phone as if waiting to be picked up—no Damon. It's a Friday night, which on Whitmore's campus (and those of most other colleges) means that regardless of weather there will be a nontrivial amount of slinky dress– and pastel shorts– wearing bar hoppers milling about in the streets, and tonight is no different, but the frigid stasis of the night hushes everything to a cold hiss, icing the distant human bustle that normally provides such communal comfort until it slows to a crystalline crawl. And it's only made more ominous by the absence of her possibly unstable vampire best friend. I can't lose him too, she thinks, and starts to walk toward the side of the building, where the voices that first sounded quieter than whispers grow louder and more familiar, floating to her ears in fragments:

"—just need to— for one minute—"

"Do you know even know how much— fucked her up— no word—"

"—didn't have a choice! You should— what about—"

It's Bonnie who speaks now, stepping into the alleyway and looking straight at the two arguing figures. "What are you doing here?" She meant it to sound angry, but it comes out as just sad.

Nora turns to face her, her eyes seeming, as usual, to somehow reflect every single source of light in the remote vicinity, all of them re-shining warped and watery in the mesmerizing green. "You're in danger, Bonnie. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. I know what I've done and I also know this isn't the way to make up for it." She looks at her feet. "But you need to hear what I have to say."

Damon moves away from Nora and toward Bonnie, his expression difficult to read. "You don't have to talk to her if you don't want to."

"I know, Damon."

"If you ask me she's full of shit. Wouldn't tell me a single shred of information about this convenient shiny new threat against you, yet claims it's this important."

"You're right to be skeptical," Nora cuts in, "but you should be able to trust that I want what's best for Bonnie."

"Do you?" It's petty, maybe, but she can't stop herself. "Because if you did, you wouldn't have left me all alone. Remember? Like you said you'd never do?"

Nora closes her eyes. "I left to keep you safe."

"No, you left because you were scared. You're not allowed to make this about me, because I wanted you to stay, because I wasn't scared. And now I am. Because I don't even know if any of it was real."

Damon's looking back and forth between them like an overwhelmed debate moderator.

"Listen, I promise I'll leave you alone again after this. But not until after I say what I need to say."

"If you truly believe that you leaving me alone is what I want, then you don't know me at all. And"—an unexpected half-sob jumps out in the choked syllable of the conjunction, and Bonnie wills away the tears before they come—"...and you can't be in love with someone you don't know. You just can't."

Nora swallows hard, looks as if she's about to respond, but then turns to Damon and quickly says, "The Armory wants her to undo some spell. They need a Bennett witch, apparently. And they're usually willing to do whatever it takes to get something they're after. Do you promise to keep her safe."

"I'll protect her," Damon answers, looking at Bonnie. "But she can protect herself too. Handle herself, know herself. You're well aware of that. And yet you make decisions for her anyway."

Nora shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't say anything.

"You remind me of myself, actually. Once upon a time. So you can believe me when I tell you that you will regret walking away from this woman for the rest of your very long life."

All she says is "Take care of yourself, Bonnie," and then she's gone. Again.

A sensation as if the tears she pushed down earlier are about to all flood out at once rises in Bonnie's face, but all she does is let out a long, shaking sigh before collapsing to a haphazard seat on the concrete ground.

"Bon. Tell me what I can do."

Damon stands over her, an arm outstretched, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern. Bonnie takes a deep breath and takes his offered hand, somehow getting to her feet without a single heel-stumble. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. We can go anywhere. I'll take you anywhere. It's your birthday, you shouldn't have to deal with this."

"Well, I do, and there's not much we can do about it now." Just add "newly inked prominent spot on the Armory's hitlist" to her growing list of problems.

"Maybe not, but we can have fun."

"I don't think I'm going to have much fun tonight no matter what we do," Bonnie mumbles, still trying not to break into full-sob-assault.

"Is that a challenge?" Damon asks with a wry grin.

"Come on, Damon. Just let it be."

"Let me try to get your mind off it. We'll go back inside, have one drink. If after that you're still miserable, I'll take you home. Alright?"

"But you heard Nora. The Armory is after me. Shouldn't I like, go into hiding?"

"If there was no catch or extenuating circumstance, they would have snatched you up by now. Plus, if they need you to do a spell, it's not like they'll kill you."

"How comforting."

"I'll work it out with Enzo tomorrow, I'm sure he knows something. Let's go. You're just going to be more sad if you sit at home and wallow in it. And since when do we let imminent mortal peril ruin a good time?"

Bonnie sighs. "Fine."

Damon smiles wide, that terrifying and yet infectiously charismatic glint of mischief in his eyes, and she can't help but smile back.

"Let's go get hammered," he says, clapping a hand on her back.

It's after 2 a.m. when Bonnie finally makes it back to bed, giggling at nothing as her very unstable gait slowly carries her up the stairs and to the door of the room that she had been allotted, then full-on laughing as she remembers Stefan's drunk antics in the passenger seat of Caroline's car as it idled in front of her dorm building while Bonnie insisted she didn't need protection until finally conceding she would grab an overnight bag and stay at the Salvatore house. Truth is, she would do anything for a sleepover with just the two of them like the old days, watching movies they've already seen a million times and eating too many snacks and talking about anything and everything under the sun, but she knows now, even if that's what this was, it just wouldn't be the same, that Caroline would rather be with Stefan, with her family. Bonnie's thinking about this as she spends several minutes digging through her purse trying to find her keys, which she finds just as she remembers she doesn't need them; it's the Salvatore house, and they never lock any doors anyway. She opens the heavy door, and as she turns the knob, for a split second, she imagines she'll see Nora on the other side of the door, candles lit and arranged around the room, a loving and dedicated "I'm sorry" for ripping Bonnie's heart out and stomping on it. But there are no candles, no air of warmth and love and promises of a happier future, no beautiful face waiting for her; the room is dark, mostly empty, only slightly more welcoming than a stark, sterile suburban guest quarters.

Bonnie sighs, first with annoyance that she's teasing herself with this masochistic little fantasy, next with relief as she takes her heels off and rubs her aching feet. As much as she hated to admit it, Damon had been right—she did have fun. Though Caroline couldn't actually get drunk, her energy level nonetheless continuously increased over the course of the night, always asking to do something new or dance or shots or whatever else, once nearly eating a cocky finance-bro type who tried to tell her that pregnant women shouldn't go out to clubs before deciding to "slaughter him with words instead"—and some spectacular words they were. The three other vampires all tried to outdrink each other in an effort to collectively drown out their stratospheric tolerance, and drown it out they did. Valerie narrowly avoided an unintentional love triangle after hitting on what she thought was one guy, but turned out to be two similar-looking guys who did not appreciate being mistaken for one another. She compelled them to sit down together and talk out their issues. Damon kept going up to the DJ, each time a Mariah Carey song following shortly after, much to Bonnie's delight. Stefan spent most of the night dodging the horde of horny pledges, some of whom were undoubtedly not used to being so firmly rejected. When Caroline made the comment, it reminded Bonnie of the junior year back-to-school party at the Falls, when Stefan had said something like "Caroline, you and me... it's never going to happen." Oh, how things change, she thought, and thinks again now, staring at the small bundle of clothes Nora had left in the room and hadn't yet picked up—not that it was likely she ever would.

After changing out of her dress, Bonnie gets out her candles, arranging them in a familiar configuration around the spot on the dark-stained hardwood floor she's slid down onto next to the bed, gets out the herbs she needs, mixes, chants. She feels the weight start to evaporate from the air; her unfamiliar surroundings become pillowy, soothing, more like home. Opening her eyes, she looks above her, where shadows curl into an inky-black blanket on the ceiling, small sparkles gleaming in lazy orbits: a simple but convincing facsimile of a clear night sky that never fails to bring peace to even her tensest moments. She feels her stretched, strained muscles relax and loosen, sighs in content as the dull pains flow out of her feet, and climbs back up onto her bed. She cracks the windows, lights a joint, and lets her mind wander, surprising herself when it once again settles on family: Damon's, Caroline's, what's left of her own. In barely more than a month she convinced herself that Nora would be a lasting part of her life, the partner she's always wanted... now she just feels naïve, like she wasn't even ready for that kind of relationship in the first place.

No, no, it's not your fault, Bonnie reminds herself, taking another hit and closing her eyes. You're not wrong for believing in something you had every reason to believe in. Well. Maybe not every reason. She thinks of her dad, and what he'd say if she asked for his advice in the extremely cryptic, "hypothetical"-laden questions she always had to use to keep things ambiguous. Or her mom. Who she actually hasn't called in a while...

She only realizes that she's calling someone on the phone just to check in at nearly three in the morning after Abby picks up just before the fourth ring. "Bonnie, honey, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Mom I'm so sorry, I'm kind of wasted and I totally forgot what time it is. Did I wake you up?"

Abby laughs on the other end of the line and Bonnie smiles. "No, actually, I can't sleep. Pretty unusual for me. I guess it's good I couldn't... maybe I knew I had to be up to take your call."

"Abby Bennett-Wilson the psychic." Bonnie chuckles. "What's your rate for readings?"

"It's actually Abby Roberts now," she answers. "I'm... 43 and from the lovely state of Missouri, according to my new ID. Damon hooked me up with a guy he knows who puts together identities for, you know."

"Kind of risky low-balling the age so blatantly, don't you think?"

"She calls in the middle of the night, and she's a comedian."

"Damon did that?" Bonnie smiles again. "He didn't tell me."

"Well it wasn't a big deal. Just a quick call. I do think he walks on eggshells around me though, no matter how many times I tell him I don't resent him. That I'm actually really liking my life right now."

"He's kind of all or nothing with the guilt thing."

"Whereas you're just… all."

"Yeah, I guess." Bonnie puts out the remaining half of her joint in the ashtray on the nightstand. "Are you not going to scold me for being up late and under the influence?"

"Well, you're twenty-one years old now. I assume you were out celebrating that."

"I was."

"Fun?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"What do you mean, 'mostly'?"

"Something happened." Bonnie sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today. "Nora showed up."

"Ah. Were you... are you okay? Did it set you back?"

"Again, mostly. And no. Maybe. I don't know."

Bonnie hears a door close and then the ambient noise behind Abby's voice change, as if she's just stepped outside before she says, "As someone who knows what it's like to experience all of one's emotions firing full-blast for someone else, sometimes it feels like only drastic actions can make it stop. Rejecting it, running away from it, sabotaging it. I want to be able to say that I'm sure she'll click back to a headspace that's more genuinely her. I want to be able to say that for myself too. But I can't, because no one knows."

"Yeah. I sure as hell don't."

"Why did she show up, anyway? Was she there to apologize?"

"She said I'm in danger."

"Uh, Bonnie? You could've led with that."

"It's really not a big deal. I'm staying with Stefan and Caroline and Damon at the Salvatore house, so I'm safe. Don't worry."

"I'm, uh, kind of worrying. Which I don't think is that wild of a reaction. Who is it she says— or what is it that's putting you in danger?"

"Some mysterious organization of faceless supernatural artifact collectors. They're called the Armory. I've never even heard of them."

"Bonnie…"

"Abby?"

"You need to run. Shit, I didn't even know they... fuck. They can't have you. Run, and please, please don't call me or anyone else from that phone, they probably—"

Silence.

Then the line goes dead.