Chapter 5
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has followed/favorited or left reviews! Keep letting me know what you think. This is a longer chapter–enjoy!
Damon strolled back to Bonnie's table after compelling everyone who had seen him casually murder James and quickly dispose of his body somewhere outside. She didn't want to know where–probably the dumpster.
"Who was he?" Bonnie asked. She tried not to sound too angry at the fact that he had just killed a man right in front of her.
"I fought with him in the war."
"Didn't you fight in World War II?" she asked.
"Yeah but…Wait, how did you know that?" His eyes narrowed, threatening. She tried to stay calm, smoothing her dress.
"I just assumed," she managed coolly, keeping her gaze level with his. History wasn't exactly her thing–unless she was discussing witch covens, thanks to Grams.
He didn't look convinced. "I know you know what I am. That's why I don't hide it," he gestured to the blood dripping down his face, grinning, fangs glinting. "And I also know I can't compel you…witch."
She forced herself not to blink, playing it cool.
He smoothed his gelled hair. Why did he look so good with gelled hair? "Which is why you know that I couldn't have fought in the Second World War if I was mortal," he raised an eyebrow. "I would have been 13." The "eternal stud" had died in 1864, making his undead age 25 years old.
She tried not to picture a 13-year-old Damon. He had shared some of his experiences with her when Lily had returned: His father's abuse, his need to protect Stefan. She hated thinking about an innocent, human Damon. It worked against her need to distance herself from him.
"So why did you choose to spend your endless days fighting?"
"Just because I can't compel you doesn't mean I can't drain your body of every ounce of B positive." Could he fucking smell her blood type? He kept talking. "After fighting in the Civil War as a human–" he said the word like it was disgusting, "–it's a wonderful stress-reliever to go to war knowing you can't die." He smirked slightly.
"It still hurts though." It wasn't a question.
He looked strange for a moment. Like he had forgotten something. "I used to seek pain just as much as I inflicted it," he paused and regained his resolve. "I was stupid back then." He shook his head as if to wave away the thought.
A bartender chose that moment to saunter over to their table. "Would you like another bourbon?" She smiled.
His eyes were cold as he looked up at her. "Let's just say I'm not stupid anymore." He grinned at Bonnie before yanking the bartender down by the arm, forcing her face to align with his as he compelled her. "Don't scream. You enjoy this. And you won't remember a thing when I'm done except the fact that you desperately tried to fix me a drink and I rejected you."
Bonnie looked on, and tried to conceal her disgust as he sank his fangs into the woman's neck and drank freely. When he was done, he moved her collar to conceal the wound and she walked away, looking dejected. He turned back to Bonnie carelessly. "The same will happen to you if you're not entertaining anymore, witch, don't get me wrong. Sometimes I just like to play with my food first."
He had disappeared shortly after, leaving Bonnie sitting in the bar alone until she stood up slowly and made her way out. She hated vampire speed.
A few nights later, she was sitting in the living room of Mrs. Kelly's home, trying to read and failing. She didn't know why she was doing this. She didn't want to hurt herself anymore than he already had. Bonnie's deep thoughts must have appeared on her face, because Mrs. Kelly walked in and frowned when she saw her.
The living room was comfortable, but it looked like it had been furnished before her grams' time. Which it had. It unnerved her that the dated furniture was actually new, so the room didn't have that grandma smell. She couldn't believe the frilly curtains and rugs were in style. Mrs. Kelly sat on the sofa opposite Bonnie's wooden rocking chair.
"What's the matter, honey?" The woman was kind. Bonnie half-smiled.
"Nothing, Mrs. Kelly. I just had a long day at work."
"Are you enjoying it? Working as a secretary is one of the best ways to find a husband. It's how I met John." She smiled fondly, reminiscing their stereotypical, painfully average office romance. Or at least Bonnie imagined it to be so. She tried to play along.
"Yes, I hope I meet a nice man there, but there's no one in particular yet," she managed.
"Well, it shouldn't be hard for a girl like you to find someone. You don't want to wait too long," Mrs. Kelly pointed out. Bonnie realized that it was probably shocking that she wasn't married already, and she was all of 22.
"Don't I know it." She said brightly.
Mrs. Kelly smiled, missing the wry tone in Bonnie's voice. "I had better find Daniel and tell him to get to bed. He starts school tomorrow." Bonnie nodded as she left the room.
School. It was early September. It was unnerving how things were so different. It was June when she had arrived. She wasn't sure how much time passed in the present while she was here–Grams' notes hadn't said. What if it had been years? She hated to think about that.
She left the small living room and made her way past the screened front door to sit on a bench on the porch. The house was situated in a quieter suburb a little ways outside of the city, but she could still hear voices and dogs parking. Mrs. Kelly had emphasized that this was the type of area that Bonnie should aspire to live once she meets her future husband. Then, she wouldn't have to work anymore. Bonnie smiled at the thought. She could never be a housewife. She had done and seen too much already. She was restless.
Maybe that's why she had grown so close to Damon. He was lively, even in death. He took chances and didn't care what people thought, except for Elena maybe. Sometimes Bonnie thought he didn't care what Elena thought either, though. She remembered his reaction when she found out about Krystal with a K. She missed their banter.
Bonnie kicked herself inwardly. Why was she so focused on him? On this? Why wasn't she looking for Enzo? He was off wreaking havoc on innocent people right beside Damon in 2016. Maybe it was because she knew that even without his humanity he could take care of himself. He didn't need her. Not the way he had needed Maggie James or Lily Salvatore. Did Damon need her differently than he had needed Katherine or Elena? Maybe. Bonnie always told things to him straight. She wasn't afraid to stand up to him. She knew it was good for him.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a figure walking up the short driveway. She glanced behind her. The house was dark, meaning the Kellys were asleep. She turned back towards the driveway. Of course. What the hell was he doing here?
"What the hell are you doing here?" She narrowed her eyes as Damon Salvatore sauntered up the driveway.
"Red. I like it," he acknowledged her scarlet nightdress. "Guess the stains won't show up when I'm through with you." He leered, teeth glinting in the moonlight.
"If you were planning to kill me, you would have done it already," she said, standing up. "So again, why are you here?"
"I felt bad for ditching you the other night. I can be so rude sometimes." He cocked his head to the side sarcastically. "My apologies."
"Is that all?" She tried to remember what he was up to according to Stefan's notes, but she couldn't remember. This was probably totally new territory since she had stepped in.
"I don't often cross paths with witches unless I want to. I want to know why you're really here."
"I already told you," she tried to keep her voice steady.
"If you don't give me a better answer, you can say goodbye to the oh-so-nice Kelly family." She could tell he wasn't joking. His voice had lost its playful tone to become all ice.
"I lost someone," she blurted. What? "Someone I cared about. I was hoping to figure out why." What did that even mean?
"Do you think I killed them?" he assumed.
"In a way," she said. She had lost him. In a way. But she wouldn't tell him that.
"Well I hate to break it to you but I don't really keep up with my victims. That's my brother's thing..." He looked odd for a moment and refocused when she spoke.
"Why did you kill James? That was obviously revenge. And then you just left."
"James tried to hurt me back when there was a slight possibility that I could be hurt. I've been waiting to kill him for years. He deserved what he got," he spat.
"What did he do to you, Damon?" Her voice was more tender than they both expected. Humanity-less Damon wasn't used to sympathy, and he didn't want it.
He spoke in a monotone. "Obviously, he thought I was human when we fought together in the war. He left me in a field in Germany after I'd been shot. Left me to die. Told our lieutenant I had been killed and there was nothing he could do. Nothing a little first aid couldn't have fixed. If not, he could have tried to recover my body. He just didn't care. I had fought the Germans with him for so long that I thought..." he trailed off. His face had softened a bit, but not much.
"You thought he was a friend?" she remembered how hard it had been for him to admit that they were friends. It had taken months of being in the prison world for him to admit it.
"I don't need friends, much less human ones."
"Then why didn't you find him and kill him once you healed?"
He pulled a comb out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, jet black. John Travolta style. He didn't reply.
"Listen, it's late. I should get back inside."
He shrugged and hopped off the porch. She saw him slide a flask out of his pocket and take a swig as he strolled down the darkened street.
When she got to her room, she looked out her window. He was lying in the road, arms behind his head, long legs crossed at the ankle. She knew what he was doing. She shut her eyes at the thought of an unsuspecting driver being murdered steps from the Kelly's front door. She muttered a spell to urge drivers to take an alternative route until morning. Looking back onto the street, she could still see him. He looked more like himself. Lost. Open. He thought no one was looking at him. She wanted to go out and talk to him, to try to reason with him to turn his humanity back on. She wondered if he could ever look like that now, after that thing had stripped him of empathy in the vault. She went to her dresser to brush her hair, and when she returned to the window he was gone.