Dark Side.
Chapter 23: Liability.
"I love you.
I love you, but I'm turning to my verses,
and my heart is closing
like a fist.
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern."
—Mayakovski. Frank O'Hara.
Caroline Forbes sits by the kitchen counter in the Salvatore Boarding House. For the third time since she started her second life, she finds herself in an unknown place to her. She has been in the boarding house a grand total of three times, once when her manipulated mind drew her here to try and free Damon, when she and Matt had that double date with Elena and Stefan, and when Stefan took her here after the waterhole party in the woods got busted. In neither of those times did she venture into the kitchen. In neither of those times did her mother reside prisoner in the basement. In neither of those times was she rudely awaken in the middle of the night by two people in the throes of passion, to put it delicately.
The kitchen is a lovely room; it's open plan, giving her a clear view of the dining room and home room from her spot in the counter. The color scheme matches the rest of the house, all dark browns and deep maroons, juxtaposed against the odd cream splash here and there, like in the kitchen sink, and the paint inside the glass-door cabinets. There is a kitchen table, but she's always wanted a kitchen island with swirly bar stools for herself, so she made this her spot at five am, when—after twisting and turning on the couch for a long time, cushions pressed over her ears—sleep continued to evade her and she dragged herself to the kitchen in search of much needed caffeine.
It's not like she wanted to eavesdrop. In fact, she's pretty sure she managed to sleep through most of it, before her mind was rested enough that the sounds echoing down to the living room from upstairs became just loud enough for her newly improved hearing to pick up. It was all she did to shut it out, but pieces of it kept filtering into her focus like unwanted preaching. When it was finally over, her mind was too awake and filled with fears and worries and annoyance for her to return to the sleeping world.
Damon went down to the kitchen at half past seven in the morning, with a little extra strut to his gait than usual, looking about as well rested as Caroline imagines Sleeping Beauty felt when she rose from her deep slumber. A detail that is terribly unfair and a little hard to believe, considering he got even less shut eye than Caroline did. But maybe sleep deprivation becomes easier the older you get.
"Caroline," he greeted with a nod and that incessant eye thing he always does.
Funny, how she used to find it attractive.
"Morning." She muttered, eyeing him as he grabbed a cup from the cabinet and poured himself a considerable cup of coffee.
He went on his merry way after that, and Caroline couldn't help but scowl at his retreating form. She may be trying to be civil, especially after the conversation the two of them had last week, but that doesn't change the fact that she still lowkey hates him—except there's nothing lowkey about it—and he did rob her of her sleep. Still, scowl at him is all she did, saving the raging rant playing in her mind for bigger fish. The front door shut behind him.
Stefan and Elena were the next ones to make their way down to the kitchen, again for some much-needed coffee. Stefan no longer looked like the walking dead and Elena had that fresh out of bed look that in movies was shown as attractive but in reality meant puffy eyelids and chapped lips. They looked well-rested, though, and the bitterness in Caroline wasn't weak enough for her to restrain. So, she asked.
"Um, no, we didn't hear anything." Elena shook her head.
At her crest fallen look, Stefan's lips curled upwards. A half smile that ended up in barely held in chuckles and him looking down.
"My room is too far away from Damon's." Stefan explained with a faux-serious expression.
"Well, thanks for the heads up." She grumbled, refilling her cup with coffee almost up to the rim.
It wasn't long for Elena to realize what she meant. The couple shared a look that was half amusement and half pity. They left soon after that, still holding back giggles at Caroline's misfortune, which only helped anger her more. Therefore, when Cassandra freaking finally makes it down the stairs at nine-thirty am, with her long hair thrown up into a messy bun, strands sticking out of it and framing her face, and an outfit that makes Caroline rethink whether the woman has good taste in clothes, Caroline is livid.
"Hey, Care!" Cassandra greets her with a toothy smile. "It's a nice day out, isn't it?"
Caroline says nothing, simply sips at her coffee. Cassandra moves to the cabinet and, much like every other person who walked through the kitchen, removes a mug from its place. She pours herself coffee, filling in the silence Caroline refuses to end. One thing is for sure, whatever amazing sex moves Damon put to the test last night worked. Caroline has never witnessed a Cassandra this chatty.
"How's your mom? Have you gone down to see her?" Cassandra asks, turning to lean on the kitchen counter, coffee mug halfway up to her mouth. "I think you should, even if she was upset yesterday. She's still your mom."
"I know," Caroline says with a tone that's closer to snapping.
If Cassandra is bothered by Caroline's hostility, it doesn't show. The redhead hums lightly, lips quirking into the kind of benign, kind smile that made Caroline want to be her friend in the first place.
"What time did you get here?" Cassandra asks, regarding her with curiosity. "I didn't hear you come in, and I woke up twenty minutes ago."
"I didn't." Caroline admits. "I stayed the night, slept on the couch."
At that, she nods in the general direction of the front door. She should have made her way to the living room, or the study, or the library, or one of the many spare rooms in the mansion. Instead, she fell asleep in the plush, leather couch right by the door. Her neck's still a little stiff from the experience. In front of her, Cassandra's neck tenses only just, as she lifts the mug back up to her lips.
"How did you sleep?" she asks with eyes that reveal nothing meeting Caroline's.
"Oh, my god!" Caroline exclaims. "Seriously?"
"What?" Cassandra blinks.
"You slept with Damon Salvatore."
Caroline's statement does not give her the reaction she expected. Cassandra doesn't frown, or flush, or look bothered in any way. She simply takes another sip of her coffee, before walking to the kitchen island and leaning her elbows on the smooth surface. Caroline continues to frown.
"Yes…" Cassandra trails off, looking at her like she is the one with a loose screw.
She groans aloud, leaning onto the kitchen island much in the same way Cassandra is, neck twisting until the crown of her head nearly meets her back. Does she really not see what's so wrong about that?
"Caroline, I don't see the problem." Cassandra continues. "I mean, I'm sorry if we woke you up or something, but—"
"It's not that, okay?" she interrupts, stern.
"Then what is it?" Cassandra sighs, tilting her head to the side and regarding her with honest eyes.
"You're my friend. And he hurt me," she says.
The words leave her with more difficulty than she wants.
It's not about the lack of sleep. She's not mad about that. It's the principle. Caroline doesn't think Cassandra knows the extent of the abuse, but she knows Damon manipulated Caroline. Surely, there's some moral code somewhere that would mandate sleeping with her friend's abuser is wrong. Regardless of whether said abuser profusely apologized about everything already or not. After all, Damon himself admitted he didn't have a fair explanation as to why he did what he did. Besides, he probably only apologized so she'd tell Elena and make him good look. Tough, that conversation is not one she will ever be retelling, not to anyone.
Cassandra inhales, mouth parting as she clearly scatters for some sort of explanation. Caroline scoffs, knocking back the rest of her coffee in one long gulp.
"Whatever."
"Caroline, wait." Cassandra's request stops her from leaving the kitchen. She turns around, hands on her hips. "I—I had no idea you were here."
Caroline considers walking away without argument. But Cassandra is looking at her, troubled, and Caroline can't help but give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, this is the woman who befriended her despite the fact that Elena, who Cassandra befriended first, had successfully been distancing herself from her. She's still the woman who gave her shelter when Caroline first turned.
"I get that you almost died, and it was scary but—" Caroline shakes her head. "If you wanted to have sex so bad, I know about ten guys ready to line up."
"It's—" a laugh escapes Cassandra, light and surprised. "It's not about—" Her laugh dies when she realizes Caroline isn't amused. Her eyebrows inch upwards. "I'm sorry, Caroline."
"Oh!" Caroline blinks. That was unexpected. "Really?"
"Yes." Cassandra walks around the kitchen island. "Not for sleeping with him, though. I'm sorry for not being honest with you about him and I sleeping together, but I thought it was a one-time thing, so I kept quiet. I didn't even want Stefan and Elena to know. I—I certainly did not plan last night." The redhead shrugs, face suddenly a little too vulnerable for Caroline to stay mad at her.
"That doesn't help me." She points out.
"I know." Cassandra grimaces.
Silence falls. The two of them look at each other. She thinks the problem is she still remembers her brief relationship with Damon with intense clarity. Every moment. Every sweet moment replaced by unwanted teeth sinking into her skin without permission. Every smile covering the fear of knowing he could and would kill her, eventually. That's not something she'll get over any time soon, specially when she only just got all her memories back. Memories that paired with the knowledge that he's a rate A jackass make him her least favorite person. Her friend sleeping with him is the icing on the cake.
In front of her, Cassandra glances down, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's not like we're dating," Cassandra says. "You won't have to witness PDA."
"Oh, ew, Cass!" she whines, immediately erasing the mental images that pop into her mind.
Cassandra giggles in a mischievous way that alerts Caroline of the fact that comment was meant to elicit that reaction. Despite her better judgement, she laughs. The anger she felt this morning evaporates, because Cassandra might be joking, but her eyes are still a little too wide, the green of them a little too murky, her nose a little too pink, making her freckles stand up. Alarms go off in her head as anger turns to concern. She takes two step closer to the redhead.
"Is he hurting you?" Caroline demands. "Is Damon making you—?"
"No!" Cassandra denies within a heartbeat, hand flying out in the international sign for 'stop'. She sounds outraged, like what Caroline just suggested is ludicrous. "You need to stop. Right now. Damon Salvatore is not the monster you, and Elena, and Stefan, and the whole fucking world, seem to believe he is."
"He kills people, Cassandra." She argues.
Damon kills people just because. Because maybe he's bored, or he wants to make a point or whatever. He just kills people, regardless of who those people are.
"So do I. So does Stefan," says Cassandra with a tone of voice that's too calm for it to mean calmness. With a fire behind her eyes that's too strong for Caroline not to feel threatened. "You killed two people yesterday."
"To save you!" she snaps.
How dare she suggest that Caroline herself is a killer? How dare her compare her to Damon?
"And I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that you did." Cassandra starts. Caroline crosses her arms, but listens anyway, because she sounds genuinely grateful. "But it doesn't change anything."
She frowns, opens her mouth to protest, because the hell it doesn't. She killed those men to save them; she killed the boy from the carnival because she didn't know any better. She is not a killer.
"You might have taken those lives to save us. Stefan might be in a consistent animal blood diet now and in a perfect relationship with his humanity. I might be reformed." Cassandra continues before she can fight her case. "But we're still murderers. None of us are free of sin. Please, stop acting like Damon is the only one with grey morality. The only one who does wrong."
Cassandra doesn't raise her voice, her previously angry tone wavers into a soothing symphony of understanding and teaching, like wisdom wrapped into an eloquently delivered bitter pill to swallow. Caroline stands there, with her heart in her throat, with her vision near tunnelling. Oh, god. Oh, god. Is—is Cassandra right? Is she a… a…
"I—no, you're wrong." She shakes her head.
Cassandra walks closer to her, hand coming to a rest in Caroline's arm in a comforting gesture that makes her feel like she's suddenly nine again and pretending not to be afraid of riding a bike without training wheels. Her eyes sting; she has trouble maintain eye contact. In front of her, Cassandra's lips stretch into a sympathetic close-lipped smile.
"I'm not being patronizing," Cassandra tells her. "I'm just—asking for a little perspective."
"I'm not a killer." She protests. "I don't hurt people for the sake of it."
"I know."
Caroline frowns. There's nothing else to argue. Neither of them is willing to back down. She will never in a million years think highly of Damon Salvatore. He's evil. Everything he does has an ulterior motive. She might tolerate his presence, appreciate his allegiance to Elena, but she will never trust him. She will never befriend him. And Cassandra clearly cares about him a great deal. Caroline doesn't think he's worth risking this friendship. She's just unable to support this… this… whatever the hell Cassandra and Damon are.
"Are you okay?" Cassandra asks.
"Yeah, I think so," she says because her mind might be a whirlwind of emotions, but she thinks she's slowly getting the hang of them.
She's scared she might have over-reacted. That maybe the reason she grew angry was not so much the fact that one of her close friends jumped into bed with her least favorite person in town, but the fact she had no clue the two were even interested in each other. Nobody trusted her enough to even mention it in passing. Once more she's out of the loop, pushed aside. Maybe the reason she grew angry is the fact her mom hates her. The fact her own parent asked Caroline be kept away from her. Maybe the reason she grew angry is the fact nowhere is safe. Not from Katherine, whose reach seems to be unending.
She breathes in once, one deep cleansing breath much like Cassandra showed her in that dingy restroom at school. Cleansing breaths have become her go to for both hunger and emotional issues.
"Are you okay?" she asks before Cassandra can press the issue further.
She doesn't trust she won't start crying if she does.
"I am." Cassandra nods, smiling in a way that's neither happy nor sad, but a strange mix in between.
Caroline reaches forward, wrapping her arms around Cassandra's shoulders, a quiet half whine leaving her lips when she leans her chin on the shorter girl's shoulder.
"I'm sorry I don't like your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend." Cassandra laughs a soft, wet laugh, arms going around her. Caroline rolls her eyes, but her hold on Cassandra tightens. "I'm sorry I attempted to attack your mom."
"It's okay," she says, unconsciously swaying them side to side. "I forgive you."
Because in the same way she refuses to call herself a murderer, she recognizes Cassandra only acted in fear, for herself, for her friends. Cassandra was hurt by her mom and the deputies so badly Caroline really thought that was it, her mom had killed her forever. She had never seen so much blood on someone before. Her mom presented as a threat; Cassandra was just looking out for them. Looking after them. Caroline can't help but think maybe Cassandra is the only one daring enough to protect them from other threats, including Katherine. Or, at least, she'd like to think so, just to conserve her sanity.
After the absolute embarrassment that was Sheriff Forbes managing to almost kill them all, Cassandra decided to take some time off. Mostly because her ego is bruised, mostly because that next day she couldn't seem to look Damon in the eye without either smiling or wanting to burst into tears, and mostly because she had a feeling Caroline was still a little mad at her, Elena and Stefan a little disappointed. Which is ridiculous, because they have no right in deciding who she sleeps with. Except she's pretty sure they're disappointed because she's being blindsided by love and lust, and that's just even more embarrassing. So, she retreated to her home, spent three days doing nothing but reading and practicing piano. She felt judged, unwelcomed, and was grateful for the quietness the empty house provided.
When Jenna stabs herself in the stomach, however, nobody tells her. Instead, the only reason Cassandra finds out is because she happened to be visiting the blood bank and peeped Jenna's name on the O.R. Board. After that, all that was needed for her to get information on Elena's aunt's condition was a little bit of compulsion.
Cassandra doesn't look for Elena, she simply goes straight home. Jenna was lucky, two inches to the right and she would have bled to death before she could make it to the operating room. At least that's what Dr. Blake said. No matter, Cassandra has enough information to brew a potion that will take half the time as the one intended for Caroline, but with the same amount of healing properties as that one. It's all about the specifics, and superficial wounds are a piece of cake. She could make a healing salve, but that one would probably be more difficult to explain to Jenna than a steaming cup of 'herbal tea'.
She manages to brew the potion within 35 hours and 15 minutes, which is pushing it a little, but it smells right, so she pours it into an old Starbucks travel mug and takes it to the hospital. Jenna's room is on the third floor, which is even better news; her wound definitely isn't life threatening.
Cassandra steps out of the elevator into a clean, blue, bright hospital hallway. It's a deep breath of fresh air compared to the fourth floor's ICU. The light blue tiles across the floor match the walls, contrasting the thick deep blue tile lines running through the walls horizontally. Nurses are nicer, wearing large smiles on their faces and talking amongst themselves and patient's family. The PA system here seems to be quiet, unbusy.
"Cass?" Elena zeroes in on Cassandra's approaching form the second she steps out of Jenna's room, closing the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"
"Elena! Hi!" Cassandra exclaims, unable to contain the small smile that stretches through her face. This may have Katherine written all over it, which is terrible and covers Cassandra with a thin layer of shame she can't seem to wash off, but she has a quick fix that won't put Jenna in risk of becoming a vampire. "How's Jenna?"
"She's fine." Elena's face hardens, her arms cross over her chest as she positions herself in a way that the room's door is completely out of reach to Cassandra. Not that it does much, really, since Cassandra could push Elena away without so much as batting an eye, but she gets the hint. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to give Jenna this." She lifts the mug in her hands slightly. "It's a potion, it'll help her heal."
There's a beat of silence. Elena's eyes drop down to the travel mug, to the thin sliver of steam drifting out of the lid's sip opening and curling up to the space between the two of them.
"I can't give Jenna that." Elena shakes her head.
"It's okay. It tastes like an herbal tea. It's kind of sweet, actually." Cassandra explains. "She won't know what it is."
"I'm not giving Jenna a potion, Cassandra." Elena argues with a sharp edge to her voice that makes Cassandra straighten.
Her face morphs into an expression Cassandra knows well. One she has seen in Katherine many times, though never directed at her. It's a detached, harmful expression that's just as dismissive. Cassandra blinks, confused. Her hands pull the warm travel mug closer to her body.
"Elena, is everything okay?"
"I think you should go," says Elena, nodding towards the hallway behind Cassandra. "Thank you for stopping by."
With that, and not waiting for an answer, Elena turns back and slips into the room again, not opening the door far enough for Cassandra to even get a glance in. Cassandra stands there, unblinking, unable to help the bad feeling showering her, the way her heart beats harder, and her face heats up.
The potion sizzles and bubbles as it hits the cold, white fireclay of the Belfast kitchen sink. The light-yellow liquid loops the drain as it goes down in gulping circles. Cassandra watches until most of it is gone, leaving a thin layer behind that she rinses out with a quick splash of water from the faucet. Still, the herbal, flowery smell of it clings to the air in the kitchen, burrowing into Cassandra's brain like the ghost of a dead friend.
She rolls her shoulders back, leaning her head to one side, willing the pressure to go away, at the same time the front door to her house opens and closes. She's got to get a human roommate; people come and go as they please too much. This isn't the Boarding House, she'd still like some semblance of privacy.
"What?" she snaps towards the door's general vicinity.
She's not really in the mood for conversation. She's not really in the mood for anything but a nap. Placing the large, 7-liter soup pot back atop the stove, Cassandra turns to the entrance, catching just the moment when Damon enters, cavalier. He pauses halfway to the kitchen island, nose upturned in such a confused, appalled way it's almost funny. If slightly insulting.
"What is that?" he asks, eyes darting around for the culprit of the smell.
Bitter over the absolute bully of a week she's had, and there's still three days to go, Cassandra decides to mess with him. She leans her elbows on the kitchen island, the white-veined black marble's low temperature presenting as an excellent distraction from the ongoing storm inside her mind.
"The hair of a bat's wing, a drop of blood of Hestia, the tongue of a dog's mouth." When all Damon does is raise his eyebrow, Cassandra continues. "The blood of a nose bleed, the wing of a woodpecker—"
"The what?" Damon splutters, eyes widened in an expression that somehow manages to be both confused and annoyed.
"Really? That's the one that gives you pause?" Cassandra teases him. "Not the tongue of a dog's mouth? Or the bat's wing?"
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks without so much as an amused glint to his eyes.
"Nothing." She lets out a breath.
Because while the knowledge that the general public does not know what any of what she just said really means, which lands her as someone mysterious and wise and clever and maybe a little dangerous in the narrative of history, all her efforts, all the hours she spent looking for the ingredients and brewing that beautiful potion to perfection came to nothing. Absolutely nothing.
In front of her, Damon scowls, but he walks until he stands on the other side of the island, hands splayed on the cool surface in front of him. His eyes have a strange depth to them, his mouth is sterner than usual, and his eyebrows keep inching together.
"What's up with you?" Cassandra asks, frowning herself.
He looks troubled, and disappointed.
"Why haven't you gone to see Elena?"
"What?" she blinks.
That's unexpected. Especially the amount of disdain tainting his voice, how his piercing eyes harden.
"Jenna almost died." Damon points out to her like she's dumb. "From a self-inflicted stab wound. And you haven't been around at all."
"I visited Jenna. I tried to help." Cassandra defends herself, straightening. "Elena did not want my help."
It was painfully obvious; it still stings.
"You're her friend. She needs friends. She broke up with Stefan." Damon adds when all she does is stare at him silently.
The news is striking. Cassandra never thought the two of them would ever end things. Stefan and Elena seem like the perfect, happy, never-fight couple that will make it to the end of time and never split up. Cassandra is a little skeptic when it comes to forever-relationships, but, still, it felt like they were. It's only a matter of time until they turn Elena into a vampire. Or, well, at least as soon as Elena gets fully on board with it. Apparently, her impression was erroneous.
"I don't think she considers me a friend right now." Cassandra manages, swallowing the knot in her throat. The look Elena gave her flashes in her mind. "She looked at me like it was my fault."
Damon doesn't reply. In fact, aside from breathing, he doesn't even move. To anyone else, he would seem unaffected, but she's known him for a pretty long time, has spent hours memorizing his face. Something shifts in his expression. His shoulders tense.
"She thinks it's my fault." Cassandra says, no longer doubtful. "Because—because I'm…" she trails off, unable to finish her sentence.
Because she's friends with Katherine. Because the person she's spent the longest beside is a psychopath who hates Elena, who has promised Elena misery and pain over a boy. Suddenly, she has trouble breathing, and the permeating scent of the potion coming from the unwashed soup pot feels like a slap to the face.
"Katherine did suggest to her that there might be a mole." Damon explains, a little bit more calmly than she'd like. "We don't know for sure how Jenna stopped using vervain."
"Well, you told her I had nothing to do with it, right?" Cassandra asks before Damon is even finished.
Sure, that's a valid point he's making but, surely¸ she's earned the benefit of the doubt by now, right? Mason could have gotten Jenna off the vervain. The two were friends, they went to high school together. It makes more sense for Mason, who was in love with Katherine before his untimely death, to have swiped Jenna's vervain perfume for another one. They should not have jumped to 'Cass did it' immediately, and even if Katherine suggested she was the culprit, Stefan and Damon would have—the look in Damon's face provides her with an answer that halts her trail of thought before it can fully form. They did nothing. Damon did nothing. He didn't have her back.
"Unbelievable." She scoffs.
Angry, she turns to the stove again, grasping the pot by the handle and putting it on the sink once more.
"Cassie, come on," Damon says, stepping closer to where she is. Barely sparing him a glance, she grabs the dish soap bottle and squeezes, emptying half the bottle into the pot. "You know I'm not exactly Elena's favorite person! It's not like she'd believe me."
"Did it even—" she starts, slamming the faucet open with more force than necessary. It opens all the way, shooting water against the bottom of the soup pot. It's loud, but not as loud as her voice, and the water mixing with the dish soap finally starts to get rid off the potion's scent. "Occur to you to have my back? At all?"
She can feel her heartbeat in her toes, hear the blood rushing through her ears. She's angry, livid, too angry to even realize she's hurt. Hurt over the whole thing, over what it means. She doesn't realize until Damon clears his throat and his eyes find the shinny surface of the kitchen island for a second before jumping back to her face.
"You thought I had something to do with it?"
Her voice comes out small and weak. Damon opens his mouth, eyes wide; no words leave him. Next to her, the cooking pot has filled to the top, soapy water overflows, runs down its sides, carrying big, fluffy, iridescent white suds with it. She turns off the faucet, dries her hands on the kitchen towel beside the sink, and turns to Damon fully. The 4 feet between them feel like a chasm.
"Jenna's wounds were mostly superficial." Damon manages eventually. He seems ashamed, guilty. It is not enough. "I figured—"
"Screw you."
Her eyes sting. Her throat constricts. Damon's face clears into something that's almost pity. It doesn't help that she sounds hurt, broken.
"Screw. You." She repeats, twisting her words until they sound like the worst insult in the world.
Damon frowns. They stare at each other across the kitchen island until she can't stand it anymore.
"Good day, sir." Cassandra nods towards the front door.
Damon lets out an exasperated sigh, probably at her stubbornness. Or maybe he thinks she's being difficult and claiming innocence over her crimes. But this is a crime that doesn't have her name written on it. He leaves without another word, without a single glance. Her face flushes hot; her breath gets caught somewhere between her chest and her mouth. She runs shaking fingers through her hair, managing one single deep breath before turning towards the stair's direction.
She's taking a nap until Saturday.
UPDATED: 16/01/2020