Bonnie tightened her fingers around the cold porcelain, her body lunging forward as another heave ripped from her belly. Clenching her brown eyes close, she felt sweat drip down her face but ignored it. The nausea hovered in her head, that dizzying swirl of light and sound that was amplified by her stomach. It was like, her head was the drums, but her stomach the amplifier. The resounding effect was the purging of everything she'd eaten in the past twelve hours.
Including a sizable quantity of blood. 'I drank his blood.' The evidence was in the bowl before her, the very bowl she refused to look at again, for fear of another tide of nausea. 'Oh gods, I really drank his blood.' What did that make her? Elena had started changing, subtlety, before she had died and become a full vampire. Her vision had become enhanced, reflexes faster and her physical strength greater.
She'd also become harder, more insensitive than usual and distant. 'I don't want to become someone else!' the center of Bonnie's soul cried out. 'I want to be me!' The fear fed the nausea, and her body heaved again, cold sweat pouring down her back.
Damon had half carried, half dragged her back to her apartment over a half hour ago. Exhaustion, momentarily banished in the catacombs by adrenaline, had quickly reclaimed her abused body. Somehow, and she didn't quite know how or why, she had been able to follow Stefan's darker brother out of those catacombs. Well, follow wasn't the best word. At first, she had trailed behind, but as her steps lagged longer and longer, Damon had caught her hand and dragged her after him.
Feet had stumbled, twisting once or twice, in the cold dank water of those catacombs, and legs had very nearly given out on the emergency access ladder that Damon had found. The vampire had literally grasped the waistband of her jeans and hauled her up to the surface. From there, he had unerringly located her apartment using the brief address and description Bonnie had provided.
She had remained mute the entire way, her mind still boggling. 'He said he would help. I'm not alone. I'm not alone. Oh, gods, please. Don't let me be alone again.' Shock kept her mind busy and her body quiet. Right up until Damon had ground to a dead halt outside of her apartment complex, swearing profusely in Italian.
It was the gory remains of Mrs. Flowers that finally and completely undid Bonnie. The last possible straw of horror that sent her world careening out of control and her stomach convulsing. The first heave had been in a lilac bush, but the second had occurred in her own toilet after Damon had swept her up, commanded her to invite him in and then dropped her on the bathroom floor.
Shaky hands reached for the toilet lever, pulling it down with weak wrists. The whooshing fury of fresh water swirled the tainted contents in the bowl, overwhelming it with a miniature tidal wave and dragging it out of sight. The cool blow of fresh water rushing in to replace the new vacuum of space was a soothing mist on Bonnie's fevered face.
Licking her cracked lips, Bonnie inhaled air that lacked the stench of blood, and opened her eyes. The world still seemed slightly askew, edges still too sharp and colours far to garish in the florescent lighting. Her stomach, however, seemed to be completely empty. Rocking back, off her knees, she slammed her back against the vinyl-papered wall behind her and pulled her knees up to her chest.
The starfish soap dish mounted on the wall seemed almost silver, with the white film of soap coating the transparent plastic. Staring at in fascination, Bonnie steered her mind clear of any thoughts other than the weird patterns surrounding the plastic where thicker residue of soap tapered thin. The little crescent moons and kitten paws she saw in the soapy film were far more interesting than Mrs. Flower's glassy eyed head mounted on the fence post, anyway. All the blood had drained from the woman's dead remains, leaving only a ghastly white waxen blob that used to breathe in air, smile and laugh.
Muscles knotted, her stomach tensing for another dry heaving convulsion. Willfully, Bonnie gritted her teeth, and clenched her fists denying her body the right to be grossed out. For all she knew, she would be drinking blood before too long. Now was not the time to loose control, but to find it. 'Where's Damon?' Rational thought was a bastion for supremacy of mind over body.
Stumbling to her feet, she caught a glimpse of too wide brown eyes in a white face echoed in the mirror. Her red hair seemed gaudy against her skin, the sallow sickly colour of flesh a dead colour compared to the vibrant living richness of her hair. It was like looking at someone else, someone who had already died. 'I died. I really died. Oh gods, I wonder if Elena and I will compare notes, one day?'
Accepting death was one thing. It had been easy to wake up screaming from a nightmare to know that she was going to die soon. At least, easy to accept that death was knocking. In its' permanent form, death was release. It meant an end of some sort, whether that be of a long life or a short one, happiness or pain, it was an end. For Bonnie, it meant the end of the nightmares and the 'surprises' she had routinely found. It was peace.
Damon just had to muck it all up. 'See if I go off and die again!' Bonnie huffed, glaring at her reflection indignantly. Her lower jaw stuck out stubbornly, and her shoulder's straightened beneath the weight of Damon's leather jacket. Of course, the sheer stupidity of the thought brought a blushing colour to her cheeks. 'Dumb, McCullough. Very, very dumb. Of course you won't go off and die again. You didn't mean to this time, not really. It just happened.'
Shrugging out of the jacket, Bonnie turned on the water, letting the hot and cool mix to a happy medium before splashing her face. Tendrils of hair stuck to the side of her damp face, dripping down her face, neck and onto her chest. 'Huh?' Pressing a facecloth to her eyes, she looked down at herself and winced. "Oh dear."
The sweater had been one of her favorites. The rich green of the wool had brought out the richer highlights in her hair and skin, not to mention that the cut emphasized her curves beautifully. The fabric wasn't much use as a rag anymore it was so shredded. The bold cuts left more skin exposed than covered as they swept down across her torso in a vertical diagonal line. "Great. I gave Damon a free show. Wonderful."
Wrenching a towel from the rack, Bonnie wrapped it around her upper body. Pushing the bathroom door open in firm decision, she poked her head out into the hallway and looked around. Still no vampire loomed in sight. 'Run for it!'
Her bedroom, which was one of the two bedrooms in the apartment, was precisely ten steps from the bathroom door, but with modesty in question, Bonnie beat a path to it like it was the track for the Olympic 1000m sprint. The years of training in the McCullough household finally paid off, with a smooth launch, and a torso twist, she not only cleared the room's threshold but also shut the door just as her towel slid to the floor. "Way to go, McCullough!"
"I was rather impressed." Damon agreed casually, standing beside her armoire.
Bonnie yelped, diving for the towel. "What are you doing in here? This is MY room!" She shouted, ignoring the fact her cheeks flamed. A second, inadvertent as it was, free show for Damon – could her life go downhill more?
Damon's lazy smile was worthy of the pages of GQ magazine, it oozed sexuality, self confidence and darkness. 'The bad boy poster child is in my bedroom. If only he were human, it'd be great.' Bonnie hugged the towel, folding her arms across the front. His shirt was ruined, her dried blood staining the white linen as thoroughly as if it had been dye. Still, as messy as it was clothing was, he had the bearing of a Prince. It was aristocratic superiority in every move, ever pose and every expression.
"I was fetching you your robe." Lifting the long white terry-cloth robe up, the dimple at the corner of his mouth flashed teasingly. "I thought you might appreciate something to prolong your modesty."
Bonnie's eyes narrowed. 'The rat. He took a good long look down there, didn't he?' Marching forward with more confidence displayed than felt, she tugged her fuzzy housecoat free, turning swiftly and slipping it on with her back to him. "Thank you." Bonnie muttered ungratefully.
"De nada." Damon's smiled widened at her tone of voice. Smoothly walking around her, he reached for her bedroom door handle. "I took the liberty of cleaning up the… ah, remains." His voice paused, as he searched for the right word before he had plunged on. "Your front yard is acceptable again."
Bonnie froze, her hands poised on her belt sash. "What did you do with… with Mrs. Flowers?" The voice that had sounded so confident before faded to a scarce squeak. Damon might see humans as nothing more than dusty motes in time, but to Bonnie, Mrs. Flowers had been a person and a friend. A loopy friend, but she had been a friend all the same.
Damon's eyes were unaccountably sad, though his expression did not change. "I took her back to her house and collected up as much as I could. She is beneath her rose bushes. Perhaps a marker could be discretely placed, one day?"
Bonnie stared after him once he left the room. Perhaps Damon wasn't as unaffected as what was once thought.
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Damon tossed the shirt into the garbage can. Saving it was pointless, the stains would not come out no matter what was tried. Centuries of scientific progress still had not found a method to dissolve blood from white fabric. And wearing a pink shirt was not his style.
His trip back to Mrs. Flowers' had yielded two results. First, he had been able to set Mrs. Flowers' earthly remains to rest as what befit such an honorable elderly woman. For all her foibles, the woman had trusted him in her home, and had provided as much information and resources as she could in the past. All the while, she had known what he and his brother were. Of this, Damon was certain.
Burying her underneath the flowers she had so patiently tended was the least he could do. One day, perhaps, the body would be found, but he was willing to bet that while the police would conclude the old woman had been murdered, it would be decades before the remains were located. Perhaps longer, if they didn't dig deep enough.
The other result of his trip back to the old house had been for his bag in the back of his car. If he had to stay in the benighted town, he'd do it with his own clothes and creature comforts handy. Bonnie's apartment had running water, hydro and more to keep him in the relative style he was accustomed to; all he was responsible for was food, clothing and grooming products. Two out of those three he regularly packed. The third, he would find on his own, later.
Stripping down, Damon winced at the bloodstains on his skin, dried through the denim of his designer jeans. Blood in blue denim wasn't nearly as bad as in white cotton, but it was close. Tossing them into the sink, he continued disrobing before stepping into the running shower.
It was true that vampires didn't like running bodies of water. But a shower was a marvelous thing and not a running body of water in a territorial aspect. The feel of hot water pelting down on flesh had such a soothing effect on the body, regardless of the state of being – living or dead. It was, perhaps, indoor plumbing in it's modern incarnation that Damon regarded as the best invention of the past 500 years.
And if he used up all of Bonnie's hot water, he didn't care. 'I must be insane.' Arms braced against one wall, Damon leaned forward, just letting the water pour onto his back. 'I offered to help. What was I thinking? I don't offer to help. I kill. I destroy. I take what I want. That is who I am and what I do.'
But, Bonnie had saved him and his brother before. Did that not create a debt?
'Repaid when I brought her back from death.'
And the sweet lost look in her face, the resignation to a painful end. The abandonment of his brother, something Damon knew well about. 'I'm getting soft.' Sighing, Damon tossed his head back, a lock of hair pushing first up and then back down squarely into his eyes. 'I should tell her I've changed my mind and get the hell out of here.'
Except, he wouldn't. He knew it, Bonnie knew it, hell, the thing stalking her knew it. It was like someone had stamped in red ink and block letters "Sucker" on his forehead. The noble streak Stefan thought Damon lacked was surfacing and kicking his common sense down with a vengeance, despite his best attempts to deny it.
'Ahh, little brother. See what you've driven me to do?' Maybe, just maybe if he was lucky, Stefan would crawl back into town to hear Bonnie singing Damon's praises. Perhaps, even, Stefan would return before this whole mess was ended.
And perhaps Bonnie was an Irish Goddess reincarnated and he was the Emperor of Rome in a past life.
'No good will come of this.' Damon growled, shaking his head. "Damn." His will was hostage to the town's troubles, he realized. Galvanized back to action, he savagely washed his body, scouring at flesh as if it could cleanse away this desire to help. 'I could still just leave.' He reminded himself, again. 'So what if Bonnie dies. What do I care?'
She would rise again, though. His act in those catacombs had ensured that. In a few weeks, the blood would peter out of her system, but for now, she was a prime candidate for vampirism. A normal recipient of a mild amount of blood had heightened sensitivities, an inclination to nightmares or dreams, and a weakness to the same icons that vampires could not tolerate.
Bonnie had received far more than a mild amount of his blood. Whether or not she threw up some of it, a substantial quantity had entered her bloodstream, and it would stay there for at least a week, if not more. Given her natural abilities, how his blood and its' power would affect her was not clear, but as a potential sire, it was his responsibility to see her past any transition.
What had he been thinking to open his veins to her like that? 'Debts be damned!'
The water around him chilled, slightly, responding to the diminished supply in the water heater. Opening his eyes to the steamed shower stall, Damon chuckled ruefully. How long had he stood here debating with himself on something that held no option for debate?
There was no way around it. Something about the situation in Fell's Church bothered him. Firstly, in Bonnie's involvement. His debt to her had been repaid, but had also been deepened by an obligation. Secondly, by the murder of Mrs. Flowers. The sheer violence in the house had been unwarranted. The old woman had been a few bricks short a load, but Damon couldn't believe she had any enemies. And thirdly, the feel he had received from the creatures. This was something that could rip his baby brother to shreds. Did he really want to walk away from this situation knowing that Stefan did not stand a chance against such a creature.
The water slammed off, a vicious shove and clunk as the valves responded to the change in the taps. Roughly toweling himself, Damon stepped clear of the shower and began to rummage through his bags.
The mirror was fogged up, not that it mattered. He had gone long enough without a mirror to need one now. Combing through his hair with careful meticulousness, he abstained from further thoughts about why he was helping, and steered to what he needed to do. The first thing was obvious: Find a blood supply. He was good for now, but tomorrow he would need to feed. 'Bonnie's sister is a nurse.' He recalled from Bonnie's memories in her blood. 'Perhaps a visit to the hospital is in order?'
The next thing was a place to sleep. Bonnie's apartment was nice, but there was only one bed: her bed. The couch was too short, the floor too hard, and his patience too limited. Wrapping the towel about his waist, toga style, Damon scooped the bag up with one hand and marched boldly out into the hallway.
The light was on in Bonnie's room, but no where else in the apartment. The night was well progressed, by now, and Damon was surprised to realize that despite the fact he was a creature of the night he was ready to crawl into a bed and die quietly for at least twelve hours. It was testimony to how much blood he had fed Bonnie.
The girl had changed from her torn and stained clothing into a conservative nightshirt, long-sleeved, satiny and much too warm for the time of year. Curled into the center of her bed with a notebook and pen, that Damon identified as her diary, she seemed miles away not even aware that there was a vampire in her bedroom.
He dropped his bag with a loud bang, causing Bonnie to jump a good way and cry out in fear. The yelp just brought a malicious smile to Damon's face. "I'm sorry, cara." He grinned shamelessly. "Did I startle you? My apologies."
Bonnie's brown eyes were huge, the mouth posed in a small 'o' of surprise only emphasized the size of her eyes. "What are you doing?" She asked with suspicion, eyeing his nearly naked body with dread.
Damon shrugged, padding barefoot to the bed. "I'm going to bed." He announced blandly, as if this was an obvious fact. "And since I have to stay here…" His voice trailed off as he came to stand beside the bed. Bonnie squirmed her way to the other side of the mattress, as far from him as she could go.
"And what?" She squeaked, already convinced she knew the answer.
He tugged the duvet up with a smooth motion, throwing his body between the sheets, and laying back. The towel fell to the floor unneeded. "And I won't be sleeping on the floor." He finished. Reaching over, he flicked the bed-side lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. "Goodnight Bonnie. Pleasant dreams."