a/n: hiiii my loves, life has been crazy, but good crazy and im so happy to get this chapter out rn. hope you enjoy, i adore you guys so much! this chapter is a shorty so maybe just maybe if i receive enough reviews, I'll publish another chapter sooner rather than later. thank you EVERYONE for your support, if you like my writing enough and if you can, tips are always welcomed via my kofi which is linked in my bio.

this chapter is mostly a flashback, getting inside our Bon Bon's head and how being a siren effects her personality. the first part is a flashback to when she first became a siren (her first victim) and the next part occurs on episode 6x17! but the next chapter i publish will deal with the long-awaited question: Where's Elena???

xxx

...

His name was Frank.

Frank with a last name she could never give him the justice to remember.

Convenience store Frank who was probably about twenty-five, always gave her big googly eyes when she walked in. Sometimes even dreamt about her. With an endearing smile, he anxiously prolonged conversation, more often than not gave her discounts, told cheesy jokes that she courteously laughed at. He was a nice guy. Cute and without a shirt he became surprisingly sexy, so that overpowering awkward energy he couldn't shake transformed into a weapon that upped his appeal in the bedroom.

The bedroom, where she had fun with him, consumed him- he willingly dug his own grave between her legs and covered himself until he could take no more breaths. It was weird to her that after all this time she still couldn't remember him struggling, if you ask her, he died because being between her thighs was more essential than breath and, well, she couldn't blame him. She was deadly and mesmerizing and starving and Frank became her consumption. He had a family. He was loved. What a terrible thing to happen to such a nice guy!

Rest In Peace to Frank, who died of asphyxiation, (between pillowy brown thighs,) pillows that smothered him in his sleep, accidentally. No toxicology report could bring him back to life because 'some things really are just a case of bad luck.' Born then, died now, forever and ever- amen.

Rest In Peace to Frank who died of falling in lust with a woman who had a voracious appetite. Had he discovered she was a man-eater beforehand, we pray he'd have the decency to run.

...

Returning from that hell of a prison world wasn't exactly easy for Bonnie. Her life had consisted of various degrees of suffering, and-surprise- the prison world was no different but for a while, her body learned Damon, became accustomed to his actions, the tone of his voice, the breadth of facial expressions that never seemed to dampen his charm. He was all the amusement she had but lucky for her, Damon was naturally entertaining. He thrived off of being in the spotlight.

Through the window, like a black bird in her bedroom perched at the end of her bed frame, a sneaking admiration blossomed for Damon. The lilt in his voice, that smirk. It was hot, the weather, was hot enough to lighten her clothes and darken her skin. She was in heat during May, where seeds once planted took root and opened up, opened all the way up, like arms. Like legs. And Damon with his complexion containing a little more warmth than usual, his blue eyes a cool glass of ice that begged and closed then opened. Like arms.

Like legs.

He would nag while whipping up pancakes that revealed his less than ordinary cooking skills. "The kitchen came with the house," he'd said, and a piece of envy would spiral through her because he could be mediocre and no one cared.

But it wasn't a piece of envy, it wasn't as pretty as a spiral; it was more like removing the pit from a leafy green avocado, a little difficult, something that could turn barbaric if the leafy green avocado wasn't ripe enough. The brown pit that would roll right off of the counter and hit the floor with a thud, tumbled over once more before becoming inanimate again. That was the feeling she had.

Damon could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted and no one batted an eyelash. Elena would contemplate breaking up with him, maybe, but the love always prevailed, didn't it?

She had never tried to pull a Damon, being devil-may-care and nonchalant with a willingness only to do what she wanted because all she knew was that she had to save her friends, she hadn't really gotten passed that. Bonnie didn't know what Bonnie wanted. Bonnie didn't know what she needed either.

Sometimes things figured themselves out, probably exhausted from waiting for Bonnie to awaken out of her self-negligence. Like when she discovered she preferred Damon's company way more than a psychotic murderer's. Or the regret that tumbled in her gut when she thought of her very meek sexual repertoire if she did happen to die in Kai's world. The fact that she was a container for highly volatile sexual energy just waiting to be poked the right way. While simultaneously attempting to contain unbridled anger.

But really, who, other than herself, could she be mad at? She wound herself up in other people's responsibilities, never set boundaries from the start or the middle, nor the end. Allowed her friends to walk all over her without asking if she was okay. She fought for them. Became a killer with them, the bridge of dead bodies that bound them to one another, her Grams included.

Bonnie Bennett was in too deep, no one would hear her if she screamed. No one could see her unraveling at the seams. So she fought for them, (because fighting for herself would make her far too weak.)

...

The real question was why.. was she there? In the doorway, witnessing an event that she never bought the tickets to.

Fresh out of the prison world, adjusting to everyone and everything all over again. Incessant sounds and people like the chirping of crickets. The loneliness was something she couldn't seem to shake, no matter how many times she hugged Caroline or attempted to blink her friends away to convince herself they were never really there. Even with their arms threaded around her, abandonment insisted on living inside of Bonnie like a new cell.

She needed something else. Something more to prove she was real and alive, something inside of her- a muscle- that didn't belong to her. That thing is what she needed desperately because the fleeting little fantasies were starting to make her condition worse.

So maybe that's what carried her to the kitchen, promptly to Elena and Damon's make out session. Perhaps it was the universe's way of showing her what she was missing. Attention from a visibly perfect man. A delicious cocktail of chemical reactions- dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin- shooting straight to her brain. Fun, happy, sexy energy. She was feeling that lack like seedless fruit.

It was alluring, the way they swallowed each other's breaths, her hands lacing through his hair, his fingers trailing up her shirt to feel skin in this way again. Bonnie admired them, hung on to the door handle and leaned against the frame. Careful not to make a sound. Careful not to interrupt.

A third wheel would feel uncomfortable here, better yet, intrusive, but Bonnie just studied, letting her eyes inhale it all without once exhaling. She was watching what it felt like to be loved, appreciated, understood, and heard on wheels as if it would transfer onto her by affiliation. If she watched hard enough, it was brown skin instead of olive, cropped hair as opposed to the long dark one, Damon had to crane his neck down instead of up before decidedly abandoning the counter altogether to wrap pretty petite legs around his waist. Oh yes, she could feel it- and her mouth began to water just a teensy bit.

Of course she snapped out of it because it was Damon after all and the only reason her mind would sometimes fantasize him up, was because the prison world was lonely. That's it. That's all.

She still crossed her legs over and squeezed her thighs together to find a beautiful friction between her legs. Because she needed it; better yet, she deserved it.

And Elena was the only thing possessing his mind. His nose buried into her neck, memorizing that scent so he'd never ever forget. He hooked his hands under her knees to scoot her closer to him, mouth trailing her neck with little nips and bites, teasingly. He would fuck her on the kitchen counter without giving a damn. She owed it to him, he was a starving man without her and his mind was getting the better of him in the prison world. With the little witch that nearly drove him up the wall and right out of the window into infidelity. Those green eyes, greener than forests in the summer, the sexy little slant to her mouth, her deep tone, as smooth as honey but with a kick. Sassy. The only voice he'd known for some time. Four months. He noticed things about her that made them uncomfortably close.

So close that even enveloping Elena with kisses and love, sealing her mouth with his, breathing in her skin and her skin alone, Damon could still slip into the crevice of thinking about his best friend.

It was a habit.

To remedy his fever, he pressed kisses along the underside of Elena's chin more forcefully, with an urgency that proved her solidity, it was she who was real, and if he continued to remind himself of this it'd be easier to press the escape key on his thoughts of that little witch. Damon's teeth on Elena's neck to make his best friend go- poof- right out of his mind.

And just when he was getting lost back into the moment with the love of his life, her scent, her pheromones, her breathy moans, he felt a familiar presence. His lips dragged against Elena's skin ever so gently when he spoke the words "Oh hi... Bon Bon," an infliction in his tone from the center of his throat that happened to suggest...

That he didn't care if she watched. That she could join if she wanted.

Elena scrambled for composure, Damon wiped the side of his mouth, directing heat of the moment orbs straight to Bonnie, baby blues the haziest she'd ever seen them, glimmering with appeal.

There was always something wild about Damon; unruly enough that it was frustrating on one end but enchanting on the other because faces like that- people like him- didn't just come and go. They uprooted, destroyed, and recreated something even more beautiful than what came before but the danger was around the corner. Destruction was still one more day away.

Quickly, she gave him a poker face of mild disgust to hide the embarrassment of getting caught, she'd never give him the satisfaction of revealing just how long she'd been consuming that moment or how engaged she truly was.

"Sorry, awkward timing," clumsily fell from her mouth, an intention to announce her presence, ruin the beautiful guise of love and lust that was floating throughout the room only seconds ago.

Bonnie was here now and maybe if they were interrupted enough and fate kept cruelly dividing them from one another, Damon and Elena would start to think that relationships were meant to be fought for, yes, but never this hard.

...

That night, Bonnie handed the cure to Damon like a best friend would.

Saying he could do with it what he wanted, saying it was none of her business whether he told Elena about it or not.

Underneath it all was a quiet hope that Damon would recognize this as another interception in his crumbling relationship.

Perhaps he'd wake up and see that love was never supposed to be something extracted from someone, there were no term of agreements, no conditions or pedestals. Love would never ask you to change or be easily digestible.

Love jumped once, twice, then off of the diving board and sank inside during nighttime, when it'd be quiet, and you'd be too tired to question if you were ready.

And suddenly you'd change without even noticing it.