~11~
~Chapter Eleven~
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
~Taylor Swift, Wildest Dreams~
Time: June 28th, 1994 ~ Damon and Bonnie time
Place: 22 Broken Arrow Road
"Love is in the water; love is in the air. Show me where to look, tell me will love be there?"
"Okay," I muse, reading the back of the Collective Soul CD case before putting it down. "This one is growing on me."
"Told you it would," Damon says triumphantly. "This decade has decent music. I wasn't a fan of music in the 1800s. It didn't speak to me."
"And Kurt Cobain does—how do you even know what he's saying?"
"I don't. That's the beauty of it."
I lean back, propping myself up with my elbows. We are outside, in the backyard, listening to music. We plugged our CD player into the tiny outlet on the back of the house, spread an old quilt out on the grass, and have been debating the merits of various musical genres ever since.
The sun streams down on us, bathing us in warmth and light. I was tiring of the never-ending sunshine—because a rainstorm is needed every so often—but I'm glad that we embraced it today. I'm relieved to turn my worries off for the moment. I'm not stressing about spells or faded memories or prophetic dreams. Right now, it is just Bonnie and Damon, relaxing.
Being ourselves.
"Nonsense is beautiful?" I question, delighted to keep our conversation going.
Damon snorts. "Not everything has to be deep, Bennett. I'm just saying that it's open to broader interpretations."
"Valid," I concede.
"You're in a surprisingly pleasant mood. Very non-argumentative. You also slept like a rock last night."
I remember waking up in Damon's arms this morning, groggy but content. I'm fairly sure that I experienced a loop of nightmares last night, however all I can recall is a vast expanse of blackness, unyielding and fuzzy around the edges. At first, it was bothersome. Not because I liked to scream and thrash around all night, but because I thought I might be taking several steps back on the witch thing.
My powers are intact, though. I've used little bits of magic throughout the day. Small, inconsequential spells like levitation or simple locator incantations. The latter is convenient because Damon has a penchant for losing things that belong to me. Finding people takes much more effort—deeper concentration, something from the person you wish to find, and a map for larger searches. Our calendar or the teddy bear I found in the attic doesn't drain half as much energy (luckily for me).
So, I'm okay with not remembering the things that happen when I'm asleep. I was never fond of that ability, anyway.
I lie back, cradling my head in my hands. "I know. It was… peaceful."
"Yeah, it was."
"I feel like I won't be scared to close my eyes tonight!" My voice is dripping with relief.
Damon doesn't say anything right away. "… So, does that mean you're going back to your room?" he sounds curious, but unbothered—like either option would be alright.
"Does it matter?" I bite my lower lip and pick at my cuticles.
The next few seconds seem more like hours. "Well, from the decades I can remember, I don't recall sleeping by myself very often."
"You sound like the narrator in one of those cheesy romance novels we found upstairs," I say, wrinkling my nose.
"Ugh, Bon Bon. Are you really going to make me say it?"
"Say what?" I am bewildered. Sometimes this dance we do around certain subjects is dizzying.
He groans—loud, dramatic, and exasperated. "I'd rather we stay together. Safety in numbers and all that."
"I thought you weren't scared of Kai."
"I'm not scared," he rolls his eyes. The way the sun hits his irises makes it hard to look away from them.
I'm mesmerized.
"I'm being cautious—I'm not the only one that likes to rub off on people."
I take a second to comprehend what he's told me. "Oh, gross Damon!"
"You aren't a good actress, Bennett. The faux innocence isn't that believable anymore."
"It's not… ugh… I'm just…" I trip over my words, flustered and irritated.
"It's okay, Bonster. I'm used to women getting tongue-tied around me," Damon pats my leg, smiling at me reassuringly. Once again, I find myself resisting the urge to think about how I'm beginning to consider exactly how our interactions are changing, slowly morphing into something more.
It's becoming more intense by the day. I know Damon must notice the way the mood lightens when he walks into the room, how I perk up, the corners of my mouth rising in a smile I can't hold back. He can hear the way my heart flutters in my chest, of that I'm sure, but he keeps his composure. If he has a similar response to me, he hides it well. My senses are nowhere near as sharp and it's not like he blushes. There were times when I first realized what was happening, that I was thankful he didn't seem to be paying attention. Now… I'm beginning to wonder if he has ever thought of me in terms of attractiveness or sex appeal.
If I linger on that thought for too long, I get self-conscious. And then I get angry because why the hell should I care? We have more pressing matters to handle. But sometimes, I can't help myself. I step over the line we've been toeing to see if I can illicit some kind of flirtatious response from him.
Like right now, for instance.
"You like sleeping with me," If I weren't feeling so brazen, I might have phrased it as a question, my voice light and teasing. But it comes out as a statement—an irrefutable fact.
"And you sound like me," he smirks. "I like it."
Ugh. Of course, he sidesteps the actual meaning. "Seriously? Why does everything have to be about you? You haven't gotten tired of yourself yet?"
"Rude—but no, I haven't. I'm an asshole, but I'm not boring. That's my brother's thing. He's a buzzkill at parties."
"I can't believe you… you're so… infuriating!" There's a rational voice in my head that says I'm blowing this out of proportion, but my emotions are much louder and more assertive.
"Someone's got her panties in a bunch. What are you so upset about exactly?"
"I don't have to explain myself," I huff, getting to my feet. My sneakers thump loudly against the patio as I stomp into the house. I don't open the sliding glass door with my hands. I push it open with a burst of magic, which I then used to slam it shut. The house is still rattling as I curl up on the couch with my Grimoire.
~~X~~
(Sometime later…)
When Damon comes inside, I've cooled down enough to recognize that I probably owe him that explanation, and an apology, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to listen to either.
He breezes by me, the yellowed parchment paper inside the Grimoire fluttering upward as he moves past me.
"Damon?" I say quietly. "Come back here, please." I hold my breath, fully expecting him to ignore me. I wait for the sound of his boots echoing in the foyer, but it doesn't come. I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.
"What do you want, Judgy?" Damon demands and I flinch at how harsh he sounds.
"To… say sorry… for going off on you like that. I didn't mean it."
"What did I do to piss you off so much? You acted like I killed a fucking puppy or something. I wasn't even trying to be a dick!"
I bite my lip, hoping to come up with a logical, less embarrassing reason for my outburst, but I have to be direct. I owe him that, at least. "Nothing. It was more about what you didn't do."
"I'm lost."
"You don't want to have sex with me!" I blurt out.
"What?"
"We've been trapped in this desolate wasteland for almost two months and you haven't thought about sex at all? Not once?"
He snorts. "Of course, I have! I thought that was obvious. Do you even hear what I say half the time?"
"Oh, I do. It's disgusting. Well, it used to be. But… now… it's still obnoxious, but maybe I can understand why people would want to…" I pause. "… you get the point."
"I'm not sure I do," Damon says slyly. "Are you saying you want to jump my bones, Bennett?"
"I said I could see why someone would want to," I correct, regretting every word I've spoken in the last five minutes.
I know he doesn't respond right away because he wants to see how flustered it will get me. I try to regain my composure, remain even keeled in the face of potential embarrassment. I worry that it's not working too well.
"That means a lot—especially coming from you, Bon Bon."
I blink. How should I take that? "It isn't anything you haven't heard before."
"Obviously," his ego is sufficiently bolstered. "But you kept saying that I was deluded, which is very hurtful, by the way. Besides, I won't wax poetic about how pretty you are… that's not our thing."
I motion for him to continue.
"We have a different dynamic—not everything has to be a big deal, or so I've been told. I figured if something were going to happen… it would just happen," he shrugs.
"You listened to something I said and remembered it? I'm impressed."
"I knew you would be," he smirks.
I close the book, placing it on the coffee table. I search for the perfect reply, something both witty and direct. Something that will convey exactly how I feel: surprised, happy, slightly unsure of myself. I didn't think Damon would be so upfront. I was prepared for his usual sarcasm; I was on the defense, and my entire playbook has been rendered useless now that I see I didn't need to be.
"I know you, Damon. If you want something, you get it—by any means necessary."
He shrugs. "I do, but I feel like I've had to prove myself for so long… with my parents…" he stops, shaking his head slightly. "And people I don't remember… and it sucks. I imagine it's been that way for a long fucking time. You… don't make me feel like that."
"I like you, Damon."
"I like you, too, Bonster."
"… So, does that mean you've thought about it?"
"I think you already know the answer," he says, kicking off his boots. Walking away, leaving them in the middle of the living room floor.
"You're a slob," I call after him, deciding to drop the other matter for now. One of my biggest pet peeves is Damon, leaving his belongings in the exact place they shouldn't be. It's an even bigger irritant now that I know he does it just to be annoying.
"I know," he shouts back, and I can tell he's already walked into the master bathroom by the way his voice echoes.
I hear the shower turn on and stare at the photo of my grandmother. It is as if she can see everything, like she's watching us. Like she just knows everything. A sentient still frame.
I bow my head, burying my face in a pillow. For all I know that crazy idea may actually be a plausible thing. And, well, that just adds to the awkwardness of the conversation Damon and I were having. Untangling my legs, I shift my body so I'm lying on my back, pillow still covering my face.
I just want normalcy. Or something like it. Stability, maybe?
Normalcy means giving up my magic, which makes me feel like I might die. I can't imagine not having it now. I don't want to go back to feeling empty and lost. Stability. I want bits and pieces of my old life back. Caroline, Elena, my grandmother… I want to know and love them the way I'm supposed to.
That's why I settle on stability instead. I have that with Damon—to an extent. We could have so much more, though, if I got my shit together. My emotions are running so high that my head spins.
One thing at a time, I tell myself.
Breathing in deeply, I clear my mind. I don't know where to begin… probably with the least complicated situation. I go over my problems one by one, examining everything that's been bugging me lately.
My magic, Damon, my inability to remember anything, Damon… clearly, there's a trend here, and it puts knots in my stomach. Why does the problem with the simple solution have to be the one that exposes my emotional vulnerability?
I wonder if the Bonnie of the living had this many hang-ups about intimacy. I think she did, I know she did, and that makes me more than uncomfortable—it makes me angry. I can make something out of nothing, start a fire by thinking about it, put a person on the ground by just willing their brains to pop a few blood vessels.
And I got tongue-tied around Damon? The man I know better than myself? Frustration surges once more, leaving me anxious and more decisive than I've ever been. I need to get a grip, face my fears head-on, and take whatever happens in stride.
Damon didn't turn me down, he just tactfully avoided a direct answer, in a way that would make me proud. I never truly believed that he could censor any of his thoughts, and he seemed to consider how his words would make me feel.
I guess we influence each other far more than I realized.
And it's a good thing.
Stranger things have happened, I suppose, but I think this one tops them all.
Time: That night ~ Damon and Bonnie time
Place: 22 Broken Arrow Road ~ Bonnie and Damon's room
I glance at the clock ticking away on the wall.
10:47.
I can hear Damon washing the dishes downstairs, the water hitting the basin loudly. Then glasses clinking as he places them on the drying rack. Silence. The refrigerator opening and closing. Footsteps.
A rush of adrenaline. It feels weird. I don't know that I've ever felt like this before—confident, bold, like I'm on top of the world. The anticipation is heady, addicting. I don't know if Damon will dodge my attempt to broach the subject again, but I feel confident that his response won't alter my mood either way. Later, I'll probably think differently, but that's not a worry now.
I sit up straighter as Damon enters our room, running my fingers through my hair, opening the worn copy of Fight Club he "found" lying around the house. He got it from the library, of course. I can tell because there is a sticky film on the spine where there used to be a label for the Dewey Decimal System. He's steadfastly insisting that he still doesn't do libraries—think of the myth about churches, but worse. Instead of bursting into flames, I'll die of boredom—so I stopped correcting him. The more I stated the opposite, the more dramatic his stories became.
Peeking over the pages, I watch him as inconspicuously as I can manage. He looks at me, and I put the book in my lap. "Hey, what took you so long?"
"It's called procrastination," he says. "It's a very refined skill. I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"So… what your saying is you got distracted by soap bubbles."
"Well, now I'm distracted by the fact that you raided my wardrobe," he nods at the t-shirt I put on before I climbed into bed. It is one of his heather gray tees. They fit him perfectly. On my slight frame, it looks like an awkwardly short dress.
I shrug nonchalantly. "It must've gotten mixed in with my laundry."
"Interesting."
"It looks better on me," I press, willing myself to remain confident. "It probably looks even better on the floor."
"You hate when I throw stuff on the floor," he sounds extra smug. He's not going to make this easy, it seems, but what did I expect? Damon lives for our back-and-forth exchanges. The mini-power struggles that were once frustrating and became fun as time went by.
"I think I'll get over it."
"How?"
I falter. "I think you know how," I retort.
"Spell it out for me," he counters with a smirk.
"I meant what I said earlier. You're a dangerous influence. You know I've thought about having sex with you… you've thought about having sex with me; the answer's right in front of us: we should make those thoughts a reality."
He mulls it over. "That doesn't sound like the prim and proper Bonnie I know and love," he places a cool hand on my forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you trying to seduce me?" his hand travels down my face, palm resting on my cheek.
"Trying?" I repeat. "As in not working?" Ouch.
Damon snorts in what I can only assume is amusement. "I didn't say that… there you go again, twisting my words again. Is that a witch thing or a Bonnie thing?"
"Arguing semantics? What do you think?" The bravado I had minutes ago is seriously dwindling. I kick the covers back and slide under them, as if they will protect me when I understand the extent to which I embarrassed myself.
"It's a Bonnie thing—I like it."
I say nothing. My body is still, and I'm silently grateful that I can still look him in the eyes.
"Don't get me wrong, I still think it's annoying. But in a cute way."
My eyebrows furrow. It's a subtle change; the sort of movement only a vampire would notice.
"It's also a Bonnie thing to overthink everything either of us does. It's right or wrong—there's no in-between with you. I don't want you to regret it in the morning."
"I won't," there's an unwavering certainty in my voice that I'm not used to. Damon smirks, but I think I've convinced him he's the one who's overthinking things in this case. "Are you really worried about that?"
I can't tell if he is serious or not. That arrogant look is still on his face but given what he's told me about what he knows of his past, it wouldn't shock me if he meant it—you know, deep, deep down.
Damon doesn't confirm or deny the validity of his statement. Instead, he looks at me and then at the empty hamper in the room's corner. "I'm throwing everything on the floor."
"Go ahead, I dare you."
He grins at me devilishly. Damon never backs down from a challenge. "Where should I start?"
"Take a wild guess."
I'm feeling chipper the next morning. Once again, it is as though I'm on cloud nine. My body feels loose, and there's a goofy smile on my face that was probably plastered there the entire night. Damon is Damon, and while he doesn't seem as outwardly giddy as I do, I know he's happy.
When we were lying in bed earlier, limbs intertwined more tightly than usual, he pressed his lips to my cheek before getting up. I had stayed perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. I didn't want him to realize I was awake; I was afraid that he might take it back if he thought I caught him in yet another moment of emotional openness.
That's one thing I hadn't considered; that he might regret it.
"I don't," he says out of nowhere.
I lift my head up, fork in front of my mouth. It feels like I'm frozen in time, but the steady dripping of pancake syrup on my plate says otherwise. I don't put it down. I didn't want to break the illusion, didn't want this moment to shatter into a million little pieces—especially if he means what I think he does.
"What?"
He can't answer, however, because he's interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
We both turn toward the front door. Damon places his coffee mug on the table. My forkful of pancake (or vamp-cakes because he put blueberry eyes and whipped cream fangs on them) falls onto my plate, clanking against the glass.
As if I'm in a dream, I rise from my chair and walk into the foyer.
Of course, I know who it is before I even make it to the door. As I get closer, I try to figure out what he could possibly want from us now. I'm on guard, a spell ready to go if he doesn't intend on being civil.
When the door swings open, Kai stands before me, a cheerful grin on his face, a bouquet of bright, orange flowers in his left hand. He's wearing the same outfit he had on all those weeks ago.
"Morning neighbor," he says, thrusting the flowers into my hands. His fingers brush against my knuckles and I wheel back, nearly dropping his odd gift on the floor. As it is, several leaves have fallen off the long stems and fluttered on the ground.
"What do you want?" I spit out, hands shaking uncontrollably.
"To give you a peace offering," he nods at the cellophane-covered bundle in my arms. "A sorry for almost killing your best friend gift, so to speak."
"Why?"
"I moved next door," he jerks his head to the side. He's talking about the yellow house to the right of us. The only difference between the two houses is the colors of the siding and flowers that line the walkway. "Thought it'd be rude not to make amends."
You need him, a snake-like voice hisses. It sounds so real… only neither one of us said anything else.
"How kind of you," Damon sneers, joining me in the hallway.
"I thought so," Kai agrees. And then after a beat, "I didn't want to relocate, but it's taking you forever to figure it out. Face it, sweetheart. You need my help."
I pretend he's talking to Damon. It's a hard sell, though, because his eyes are boring into mine. He's staring into my soul and I squirm uncomfortably.
Thankfully, Damon acts like Kai was addressing him, too. "That's the last thing we need."
"Are you sure about that? There's nothing here. Literally. Whatever you do, you're doomed to relive the same day repeatedly. Nothing ever changes. It's a real drag… don't you want to see the people you worked so hard to save? It has to suck, knowing you played martyr for friends you know nothing about."
"We've got that covered, thanks."
I'm about to echo Damon's sentiment when Kai cuts in. "They haunt you, too, Bonnie. Don't they?"
"We should hear him out," my voice is low. Emotionless. His question chills me to my bones. And I know, without a doubt, that my hunch is correct. Damon and I need Kai to escape.
I can't look away from him—it's almost like standing in front of a mirror. The tormented expression on our new neighbor's face… it's a carbon copy of the one I wear after waking from a nightmare.
Kai looks me over and I feel naked. That could be because I'm still dressed in Damon's oversized t-shirt. The hem grazes my knees, and the sleeves hang halfway down my arms. It does a decent job of covering me, really, but it feels like he can see inside my head. As though he can watch the few memories I've been able to make and keep like a movie.
I shiver, reflexively grabbing Damon's hand.
The vampire sighs, eyes flitting from me to our unwelcome guest. "I will not be nice."
"Noted," I rasp, my mouth and throat dry.
"Understandable," Kai says with a casual shrug.
And so, I back away from the doorway, allowing the jerk to enter the house. We lead him into the dining room, neither of us wanting to give him more access to our home than necessary. We each take a seat; I make sure that Kai is on the opposite end of the table. I close my eyes and think about the red candle sitting smack dab in the middle of us, lighting it without exerting very much energy.
If Kai catches on to my silent warning, he says nothing.
"So," he begins, leaning back, placing his hands on the back of his head. "You two have some kind of secret language."
Damon and I exchange a confused look.
He gestures to us, rolling his eyes. "You talk with your eyes… it's creepy."
"We do not!" This, of course, is said in unison.
"And annoying."
"Just get to the point," Damon snaps.
"Okay, okay," he holds his hands up in surrender. "Still not a fan of small talk, I see. Maybe I'm not the one who needs to improve his social skills. Listen, Bonnie, I like you. And I want to help you. You're clearly a natural with magic—I've never seen someone so powerful. And I come from a family of witches as big as yours."
"You do?"
"See—there you go again, saying the same thing at the same time. You've got to stop that. You guys remind me of the twins from The Shining."
"You're a psychopathic lunatic," Damon says snidely. "Why should we believe you?"
"Damon, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Are we having a moment? I think we are having a moment. Anyway… if you insist on making a big deal out of this, I'll show you." He flicks his wrist and the tiny flame I ignited grows so tall, sparks fly upward. Another movement, and the fire is no longer burning. In its place is a thin wisp of grayish-white smoke.
I stare at the wick, breathing in the smell of melting wax. I'm entranced by how quickly he snuffed the flame out, flummoxed because he didn't lift a finger to stop me when I nearly set the whole grocery store ablaze.
"… I've been trapped here for a long time," Kai says, and I blink. Has he been talking this entire time? "Ever since my family died… I don't know who's magic sent me here. All I want is to go home and find whoever did this to them… I want to see my sister again."
He pauses, overcome with emotion. Tears form in his eyes. Suddenly, I feel an odd connection with Kai. Like we're kindred spirits—we want to know why we're tortured by a life we are so far removed from. And if he experiences the same kinds of things I do, maybe he can tell me how to cope with it.
I risk a glance at Damon. I can't read his facial expression. This time, he's the one that searches for my hand. His fingers lace between mine and he relaxes a bit. Kai frowns but turns his attention on my best friend.
"Don't you want to see your brother again, Damon?"
I know he does.
I think about how happy that would make him. Sometimes, in the minutes before we both fall asleep, he'll tell me stories about Stefan. He'll talk about the games they used to play as children, the moments when he stepped in to face his father's wrath if his little brother got in trouble, how he was angry at him for so long but never stopped loving him. It's the in-between parts he struggles to speak about. He remembers that Stefan was the main reason he turned, but he can't figure out why.
And it frustrates him.
Of course, he'd gladly keep himself in the dark if it meant he didn't have to relive the things he's so ashamed of. But… if I could shed light on the stuff he wants to know—and nothing else—I'd do it in a heartbeat.
"What would we need to do?" I ask, slightly suspicious. This seems too easy; there has to be a catch.
"Promise you won't try to kill me, for starters."
"And?"
"Well, Bon, we might be in a magical prison, but that doesn't mean I'll help you for free. I need something in return, nothing big, just a favor."
"No," Damon interjects. "No fucking way. And stop calling her Bon."
"You'll get to see your sister again, what more do you want?"
"Your blood."
I'm taken aback. Damon has never asked for my blood. Not once since I found out he needed it to survive. What could Kai—a self-proclaimed witch—want with it?
"Yeah, not going to happen," Damon deadpans.
"Why?"
"Bennett blood is extremely powerful," Kai explains. "A drop of it could magnify any spell ten times. And, well, I could use the extra boost when we get back to the real world. I'm assuming whoever went Lizzie Borden on my family is still out there… I need to protect Jo. And I'm out of practice—" he snaps his fingers to demonstrate. The candle flickers, but it goes out a millisecond later. "If you gave me a vial, I could make sure my twin sister lives a long, threat-free life."
Isn't that why I'm here? Because I wanted my friends to be safe? That's all Kai wants.
Damon senses the wheels turning in my head. "Bon Bon, we can't trust this weasel."
"Can't we?" It doesn't even sound like I'm the one talking. I don't even know why I am advocating for Kai. Damon's right—he's a slimy person. And yet… I could help so many people if I agreed to his terms…
I glance at Damon out of the corner of my eye. He's tense, on high-alert, and I don't want him to worry. So, I ask our visitor to leave. I walk him to the door, and my best friend wants no part in seeing him out. His version of a goodbye was, "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out… on second thought…" before turning on his heels and sauntering off in the opposite direction.
As Kai turns to go, he pauses in the doorway, and turns around.
Wordlessly, he places a scrap of paper in my palm, curling my fingers around it.
After I can no longer see his retreating form in the window, I unfurl the paper and examine it. 12 Mockingbird Circle. See you at eight, it says, and I instantly know why he gave me this note. This evening, Damon will be on the other side of town, stocking up on his blood supply. Kai and I will be able to negotiate a deal without stressing Damon out. There's a part of me that feels bad about not telling him, but once I fix everything, it won't matter.
All I want is for us to be happy in a place where death doesn't hang over us like a guillotine. That's not too much to ask, is it?
~~X~~
I'm waiting under a streetlight on Mockingbird Circle, impatiently tapping my foot as I watch for Kai.
The sky is a dusky blue with a dash of pink. The moon a sliver of white—a waning crescent. If I squint, I can make out a cluster of stars. I wish I could appreciate the nighttime beauty, but I'm too nervous. I left the video store at 7:47 and Kai should've gotten here shortly after I did.
"Bonnie!"
I turn around, and I see a shadowy silhouette approaching me.
I freeze, thinking of the dark, almost shapeless forms from my dreams. But I relax once I can make out a few of Kai's features.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, but he doesn't sound apologetic.
"I don't care," I say tersely. "Just tell me what you need me to do."
"I'll do my part first—I'm not a total dick—but as soon as it's over, I'll need payment for my services." Something about the formal way he explains it puts me on edge.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine. But I need to know we're in the right place first."
"Duh—that's where the extra work comes in. You'll need your memories back."
"How do I do that?"
"We'll start off slow," Kai says. "Close your eyes and clear your head."
"Here?"
"Where else would you do it?"
I do as he instructs, uneasy but determined to prove that I won't need his help for long.
"Now, think about the things that gave you déjà vu and take my hands."
So, I do.
~An indeterminable amount of time later~
"Earth to Bonnie!"
A familiar voice rings in my ears, causing a rush of happiness. I would know that voice anywhere! Caroline!
It seems silly now, as I blink, trying to get my bearings, that I could have ever forgotten what my best friend sounds like. The bright, overly confident way in which she speaks.
My eyes adjust to the change in lighting, fingers curling around something smooth and very hot. I blink a few more times, realizing that I'm gripping a metal patio table so tightly that my hands ache. To my right, there is a chalkboard style menu mounted on red brick. The words Daily Specials written in curly, unevenly spaced cursive. Underneath the heading, I see a list of lunch options—all half-priced—but the one that sticks out the most is the last one on the list:
The Mystic Grille Monster Burger.
So, this must be before.
"Bon, hello!"
I turn in the direction of Caroline's voice. "Yes?"
She sits in the spot across from me, long legs crossed, semi-concerned expression on her face. Her blonde hair is tied back in an unusually low-effort style, though it still somehow looks put-together. A denim jacket is draped on the back of her chair. She's tapping her fingers on the table, her daylight ring glinting in the sunlight.
"Are you okay? You totally spaced out on me," she furrows her brows and leans across the table, placing her hand on top of mine.
I pull back as if it was Kai who grabbed me and she frowns, hurt, but she doesn't give me space. "I'm worried, Bon. Did someone pass through you?" She whispers the last part, as if anyone would even understand if they overheard her.
I glance over my shoulder. The outdoor eating area is located in back of the Mystic Grille. And despite the perfect, late-spring weather, the patio is practically empty. Aside from us, there is a waiter taking the order of a young couple and a few other employees milling about.
Looking at the other patrons, I feel a strange pang in my chest. Instinctively, I crane my neck searching for Damon. I feel scared. I can't be here without him. The thought of being separated panics me. I don't know why it feels so intense, but I'll lose it if I can't find him.
"So, when's your boyfriend getting here?"
"My boyfriend?" I wonder how much I've missed being gone for so long. Had I dated anyone before I died?
She rolls her eyes. "Damon. I haven't seen him in a while."
I try not to think too deeply about the emotions stirring inside me. What exactly does Caroline know about the last few months. Were Damon and I a thing before we ended up in that so-called prison?"
"Don't look so upset, Bon. Elena will get over it," Care rolls her eyes. I get a flash of my other childhood best friend screaming, crying, begging for Damon. I'm irrationally jealous, but I also feel like something is wrong. "She chose Stefan, after all," The blonde-haired vampire seems bitter about that last remark.
I'm definitely out of the loop. I go over the things that I know now that I'm here.
One, I'm a witch. Two, Elena and Caroline are vampires. Three, Elena is mad at me because of my feelings for Damon. Everything else is a mystery, but it's one I push to the side as soon as I catch sight of a figure behind Care's shoulder.
Damon.
I feel relieved, like even though home feels weird, that it'll be okay now that I'm not alone in it.
