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~Chapter Seven~


"We're all vulnerable. It doesn't matter how much you know, how experienced you are, how many suspect interrogations you've handled successfully. It doesn't matter if you understand the technique. Each of us can be gotten to — if you can just figure out where and how we're vulnerable."

~John E. Douglas~


Elena has finally stopped drinking.

Or rather, Matt cut her off. He probably should have done so two wine coolers ago, but he ignored the pointed looks I had been throwing at him until Elena decided to play Guess Who: Bonnie's First Time Edition.

Damon's loving it.

I've avoided looking at him for the duration of Elena's investigation. I've also been volleying answers back and forth, being purposefully vague, which only egged her on.

What she doesn't realize is the true conversation has nothing to do with anything she is saying, it's about who will give in first—Bonnie or Damon.

"Will you at least tell me if he was hot?"

"Sure, I will," I say, turning to face Damon for the first time since Elena circled back to the subject of my private life—well, past private life. Nowadays, my job takes up so much of my time and energy that dating has become a foreign concept to me.

"Well, was he?"

"Eh," I shrug noncommittally. "He seemed to think he was."

"What did you think?" Matt asks. He's definitely caught on to the secret undertones in my responses. Whether he knows what they mean remains to be seen.

"I think she liked him," Stefan chimes in.

"No one asked you," I snip. I had thought Stefan would back me up, since Damon had acted like a jackass earlier, but it seems their brotherly bond runs deeper than I recall.

"She's defensive—that means she does." Damon's raises an eyebrow, daring me to rise to his challenge.

My eyes narrow. "How would you know what my reactions mean?"

"Lucky guess," he says sarcastically.

Instead of answering, I look at my cell phone. Eleven-thirty. I've entertained Elena for far longer than I would have liked. And judging by the amount of alcohol she consumed, she should be ready to fall asleep any minute now.

I stand up and look around the table. "Well, I'd love to stay longer, but I should really get going. Matt—thanks for the food. I'll be meeting with Jeremy and your in-laws tomorrow. You guys don't have to come. Elena's going to have a wicked hangover."

"Thanks, Bon."

"No problem." I say with a polite wave. "Stefan, Damon it was nice catching up."

"I'll walk you to your car," Damon says quickly.

"I didn't drive."

"Oh, Bonnie! Please stay—there's a killer wandering around." Elena's words slip out of her mouth slowly, slurring just a bit. "Don't go home."

"I'll be fine."

"Then let me walk you home. The drunk girl is right—it's dangerous out there."

"I can take care of myself." I counter evenly.

Elena murmurs something unintelligible and slumps onto Matt's shoulder.

"I never said you couldn't."

"Whatever. Come on Salvatore, I'll let you pretend to be chivalrous." I push my chair in and rush into the other room to retrieve my purse.

I'm shoving my phone into my bag when Damon comes into the living room to find me. I throw him a withering look as I sling my purse over my shoulder. I trudge into the foyer, hunting for my flip flops. They were right where I left them, of course, on the cutesy shoe rack by the front door. I just don't know how to feel or act right now—I'm a little pissed that Elena continued to discuss my sex life, mildly nervous because I'm sure Matt will relay the back-and-forth I had with Damon to his wife when she sobers up, and both giddy and agitated that Damon wants to make sure I get home safe.

"You're not honestly mad, are you?"

"A little bit," I say curtly, slipping my shoes on.

I can just barely understand the conversation that carried on even though two of its participants left. Bits and pieces of words are uttered too quietly for me to discern, but I've become a pro at filling in the blanks. Elena is whining in her husband's ear, chastising him for allowing me to leave. Matt's reassuring her I'm in competent hands, a remark that seems to amuse Damon. Stefan coughs as if he is caught off guard by his friend's unfortunate choice of words.

"If memory serves, Donavan isn't wrong."

"This is getting old, Damon." I swing the door open and stomp out into the night.

It's a sticky heat, accompanied by the occasional breeze. Still warm, but not so hot that I'll be drenched in sweat by the time I get home. Clouds are blocking my view of the stars. I begin my trek by speed-walking, momentarily hoping to create some distance between me and the person I really don't want to be away from. It's a futile attempt, anyway. Damon can take two strides to my one and he has more endurance than I do, given his previous training.

By the time I reach the end of the driveway, Damon has caught up to me. "I'm not one to brag, but if that's all it takes to annoy you, then I'm funnier than I thought."

"I'm not mad at you," I sigh. "I just like to keep my private life to myself. That's not an unreasonable thing to want."

"No… unless you're ashamed to tell your best friend you had sex with me." He's pretty over-the-top with his mock offense.

I stop when we reach the end of Elena's street, right underneath the stop sign. I spin around and watch Damon closely, looking for anything that might indicate vulnerability. Nothing. His posture isn't defensive, he isn't backing away from me (we are a mere foot and a half apart), and he doesn't seem hurt, though it takes a lot to break through Damon's arrogant persona. I lean just a fraction of a centimeter closer to him, not breaking the eye contact we established.

"I don't have to tell my best friend, you were there and if I was ashamed of it, then it wouldn't have happened all those times after the first one."

"Then why'd you run away?" And then I see it. The gleam in his blue eyes, a flash of emotion—a combination of curiosity, anger, and sorrow. It only lasts a second before it disappears.

It is such a subtle expression, nearly imperceptible, but that is all Damon really needs to secure an explanation from me. My first instinct is to treat this as I would if it were a line of questioning, as if I were instructing a witness on how to conduct himself on the stand. It would be so easy to brush this aside completely, to deny his accusation. He doesn't deserve that, however, and I had been foolish to think things could continue to be just as they always had been, without any acknowledgement of how we left things. Damon's isn't one to forget about anything.

But I'm not ready to open all our old wounds and honestly I am not sure it is necessary. I should be able to offer him just enough for him to be satisfied with the answer without cutting too deep. Ignorance is bliss. People say that for a reason, and it's true. I'd rather carry any extra pain than let my loved ones share in the suffering. Elena is supposed to be my only weakness. I thought leaving Damon behind proved as much, but I know it's the exact opposite now.

"I didn't run away. I just didn't want to say goodbye." That statement is not a lie, but it only covers part of the story. There's still plenty left unsaid.

"And?"

"And what?" I say, throwing my hands up. "We both were heading in different directions, Damon. I wasn't interested in getting together and talking about how we had a good run, maybe banging one out one last time. I thought the whole point of being friends with benefits was a lack of attachment to one another!"

"Best friends with benefits," Damon corrects and the snark in his voice causes me to look down at my feet. "And I wasn't either—you were the one that said we should meet up."

"That brings me to my next point. You are one of the most important people in my life—that's never changed—which speaks volumes about me, I'm sure. I didn't want to say goodbye… I didn't want to see how easy it was for you to let go of me. And you were hanging out with Elena that day, so I didn't want to kill your buzz, even though I told you she wasn't going to break up with Matt again."

"Aw, Bonnie Bennett has feelings. And an inability to connect with people who aren't complete dicks—go figure. I ruined you."

"Probably."

But the unfortunate thing about knowing Damon so intimately is the fact that it's reciprocated. He knows me just as well. "You're holding something back. I know because you're biting your cheek."

"What would that be? That I value your friendship? I said that. I just don't like to talk about my feelings—neither do you; so, I don't understand why we are having this conversation."

"My entertainment. It's so fun seeing you flustered." It's him who lessens the space between us now. "Also, because I know there's more to your excuse—there's no way an attorney of your caliber would come up with such a flimsy explanation. Oh, and you're Bonnie Bennett so you spend your free time daydreaming about arguing."

"Damon, you should stop prying. It's not an attractive quality. I wouldn't want your future love interests to get turned off by enabling your nonsense. I'm doing you a favor." I cross my arms over my chest.

"You know, I could say the same about your constant need to act like a sacrificial lamb."

"I'm not a martyr." I feel a bit childish as I stamp my right foot for emphasis.

"Says the woman who didn't want to ruin my date-that-wasn't-really-a-date with Elena, so she decided to skip town."

It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it like that, because ultimately the time he spent with her had been fruitless. Not completely, as she did end up making out with him, despite her being in a committed relationship with Matt. But Elena's always been fickle, not entirely sure of the best route to take in order to reach her goals. And then it slaps her in the face, and she carries on as if everything beforehand doesn't matter.

I had been halfway to Connecticut when she called to say she kissed Damon. I, being the sensible one, had to talk her through it. Which took an hour. I had spent sixty minutes of potential drive time constructing a pros and cons list with her. When I hung up, I was torn. I was pretty sure she was going to pick Damon… why shouldn't she? Elena has always been drawn to the forbidden love schtick. That wasn't Matthew Donavan's style (still isn't).

I ended up losing another half hour because I burst into tears at the rest stop I pulled into, mind reeling with what ifs. I tell myself that I cried for two reasons—and two reasons only. The first one being fatigue. I tend to get overzealous when I haven't slept. Second, was the fact that I felt bad for Matt, bogged down with the guilt of believing that I'd have to keep such a monumental secret from him.

I didn't even have to do that. She told him only hours after I reached my destination. I had been unpacking my belongings when she called again, this time with Matt by her side. They wanted my advice. How can we work things out? Please help us! So, I said whatever I had to in order to ensure that things stayed as they had before I left.

My roommate, Cassie, had overheard the whole thing. She spent her night stationed at the compact desk we were supposed to share, thoroughly enjoying the commentary. We got along pretty well after my first night on campus, if only because she got a front row seat to the soap opera-like theatrics of Elena's love life.

"I'm not lying to you, Damon." I hold my hand up. "I swear."

He chuckles. "I just want the whole truth and nothing but the truth—so help me God."

I don't reply.

"And you know how persuasive I can be," the last three words are spoken in a tone I can only assume is supposed to mirror Enzo.

However, Enzo is the last person on my mind as Damon tucks a lock of hair that had fallen out of my top knot behind my ear. "You can keep trying, I guess… but there's nothing more to tell."

"If you say so," he takes my hand and pulls me in the direction of my father's house. "How much bourbon are you up for drinking on Friday?"

I am going to tell him none— that he won't get anything out of me that way, but I'll be spending the morning with Alaric, reviewing a list of the items he's submitting to the judge. That's a guaranteed headache.

"The usual."

"You should just stay over at my place, then. Lightweight."

I look straight ahead, right at the lamppost on the corner.

He appraises me, immediately detecting my reluctance. "You've done it before."

"We're walking a dangerous line, Salvatore."

The smug expression on his face is oddly comforting. "It's what we do best, Bon Bon."

At some point during our journey, his arm interlocks with mine. I feel equal parts safe and scared. This tight rope walk we are doing has only a little bit to do with why I came back and a whole lot to do with why I found it so difficult to walk away.


The outside of the Gilbert's home lacks the cheer I had grown accustomed to over the years.

It's an aura that I'm convinced plagues every house in Mystic Falls. The charm that makes outsiders believe this purgatory is a real-life Pleasantville.

Regardless of what hardships the homeowners face, they keep the Americana feel of the neighborhood front and center. Trimmed lawns, white picket fences, flower boxes hanging from the windows. There aren't many things the homeowner's association will let slide.

Take, for instance, the exterior of Elena's childhood home. Unruly yard, grass so long that my legs itch as I make my way to the entrance. I make a mental note to walk down the driveway upon my exit. My eyes land on the wilting flowers and vegetables in Isobel's garden, which is sectioned off from the rest of the yard.

I have a feeling that they haven't gotten a citation because everyone is suddenly very afraid to interact with anyone who lives there.

John is by the front door. He lets me inside quickly, as if I'm a secret agent, here to provide him with top-secret information. I guess, in a way I am, but I wish it didn't feel that way. I see Mrs. Gilbert and Jeremy seated at the dining room table, as far apart as the seating arrangement will allow. Isobel has her hands in front of her face, clasped together like she is praying. Jer is staring blankly at the centerpiece—a bowl of fruit, leg attached to the monitor shaking.

"Bonnie—thank God you're here!" The younger Gilbert says when he notices my presence. "Please tell them to stop being so sensitive."

I'm relieved to see that Jeremy doesn't hate me for getting him saddled with mandated house arrest. He looks happy to see me. I hope it's not because he thinks I can wave a wand and make this all go away.

I place my briefcase on the chair closest to me and wait for John to sit down beside his wife before I do anything.

"Define sensitive, Jer." I kick my heels off and pull my hair back in a clip. I have to look prim and proper while out in public, so it doesn't seem like I have any connection to them, but inside I can at least get rid of the uncomfortable shoes.

"They're treating me like a baby," he complains. "I'm sick of it. I can't get any homework done because they're hovering over me. Even when the teacher is here!"

For obvious reasons, Jeremy will be finishing his last week or two of his sophomore year at home.

"Well… I understand their concern, Jer. They love you… and they don't want you to feel like you're the person everyone is claiming you are. Cut them some slack. However, given how everything's going, we need to try to keep our wits about us. Keep things light around here because it's about to get more… nerve-wracking."

"Alright," John concedes. "We will make more of an effort."

I smile warmly at him before I go back to addressing my main client. "Now, we're going to have to resume our conversation from the other day. It's up to you whether you want your parents here—they signed off on a release saying I could continue speaking to you alone."

"Thank God! I would like this to stay between us."

I dismiss his parents, assuring them that it's only to get Jeremy's complete perspective of the day Anna was murdered. They nod, but I can tell it takes a great deal of trust for them to head upstairs while their son tells his side of things.

When my pen and notes are ready to go, I prompt him to start explaining what happened after they began to undress.

"Well, we were going to have…uh, intercourse… but um… before we got there…"

I'm not sure if I cut him off to spare him the humiliation of continuing or myself the need for brain bleach, but I put my hands up before he musters up the nerve to go on. "Things ended early."

He nods, ears turning as red as his face. "So, I left her in her room. Went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and then I decided to go home. I texted her after I was in my room, telling her I'd swing by her house around eight so we could get dinner."

"Okay… did you pay for the meal?"

"Um… yeah."

"And this was at which restaurant?"

"The Pizza Hut just outside of town."

"Would you have the receipt handy?"

"Uh, maybe… I don't usually hold onto those kinds of things."

"But you held onto the hall pass you got from school?"

"Yeah, I wanted proof that I was actually at school that day. If I got caught skipping, I wouldn't have any car privileges until I turn thirty."

He stands up and retrieves his backpack. It was right next to the front door, tossed there and abandoned. I wonder if Jeremy even began to look through his textbooks or if he has chosen to use this situation to his advantage. I know he said the school provided him with a homebound instructor, but that needed paperwork for these services are notoriously hard to get approved. Sure, a tutor may have stopped by, though I'm not convinced this person is district-certified.

I watch Jer carefully as he rifles through his stuff. He pulls his wallet from the side pocket and throws it on the mahogany table. And then he retrieves a yellow half-sheet of paper from the bottom of his backpack. It is ripped and crumpled, discarded and not given a second thought until now.

The hall pass must be smoothed out considerably before I can even attempt to read the secretary's sloppy penmanship. Sure enough, it says exactly what he told me it would.

Jeremy Gilbert
Arrived at 7:42
Overslept

It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. He's telling the truth and I have actual evidence to back the first part of his story up. I didn't doubt him, but the prosecution is building a damn solid case against Jeremy.

The one caveat is the lack of receipt from Pizza Hut. I'm sure I can work around that though, with enough information.

"… We had sex in the car before we drove back to Mystic Falls. In the backseat—she left her underwear in the back pocket of the driver's seat."

I find that odd, but then again teenagers don't think things through—especially when sex is involved. "She didn't put them on when you guys were done?"

"Uh, no. Anna was weird like that. She left stuff for me to remember her by all the time."

"She gave you more than one of her undergarments?" I raise my eyebrows skeptically.

This statement makes him a bit irritated. He goes on the defense almost immediately. "No, sometimes it would be a note, or a charm from her bracelet, or a lip gloss tube. She thought it was romantic, okay. She did—not me, alright?"

"I don't mean to upset you, Jer. I promise, but these are questions the other lawyers will ask you. It's great that you clarified that for me. I'm going to ask you a few more questions that might make you uncomfortable, but I need these answers."

"That's fine," he relaxes just a bit, sliding down in his chair. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's cool," I assure him, voice steady and calm. "I get it. This is stressful."

"Yeah, and you're like another sister—it's weird talking to you about…that stuff… but for the record, I'd rather talk to you than Elena."

"Believe me, I understand that. Now… was this the first time you and Anna had vaginal intercourse?"

"Nope. We've done it a few times."

"Can you be more specific? Do you know how many times exactly?"

"Uh… I think maybe like five."

I make a notation on my timeline. Not first time 5. Approx. More DNA may be recovered from previous encounters, depending on how recent they were. (Victim's bedroom, client's residence)."And did you use protection each time?"

"Like condoms?"

"Exactly."

"Only the first three times. She got Plan B the day after we ran out of condoms. And… I pulled out the last time."

He's expecting me to scold him. I can tell because he is refusing to look me in the eyes now and the leg shaking has resumed. It's my job to remain neutral, though, so his concern is unfounded. "Okay, that's good to know… that could explain the majority of the DNA recovered from the car. But the blood… did that happen during intercourse?"

"No, she gets—got—nosebleeds a lot."

I release the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for everything Enzo claimed. I'm hoping that, once certain things are verified, things will go almost as smoothly as Elena thinks it will.