Elena inhaled sharply, eyes narrowed as she slid off of the mattress, trying her hardest to locate her clothing. Her shirt had been tossed onto the bedside lamp, shoes scattered to the far corners of the room, and her skirt was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, her undergarments were close by the bed, which she placed on first. The clasp on the bra was broken, but still closed by a tad, her shoes had scuffs on the tips, indicating a struggle to stumble into the room, and her shirt's buttons were beyond repair having been ripped off, leaving only six. And the time her eyes find their way to the clock on the far wall, she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.
She staggered to her feet and rushed towards the door, pulling on her shoes along the way.
Damon shifted upwards so his back was resting against the headboard, "Where are you going?" He nearly trailed off, trying his best to remember her name. It all came as a blank, not being able to remember if he had even asked for it.
Elena gripped the handle, trying to get her other shoe in place, "I'm late for rehearsal." She too had forgotten his name, and nearly every detail of the night before.
He only nodded, not sure if he should ask exactly where she was going and if she needed to be escorted. With a shrug of his shoulders, he watched as she toddled out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Damon stayed put on the bed, trying to absorb the events that had just taken place. It was a blur for a moment before it all came crashing down upon him.
These feelings in the pit of his stomach became stronger, causing him to lean further against the headboard. The feelings felt foreign to him, having barely been in a committed relationship without being hurt or betrayed at some point. It was a strange feeling of attachment, but to what? No, it couldn't possibly be to her, for he had just met her. The waves of these feelings kept washing over him, making him feel nauseous, yet scared of something. But what?
His head hurt from trying to figure this all out. Too many unanswered questions bounced around the crevices of his mind. It was insane how he couldn't muster the knowledge to know that he had true feelings, a connection to this brunette beauty.
Damon remained still, staring blankly at the wall before stumbling to his feet where the hangover officially presented itself for the morning. His mind was beginning to clear when he had made his way to the corner of the room where his jeans were located. Reaching down, he swiftly plucked them from the floor. As soon as he held the jeans, the overwhelming feeling became stronger, and the picture was finally clear.
The realization of the mistake he had made came bursting through the door of his head. Everything went into rapid mod. Pulling his pants on, he rushed to the balcony to peer down to the streets. He searched the grounds from above, immediately spotting her getting into a cab just below.
It was mere seconds by the time he was in front of the elevator, most likely breaking multiple world records. He jabbed his finger on the button, cursing under his breath about how slow it was being. After seconds had passed, he said, "The hell with it," and ran to the stairway, speedily rushing down the stairs, skipping over steps along the way. Pushing the door open, he didn't hesitate to run to the lobby entrance where he burst through the door, twisting his head in each direction to find her face.
The city was buzzing with cabs on each avenue, many stuck in traffic jams. Rushing into the middle of the street, barefoot, Damon began peering into each cab, each time rushing away empty-handed. Cab after cab, he didn't have any luck of finding her.
After many searches, he located a jam of cabs, ran onto the roof of one, and placed his hand over his brows to block out the sun as he peered out to the bridge, jammed with taxis and cars.
"Get off!" The Indian driver screamed out of the window, immediately silencing when he saw who it was. "Damon Salvatore? My daughter loves you!" Damon ignored the man, continuously jumping from cab to cab, a swarm of fans beginning to follow him. Eventually, after minutes of searching, he jumped off of the taxi's roof, standing in the middle of the avenue as fans surrounded him, begging for autographs, his hands placed on either side of his head.
Elena leaned forward to tap on the glass, "How long do you think it'll take?" She asked the driver.
He looked into the rearview mirror, shaking his head, "Not for a while, miss."
She sighed, leaning against the seat and looking out of the window to the side of the bridge with the endless ocean. It was so calming, knowing that she was going to be in a lot of trouble.
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. After nearly four rings, she picked up, "Hello?"
Elena gulped, pulling the phone a little bit away from her ear, "It's Elena. I'm in a traffic jam on the Del Mar Bridge." Her eardrum nearly burst when the stage director began screaming insults into the phone.
"…Be here as quick as you can since rehearsal is almost over." The director hung up, leaving Elena to ponder on how to get there in time. The idea popped into her head as soon as she put her phone back into her purse. She hopped out of the taxi, threw some cash into the window and began running through the traffic on the bridge, hoping to make it there in time.
An Hour Later…
Her chest heaved up and down, her breaths choppy. The theater was of complete marble, four stories in height with large, churchlike windows, beautiful archways, and golden gargoyles decorated each window and entranceway.
It took the breath away from her each time she laid eyes on its gorgeous, Victorian-styled exterior. Pulling the door open, the blasts of air conditioning from above immediately calmed her nerves before she rushed to her dressing room.
The band's motorhome was nearly full of life, Markus was asleep, and Anthony and Armand were playing a drinking game. Meanwhile, Damon was outside, tuning his guitar. He was really down-in-the-dumps since that morning; not wanting to each any lunch and turning down offers for alcohol. He needed something to lift up his spirits, and that was just about to come his way.
Mickey Bae, the band's druggie manager, strolled up to him, chatting on his phone while noisily chewing a wad of gum. Damon glared at him, disgusted by his red nose, obviously from recently inhaling drugs. Mickey was in the 200-pound range, but told everyone he weighed 150, had a huge beak for a nose, small lips that were always twisted in a wicked grin, and appeared to be the size of a 12-year-old, his personality being of the same origin.
After hanging up, he leaned against the side of the camper, staring wordlessly at Damon. It was when he popped a bubble from his gum that he spoke out, "Hey, kid."
Damon's face turned red, wanting to knock a good one on his cheek from being called a kid, "What?"
Mickey smirked, "You wouldn't believe what I just did," Damon rolled his eyes, biting back the many comebacks he had for that one sentence. Mickey continued, "I booked Serpenti a national tour, starting in California." He clapped his hands, cracked another smirk, and walked back to his Porsche where he sped off.
Damon was in shock for moments before he jumped to his feet, doing a small victory dance.
Markus was jolted awake from the sudden noises directed from outside, "What is that?" He rubbed his eyes, seeing Damon. He burst out laughing before rushing outside, stumbling along the way, "What are you doing?"
Damon spun around and gripped his shoulders, "We're going on a national tour!"
Markus started whooping, gathering the other drunken bandmates to head off for a night of celebration down at the local club.
But Damon didn't realize the utter mistake he had just made.
Elena's fingers gripped the laces of the ballet slippers, carefully lacing them together. Her mind was concentrated on the silk before her, when someone suddenly tapped her shoulder, jolting her inches into the air. She looked up to see Erik, a tall, dirty-blonde, 26-year-old with dark green eyes. He was a fellow ballet dancer who thought that he liked Elena, not realizing that he was gay. It seemed that everyone else had their suspicions, and he just never realized. Elena had always had a grudge against him for getting the other male dancer, Tristan, fired. She smiled kindly when he handed her a rose, stating, "Good luck," before watching him leave to rehearse his act.
Bringing the rose to her nose, she inhaled the intoxicating scent. The first thought that popped into her mind was of Damon; the way everything about him was intoxicating, his scent, his eyes, everything. She brushed it off, thinking it's nothing before walking to the curtain to watch the current act performing.
Damon was out celebrating, a little too much. The many anonymous women scattered throughout the bar had bought him drinks, and he downed each one. By midnight, he had flirted with nearly every woman in the bar, each one showing interest before their boyfriends would push him away.
He was sat at the bar, elbow rested against the counter as he finished yet another Snake Bite. It must have been the fourth one he had consumed, along with six Orgasms, which he believed was a message from the women who had sent them.
There was a fingernail trailed across the back of his neck before the whispering breath filled his ear, "Let's get out of here." The accent was German, with the scent of alcohol entwined. He obeyed, letting her drag him out of the club.
The next morning came, cracking his eyes open, he could see the familiar ceiling above him. It wasn't home, but it was the hotel room in which he was staying in since he hated the motorhome. The previous night's events were clear in his mind, even with the alcohol trying to fog his memory. Damon turned his head to the side, seeing nothing but an empty pillow and a small, folded note.
His fingers plucked the note up, reading the simple message scrawled inside,
Had a fun time!
Didn't even leave a name. Damon leaned against the pillow, feeling somewhat proud of his streak of one-night-stands.
Elena smiled as she stepped off of the stage, carrying a bouquet of flowers. Erik walked up to her, enveloping her into an awkward hug, "You were amazing."
Elena pushed away, a forced smile on her lips, "Thanks." She walked back to her dressing room, leaving him standing there. She removed her performance outfit and placed on jeans and a purple shirt.
"Hey! Bonnie and I are heading out to the club again if you want to come?" Caroline asked, hopeful that she would get a positive response.
After the events of two nights ago, Elena turned down the offer, "Not tonight. I'm not really in the mood." She looked down to her feet, knowing that Caroline would try the puppy eyes trick.
Caroline frowned, bummed, "Is this because of that guy?"
Elena straightened her back, eyes slightly wide, "You remember that night?"
Caroline scoffed, "I was barely sloshed. Course I remember." She crossed her arms against her chest.
Elena frowned, "So you could have stopped me from leaving the club with him?" She narrowed her eyes, seeing Caroline freeze.
"I didn't even see you leave." She shrugged her shoulders.
Rubbing her temples, Elena replied, "You don't remember his name, or any other details, do you?"
Caroline thought for a moment, "I remember the name of the guy I was with. Markus, that was his name. Sorry, I don't remember any more details." She pouted, knowing that Elena was disappointed.
Elena's face fell, "At least we have one name. I guess I'll talk to you later." She wrapped Caroline into a hug.
"Bye!" Caroline exclaimed before walking out of the theater behind Elena.
Damon laid on the mattress in the motorhome, now on its way to California. He hated how the springs kept jutting into his back, but he unfortunately had to live with it. The same feeling he had when Elena left had returned, even stronger than before. His eyes locked to the paddles on the fan, trying desperately to remember her name.
What was that angel's name?