~Introduction~

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries. The music and/or quotes used in this chapter belong to the artist or author. This goes for all the following chapters.

So, as you can probably tell, I'm going nuts being stuck at home for most of this pandemic. I began to write this story when I was in a much different headspace and I recently completed it, but while I like how it turned out, I don't love it. I feel I've grown and matured as a writer and person, and due to the large gap between its start and completion, I think it is a bit disjointed. This brings me here… with a redone (and finished) version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. The basic plot is the same, but the structure and pacing are improved (at least, I think it is). I also think it flows better… but that's just me. I'm a weird combination of impatient and critical. By the time I've written an update, I'm anxious to post it. This causes me to miss mistakes in my editing process, so I've approached my re-write in a much more methodical way. I hope you enjoy my redux! Thanks for reading—again!

~Prologue~

"You're a mess, I confess, I despise you in the best kind of way."

~Jamie Weise~

I'd rather be anywhere but here.

In the backseat of my mother's red minivan, next to a cooler filled with cans of soda, ham and cheese sandwiches, a pile of bulky suitcases, and overstuffed duffle bags. I'm squished, tired, and bored. My father drives like a snail. We've had to stop at every traffic light we have encountered in the last forty minutes.

And my mother has decided to fill the empty silence with her rendition of all twenty songs on her Whitney Houston playlist. The music itself isn't bad—I like most of the tracks—but Abby can't carry a tune to save her life.

And while my dad thinks her off-key crooning is endearing, I find it torturous. It's made worse because I don't have anyone to commiserate with. Usually, Elena is sitting beside me, trying to stifle her giggles—not at the caliber of musical talent, but the pained expression on my face. Then, after two songs, she strikes up a conversation with my parents.

And I'm free to just… think.

About everything I will have to do upon our return to Mystic Falls. Back-to-school preparations, volunteer work at the children's hospital, ransacking the frozen foods aisle at the supermarket, enjoying the quiet.

Abby and Rudy will return to work and I will once again be in charge of my schedule. The last two weeks in July are Mom and Dad's designated vacation time, which also makes it the only fourteen days they aren't focused on their careers.

Sure, it's the only guaranteed time I might be the center of attention, but I'd much rather they pretend I'm not there. It's what they do the other fifty weeks of the year, give or take a holiday.

Once I reached a suitable age, I became Grams' responsibility. When she passed away, I had to quickly learn how to fend for myself. In the Bennett family, mourning periods only last three days. A measly seventy-two hours. After that, you are expected to buck up and carry on as if nothing happened.

Denial is the best medicine.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I wonder what Elena is up to right now. Probably enjoying the high-end boutiques in Beverly Hills with Caroline (the other member of our trio). Bill Forbes moved to California with his husband, Jackson, earlier this year and Care hadn't been pleased about all the sudden changes in her life. Finding out her father had been planning on marrying his boyfriend a year after he divorced Liz Forbes, the cross-country geography change… Caroline had no control over any of this and it drove her nuts.

Then she learned where they would be residing, and she perked up. My blonde-haired best friend is nothing if not an opportunist.

She had asked us both to tag-along, but I declined. As much as I don't want to be here, I can't bring myself to let my parents down. It isn't fair to bail on them last-minute. And somehow, I don't think I'll be missed too much.

Sometimes, it's painfully obvious that I'm the odd one out. At the mall, on the cheerleading squad, our monthly sleepovers, too. The hot topic always seemed to involve their love lives. They were both outgoing, though Care is the bubbliest one, and guys constantly drooled over them.

Me? Not so much.

Sure, part of me wants to have something to add to the conversation. If I weren't so focused on maintaining my 4.0 GPA, I might have time for a boyfriend. The quintessential teen-romance. But, no matter what I do, it just doesn't seem to fit in with my goals.

That, and displays of affection aren't my forte—I feel hopelessly awkward just standing next to Elena when her boyfriend is around.

I blame my perspective of romance on my mother and father. When they aren't swamped with paperwork and deadlines, they are in their bedroom, screwing each other's brains out as if I can't hear them.

I'm positive that losing sleep because your parents fuck on a nightly basis is a leading cause of childhood complexes.

I am forced to set my resentment aside when Dad pulls into the driveway of our beach house. A quaint little cottage, with a tiny front porch and a welcome mat that is designed to look like someone, wrote in the sand. Everything—from the outside in—is covered in puns about the beach. A flag with a palm tree printed on it flutters in the wind. The sign that boasts of sun, sand, and sea that way (across a piece of wood shaped like an arrow) is not pointing in the right direction.

A flaw that irritates my penchant for accuracy, though Grams used to say it was a mistake not worth correcting. I still wish I could see it that way, but it doesn't make sense. It isn't true, so why pretend? Why spread false information?

Because it's just easier that way, a voice in the back of my head whispers. And before I even have the opportunity to get out of the car, my dad tosses the keys at me, without checking to see if I was prepared for it in any way.

"Go unlock the door," he instructs, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulder. She looks at him lovingly.

I am silent as I stomp up the walkway. I'll be damned if I have to pretend to act happy that my absence gives them a few minutes to make-out in the car.

When I enter the house, leaving the red front door ajar, I flick on the lights.

This place never seems to change. I like it that way—it's reliable, and I can count on it to look exactly as we left it last year: light blue walls, wicker furniture, mirror hanging in the foyer, knickknacks lined up on the mantel. This was my favorite place to be as a child. It's where everyone made an effort to be together and it was perfect.

Now it just feels like purgatory.

My moment of solitude is disrupted by the arrival of my parents, who have managed to grab all of our belongings in their arms and lug them into the house in a single trip. I am seriously contemplating running to my bedroom for the duration of our stay, but Dad has already made plans for us.

"Get your swimsuit, Bonnie. It's time to go to the beach!"

I glance at the clock sitting on the nearest shelf. "It's only ten, Dad. We just got here."

"I can tell time, kiddo," he chuckles. "But every day in paradise counts!"

"… you know, that's a good point." I take my bag from his hand. "I'll be ready in a few."

Mom's face lights up, green eyes shining. It's the same look Grams often had when she was pleased, or proud, or giving me advice. Those eyes bring me back to simpler times. So, instead of acting like a moody seventeen-year-old, I smile.

It feels authentic, if only for a second. And I tell myself that things might not be as awful as they seem. This vacation might actually be fun. I just need to let go of my expectations.

Who knows? It may be nice to not worry about what I'm supposed to do for once.

~~X~~

My dad had been right about one thing.

It's a wonderful day be here. A light breeze takes away from what would normally be a stifling degree of heat. When it stops, I find myself wishing for its return. Beads of sweat form on my brows, arms, stomach, and legs. I can taste the salt in the air, feel the sun beating down on my head of black hair. The beach is only moderately crowded, the sand dotted with umbrellas, beach chairs, and brightly colored towels. Kids are running around, laughing and carrying shovels and pails, building poorly designed castles, and squealing in excitement as the water laps at their ankles.

We've only been here for five minutes, and already Rudy and Abby have disappeared. I'm not shocked or sad or even disappointed; at least I can read my book without interruption.

I drop my bag and plop down on my purple-and-blue beach towel. I waste no time in immersing myself in the literary classic that's been sitting on my bookshelf for months. Reading allows me to be somewhere else… worry about somebody else's problems for a change.

"Bonnie!"

I lift my eyes from the page. Standing in front of me is Stefan Salvatore—Elena's boyfriend— dressed in nothing but a very flattering bathing suit.

"Hey Stef," I greet. "Elena didn't tell me you would be here! What's up?"

"Trying to entertain Damon," he answers with a laugh. "He broke up with Rose last week. I think it's given him too much time to be alone. He gets cranky when he's bored."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? And here I thought someone so amazingly sexy would have no problem finding another girl to keep him entertained."

"So, you finally admit it! You think I'm sexy!"

Speak of the Devil… "Maybe if you and I were the only ones on the beach… wait, no, not even then."

Damon walks over to us, bringing with him an air of arrogance that is underserved. He's dressed like his younger brother. A pair of board shorts hanging low on his hips, no shirt, and Ray-Bans perched on his nose.

Of all the places I would expect to see the elder Salvatore brother, Virginia Beach is one of the last ones on my list. The only vacation destination I would expect to find him in is one where drunk co-eds frequented.

"Ouch. That hurts, Bon Bon. I thought we moved past the immature insults." Cue his typical shit-eating grin and charming smile.

I look down at my book. Man, I would love to throw it at his smug face, but I don't feel like wasting fifteen dollars on him. Chances are, if I actually hit my target, he will turn around and toss it into the ocean.

He's just that much of an asshole.

"Go away, Damon."

"You know, Bonnie, if you keep being mean to me, I might start to think you have a crush on me."

I roll my eyes, slamming my book shut. "Get real, Salvatore. Hell hasn't frozen over yet."

"Good," he says and his eyes gleam deviously. "I wouldn't want you to catch a cold, sweetheart."

"Fuck off," I say through gritted teeth. My fists clench and I can feel myself growing even more frustrated, a fire burning in my stomach. One that Damon has poured gasoline over.

God, I'd give just about anything to wipe that smug expression off his face.

"Will do."

~Wednesday~

I think I'm going to give up on this whole "have fun with the family plan."

My mom and dad haven't been all that interested in the board games I suggested we play or the movies I put on the television after dinner. The disappointments outnumber the positives and I'm left to pretend like I don't care. Mom and Dad have ignored me, choosing to take advantage of his new Viagra prescription instead. Same story, different day. Elena bailed on our usual plans at the last minute, despite having been asked about traveling with Care when we returned from winter break. So what?

Everything might have been easier to deal with if Damon wasn't constantly ruining the only moments of relaxation I've been able to get.

I debate on finding a new spot on the sand when I see that he has decided to bring his chair and umbrella today. Things that he stations only centimeters from where I'd been lounging since Monday.

But I refuse to surrender. He would see that as another win, one more point for Salvatore, and I cannot allow that. I've got to remain above his antics.

I drag my chair directly next to his, so close that our arms are touching, and smirk.

Damon will not get the best of me. Not today. He's only doing this to get under my skin. He is notorious for always knowing which buttons to press. That's how he gets all of his girlfriends. It's a method that is nearly perfect: compliments, charming smiles, and sex appeal. Damon says what they want to hear, and they give him what he wants. Lather, rinse, repeat. Those tactics even work on me, except it's an inverse equation: bad attitude, a few asshole remarks, and pure joy when I react negatively.

Not anymore. Two can play that game.

"Bonster, I was wondering when you would get here…"

I retrieve my book from my tote, prop my sunglasses atop my head, and open to a random page.

No acknowledgment. He's not here… just act like you don't see him…

"How was your night?" he prattles on as if I had answered him. "Mine was great, thanks for asking. I met a girl named Sage. We hit it off and… oh, look—here come your parents."

He lifts his arm over his head and waves.

My head snaps up. Sure enough, my parents are taking a stroll. Their fingers are intertwined, arms swinging back-and-forth. Smiling, laughing. At least they're having a good time… and that somehow makes me feel like I've done something important.

Though, I'm not entirely sure why that is.

My mother looks delighted when she sees that I'm with Damon as if she doesn't need to obsess over me now that I have found someone to hang out with. Having a friend means she doesn't have to feel guilty about me being lonely without Elena. She can go back to enjoying her second honeymoon with Dad.

How quickly she forgets that Damon pushed me off the jungle gym in kindergarten.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bennett—what a surprise to see you here!"

That's it—I'm calling it: Damon Salvatore is a sociopath. The way he's able to change gears so quickly is unnatural. I've never seen someone go from acting condescending to polite in under a minute. Not as convincingly as he does. If I didn't know better, I might have believed that he's the perfect gentleman he is portraying.

"Damon, nice to see you." My dad offers him his hand.

"You two seem to be enjoying yourselves," Mom remarks, an obvious note of relief in her voice.

Yeah, sure. If I had known he'd be here, I would have definitely put my foot down. I'd have stayed home. No way would I willingly choose to be anywhere near this asshole.

And then Abby and Rudy exchange a look. There is no mistaking what it means, either. They are eager to run off and find somewhere to be alone, like a pair of horny teenagers. I wouldn't be surprised if I have to walk home by myself tonight. Something tells me they will already be at the house.

"Well, we'll let you two catch up," Mom says after an uncomfortable silence.

Damon watches with a smug expression as my parents walk away. "You know, your parents are so cute together… how can you stand it?"

"I can't."

"You seem extra grumpy today, Bon Bon. Is it because you're allergic to having fun?"

"I'm allergic to you," I snip, turning back to the page I had been reading.

"…I've got it! You're pissed off because of your parent's active sex life! I bet that's why you are such an uptight prude, too. You're so innocent you can't even handle simple biology."

"Can you please just shut the fuck up?" I slam my book closed, seething.

"Why would I do that? I have way too much fun getting you all riled up."

"Don't you have a family to piss off? Do you think I like that you're constantly up my butt?"

His eyebrow quirks up. "Well, no one else has complained about it. I never thought you'd be into that kind of thing, though. But you sound excited. I think the lady doth protest too loudly."

"Damon!" I spring out of my chair. My sunglasses fall off my head and land in the sand, which only adds to my frustration. "Seriously! Why are you here?"

"Because—shockingly—you're the best option I have right now. Saint Stefan's texting Elena and my dad is all over his new gold digger—I think she wants him to finance her boob job. Don't get me wrong, I'd still rather cut my tongue out than spend time with you, but I forgot to bring a knife with me."

"That doesn't tell me why you came to the beach. You hate it here."

"My dad bought a new beach house. For his girlfriend of course, but he so kindly decided we could come with them. I didn't exactly have a choice."

That's a lie. Damon doesn't respond well to being ordered around. Bitterness flashes in his pretty blue eyes, making me feel bad. For Mr. Salvatore, that is. I don't care about Damon… but that doesn't mean his dad deserves to be used for his wealth.

The anger drains out of me slowly, like a deflating balloon. "That sucks…"

"Tell me about it," he mutters. "She's only his sixth girlfriend this year, though, so he thinks they are soulmates."

"I wouldn't be okay with that either."

"It's not like I care or anything—I just don't want to watch it. It's pathetic. And I don't want people to think I am by association. So… you can laugh at me now, I'm sure you find this vindicating."

"Damon, I understand.'

"Yeah, whatever. You're 'little miss perfect,' at least your dad trusts you. At least he doesn't hate you… I'm just the family fuck up."

"Damon…"

He glares at me, not answering.

I drop back into my chair. "I… get why you'd… want to hang with me…" I continue awkwardly. "I've been on my own, too… and I could use the company."

What the fuck am I doing? Subjecting myself to more torment, I'm sure, but at the moment that's the least of my concerns.

"You do look pretty pathetic," he agrees, though his tone doesn't sound malicious. It's lighter and I can easily tell that he doesn't mean it. "At least we can be pathetic together."

"Sounds good to me. You've already been more fun than my mom and dad—and I hate you."

"Yeah, ditto," he replies, pausing for a second. "I never thought I'd say this, but you want to go to a party on Friday?"

I hesitate. Parties aren't my thing. However, it's not like I have anything better to do. I look at the ocean and then at the glasses wedged in the sand. "Sure, why not?"

~Friday~

I hate to admit it, but Damon is actually fun.

We've been nearly inseparable the past few days. With Stefan brooding over being away from the love of his life and our parents collectively too busy to keep tabs on us, we've had very little supervision. Granted, neither of us interact with them normally, but it feels different now.

Bending the rules with Damon is thrilling. I won't get in trouble. I have a pretty good track record with being a "good kid," at least as far as Mom and Dad are concerned; which means they can go about their business without fear of something bad happening to me.

But that doesn't matter. I never realized stepping out of my comfort zone would be so freeing.

In a way, I feel like Cinderella. It's stupid and silly, but I know I'll fall right back into my role of the trustworthy, straight-laced academic after next week. I'm planning on applying to several Ivy League colleges, which will require all my time and dedication. Schoolwork, cheerleading, and volunteer hours. I will have little opportunity to eat or sleep when my senior year begins.

So, I need to enjoy the moments I have now. When the clock strikes twelve, this new Bonnie will be gone, and it would be nice to have some memories to hang onto.

I sit back on my bed and look at the outfits I've laid out. For some odd reason, I want to look not like myself. Caroline says I dress like a hippie, which is untrue. I prefer to call my style modern boho, and she always replies, "more like modern boring."

I end up dressing in a gray, strapless maxi dress that I wouldn't ordinarily wear. It's a little low-cut for my taste, but I decide that it is just what I'm looking for. I'm also a little happy that I finally have some use for something Caroline picked out for me. She'd be proud.

Too bad she won't know; I think as I put my sandals on. I smile to myself. The thought of Care and Elena asking for details they will never get makes me giddy. A rush of excitement ripples through me as I hear Damon knocking on the door.

"Hey Bonster," Damon says. And then he smirks. "You look good."

"Thanks," I reply dryly. He sounds odd, speaking in a tone that sounds like a mix of awe and sarcasm. I'm wondering if I should be flattered or insulted when he goes on.

"The yellow bikini is still my favorite, though."

"Shut up, Salvatore."

"Is that what you're going to say to all of the guys who ogle you at the party?" He asks as he unlocks his Camaro.

I used to think it was lame and annoying that our peers feel he's so cool because he drives a vintage car. And, having taken several rides in it, I find myself reluctantly agreeing with my classmates.

"Guys do not ogle me."

"Well not after you start talking," Damon quips. "Your nickname is Buzzkill Bennett for a reason."

"I'm not a buzzkill!" I protest, slamming his car door shut.

"Prove it, then." He challenges.

"I will."

As much as I will deny it later, if anyone ever finds out, what happens next is all my idea. We skip the college party that random girl—Sage—invited him to. Instead, we go to his dad's brand-new beachfront property. It's the largest home on the block, with a balcony large enough to fit a small table and chairs. Seafoam green siding and white trimming. Anchor adorning the door. The driveway is noticeably empty.

"They're at dinner. All three of them." Damon supplies. "Then they will probably spend the rest of the night on the boardwalk."

"Perfect."

"So… what's so rebellious about this?" he asks, clearly skeptical. "What are we going to do? Watch a stupid movie?"

"No," I reply pointedly. "We are going to raid your dad's liquor cabinet."

"Have you ever had anything stronger than a Shirley Temple?"

"Yes, I drank wine at a sleepover with Care and Elena."

"I stand corrected," he says sarcastically. "You're such a badass. I won't be able to keep up with you."

I roll my eyes. "Stop being an ass and let's go."

When we are inside, we go straight to where all the alcoholic beverages are stored. I seriously underestimated the selection we would have. The shelves are lined with red wines, several brands of vodka, rums, wine coolers, and bourbon—Damon's drink of choice. I had been a bit worried Mr. Salvatore would notice a missing bottle, but there are so many of them we could take several without leaving a space.

I settle on two different brands. "So, I'm going to go with these. Let's go to your room."

I can tell this suggestion actually surprises him. "Excuse me?"

"Well, we don't want to be in the middle of the living room if everyone comes home early."

"You don't have to lie. Plenty of girls want to go to my bedroom, Bon Bon."

"I'm not lying Damon, you're not as hot as you seem to think you are."

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night," he says, and I can tell that I haven't knocked his ego down a peg. I'm beginning to think nothing will.

Ignoring him, I grab the bourbon, holding the bottles by the neck as we make our way to the upper level of the house, where all of the bedrooms are located. Damon's is the last door on the right, a moderate distance from the other rooms. I wonder who chose the sleeping arrangements—Damon or Mr. Salvatore.

His bedroom says nothing about him. Understandable, I reason. The house is brand-new. However, all of the things he brought with him are on the left side of the room. A duffle bag, presumably filled with clothes, lies on the floor of the closet. Sunscreen and deodorant sit atop a tiny dresser. Everything else is white—the paint on the walls, the furniture, the blinds on the window. This space could belong to anyone, and for some reason, I don't like it.

"You can sit anywhere you want," he sets the bottles on the nightstand and sinks to the floor, his back pressed against the side of his queen-sized bed. I immediately sit down next to him and nudge him to get the bourbon, which he does without a word.

At first, I drink just to say that Damon is wrong, and then I drink because I'm having a good time. The alcohol makes my head fuzzy, but it's not unpleasant. I feel great, looser... like I'm on top of the world. Damon seems happier as well and despite my tipsiness, I know that he is inebriated as well.

Objectively, I could see why every girl at school is attracted to him. His eyes are this mesmerizing shade of blue, his dark brown hair is just the right combination of messy and styled, his body toned, and he's funny. Easy-going. I never knew that his Devil-may-care attitude could be endearing, but it is.

And right now, it's just the two of us. We don't have to keep up our facade, we aren't being held to the standards that others have set for us. Everything we say to each other is true; completely raw and real.

Like Damon's next statement.

"You're amazing Bonnie Bennett," there is so much awe in his voice like he is now seeing something he should have noticed a long time ago. "And so beautiful."

His words make me self-conscious at first - I'm not used to people gushing over me like this. It's kind of nice. A rush of joy flows through me. It is dizzying and exciting.

What should I do now? I know what I want, but the notion is pretty crazy. I'm not one to be so forward when my emotions are involved... only, I don't know if I will ever feel like this again.

I decide to throw caution to this wind. "Kiss me."

He doesn't hesitate. His lips press against mine, gentle at first, but my hands wrap around his neck and I crawl into his lap, which changes everything. Soon, I feel his hands drift into what should be unauthorized territory, but I don't care, and he stops for a moment, looking at me as if to ask permission.

"Go ahead."

And he does. The rush I feel is heady and regret is the farthest thing from my mind as our clothing ends up in a haphazard pile on the floor. At this moment, all that matters is what I want. What my parents think I should do means nothing. For once, I'm not going to think about anyone else's opinions.

It's just us—Damon and Bonnie—and everything is perfect because I don't have to worry about being the model student or daughter or friend.

I can just be.