~1~

~Chapter One~

"Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies."

~Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights~

It's for the best.

We can easily pretend like nothing ever happened.

It's no big deal.

It will be our dirty little secret.

These are the things I tell myself as I pace around my bedroom, anxious and confused. My parents had ended our trip early—Dad had snagged a huge account—and they both decided it would be better if we cut our vacation short. When work calls, Rudy Bennett answers.

Consequently, Damon and I haven't communicated much since I woke up in his arms, head throbbing as the room spun. It was only eleven 'o clock and no one had returned from their night out. Damon held my hair back as I puked, walked me home when I was no longer dizzy and made sure I got into the house safely.

And I left the following day.

I sent him a text: Rudy's going back to work. Leaving 2day.

To which he replied:

That's sucks.

Never before have I been so unsure of what those words meant. Was he trying to say something without being direct? Or was he just reminding me that being trapped in the car, hungover and miserable, would be far worse than I imagined?

Either way, I didn't know how to respond. Before, when we decided to make the best of our crappy circumstances, I knew that our truce would only last as long as we were at the beach.

And then we hooked up.

Part of me regrets it, while the other part secretly enjoyed it—which blurs the line we crossed even more. I know I can't ask my friends for advice because Elena has a vested interest in her boyfriend's brother and Care can't keep a secret if her life depended on it.

So, I'm left to sort this mess out alone.

Damon has had a lot of casual sex—he brags about it whenever possible, the cad—and that's really all it was, but… did that mean we had to go back to hating the other's guts?

I flop backward onto my bed, staring up at my ceiling as if my answer would suddenly appear there. Sadly, all I see is white, empty space.

I feel stupid.

If I want an answer, I know where to find it. I have to go straight to the source. I'll just ask him outright—are we playing nice now? And if he says no, it's no skin off my nose. Good sex doesn't equal affection, after all, and then I will know where I stand.

Bonnie Bennett is not a coward. Especially when it comes to unthinking, self-absorbed jackasses. Namely, Damon, as someone has to give him a reality check; a task no one else is up for. Except for Stefan, but since his older brother never listens to him, the responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders.

It's a chore most of the time, but today it feels more daunting than frustrating.

And that's not good.

I try not to think too deeply about it as I pull a pair of shorts over my hips and slide flip flops on my feet. Over-analyzing the matter won't help me any, it would only cloud my judgment. And that won't make this easier.

It's eerily quiet, something I probably should have noticed when the sounds coming from the television stopped. A glance in the kitchen tells me that it had been occupied—the yellow, checkered curtains are pulled aside, the newspaper lies open on the table, chairs pushed back as if whoever sat there had to leave in a hurry.

I wasn't informed of it, but clearly, Mom and Dad have already left for the day.

It's not out of the ordinary for them to head to their respective jobs without saying goodbye. They write me notes, little memos with what they assume are important information.

Things like meeting six or dinner date, order a pizza on us.

I don't know why I expected to find anyone downstairs and I don't know why I'm both relieved and irate that I didn't.

Their absence is good. That means I won't have to explain what I'm up to. Sometimes, when our paths do cross, my mom likes to play the role of an interested parent. It's a pretense that makes me feel even more alone than I am when they aren't around.

I grab my house key from the dish by the entrance and lock the door behind me.

The walk to Damon's house is only a five-minute journey, but it feels much longer than that.

What should I say?

Hey, I know we both ignored each other since I came home, but I really liked having sex with you, so much so that I hate you marginally less now. Are we good? Oh, and thanks for looking after me when I puked all over your bathroom.

Actually, that doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would. If I get rid of the part about the sex and the vomit, it almost sounds like a typical exchange between us. The only difference will be the awkward honesty about the whole conversation—because it actually happened. Hypotheticals aren't a safety net. There isn't any place for an "I'd rather," or "as if."

The more I drag my feet, the more I want to turn around. So, I begin moving at a quicker pace, Grams' voice rings in my ears.

Problems never get solved if you avoid them, sweetie.

The weather is nice, the sun partially obscured by a cloud, and cooler than one would expect from a sunny August day. Children are racing to the park on their bikes. A kid with a blue helmet whizzes by me, shouting "sorry lady," because he almost runs over my feet. Elementary school students take Mystic Falls by storm during their breaks. It's a testament to the beacon of happiness and safety where I live. The idyllic perfection of small-town life.

The Salvatore home is large and ornate. It reminds me of the McMansions that are featured on episodes of The Real Housewives. Perfectly manicured lawn, expensive cars parked in a brick driveway, a gazebo on the side, surrounded by all kinds of yellow flowers.

It's one of two buildings that make the colonial-style architecture of every other home in Mystic Falls look much smaller than they really are. The Lockwood family has accommodations that are even more opulent, but Rich Lockwood is the mayor, so of course, he has to have the best of everything his little town has to offer.

When I'm about a foot away from the driveway, I see something that makes my stomach drop to my feet.

Leaning against the Camaro is a pretty, blonde girl I recognize immediately.

Rebekah Mikaelson.

Her family is just as wealthy as the Salvatore's and Lockwood's, but they live just outside of Mystic Falls. They grew up in England before they moved to Anytown USA. Why she and her brother, Klaus, attend our high school is beyond me. You'd think that they would prefer an elite, private school, but they get their kicks from being the best-dressed, the most popular, and the most liked.

People practically fall at their feet to get invited to one of their house parties.

Well, everyone but Damon.

Rebekah has always had a crush on him, but she acts aloof as if she doesn't care about him. And yet, every so often, she'll "run into him" and reacts as if she's so surprised to find him standing in front of her. Flirting ensues. Elena says something rude about Rebekah. Care chimes in.

It's a whole thing I try to ignore. Usually, it's easy, why do I care who that jackass dates or fucks or uses? I think it is disgusting, something I like to remind Elena of-because you can clean the mud off a pig, but that won't stop him from getting dirty again—and she just brushes me off. So, I stopped wasting my breath. It doesn't affect me directly, after all.

Until now.

Damon has never shown any interest in Rebekah. He'll treat her just as he would any other girl. Like they're only good for one thing, One night. Some days, Elena makes a huge deal of telling me that he rolls his eyes whenever she shows up. That he shuts down her advances at every turn.

If he does this when Elena around them, then my brunette friend is in total denial.

They are close, not quite touching, but it still looks intimate. He's leaning toward her, not even being discreet about staring at her chest.

And she's lapping his attention up, twirling a lock of hair with her fingers, complimenting him in an exaggerated version of her natural British accent.

Okay, now I feel stupid.

I was naïve to believe that the Damon I got along with was the real him. He wasn't sincere about anything. As soon as we parted ways, he reverted to being the chauvinistic douchebag I grew up with.

What makes it worse is the disappointment I feel, the sadness that hits me like a truck when she finally kisses him.

My eyes are burning, a sure sign that tears are coming. I clench my fists so tightly that my nails break the skin on my palms. That fire—the hatred I reserve for the older Salvatore brother—scorches everything in its path. It eats me up so quickly that if I remain where I am, I know I'll say something I might end up regretting.

So, I turn to go.

But I don't flee the scene fast enough. Just as I'm turning my head, Damon makes eye contact with me. I'm staring, green eyes wide, into a sea of the blue I drunkenly described as mesmerizing.

A flurry of emotions passes over his face. Almost all at once. Anger, surprise, an expression I don't recognize, and a hint of embarrassment.

I know the only thing he sees in return is my fury.

I'm running away, creating so much distance between us, that I can barely hear him call after me. The sound is so faint, I may have even imagined it.

Either way, I got my answer.

I know I'm not acting like myself.

I'm a zombie, going through the motions of my day-to-day life. Wake up, shower, drive to the children's hospital, read books to the young patients, go home, go to bed.

Caroline and Elena have come home, and we all agreed to meet up. I would usually be happy for the girl time, but I can't dredge up any excitement for our plans. I'm aware that it's ridiculous to be so upset over something that probably shouldn't have happened.

Something that meant very little to me.

After all, I had come up with a list of feeble reasons why we should keep our one-night stand to ourselves. Elena Gilbert being number one. She's always talking about how Damon isn't as bad as we all believe he is. And, when it comes to her, he is always on his best behavior— which isn't much more exemplary than his typical antics, if you ask me.

And no one ever does anymore.

I'm positive she would be heartbroken if I were to tell her my news, but not for the reasons one might think. On the surface, she might be aghast at Damon's callousness. Inside, there would be a hint of jealousy, no matter how much she would deny it.

She has a small crush on her boyfriend's brother. Caroline and I have a bet on whether or not Stefan is aware of it. She thinks he is, that he must see the fleeting glances his girlfriend throws Damon's way.

I, for one, like to think he doesn't notice. It's less awkward that way and it makes the happier times they share all the more adorable. Elena's crazy about Stefan. They are good together—Stefan stabilizes my fickle bestie—and the joy only wavers when Damon is nearby.

My silence will ultimately make things so much easier. I don't want to throw away a fourteen years-long friendship for the biggest jackass in the whole state. It would be nice to speak to Caroline because she's been waiting for me to have some kind of romantic entanglement and she would offer me the comfort I need, but it's too risky. If I don't tell her who deflowered me, she will stop at nothing to get a name.

And once that happens, everything else will go downhill fast.

I want to call and say that I can't make it, that I picked up some more volunteer hours. I'm so close to dialing Elena's number. Going back-to-school shopping (for clothes, notebooks and pencils are always an afterthought when Care is with us) feels more like a chore than a fun outing.

I don't think a new outfit will make me feel better. It isn't as if it would change anything. Damon will still be hooking up with Rebekah and I will still be the judgmental bitch.

I get dressed, throwing my sweatpants on top of the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. My bedroom hasn't been cleaned since I've been home. Surprisingly, my desire for organization has fallen by the wayside. My desk is a disarray of papers and folders and pens. Clothes and shoes are scattered across the floor, along with the bags I've yet to unpack. The clean clothes I do have sit wrinkled in a basket by the door. I threw a jacket over my mirror because I got tired of looking at myself, so I decided to make that impossible. Now I don't have to feel bad for not wanting to be myself. I don't have to brush my hair or put on make-up. This is good because I have bags underneath my eyes from not sleeping and crying so much. Dark circles are so pronounced that I can't completely conceal them.

I force myself to leave my safe zone. They will assume the worst if I cancel on them a half hour before we are supposed to be at the mall.

As per usual, I'm the first one to arrive.

I wait for them, leaning against my blue Prius, swinging my keyring around my finger in a pathetic attempt to distract myself from the negative thoughts looming in the back of my mind.

It's not working. I want to scream. I want to stomp my feet in anger. I want to let it all out. And I would have if Caroline weren't making her way over to me. She looks perfect, blond hair flat-ironed, skin tanned, blue eyes bright. In a t-shirt with California printed in an arch across the chest, which is tucked into a pair of trendy, high-waisted shorts. Oh, and very expensive-looking sandals—because shoes are the best part of fashion, according to her.

She tackles me, throwing her arms around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Bon, I missed you so much!"

"I missed you, too." I pat her back slowly.

"Teasing Elena about her lovey-dovey good-night texts to Stefan wasn't any fun without you."

"I'm sure we'll make up for the lost time when she gets here."

Caroline scoffs. "If she ever leaves his house. She stopped over there first."

I groan, prepared to match her statement with a joke of my own, but she doesn't give me the chance.

"Bonnie!" she chides in a high-pitched squeal. "What happened to you? Did you give all your good clothes to a homeless person?"

I look down at my outfit. Black harem pants, gray tank top, flip flops. I shudder to think what she would say if I came the way I wanted; in the sweats, I've been living in for the past few days. I actually put some effort into my appearance today.

But Caroline isn't used to me not looking put-together. I have my outfits picked out a week in advance. My long hair is always tangle-free, curled, or straightened. Not in the messy bun she sees now. Maybe I should have bailed, acting normal is harder than I thought it would be.

"I spent so long without your influence… I forgot how to look good."

"Nice try, but I don't think so. Are you sick?"

Yeah. Of Damon Salvatore. "Nope."

"Have you finally had a mental breakdown? I told you that you work too hard. It was only a matter of time before you went nuts."

"I'm fine, Care."

"Then why do you look like a smelly hobo?"

"I don't smell!" I protest indignantly.

"No, you smell like perfume. But you look like you haven't showered in days."

Okay, so I haven't really left my bed until now, but she's still going overboard with the theatrics. "I forgot to do laundry… really. Dad making us come back early threw off my chi."

"Chi?"

"My Zen—my whole schedule is screwed up and therefore my brain chemistry is off."

"That is ridiculous, but I'll let it slide. On the condition you let me pick out something for you to wear on the first day of school."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, you win."

"Good, now come on. We'll be out here forever if we wait for Elena." She grabs my forearm and drags me over to the front doors.

Mystic Mall has never been my favorite place. It's loud and crowded. If that isn't bad enough, there is always a high chance of running into someone I don't want to see.

"Care, slow down. We almost ran into that little girl!"

But Caroline Forbes is on a mission, so getting her attention is futile. When she wants something, she will stop at nothing to get it. I admire her tenacity, but she often doesn't think about the consequences, which means I have to clean up an unnecessary mess.

And I really don't want to waste my time placating an irate parent because one of my best friends knocked her "precious angel" down. Somehow, I don't think explaining that getting to the best sale's rack is crucial will smooth things over.

Thankfully, we avoid conflict. We weave through groups of people effortlessly, around kiosks that tout some over-priced, diluted CBD oil, and past the small play area that always smells like a dirty diaper.

We've been scouring the shelves and displays for a good fifteen minutes before Elena shows up. It's almost like she materialized out of thin air. I didn't hear her approach us until a loud sigh makes me jump.

"Finally," Caroline huffs irritably. "I texted you that we had a major fashion disaster on our hands." She points to me, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "look what I had to deal with. Alone."

"Bonnie, I've been dying to talk to you."

I brace myself for the incoming hug, relieved that she doesn't join in on the fashion-shaming.

"Well, we're all here, so talk away," I smile at her, hoping I look more encouraging than I feel. After all, solving whatever dilemma she has means I have less time to dwell on my own mistakes.

She collapses onto a nearby bench and throws her hands up in exasperation. "I had been so glad to see Stef, but Damon always has to ruin it!"

"I thought you said he stopped hitting on you," Care holds up a t-shirt and waits for our approval.

"Too plain," she says. "And he did. But then he started dating Rebekah Mikaelson! They were coming out of his room when I was there. It was obvious they were having sex! Her skirt was crooked!"

"So? Damon is always looking for a hook-up… don't let his jerkiness get you upset. He's not worth it. You totally chose the right brother."

I nod in agreement. "He's not going to change, Elena, no matter how much you want him to—trust me on this."

"But Bon, you've always hated him! You never gave him a chance. He's never going to be happy—truly happy—unless he gets serious about the right person… and it's not her."

"Elena, he gave my underwear to Klaus for shits and giggles."

"Klaus just said Damon did that… and you kneed him in the groin, so I thought you guys were even. You just need to spend a little more time with him—then you'll see that he's matured a bit."

I'm getting dizzy trying to keep up with her explanations. "Yeah, Elena… I'll get right on that." After I rip my own eyelids off, douse myself in gasoline, and light a match.

"I'm with Bonnie," Caroline says. "Once an ass, always an ass."

"Hear! Hear!"

"He's my friend, though. I feel like he needs our help, some other form of companionship, that way, he can stop making dumb mistakes." Elena sounds really sad; It pulls at my heartstrings.

Except for the 'dumb mistakes' remark—that one cut a little too deep. "Damon will figure things out. Don't worry about it so much."

"You really believe that?" she asks me.

No, but what's one white lie? "Yeah, of course."