~3~

~Chapter Three~

Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others and the delight in the recognition

~Alexander Smith~

Mystic Grille is almost empty (thankfully).

The only other patrons are seated at the bar, holding onto their bottles of beer closely, as if that were the only thing keeping them sane. Who knows? Maybe it is. I can't say that I don't get the appeal anymore. It was nice, not thinking for a change, the edge of staying within the restraints of what is considered "good" dulled.

Of course, the after-effects aren't at all worth it, something I'll remember the next time I feel like taking a risk.

I seat myself in a booth adjacent to the pool table, setting my bag and sweater beside me. Enzo isn't here yet, but it's only seven after three, and I can't expect everyone to stick as closely to their schedules as I do.

I arrived right on time and spent four minutes waiting outside the Grille until I felt too awkward and sweaty to do so any longer. The fact that I had been able to tell Caroline that she would have to rely solely on Elena to drum up interest and make it here when I did is miraculous

A waitress comes by the table and asks if I want to order an appetizer while I wait on Enzo, so I ask for a water. She's come by my table at least two separate times after that, urging me to actually request something that has monetary value before I spot him.

He's speed-walking through the door, hair tousled as if he ran his fingers through it many times throughout the day, perspiration on his brow, slightly out of breath; like he ran to get here at a reasonable time.

"Sorry I'm late," he says apologetically. "Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donavan cornered me and asked if I would be interested in volunteering for concession stand duty at the first game."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did you say you'd do it?"

He laughs. "A sense of humor, too. You're amazing. I said no, obviously. Football isn't my thing."

"Oh, that's disappointing…" I take a sip of water. "I was kind of hoping I'd see you there."

"Maybe I'll come anyway, you know, to support the cheerleading team."

I look down at the table, hoping to hide the smile spreading across my face. I can't help it; the flirtatious undertone in Enzo's voice gives me a small thrill, especially after the conversation I had with Damon earlier.

It's nice to feel wanted. Of course, I should proceed with caution, seeing as I had—stupidly—thought for half a second that Damon wanted me. Sure, we'd been drinking, and we weren't really thinking, but it sounded sincere when he said it, over and over, telling me how beautiful he thinks or rather, thought I was while sloshed out of his mind…

And, in some respects, Enzo bears many similarities to my arch-nemesis. They carry themselves in much the same way, haughtily, as though they can get away with just about anything (which, as far as most people are concerned, they can). Enzo is just as good-looking as Damon as well, with dark hair, a smug facial expression, and a wardrobe that consists of dark colors and leather jackets.

Enzo's eye are brown, though. Much warmer and more inviting than his counterpart's.

He slides into the bench across from me, flags the waitress down, and asks what I want to eat. He shoots down my response of nothing, I'm fine, really, with a charming grin, and requests that I split a plate of nachos with him in such a way that I find it hard to decline.

After about twenty more minutes of free-flowing conversation, I feel like I may have misjudged Enzo St. John. He's a lot kinder than I imagined him to be and it doesn't inhibit his quick wit.

"So, if Caroline is such a type-A personality, how'd you get away with skipping out on her?"

"I told her I wasn't feeling well," I explain. No need to mention that it was actually a valid excuse for multiple reasons. Enzo may be a good listener, but I don't feel comfortable sharing too many details about my personal life. If I can't say anything to people who I view as sisters, why would it be a good idea to spill my guts to one of Damon's best friends?

"Ah, that's right—you seemed sad earlier. Why was that?"

"I wasn't sad. I was just… stressed." I avert my eyes and reach for a chip.

"Who would want to make you so upset?"

Why don't you ask your best friend? "No one. I never said a person was bothering me."

"I know, but from my experience, only other humans can make people that upset. You looked like someone boiled a live puppy in front of you."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'll owe you money after another forty minutes?"

"Because I'm good at reading people," he replies. "But I didn't ask you out to be an armchair therapist. I asked you out because I've wanted to for a while now."

For a minute, I'm speechless. I stir a few melting ice cubes around with my straw. "But we've barely talked to each other until today."

"You're very pretty, Bonnie Bennett. I'm a sucker for green eyes. And, well, anyone who puts Damon in his place—multiple times a day—is a force to be reckoned with."

"You're lying," I accuse Enzo, narrowing my eyes. Mostly because I can't picture Damon mentioning me in any capacity when I'm not standing directly in front of him. "Stop acting like I'm a topic of your conversations."

"You're not, really, I've just caught you talking with him a few times, and your talent for witty banter is very cool." He seems so genuine that I try not to question it.

What would I get from attacking his character more than I did a second ago?

"Thank you—I've got to say, you're pretty interesting, Enzo."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Do you want it to be?"

"Yes."

"Then, yeah, it's a compliment."

I'm really beginning to like Enzo.

Although, he's a distraction. A good-humored, attractive, and attentive distraction. One I shouldn't get so invested in, what with four advanced placement classes and cheerleading practice, but when he calls or texts me, I get this giddy sensation in the pit of my stomach.

And before I know it, I've put off writing an essay or studying for a history test in favor of spending time with him.

I'm having a time of it trying to keep up with my obligations because of it.

If I thought my chi was imbalanced before, I was sorely mistaken. The past few nights, I've fallen asleep in the middle of completing a string of math problems. When I'm conscious again, I realize that I'm laying with my head on the corner of my mattress, feet atop my pillow, papers strewn over my comforter, and my back-up alarm blaring in my ears.

I feel extra out of it this morning, exhausted, though I slept for a solid eight hours. Which meant I was late leaving the house, so I skipped breakfast, which means I'm not at all prepared for how grueling today's practice is.

Caroline is probably right. I'm one of those over-achievers that will burn out long before they actually achieve anything.

I take a swig from my water bottle before I join my teammates on the mats.

"I'm thinking we should work on our pyramid," Care is saying. "I want that to be our big finale. The freshmen are going to want to see something traditional at the end of half-time."

"Can we work on basket tosses, too?" Aimee Bradley asks.

I know Caroline will veto the suggestion. She has never liked the dark-haired junior, mostly because she has set her sights on stealing my best friend's title as cheer captain. Which comes as a relief to me—for once.

I'm a flier and I don't really think I have the strength to handle being thrown in the air at the moment.

"Good idea," says Caroline, tightening her ponytail.

I know I must look shell-shocked. The one time I want her to act like a dismissive asshole, she doesn't pull through.

"Bon? Are you okay?"

My eyes fly over to where Elena is standing, peering at me with a suspicious glint in her doe-eyes. "Of course, I've been waiting for someone to suggest working on stunts for the past fifteen minutes."

"Are you sure? Do you want Maddie to do the first few?"

The gymnasium doors open with a disruptive creaking noise and who walks in but Damon and Enzo. They're probably using the room as a shortcut on the way to the outdoor bleachers, under which they will get high. Like they are starring in their own horrible after-school special.

Enzo's eyes meet mine.

My heartbeat speeds up—just a little bit.

"Mind if we watch, Bonnie?" he calls to me, already taking a seat on the wooden bleachers cattycorner to the stage.

Aimee answers him as if I don't exist. "We'd love an audience!"

I shoot her an irritated look. She may want them to stare at her while she's wearing nothing more than shorts and a top that puts her midriff on display, but I don't want Damon to see any more of my body than he already has.

Except he's seen everything, the self-deprecating side of my brain taunts.

I spare a glance at him—he seems agitated. Though, I deduce this from the way he moves; not the way he looks. He stomps over to Enzo and leans against the wall. I am on his side on this one. I'd much rather he spend his time buying low-quality pot from Tyler Lockwood than waste another second staring at me with that expression on his face, the one that mirrors the arrogant happiness plastered on his face when we were fucking.

He's probably looking at Elena. He's always thinking about Elena. Every girl he's ever dated or flirted with is compared to her. And no one ever lives up to that standard, but I think that's partially because she believes he's "not that bad." I'm sure anyone would like someone who showers them in blind faith better than the person who calls them out on their bullshit.

Sometimes, I wish I were more easy-going. Grams often used to say that forgiveness eases the pain of those who give it just as much those who ask for it. And, I have to admit, Elena does seem happy, but… things aren't ever that simple.

Every motive has layers.

Everyone is watching me expectantly. Aimee and Maddie are in place already, and practice can't go forward unless I do.

So, I do.

It feels like the world has disappeared when I'm launched into the air. The fluorescent lights blend with the red banners hanging on the wall. My head is spinning, and I'm scared I might puke. Landing on my feet is an impossibility; I'll meet the ground back-first. I employ the only preventive measure I can—I close my eyes and brace myself for the impact.

But it never comes.

I open one eye.

Damon is staring down at me with… concern? No, that isn't right… we hate each other. Why would he care if I get injured? A second passes, the worry turns to indifference, leaving me wondering if I imagined the fear that contorted his mouth into a weird-looking grimace, made his eyes flash with intensity.

"First day with the new legs, Bennett?"

I shake my head. Too fast. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.

"You're… just… bad…luck."

I hear Enzo chuckling from behind him. "She's making fun of you… that means she's in her right mind."

A second pair of arms hoist me to my feet. Damon, I vaguely notice, doesn't release his grip on my waist until I'm steady enough to stand without support.

I should thank him… but as I get my bearings I see that he's already walking away. Enzo has taken Damon's place, Care and Elena follow after us as he guides me off the torn, blue safety mats.

"Bonnie! What happened?"

Caroline grabs my water bottle and splashes some on my face, pouring whatever is left into my half-open mouth.

"I didn't get to eat anything for breakfast," I explain. "And then we were going over our history notes for that quiz at lunch. It's just a simple over-sight."

"Well, that won't happen again," Caroline declares with such finality that I don't argue. "We are going to multi-task on testing days—snack and study. And no test, no books. Just food."

"Look, you don't have to babysit me. Believe me, I won't skip a meal again. I don't want to be demoted."

"Yeah right," Elena says, a half-hearted smile ghosting over her lips. "Even with the dizzy spell, you're still the best flier on the team. Caro would have to be insane to bench you."

"This is Caroline we're talking about."

"Good point," says Elena, nudging the blonde's shoulder.

The stern façade drops, and she pretends to be offended. "Hey! I'm not crazy, I'm… dedicated."

"Dedicatedly nuts," I say.

We share a laugh.

"Ladies, why don't I escort Bonnie home? I promise I'll see to it that she's safe. You guys have a practice to run." Enzo pulls me into his side protectively.

"Sure," Caroline agrees, dramatically winking. "Just make sure she calls us when she gets home."

"A video call," Elena clarifies. "So, we have visual proof she's not going to faint again."

"Whatever, mom." I roll my eyes. It's ironic, the fact that two teenage girls are more wary of leaving me alone with a guy than my parents.

"Feel better—got it? Please eat dinner."

"I promise, I will." If I don't fall asleep first.

"Good," my friends respond in unison, regarding me with their versions of an intimidating glare.

"Maybe I'll order takeout for us," Enzo suggests. "That way, you'll have an alibi."

"That's… nonsensical."

"I know, but I'll say anything for an order of kung pao chicken."

"Good to know," I mutter, turning away from the girlish giggles echoing throughout the gym. "But, then I'm going to bed and you're going to go to your house and refrain from conspiring against me with Elena and Caroline."

"Fair enough," he concedes, holding the door open for me. "I'll just consider myself lucky that we get to spend more time together, though hopefully our second date won't be preceded by another fainting spell."

I try to hide my smile with my hand, and then a sudden sense of apprehension takes over me. Attraction doesn't automatically create love or trust. I remind myself to not get ahead of everything, that my discomfort is telling me something, but I try to push it away. Ignore it as though it's inconsequential.

I'm definitely liking Enzo.

And that's not a bad thing.

In fact, I think this is just what I needed.

Or maybe not.

As it turns out, I'm not really in the mood to eat Chinese food. Which I'm kind of disappointed about. I usually love moo shu pork—it's my dinner of choice on Friday nights because I know my parents meet up for their own meals after work. Today, however, it doesn't smell very appetizing.

It's probably residual wooziness, which shouldn't be a big shock to me, but a flash of worriment hits me anyway. I can't get sick; I have way too much to do school-wise. I can't let my grades falter. I won't have a shot in hell of getting into my dad's first-choice college if that happens.

Not that he'll be the one going there.

Either way, it's not a lecture I want to be given.

I take another bite, stifling the wave of nausea that sweeps over me. I don't want Enzo to think I'm not happy he's here. That's becoming hard to do, though. I am seconds away from having to excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

"You okay, Bonnie?" Enzo asks gently.

I force a smile that is probably more of a grimace. "Of course, I'm just regretting not eating anything all day. Bad idea. Don't do it."

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Maybe we should've skipped the Chinese food."

"No—this is my favorite. Really." I take another bite to prove it.

He takes the takeout container from me. "You don't have to finish it. I'll just put this in the fridge so you can eat it later."

I watch as he get's up from the stool he'd been sitting on and walks over to the refrigerator. How could someone as kind as Enzo waste so much time with a jerk like Damon? I don't have a good answer.

He spots the memo pad on the door. "Is this your parents work schedule?"

"Some of it," I reply. "Some of it's recreational."

"Wow, you must be by yourself a lot." I can't tell if he's surprised or excited about the observation.

"Yeah, it's just me, myself, and I most of the time. It gets kind of lonely…"

When he comes back to the counter, he is smiling. I wonder if the true scope of my lack of parental guidance has given him any ideas. Care would say it did, Elena would shake her head and call me oblivious, and if I'd been talking with them I would deny it.

From what I've seen in my role as a third-party observer when guys ask my best friends out, it's usually more straight-forward. I never have to guess why they've approached us—it's written on their faces, in they way they move, their manner of speaking.

And seeing as I haven't had that kind of experience, I'm going to err on the side of no. Enzo referred to this as a date, so the interest must be there. But not everyone fills the empty holes in their lives with shallow, physical companionship like Damon.

When Enzo's not around the influence of his friends, he certainly doesn't give off that vibe.

Which is a relief—I'm not too keen on being that close to another person anytime soon. The vulnerability that comes with that kind of intimacy is too risky.

Too raw.

"You don't have to be alone all the time…"

"Are you saying you want to keep me company?" I chuckle uneasily, a cold sweat covering my face.

"Yes."

"You sure? I like to watch The Bodyguard on repeat in my free time."

Enzo frowns slightly. "We'll have to pick a better movie, but yes I'd like to see you more often."

That's a bit of a let-down, but I guess it takes a special kind of person to appreciate the love story of Rachel Marron and Frank Farmer.

His phone goes off, filling the room with a shrill siren noise. He stares at the screen, not saying anything for a minute, before he slides it into his back pocket. When he looks up at me, his mood has clearly shifted, a change he is trying—and failing—to mask.

This time, when he smiles, it doesn't feel authentic.

"What's wrong?"

"What?" he responds, as if he didn't hear my question. A light bulb goes off a second later, and he elaborates. "Oh, it's nothing. Just Kai Parker. You know him?"

Sadly. "Yes."

He's the one person who tops Damon in arrogance and making bad life choices. I'm convinced he has no regard for the sanctity of human life. In fifth grade, he put his pet snake in our class hamster's tank. We all adored that little rodent, wo we lovingly named Buttercup. Then, he tried to make some kid promise to do his math homework for a week if he wanted Buttercup survive.

Let's just say by the time he agreed to Kai's terms, the snake had a very hearty lunch.

Ever since then, I have this fantasy of a snake swallowing him alive.

"He needs me to… help him torment Luke and Liv."

"Will you?" My tone makes it perfectly clear that I do not approve of Kai torturing his younger, twin siblings.

Enzo looks at me like I'm being ridiculous. "No, of course not! I'm going to save them."

"You're a gentleman, Enzo St. John." The corners of my mouth quirk upward.

"I try," he says lightheartedly. "Feel better, Bonnie." He grabs his wallet off the counter and walks through the living room. I loosen up a little when I hear the front door close. I should try to sleep this little bug off, but I have work to do.

So, rest will have to wait.

Well, technically, the homework will have to wait, too. As much as I'd hoped the urge to vomit would disappear once my food was out of my sight, it didn't. The scent lingers in the air as if I'm still eating it.

And it's killing me. My guts are twisting in ways I didn't think possible. I rush out of the yellow monstrosity my mother claims is a kitchen and into the walk-in closet sized bathroom on the other side of the first floor.

As I huddle on the floor, leaning over the toilet bowl, I curse myself for not trying to make it to the upstairs bathroom. That one is easily three times larger. It's also equipped with a huge claw-footed bathtub that I could use to prop myself up.

I have a sinking feeling I'll be in here for a while. And that—when I can finally leave—my body will be too stiff to move. I can only hope that I'll have some time to start my homework, but with the way my evening is going, I'm not going to hold my breath.