~9~

~Chapter Nine~

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough

~R.E.M., Losing My Religion~

News travels fast around here.

An issue I had conveniently forgotten to consider when I left Tyler's party in Damon's car.

Well, I guess I should be more specific about that sweeping generalization. News travels fast amongst our group of friends when Elena has a secret to share. As far as I know, the rest of the town is blissfully unaware of the fact that Damon knocked me up.

That doesn't save me from Caroline, though. She wants me to tell her everything. And I'm torn—confiding in her would be such a relief, but I can't risk anyone else finding out. Not yet, not when Damon and I don't know what to do or what we want.

And the third-degree she's trying to push on me isn't making it any better. The details she's asking for are extremely personal… and while I've been dying for her opinion, I find myself questioning why I was going to spill the beans in the first place.

I'm already overwhelmed; I won't let Elena or Care make it worse.

I meet my friend's demanding stare with a level gaze. "Only if you tell me what Elena told you."

"Duh. I wouldn't keep that from you—" semi-angry glare. "I just want you to be okay. I love you."

My face softens. "Okay. Start from when I left Lockwood's house—and… I love you, too."

She sits on the edge of my bed, toying with a loose thread on her dress… "It started when she ran up to Stefan and Tyler and me…"

Caroline didn't know what to think when she saw Elena sprinting across the living room, pushing through a group of timid freshmen.

"Care—there you are! We need to talk. Now."

"Can't it wait?" The blonde teen asked through clenched teeth, motioning to Tyler, who was in the middle of telling Stefan how wonderful it was having her help planning the party.

The sense of urgency on Elena's face was kind of alarming. So frantic that Care knew she wouldn't be much of a comfort to her. Bonnie was the level-headed one. Care was good when it came to threatening complete social destruction upon their enemies. Bonnie was the real mastermind. She solved the problems, talked them off the ledge of crazy Caroline nearly dragged them over, and if firepower was needed… well, Bonnie knew just how to use it.

Caroline was just the motivator, the instigator.

"I think I saw Bonnie go outside. We'll find her. What's wrong?" she took her friend's arm and pulled her in the direction of the entrance.

"See—that's the thing, Bonnie is the one in trouble."

Care couldn't stifle her snort of disbelief. "Elena… how much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough," she retorted, glancing down at the beer bottle in her hand.

She stopped dragging Elena behind her when they reached the front porch. Caroline inhaled a deep breath of almost-fall air and looked at Elena.

"What's wrong with Bonnie? Where is she?"

"With Damon," replied Elena, bitterness thick in her voice. "They left… like, ten minutes ago."

"Oh." That's all Caroline said. She remembered the conversation a frazzled Bonnie had been trying to have with her before the third part of their trio showed up.

"She's… they…"

"Lena, spit it out. What happened?"

"They had sex!"

Care nearly dropped her red solo cup on the ground. "No way!"

Elena nodded vigorously. "And she pregnant!"

"Wait… Bonnie would never cheat on Enzo… something's not adding up."

"She sure made it sound that way."

"Elena!"

Elena looked embarrassed. "I… know she wouldn't do that… it happened before I think. Before she started dating Enzo."

"Holy fuck."

"I know—this can't be real."

Caroline tilted her head upward as if she were looking toward the heavens for some kind of advice. Or better yet, something—any kind of sign—that signaled that Elena's claim was some kind of cruel joke.

She got nothing—not even a small breeze. She could only see the stars, which had been shining brightly ever since the sun went down.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Maybe… maybe you heard them wrong."

"No, I didn't." Elena insisted. "Damon said—and I quote 'are you pregnant?' I didn't hear what Bon said, but when Damon gets that look on his face… it's not good."

"What look?"

"I don't know how to explain it… it's- it's like he's scared… it's how he reacts when he doesn't know what to do. And that rarely happens."

Care didn't think that Elena's biased character study of her future brother-in-law was the proof she needed, but the teen looked thoroughly convinced and she wasn't really in the mood to argue. The buzz from her tropical-flavored drink was wearing off, which meant that she either needed to get more or attempt to make sense of all this.

And now wasn't the time—even if they tried to get ahold of Bonnie, she wouldn't answer their texts or phone calls. Bonnie… well, Care didn't exactly know what her friend would do in such a serious situation.

They were the ones who screwed up and Bonnie was the one to fix everything. She couldn't think of a time where things played out differently. And, quite frankly, it scared the crap out of her. If Bonnie Bennett needed help—of any kind—they were all screwed.

She was ninety percent sure that Bonnie fucking up was a sign of the Apocalypse.

"Well, we can text her… but I think we should give her space. She needs us, but she doesn't need us when we're drunk."

"How could she?" Elena burst out.

"How could she what?" Care furrowed her eyebrows, confused.

"Have sex with Damon! That's… that's… he's Stefan's brother. She hates him! She never wanted to give him a chance, but he takes his shirt off, and everything changes? I just—I think she should have been honest."

Caroline became even more puzzled, though that could be the vodka talking. "I don't think we should worry about it now. I mean, it's not technically against girl code and I need time to process this."

"You're right," she took a huge swig from the bottle. "I'm just going to process it."

The blonde watched her friend re-enter the house, vanishing in a crowd of tipsy partygoers. She didn't think that Elena's method of dealing with the supposed news was going to end well.

And it didn't.

~~X~~

When her tale comes to a stop, I lean back on my pillows and take a deep breath. I know Elena has a crush on Damon. As Caroline usually puts it: who wouldn't? I'm not blind; Salvatore is hot. And maybe I did overstep my boundaries by sleeping with him, but I certainly didn't intend on all of this.

I didn't want to ruin my romantic relationship with Enzo (which, if he hasn't heard about this shitshow yet, then I'm sure Elena will give him the scoop) and the last thing I want to do is hurt one of my best friends.

Or destroy my family.

I want to go to Yale or Harvard, or Brown or Princeton and I want to make my mom and dad proud—even if that means doing the exact opposite of what my personal goals are.

It doesn't exactly feel like that is what I want, but then again, all I really want is to make everything disappear. Following my parent's path seems like a solid justification for making that happen, though.

Maybe Damon has a point. Maybe the end does justify the means.

"Bon—are you with me?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "I'm here. Kind of."

"Well, like I was saying. I get dibs on planning the baby shower."

I smile wryly. "Thanks, Care, but I don't know what I am going to do. I'm still stuck on the fight I had with Elena." If arguing via text messages is even considered a fight, that is.

"What did she say?" the caution in her tone makes me think she doesn't truly want to know.

"Here," I toss her my cell phone, which is displaying the thread of messages Elena and I sent to each other.

Care grips the device tightly.

Elena: hi

Bonnie: good morning to you, too.

Elena: is it true?

Bonnie: what?

Elena: did you sleep w/ Damon? Are you pregnant?

Bonnie: What are you talking about?

Elena: I heard you two talking. I promise, I won't be upset—I just want you to tell me the truth. I can take you to the clinic whenever you want. I'll even make the appointment for you. I love you… I just wasn't expecting THIS… it's a lot… but we'll take care of it.

Bonnie: I don't have anything to tell. You already know. And I never said anything about having an abortion. I don't know what I want yet.

Elena: You're on track to be valedictorian! You want to go to college. How do you think you're going to do that w/ a kid?

Bonnie: I don't know! I JUST found out about the baby, a baby that I'm having someone I don't have a good history with; I'm still thinking about what to do. And you've got Care coming over to get information. How am I supposed to do anything if you two want to make me feel bad? Which, I already do, by the way. I don't need your help w/ that.

Elena: well, then you should have come to me. I would've helped you, but you lied instead, and I'm hurt that you don't see that it's all I'm trying to do!

I know Elena means well, that she thinks she's helping, but it's only complicated an already confusing situation. I'm not surprised. Elena reacts before anything else. Her emotions drive her every decision and right now, she is blind-sided and hurt. And I can sense that in her responses, can picture her face as she types it all out: a steely expression—the one she uses when she refuses to cry, accompanied by a small frown. Her back pressed against the wall as she lounges in her window seat.

But… I've far surpassed the point in which Elena's feelings are my primary concern. This can't be about Elena—and believe me, I'd much rather support her than deal with the consequences of my actions.

"Care, I don't want you guys to hate me." I don't know why this is the problem I choose to handle first, but that's mostly because I don't want to admit to myself that I'm acting like a coward.

Grams is probably rolling in her grave.

"Bonnie—I don't hate you. I'm not even mad at you. I just want to be there for you, but I can't do that if you don't tell me what you need. And… well, I'm a little hungover, so that's why I'm so grumpy. You're just yelling too much."

I laugh. I can't help it. She does look hungover.

Her hair is sticking out in every direction, her bright complexion is tinged with a green cast, and she's still wearing the dress from the previous day (paired with yellow flip-flops). The self-proclaimed fashion guru would never be seen in public with clothes that clash in both color and pattern.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"I forgive you," she answers, rubbing her temples.

I pass her the glass of water I've been drinking. "Here. You need this more than I do."

She takes it gratefully, nearly downing the entire cup in one gulp. "Thanks."

"You're welcome… and… I'm glad you came over. I just wish Elena…"

"I know," Caroline says when I trail off. "She'll come around. She's confused, that's all."

"I don't know. She's really upset."

I don't add that there's only one way to remedy that. It's heavily implied.

Caroline hugs me. "Whatever you do—I'm here for it."

I find out—through a convoluted chain of phone calls—that my assumption is correct.

Elena is pissed and will remain that way until Damon and I "do the right thing." That's how Caroline explains it to me later on after she's gone home for dinner. I shouldn't have pushed the issue, she told me that I don't want to know. Really. But I did—at the moment.

And now I wish I could forget all about it.

Apparently (because I'm a glutton for punishment and asked for more information) Elena went directly to Damon after I never texted her back and gave him a speech about how disappointed she is in him, how she thought he was trying to be better, that screwing her best friend behind everyone's backs is not what she meant when she told him to enjoy his vacation and forget about Rose.

Care couldn't tell me anything else. When Elena relayed the story to her, she skipped over Damon's response completely and didn't offer any explanation when she was pressed.

Which is for the best.

Hysterical Elena is not a reliable narrator.

I could use some words of wisdom right now. A hug from Grams, a reassurance that I will make it through this trial and emerge stronger than ever.

I look at the oven timer. Five 'o clock on the dot... that gives me a solid hour and a half before my parents are due to return. If I time everything just right, I'll be able to reach my destination, hopefully, achieve some kind of catharsis, and be back before anyone knows I left.

Mom doesn't like to talk about Grams much.

They didn't have the same viewpoint when it came to their approaches to life, and I think it makes her sad. Not that they had a bad relationship or anything, but they butted heads often enough that Mom was exasperated with her during her final days.

And Grams's death had been unexpected.

Words were left unsaid, words that hang heavy in the air whenever I've tried to reminisce. The tension had become so palpable that one day when my mother used a saying of Shelia's, the room fell silent.

Dad and I had been afraid to move.

Mom excused herself and spent the rest of the morning in a solemn stupor.

Dad had to save the pancakes she had abandoned.

I stayed quiet.

It never happened again.

I hated that memory so much that I hesitate when I find the house keys to the dwelling on Broken Arrow court. What if someone notices that I took them? It's a ridiculous worry. There are so many other things in this drawer that my mom would have to dig through boxes of staples, packs of sticky notes, and paper clips to notice that they were missing. She'd also have to abandon her project at the museum, leaving the rest of the prep work to one of her associates, something she'd only do in an emergency.

My fingers close around the beaded lanyard and I sprint out of the basement office, rushing up the stairs and through the front door.

The walk over to my grandmother's old house is calming.

The light outside is dimming, though the sun is still peeking out from behind the treetops, casting wispy shadows on the sidewalk. It's cooler than usual, but I can't enjoy it because I've been keyed-up all day.

Jittery without the comfort of caffeine.

My grandmother's house is a cute, little cottage. A sloping roof with a tiny chimney jutting upward ever so slightly. Warm wooded accents and an herb garden that is now empty.

I make my way up the cobblestone pathway, hands in the pockets of my jeans.

The inside is the same—except for the lack of furniture, which had either been put into storage or brought over to my house. To me, it even smells like fresh-baked cookies and bergamot. A trick of the mind, I know, but I still tell myself that it's real.

I head into what was once the family room.

Once the hall light is turned on, I can make a little sense of the room's layout. The cream carpeting is a bit matted, and when I go over by the mantel, I run face-first into a cobweb. If I could see better, I'm sure I could see the outlines of the many pictures that used to be displayed on the burnt-orange walls.

But it's too dim to get a good look at anything.

And it's better that way—if I studied the room in greater detail, it would make her absence too real. I can handle knowing she's gone, but this is the first time I've been in her house since her passing.

It hits me hard. Then again, every little thing has been emotional napalm to me lately. You'd think I would be a little relieved that I know the why behind it all… that I could take control of the narrative now, but it still feels as if I'm trapped inside a car careening off the road.

I sit down on the floor, crossing my legs and leaning back on my arms.

"Grams… I need you. I messed up. Big time… I- I don't know what to do. Mom and Dad will kill me. If I were them, I would kill myself. They'll be so disappointed… I… I d- don't want that. I know you said I should just be open with them… but I thought I could deal with their plans… I d- d – did. But… I can't now."

I pause, taking in the eerie silence, wishing desperately that I would get a response.

But I don't and I can't help but wonder if that's because I know she'd be disappointed in me, too.