~12~

~Chapter Twelve~

Don't you like it on the sly?
Don't you like it till it hurts?
Have I been on your mind? What's a voice without a song?
Something in your head
You've been fighting all the long...

~Metric, Raw Sugar~

Eleven minutes and counting.

That's when the cheerleading squad will be doing the half-time routine. The one I will be participating in, but not in my usual capacity. Maddie will be doing my stunts—a decision I had no part in making. Caroline refused to allow me to go flying in the air "in my condition," and Damon agreed with her!

"Listen to Barbie—she's actually right for once. It's a miracle."

I'm convinced that he only did so to annoy me. Making fun of Care had been a convenient bonus. I don't want to read into it any more than I already have. It's not because he cares about me or the problem-that-shall-not-be-named. It's just Damon being Damon. I'm embarrassed by how often the elder Salvatore brother has crept into my thoughts—and not in the negative way he typically does.

Not even in the context of what we were going to do about this problem of ours.

I'm thinking about how much fun we have together. The beach, the time we skipped half a day of school, or when he took me back to the diner when I texted him last night, complaining about wanting a cheeseburger.

How he noticed I was upset and asked me what my deal was, tossing a fry at my face.

"Enzo and I fought. I'm probably going to break things off… something tells me he won't be happy when he finds out I'm pregnant. I thought about saying it was an immaculate conception, but I don't think he'll believe me."

"Do you still want to… go through with it, then?"

"I think so. Are you okay with that?"

"I'm not not okay with it. I know I don't want to spend an hour in the car with you driving again. If that means I have to be responsible, then that's a sacrifice I'll have to make. I don't want to die of old age on the way to an abortion clinic."

"Okay then."

"Bon Bon?"

"Yes?"

"You know I love saying this, so, I told you so."

"… You did."

"What did Lorenzo do?"

"He just… said I was being dramatic, essentially."

"How dare he! You... act like a drama queen? Never."

"Ha, ha, ha."

"If that's all it takes to ruin your opinion… well, I guess Enzo's pretty lucky you didn't give him a chance to fuck things up even worse… he can do a lot of damage with what little he has."

Damon is right about that, too.

I sigh heavily.

I'm down to nine minutes now.

A few kicks, a wave of my pom-poms, and that's it. One formation. I'm regretting insisting on my one routine. I have a bit part. Bit parts don't make for stellar college applications. They give you too much downtime, too much time to think about how everything went to hell.

I hate sitting on the sidelines.

And I know I wouldn't have to if I just pulled the trigger. On paper, it is the most logical choice of them all. It will be like hitting the reset button on my life: I could continue down the road before me and my parents would be none the wiser. Care and Elena would know, but with time the shock value will dissipate, and it would just be a blip in their memories. And… I could just pretend like it never happened. Damon and I could still be friends… or frenemies or whatever and we will never speak of this ordeal ever again.

But every time I pluck up the courage to go back… I can't.

And Damon acts aloof—he never says anything in favor of abortion, even seems like he's cool with me not wanting one, but I've never heard a yes or a no. Which is so unlike him that I'm beginning to suspect he's been replaced with a pod person.

Seven minutes to go.

The rest of the team is gathered just under the bleacher, checking their make-up, talking amongst themselves, and fixing their ponytails. Caroline is chatting with Elena, and they are both laughing. I wish I knew why. Lately, it's felt like I'm on the opposite side of a ravine and Elena has given up on trying to bring me over, even though I'm desperately hanging on to that glimmer of hope that I'll be able to get there by myself.

Care has been her bubbly self, always looking on the bright side, going back and forth between us like it's no problem whatsoever.

But I still feel out of the loop—if Care and Elena were more in sync before, then I've moved to another wavelength entirely.

She never says that, of course, but it's blatantly obvious now.

I head over to where my teammates are waiting, hanging on the outskirts of the crowd. I want to stay as far away from Elena as space will allow. It's bad enough that I have to be next to her while we cheer, I don't want to face the wide-eyed looks of betrayal she throws my way for more than the few minutes I'm forced to endure.

I should just say sorry, fling my arms around her shoulders, begging for forgiveness, but I'm not exactly sure of what I should be apologizing for.

The football coach ushers the Mystic Falls Timberwolves off the field, and we all take our places. I paste a fake smile on my face, gripping my pom-poms tightly. I feel like a robot, but I hope I at least come off like a perky robot.

The lights shining down on us seem brighter than they had been at previous games. The crowd screams louder, the pressure I felt the very first time I stood in front of the audience comes back with a vengeance. My throat burns from puking my guts out twenty minutes ago and I can feel Elena's eyes on me.

I don't give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her sadness like I had during practices and focus on the risers full of spectators, a sea of gray and red intermixed with the other team's school colors—black and purple.

The routine ends too quickly. I'm right back where I was before, and I hate it.

When we're back on the sidelines, I spot my brown-haired best friend, searching for something inside her drawstring bag.

I start making my way over, hoping to patch things up somehow, but her head jerks up when I'm almost there. This time, I'm not met with sorrow. She's glaring at me with such vitriol that I freeze, anger bubbling in my chest. She's regarding me like I'm a predator; a threat.

Seeing as my emotions have been wildly intense lately, I don't trust myself to not make things worse. So, I take a deep breath, retreating to the locker room so I can get my stuff and go home.

Locking myself in my bedroom to binge-watch America's Next Top Model for the third night in a row will have to do. Maybe, if I call ahead, I can ask Milly to set aside an order of onion rings for me…

It's six-fifty now, if I move fast, I should be able to get there before Milly leaves and Rina starts her shift.

The universe must have it out for me, though. I stop to put on my gray hoodie before I leave the school grounds, and then when I look up again, I see Enzo.

A very pissed off Enzo.

He's shouting at someone. Upon first glance, I can't tell who is on the other side of the quarrel, but the person's identity becomes clear when he steps under the moonlight.

Damon.

I venture a little closer. Out of morbid curiosity, though I know I probably shouldn't. I'm not surprised that these two are arguing—it could be about anything. They haven't been as chummy with each other lately. Maybe their problems have finally come to a head.

Once I'm in earshot, I conceal myself behind a purplish 2003 Oldsmobile and listen.

"Why do you care?" Enzo is asking.

"Because she's my friend—one of my best friends—now why the fuck is she mad at you?"

Okay, Damon could be referring to any number of girls that fawn over them. They're probably talking about Rebekah; I reason with myself. The alternative is one I don't want to consider.

"She's mad because I told her she was a tease—she says one thing and does another!"

"Don't talk about her like that. She doesn't owe you anything." Damon's voice is even, not loud or aggressive, but menacing. A warning.

Enzo groans in exasperation. "I'm not losing one hundred bucks to Kai because of an uptight bitch!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I bet Kai one hundred bucks I could take Bennett's virginity."

"What the fuck did you just say?" he spits out through clenched teeth.

"Are you mad because you care or because you won't get a cut of the money?"

The irony might have been an interesting plot device in a book or movie, but the reality of it is so fucking disgusting that it makes my skin crawl.

Enzo never really liked me… he just thought I'd be an easy target, a quick way to make money.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat to no avail. My hands are shaking with rage. I want to kill Enzo. But that would be too kind. I want to hurt him so badly that he won't recover, maybe just enough that he'll have to live with the embarrassment of knowing that I got my revenge.

But Damon beats me to the punch—literally.

I can barely see his fist connect with Enzo's face (my vantage point isn't exactly that direct) but I definitely hear it. I can also see Enzo stumble backward, screaming obscenities as his hands fly in the direction of his face.

Wow.

The second-hand vindication is delightful, but I can't ride the high for long. I'm overwhelmed with guilt when Enzo regains balance and swings at Damon—hitting him right in the stomach.

I flinch.

That had to hurt.

What I do next probably isn't my brightest idea, but I figure it can't be worse than anything else I've done in the last three months. Surely, it can't be any worse than having a one-night stand that ends in an unplanned pregnancy.

I march over to where Enzo and Damon are fist-fighting, with more tenacity than I've been able to exude in a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, planting my hands on my hips.

"I'm being your best friend," Damon says, turning on Enzo accusingly. "He's being a pathetic fuckwad."

"Are you here to make up with me?" I can't tell if Enzo is being serious or sarcastic. Losing to Kai isn't something I think he wants to experience, so I'm pretty sure he means it.

I direct all my fury at Enzo. "No, I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. I'm here to make sure you two Neanderthals don't kill each other."

"Rude," Damon mutters behind me.

"Whatever. He'll get in trouble when I report him to Principal Felix. You will, too. I don't think Yale will take a girl who instigates physical fights between friends."

Damon is going to say something crude; I can tell by the way he scoffs. I don't let him speak—not when I can put an end to this. Besides, I kind of owe him one for defending my innocence—well, presumed innocence, I guess.

Then we'll be even.

"You're not going to do that."

"Like hell, I'm not."

"I'll just as easily tell the principal that you tried to rip off my shirt. That won't be looked on too kindly."

Enzo chuckles darkly. "I don't know why I even made that much of an effort. You're not worth the hassle."

I recall the time that Damon said something similar to me. It dredges up old wounds that have scabbed over, been apologized for, but it still hurts just the same. What if Damon meant it? What if he told Enzo about our confrontation in the hallway?

Only, Damon ignores the reference—if it was one—and focuses on the first part. "If you touch her again, I swear to God, I will fucking kill you!"

"Sure, you will," Enzo sneers, wiping the blood trickling out of his nose on his sleeve. "You're just lucky she saved you."

"Go away," I tell Enzo. "Or I can get the principal now… is that what you want?"

"I'm leaving," he assures me, trudging off into the darkness.

"Are you alright?" I turn to Damon, who is slightly hunched over, breathing heavily. I rush to his side and wrap an arm around his waist.

"Couldn't be better," he grunts.

I take him over to my car. He leans against the blue Prius casually, though he straightens up after a minute. I throw my bag in the backseat and my pom-poms in the trunk—out of sight, out of mind. When I approach him again, he's standing without using the hood of my car for balance.

I'm not convinced he's recovered. "I'll take you to a med express unit just to be sure."

"Careful Bonnie, I might start to think you care."

"Wouldn't want that," I say with a grin.

He returns it halfheartedly. "Besides, we don't have a decent track record with doctors—we skipped out on the last one."

"Something tells me you won't need that kind of treatment. You don't have the right anatomy—I checked. Looks nothing like the pictures you showed me."

"You think about me naked?"

"No," I say, and I'm blushing. I just know it. "I—"

"… just can't get over the magnificence that is my dick—don't worry. I've gotten that a lot."

"Shut up!"

"But you're blushing—that's how I know I'm winning."

"Damooon!" I groan, much louder than I intended.

"I get that a lot, too."

"Ugh, you're such an ass!"

"You love it!"

"No, I love onion rings, which I was going to get until I came to your rescue."

"You can stop at Burger King and get some. When I'm not with you, of course. That's an hour away with your driving."

I roll my eyes. "You know, maybe I want a taco instead… isn't there a Taco Bell near Whitmore?"

"That's an hour away and that's if an old lady is driving—that's two hours in the car both ways Bonnie time."

"Oh, well. I want tacos." I shrug.

"I'll make you pancakes," he counters. "I'm a pancake connoisseur."

"I guess that works," I amend.

"Thank God!" he sighs in relief. "I can't believe I willingly signed up for nine months of this."

"Me either." But I'm starting to feel glad he did.