~13~

~Chapter Thirteen~

Come inside and lie down to sleep
You ain't gonna run and you know that you're beat
Rest awhile, they're coming for you
There's a price to be paid for the things that we do

~Lord Huron, Lullaby~

I pull up to Damon's house, expecting him to get out and go inside without so much as a thank you, but he doesn't. He sits there, watching me with a semi-impatient facial expression.

"Are you coming in or not?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Inside?"

"Yes. Inside. Do you want me to draw you a map?"

"You… want me to stay?"

I'm given a dramatic eye roll in response. "Yes—for pancakes. I'm not interested in having a sleepover with you. It's not like I want you to paint my nails and tell me your deepest secrets—I wasn't kidding about the talking in your sleep or snoring. It's annoying and I'd feel bad if I had to smother you with a pillow to get you to shut up."

"You were serious." I state, studying him carefully. "You want to make me pancakes."

"More like I don't want you to text me at three in the morning because you're hungry, but if you want to make it more special than it is, go for it."

"Okay." I turn the car off and follow Damon up the walkway, past his Camaro and into the garage, which is bigger than my bedroom.

Shelves are stocked with containers of oil and anti-freeze. A worktable is off to the side with a blue toolbox sitting in the middle and saws, hammers, and a lone wrench hanging above it on the wall. Aside from those items, I wouldn't be able to tell that this is a storage space. The walls are painted a slate gray and the floor is gray-and-white marble.

"Will I get to meet your dad?" I ask casually, as if the idea doesn't intimidate me. Really, I just want to avoid any conversation that might reveal the why behind Damon's invitation.

He snorts, saying nothing at first. And then, in a more serious manner, "no—he and whatever-her-name-is are at the game. Watching Stefan sit on the bench."

"Your brother's the star quarterback."

"You say that like he's Jesus or something."

When we enter the house, we walk straight into the largest kitchen I've ever seen. Brilliant white-and-black tiled floor and cabinets made from elm wood. An island so large that it resembles a dining table and rows of pots and pans hanging above one of those high-tech ovens.

"Well, if you ask Elena she'd say he is."

"Yeah, probably. She hasn't spoken to me in days—she looks at me like I killed her puppy or something. In fact, she accused me of ruining you. So, same difference, I guess. Personally, I feel like I should get a medal or something for corrupting the nicest person in town."

I chew on my lip guiltily. I feel like it's my fault she treats Damon like he has the plague. "It has more to do with me than you."

"She had me fooled, then." He opens up a cupboard and grabs a mixing bowl from the top shelf.

"We got into an argument. She's not exactly thrilled about everything."

He gathers the rest of the ingredients and equipment from various counters around the room, saving the milk, butter, and eggs until the end. Purposely, I'm sure, so his back is to me when he answers, so he can sound distracted as he searches for what he needs.

"Well, I'm not thrilled either. Are you?"

"No, but—"

"Luckily for her, it has nothing to do with what Elena wants."

"Not directly no, but—"

"So," Damon intones, finally turning to face me. "I don't get why she's so butthurt about it. Her life isn't going to change."

His reaction hurts. Damon is clearly frustrated with the whole situation.

"It sounds like you're more butthurt than she is." I don't know why I sound so accusatory. I'm not sure I like it.

"I probably am." He says, shutting the refrigerator door with his foot. "It's half my problem."

I know I don't like the pain his answer elicits. "If it's such a problem then you should have told me you didn't want to leave the clinic."

When he looks at me, I see a flash of sadness that disappears in an instant. "You think I'm trying to placate you? Contrary to popular belief, I care about a lot of things. And if I didn't want to do whatever it is we are doing—then I'd fucking say that."

"You really care about…" I trail off, searching for the right words. "This… me?"

"If I didn't, I would have bet against Enzo. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Instead of making myself a hundred bucks richer, I tried to kill him instead."

I go quiet and still, watching as he combines everything and mixes it together in a way that makes me think he's imagining Enzo's face. He's gripping the handle of the spoon with such ferocity that I'm afraid it will snap in half.

"You're right," I admit, casting my eyes downward. "I'm… sorry."

Damon feigns shock. "I must be dreaming—did Bonnie Bennett just say she was wrong?"

"I said you were right—there's a difference. But… I guess I do owe you a thank you. It was really sweet of you to defend my honor."

"You're welcome—thanks for saving me from suspension. I guess I'll have to study for that test on Monday, though. So, you suck for that."

"You were doing so well and then…" I pantomime an explosion.

"Can't be too nice to you. I don't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Me? Have a wrong idea?" I wave the thought away. "Yeah right."

As Damon prepares to dump the batter into a skillet, he glances over his shoulder. He's staring right through me, his voice deadly serious as he speaks. "Did he really rip your shirt off?"

"Yes. Well, more like a few buttons. But I took care of it."

"That doesn't mean he shouldn't pay for it."

I'm a bit touched by his outrage on my behalf. Touched and startled. "… Damon, thank you, but I'm going to need you to stay away from the police station, so just… forget about it for now. Okay? I can take care of myself."

"Believe me, I found that out a long time ago, but you shouldn't always have to."

I smile to myself as he plates the pancakes in a neat stack, garnishing each one with berries and whipped cream. "… those better be the best pancakes I've ever had, Salvatore. I'm starving."

"Bonster, I'm pretty sure I'm the best you will ever have. Don't doubt the power of pancakes."

"Your ego is way over-inflated. Rebekah must feel so lucky to orbit around your fat head."

"Who wouldn't be?"

When I wake up on Monday, I am greeted with a barrage of missed calls and text messages. Most of them are from Caroline—no real surprise there—and one from Damon.

You're taking me to the movies this weekend. I feel I should be compensated for that horror film you forced me to sit through. Oh, and bring some candy with you. Not those circus peanut things, though. They taste like ass.

I smile to myself, setting my phone back on the nightstand. The Bodyguard is hardly scary, but Damon (despite the fact that he told me to pick a movie out) spent the duration of the film listing all the things wrong with it.

I tuned him out at a certain point, but I should have known he'd ask for something in return.

He is still Damon, after all.

I don't reply to anything. I will see Caroline in an hour, and I don't know how I should respond to Damon's scathing movie review. With a no, probably, as I'm sure the whole student body has heard one of the four versions of the altercation between the two hottest seniors—namely, that I had something to do with it. I don't want people to talk. The more fuel that's added to a rumor, the more outrageous it gets. What's worse is the fact that someone always figures out the truth behind it.

I have no clue what I'll do when I can't control the narrative any longer, when I'm no longer able to deny the stories, and I don't want to deal with that today. I just hope that Elena isn't mad enough to throw me under the bus. It is hard enough dealing with her silent fury, if she vocalizes it, there won't be any going back.

And I'm sure she's not pleased with Damon acting reckless, again—and I would like to think that it she wouldn't care as much because he was defending her best friend, but that won't matter. Best friends don't sleep with the object of the other's affections—even if she is dating said object's brother and has no intention (she swears) of acting on those feelings.

The rest of my morning is spent in the bathroom.

I had been hoping that I would be able to avoid puking altogether, but one whiff of the coffee Mom was brewing nixed that plan. I was surprised to see her in the kitchen. She took the morning off so she could stay at work later.

"Didn't you see the memo, Bonnie Bear?"

No, because I still haven't been able to pretend to care about them. Of course, I didn't tell her that, but a tiny part of me really wanted to.

The drive to school isn't much better. I chalk that up to nerves, though. Even if it isn't true; anxiety can cause nausea and that will be my stock answer if people start to bug me about anything that happened at the football game. Can't talk about it. I'm worried about Tanner's unit test today. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to barf.

When I walk into the building, no one looks my way. The chatter continues as if I were invisible. As I pass a group of sophomores, they don't look my way or fall silent. They're talking about Tyler's party. Still, even after a week. According to Care, it had a lot to do with how she planned it. I took her at her word—it's not like I was there long enough to form my own opinion.

I am getting a few textbooks from my locker when Caroline gets my attention.

"Bon—you've been ignoring my texts. Are you okay?"

She stands in front of me, looking perfect, just like she always does. Curly blonde hair straightened, jeans designer, and make-up applied flawlessly. I was going to do my own make-up this morning but vomiting so much causes my eyes to water and that defeats the purpose of mascara.

"I'm sorry, Care. I…"

"Wanted to tell you where I went after halftime in-person." She finishes for me, a huge grin on her face.

"Well, yeah. But I was also not feeling well this morning—so, seeing as you came over on Sunday, I thought you'd keep your cool until you saw me."

She laughs. "Yeah, like I'm supposed to believe that one. You know me better than that!"

"I left because I wanted onion rings."

Pointed glare. "And?"

"And Elena still seemed upset. So, I was going to go home and watch America's Next Top Model."

"Wait—what season? Please, tell me it wasn't cycle nineteen."

"Seven." I assure her. "Cycle nineteen was awful."

"Well, then why did Aimee Bradley come up to me saying she heard you were having a threesome with Damon and Enzo under the bleachers?"

"What the hell! That's what the rumor is?" I slam the locker door so hard a few students actually turn to stare at us.

Care nods solemnly. "One of them. I told her that she better shut up and inform everybody it isn't true—or else I'd tell everyone she is so obsessed with Rebekah that she steals her underwear after gym and keeps them in a Ziploc bag in her locker."

"Creative—thanks, I love you Care."

"I know. I'm awesome. So… details?"

I sigh. "Damon got mad at Enzo. For… upsetting me… and punched him. I just went over there so it didn't escalate."

"Fuck, I never thought I'd agree with Damon, but then again I never thought you two would—" she makes a lewd gesture with her hands. "Either. What did that jackass do? Enzo, I mean."

I had been planning to repress that particular memory, as I never intended on even looking in his direction again, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards today. "He… just tried to have sex with me after I said no."

"I'll fucking kill him." Caroline says darkly. She sounds so much like Damon that it's a little scary.

"You don't have to—I think I made my point when I pushed him off of me."

"You should have pushed his dick off of him!"

"What does that mean?" I pause to make sense of her phrasing. "Castrate him? I would have, but he tried to apologize right after. I told him I didn't want him near me. But… after that, I took Damon home. We ate pancakes and watched a movie. The end."

"Did you guys fuck again?"

"Care!"

"Well—did you?"

I avert my eyes, tucking the books inside of my bag. "No, we didn't. He's with Rebekah."

"I think you trump her—you're having his baby."

"Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot."

Caroline watches me. "You are going to have his baby, right?"

"I'm not not going to," I say slowly, gauging her reaction. "We… still have to discuss the finer details. But we're on the same page—I think." The anger he had when I said he didn't care made it clear that we are, but there are no guarantees in life—unfortunately.

"Oh my God! I'm going to be an aunt!" She whispers excitedly.

"I… don't know about that yet, Care." I say hastily, looking around the halls to make sure nobody overheard.

Everything is as it was before. My classmates are wrapped up in their own conversations.

"Well, if I am, you're going to have to tell me first. Nieces require cute clothes proclaiming the greatness of their aunts."

"Okay, Care. Who else would I tell?"

She mulls this over. "Good point—hey, maybe Elena and I could get matching t-shirts. Oh, Stefan could have one, too."

"I don't think Elena would be into that."

"She might not be now, but she will later. You know she always comes around… she's just… mourning the loss of a chance with Damon. She also doesn't know that yet."

"I didn't take it from her. He… hated me for a long time."

Caroline rolls her eyes at me, like I'm being purposefully obtuse. "I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure that was UST."

"UST?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Unresolved sexual tension," she explains. "Haven't you ever seen a teen romance movie? Don't answer that. Clearly, you need to pay more attention when I pick what we watch on slumber party nights. Damon wanted to jump your bones. Now he has. And you guys are, like, best friends now. She loves Stef, but you know she has a weakness for bad boys. And she doesn't want to admit it, but she can't tell Damon it'll never happen if he doesn't act like he wants it to happen."

"He sleeps around more than he changes his underwear. Why hasn't she hated his actual girlfriends?"

"She's never actually liked any of them—you know her code name for Rebekah."

I do; it's not very creative: stupid bitch.

"They weren't competition. And you are. Personally, I think Damon's more tolerable now that you two aren't at each other's throats and he isn't kissing Elena's ass, but she isn't used to it. Don't worry too much; you and I both know she just wants him to want her."

"Wow, that's catchy line. You should turn it into a song or something."

"What?"

"Sorry—Damon has a Cheap Trick poster in his bedroom."

"Ha—I knew you were in his room."

"For, like, a minute. Yeah."

"Sure, a minute." She uses air quotes.

The thing about Caroline is she's very good at reading people, and while it was nothing more than a brief moment, searching for the remote he stole from the living room because he lost the one he had for his own television, she has a keen ability to pick up on feelings. And while emotions don't write your every action in stone, they certainly drive them.

Caroline is looking at me like she knows exactly where I want to end up.

Even if I don't know it myself.