~15~

~Chapter Fifteen~

Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest…it's about who came, and never left your side.

~Anonymous~

As I sit at the kitchen table, forcing myself to finish my bowl of cereal, I muddle through by thinking about how thankful I am that my life has gone back to some semblance of normalcy. I'm doing well in all of my classes, I've requested a few letters of recommendation from my favorite teachers, and Damon and I have been hanging out regularly.

The last one is simultaneously the craziest and best facet of everything going on. It's not tiresome, I don't have to put on an act, and it's not stressful (though I know we are going to have to face the music at some point; hopefully, a few months from now). I don't have to worry if my parents will figure out my secret without me having to tell them myself (and I don't know which scenario would be better, as both seem pretty awful in their own way). And we both are currently on Elena's shit list (I don't know which of us is more upset by it).

And somehow, it just works.

Even in the face of all the challenges.

Though, things would be much better if Elena didn't hate me. That problem eats at me more than the others. Elena and Care have always been there. Present. Even when my parents weren't and not having her support is far more painful than it would be if my mom and dad ended up reacting in the same manner.

Because I don't really talk with them. I love them both, but we are orbiting different planets most of the time. And Elena… I could always count on her to try, to be my friend even if she didn't notice something was wrong right away, she used to always fix it by listening when she did pick up on it.

And I know the separation is starting to take its toll on Care now. She's still been upbeat about our reconciliation but now there's an edge of uncertainty in her voice when she tells me Elena asked about me.

Probably because she wants to know if I've followed her advice.

I know it's also put a strain on her relationship with Stef. At least, according to Damon it is. And I'm the catalyst for it all.

And that sucks.

I finally give up on finishing my breakfast. My stomach is turning and Damon won't let me live it down if he has to wait for me to surrender to half a serving size of Fruit Loops, if I'm running late because if he knew that ahead of time, he would have slept in instead of waking up on time to drive to school with me.

"I can't believe I got out of bed to watch you run around unprepared after you spent years telling me it was irresponsible to show up late to school. The tables have turned, Judgy. I wish I could enjoy it, but I woke up early for this. And I get nothing in return—not even a sorry or a thank you. Rude."

That's his spiel and he never deviates from it. Every intonation and pause is copied in the same way each time. Quite frankly, I stopped listening mid-way through the third time he recited it. Now, I tune him out completely, but the fact that I can hear it so clearly in my own head is disconcerting.

He's like a disease.

A disease that is knocking on the door, loudly, signaling his arrival—like a fever that has suddenly spiked.

I don't bother letting him in, he's developed this annoying habit of doing that himself. I head into the dining room, where my messenger bag is draped on the back of a chair. Damon has already taken the seat directly across from my school supplies, fingers drumming against the table.

"Finally," he throws his hands up in the air. "I was beginning to think someone kidnapped you or something. Do you know how long I've been waiting?"

I look up from the pile of papers I was leafing through and glare. "A minute."

"Not if you count yesterday."

"I was getting sick! I'm sorry if my health and well-being inconveniences you!"

"You're getting better at the whole guilt-tripping thing. I'm proud of you. I almost believed you." Damon claps slowly, bowing his head slightly.

I frown. "I was sick."

"I remember—I was the one who held your hair back. It wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my morning."

"You got me a ponytail holder, which didn't even help, by the way. My hair is still too short to stay pulled back."

"So ungrateful…" he mumbles, taking my bag out of my hands. "Please tell me you don't have that fucking calculus book in here. I hate that thing. It's an instrument of torture. It hurts my shoulder!"

"You poor thing, do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"

He regards me with mock horror. "Bonnie—that's inappropriate. I know I'm God's gift to humanity, but you have to tone it down. My virtue is very important to me—kissing leads to… sex!"

"Very funny, Damon if you're in that much pain, I can carry my own stuff—I never asked you to do it for me anyway."

"Let's keep that bit of information between us. Saint Stefan thinks I have morals."

"Oh no! God forbid someone thinks you're a good person!"

He walks over to the door, pulling it open. "I knew you'd understand. That's why you're the greatest BFF ever—you get me."

"Sadly." I say with a roll of my eyes, though I'm not so sure that's a bad thing.

"You love it," he argues.

"You'll never get me to admit it," I tell him, setting my English notebook and folder back on the large, mahogany table. My homework on literary devices isn't due until tomorrow, and I've come to realize that carrying things I don't actually need is a backache waiting to happen.

"Challenge accepted."

When I enter the hallway, it is already crowded. I slip into the throngs of students, effectively disappearing. Having a secret as monumental as this makes me paranoid. I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Elena to decide she wants revenge. The intimate details of my life could be broadcasted over the intercom and it'll be game-over.

I'm sure speculating as often as I am isn't healthy—for myself or the other parties involved. I can't stop it, though. It just happens and before I know it, I'm stuck in a loop of horrible scenarios.

I can feel myself sliding back into them as I follow the foot-traffic to the cafeteria. When the crowd thins out, I see Care and Damon bickering off to the side.

Nope. Turning around.

I love how amazing Caroline has been, and she's even tolerating Damon better (never thought I'd be on the other side of that argument). Of course, that's only because she'd do anything for me and her future niece or nephew.

She's really taken to the idea of being "Aunt Care" and if she knew I wasn't so confused and undecided, she would have dragged me shopping for all manner of things baby related.

Occasionally, when my brain has run out of potential disasters, I drift into thoughts of Caroline acting like the best aunt ever, of me excelling at parenthood while taking classes on anthropology, spending time with Damon. You know, having a family that acts like one.

And then, somehow it ends up turning into a montage of past memories. Just of Damon and I, of how much fun we've had. I am partial to that line of thought.

The way his scoffing could turn into chuckling which often led to full-on laughter. The kind that leaves us out of breath and with aching ribs. How he can turn an argument into a bout of fun teasing, making me forget what we were bickering about in the first place.

That's not good… I'm scared of where I might end up if I allow myself to get carried away with this picture-perfect daydream. I am already fiercely discounting the way my heartbeat speeds up whenever Damon is around.

If I fall into the trap of regarding the older Salvatore brother as anything other then a friend, a cohort, then Elena might never let go of her anger.

They see me, though.

Whatever they're talking about is dropped, and they both walk in my direction.

God, I hope they don't resume the bitching when they catch up to me.

I accept my fate rather graciously. When they stand in front of me, I offer a grin and a wave.

"You guys didn't have to backtrack; I would have met up with you by now."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Bennett. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to us."

"What he said!" Caroline chimes in, jabbing a thumb Damon's way. "The king of the douchebags was telling me your back hurt and that you can keep anything down!"

I glare at him, but he returns it with an arrogant smile.

Okay, he's not lying, but still… the worry police needs to calm down.

Damon immediately takes my bag and the three of us walk side-by-side-by-side. It is extremely weird that Elena isn't part of my circle of friends. She should be right next to me. While I don't miss her constant theatrics, a large part of me longs to have her in my life. We've been nearly inseparable—all three of us—since age three. And now… it's like those thirteen years of sleepovers, games, and unyielding support don't matter.

Thankfully, Care has shut off her overprotective mode. Once she knows I'm okay, she relaxes and launches into a detailed description of some art project she saw on Pinterest

"I saw this cute craft online—it's a picture frame with your sonogram in the middle, surrounded by a bunch of little baby accessories.".

"That sounds awesome Care, but where would I hang it?"

"On your wall! Duh!" She says, as if I'm being obtuse.

"Yeah, but why would we want to? That's your dumbest idea yet, Blondie."

There is that lump again. "I can't exactly hang it in my house, Care. You're the only one I told about anything involving my… condition. And besides, I'm not so sure I can be a mom…"

"Bonnie!"

"I was going to tell my parents this weekend," I lie.

"No, she's not," Damon shoots down my excuse before I can say anything else. "We have no clue what we're doing, and Prissy Pants here doesn't want anyone to know she doesn't have an answer for everything."

"Okay, then, what solutions have you come up with lately? Should we go back to Planned Parenthood and ask for a redo?"

"No," he says and there's definitely a hint of pain in his voice. "But we can't hide forever. Someone's going to figure it out. Sure, it probably won't be until six months from now, but it'll click eventually. And I would really like to have a plan before I sign on the dotted line and put at least three states between me and the crypt keeper who calls himself my dad."

"Damon's… right." Care flinches as if she's been pinched.

"See? Blondie's not acting like a blonde!" Damon throws his hands in the air. "She's also saying you should be more like me, Bon Bon, and not give a fuck about what other people think."

The fact that Damon is being more sensible than me really speaks volumes about my state of mind.

I sigh dejectedly. "You have a good point. For once… I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says glibly. "You're the only one who has trouble acknowledging my genius."

"Oh, I'm sure Rebekah would love to hear you say that."

"Oh, I'm sure Rebekah would love to hear you say that." he mocks in a poor imitation of my voice.

We sound like a bunch of five-year old kids.

"Someone's still jealous…"

I huff indignantly. "I couldn't care less about Rebekah. Sorry, I like you so much that I don't want your girlfriend to be mad at you anymore."

"Bonnie loves me, Caroline. She loves me," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Isn't it adorable?"

"You suck,' I grumble, turning away.

"So, do you."

I stick my tongue out at him. I know a verbal response will only encourage him.

But the girl standing next to me has clearly grown tired of our antics. She's probably still stuck on my "denial," as she calls it. She doesn't speak, but I don't have to hear her complaints because I can see them.

Caroline is giving me a disapproving glare—like she has caught me with my hand in a cookie jar. I'm not used to this kind of reaction from her. It makes me feel guilty and I'd do just about anything to change the subject.

So, I go with the ever so reliable retort. If I can keep him going, we can't circle back to Care's gripes.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" I say tauntingly.

I can tell that Damon has a witty response already to go, but a long arm snakes around his waist before he can respond.

"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere." Rebekah's manicured hand finds Damon's and grips it tightly, like he will float away if she releases him.

"Well, I'm right here, where I am every single day before lunch." He doesn't appear flattered that the pretty blonde has sought him out. I can't say I blame him. I wouldn't want to be caught in Rebekah's crosshairs. She likes to torment her prey before she goes in for the kill. Although, I'm sure that is more than okay in Salvatore's eyes—for obvious reasons.

Her eyes land on the messenger bag draped over her boyfriend's arm. "I don't know why Bonnie needs an escort to the cafeteria." She gives me a once-over, a disgusted look crossing her face when she meets my gaze. "She should probably lay off the burgers and fries. Maybe then she could fit into regular clothes."

I look down at my giant Harvard sweatshirt. It looks like a dress on my small frame. My hands are just barely peeking out of the sleeves and the hem hits my knees. And yet, I'm acutely aware of how tight it feels around my middle.

I feel a flash of anger. "You know—"

"Hey… how about we eat lunch outside today?" Damon suggests in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"It's freezing outside."

Damon shrugs his coat off of his shoulders and places it over Rebekah. "Now you won't be cold. Come on, I'll buy you a cookie."

A devious glint twinkles in her eyes, lips pursed tightly, and nose turned up. "Sounds like fun. I love it when my boyfriend plans a romantic lunch date for me."

Damon tosses my bag to Care and steers his girlfriend toward the courtyard before any more words can be exchanged.

I lean against a set of lockers, sliding downward, hands covering my face.

"You're so not fat," Caroline assures me.

I look at her skeptically. We both know I've gained noticeable weight—just not from over-eating like Rebekah implied. She offers me her hand, which I need to take if I want to get off of the filthy school floor. Whoever decided on the pale blue/white tile scheme seriously underestimated the sloppiness of teenagers.

"Thanks, Care." I say ruefully.

"No prob!" She answers. "God, she is such a bitch!"

"Among other things." I mutter.

"You got that right."

As we pass the windows facing the outdoor lunch pavilion, my eyes automatically land on Damon. He's sitting on the bench, an untouched slice of pizza on the tray in front of him. It's a gorgeous day, despite the chill in the air, and the way the sun hits him makes him that much more attractive, his blue eyes even more entrancing than usual. Rebekah, of course, has wrapped herself around his torso, pressing her lips to his in a disgusting display of affection.

It makes me sick.

I realize, though, that while I need his support, my focus should not be solely on who Damon lets in his bed. Someone else is more important than me, him, or our feelings toward each other. We are going to have to man up soon. Whether that means accepting the roles of mom and dad or finding a couple that will, I can only hope that Damon is motivated for reasons that aren't me.

That is what truly matters.