~19~

~Chapter Nineteen~

Why can't I be your lover?
Can there be another?
And when I feel without I want to get you in.

~Better Than Ezra, Get You In~

I stare at myself in the mirror, tugging at the hem of my dress.

It's tight.

And I had hoped that, if I got it to sit just right, I'd be able to wear it. I scowl at my reflection and pull at the fabric covering my stomach. It doesn't budge. Letting out a long sigh, I turn back to my closet, surveying my hangers for another option.

Mehri had informed me that Greg made reservations at a restaurant with a semi-formal dress code. This restricts my wardrobe even more than it already is, considering I haven't even tried to don a pair of jeans in a good two weeks.

I settle on a large sweater that hangs off my shoulder, and a pair of leggings I bought when Care chastised me for wearing sweatpants to school three days in a row. Although, I am sure a shopping trip is in my immediate future. Any excuse for Caroline's favorite activity is a perfectly good one in her eyes. And, I have to admit, that my ill-fitting pants are a valid one.

Not that I want to buy my clothes from the maternity section, but I don't think I'll have much of a choice.

I zip up my boots and walk over my window, pushing my curtain away so I can get a clear view of the street. The only movement comes from my neighbors, the Crawford's, who live across from us. Mrs. Crawford is loading her young son into the car, which is blaring children's music. It's so loud that I can make out the lyrics from inside.

Baby Shark is too popular a song, in my opinion, but if it gets moody kids to behave it can't be all that bad… I stop myself before I get carried away. I have been trying to keep my mind off of subjects that might lead to daydreams of Damon and me being parents. Ever since we found out the baby is a girl; he hasn't been quite the same.

I can hazard a guess as to why, but knowing him, it could be a multitude of things that are unrelated but overwhelming him just as much as our predicament.

At least, I hope it's not just what I think it is.

I leave my bedroom, shutting off the light and closing the door. My mother and father are home tonight, so I should at least give them the courtesy of telling them I wouldn't be around.

"Mom," I call, checking the living room.

She and Dad are curled up on the couch, watching a game show. His arm is around her shoulder, with the other hand holding a bowl of popcorn. I wrinkle my nose at the synthetic butter smell, trying not to gag as I enter the darkened room. The lamps are off, and the only light source comes from whatever show their attention is on. Shadows dance on the walls, the light from the television shining on their faces.

"Yes, sweetie?" they both turn their heads in my direction. Mom beams and Dad looks surprised to see me outside of my bedroom at this hour. "Why are you so dressed up?"

"My friend and I are going to grab something to eat," I say, hiking my bag onto my shoulder.

"Where?" Mom asks, curious.

"Some kind of steakhouse near Hopewell. I should be back by twelve."

"That sounds fancy," she comments. She is trying to act like it's no big deal, but the lilt in her voice when she says 'fancy' betrays her.

"So, is this friend a boy? If so, then I think we should talk." Dad tells me.

"Yes, it's a boy, but you don't need to worry. It's not a romantic thing."

"Sure, it's not," Dad says sarcastically. "Boys your age only want one thing. I know—I was a teenager once."

Funny, they were completely unaware of my brief relationship with Enzo, and when it was Damon I was spending time with—a boy they've known since we were toddlers—they weren't curious. Didn't think it could be romantic. The only thing that mattered was the alone time it provided them.

And I lost my virginity to him.

They're so oblivious, but oh so close to the truth at the same time. I wonder if they will find out on their own or if I will have to fess up someday soon. If they do, will they look back on this and think 'how did we not see the signs?'

I groan. "It's not a date and I don't have a boyfriend."

"Okay, but I reserve the right to intimidate any future boyfriends."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Daddy." I give each parent a quick peck on the forehead. "Enjoy Jeopardy!"

"Okay, honey. We'll probably be in bed when you get back; so, goodnight, too."

"Night," I echo, going into the foyer. I can hear the sound of Damon's car rumbling outside.

I'm unsure of how this "double date" with Damon and me as the third and fourth wheels will go, but at least I can count on my parents to be consistent with their inconsistent interest in my life.

I mean, why would they wait up to talk to their only child about her outing with friends when they could be having sex all night?

The place Greg suggested we go to is nice. Really nice. The décor is sleek and modern, with angular tables and chairs, tall white candles are the centerpieces. The flames flickering around us give Monroe's steakhouse a cozy ambiance, while still maintaining the high-end feel.

Elena, Stefan, Mehri, and Greg are already seated at a table in the center of the room. They are chatting, laughing, and it looks like Stefan was right to say I didn't need to stress about his epic love story with Elena. They look like they've patched things up. I, quite nosily, want to ask Damon if he knows how they reconciled, but when I catch the disgruntled expression on his face, I stop myself.

He had been a bit more jovial during the ride here, and I thought that maybe he was just extra emotional about wanting to keep his daughter despite the hardships we'd have to work through. Now that his brother and Elena are around, I realize I may have been off base.

It's got nothing to do with the baby or our future (which, considering how uneasy that made me feel when I assumed he was doubting whether or not we could do this, should be a relief). Except, if he's not thinking about it, how can he say he cares?

Ugh. These hormonal reactions are driving me insane.

Mehri stands up as we approach, holding her arms out for a hug. Damon returns the gesture, letting go of some of his grumpiness. I'm startled when his cousin wraps her arms around me. "Nice to see you again, Bonnie! Damon the Demon hasn't been bothering you too much, has he?"

Well, bothering and worrying are two different things. "No, at least not lately."

"Good!" she gives Damon a stern look. Then, she beckons to the twenty-something man who was sitting across from her. He bears a strong resemblance to Rob Evans, the judge on the later seasons of America's Next Top Model. Caroline has the biggest crush on him, and I can't help but imagine the way she'd drool over Mehri's date.

"Guys, this is Greg," she grabs her boyfriend's arm. You can tell from the way she radiates pure joy that she's enamored by him.

Damon shakes Greg's free hand. "Nice to meet you, Greg. You're treating Mehri right?"

The way Greg chuckles is infectious. And I feel a grin playing on my lips as he replies. "Yes—I don't think Milly would let me live if I didn't. Or Stefan… or you, by the sound of it."

"Smart assumption."

"Bonnie?" Greg addresses me. "It's nice to finally meet you. Stefan and Mehri have been telling me all about you. They say you're the only one who can get through to Damon."

"Oh… um, Elena can, too. I have less patience than she does." I risk a glance at my once self-proclaimed sister, whose mouth is drawn, resentment burning in her eyes.

"I see my reputation precedes me," Damon says loftily. "I'm flattered."

"Don't be," I quip. "Poor Greg needed to be warned about you."

For a moment, when Damon pulls me into an embrace, messing my hair up with his knuckles, I think that it will be fine, that I'm just imagining the tension between us. But when I catch Elena glaring at us, my hopeful outlook vanishes into thin air.

Damon's body goes rigid and he lets me go.

Too much camaraderie.

We all find our chairs. And because my luck has been anything but good, mine is right next to Elena's. I can feel the agitation radiating off her body, the way she angles herself away from me. Like I have leprosy.

If Mehri picks up on the bad vibes, she doesn't act like it. "So, Stefan and Elena were telling us about their first date… at the school carnival, right?"

"Right," she confirms, though it's not necessary.

Caroline and I were there that night. I was manning the fortune-telling booth, reading palms and tarot cards in exchange for donations to the children's hospital. We played an integral part in getting them to admit their mutual feelings. If we hadn't set the whole thing up, who knows how long the awkward will they/won't they game would have gone on.

"… and then these two—" she points to the brothers, "come over to get their fortunes told. Care and Bonnie made sure I didn't leave our station. They made up this whole scenario about the world's most enduring love story and… well, Stefan looked at me and that's when I knew."

"You played matchmaker?" Greg looks at me with mild surprise. "That's so cute—especially since you and Damon seem to be so in-sync."

I flinch like I've been socked in the gut. That is the exact opposite of what I wanted to be told. Damon's eyes fall on me and I can't quite figure out the meaning behind the intensity he's throwing at me. I'm too busy with the sour expression on Elena's face, the way she pouts and tosses her curtain of brown hair over her shoulder.

I pretend I'm incredibly interested in picking off an imaginary piece of lint from my sweater.

Mehri clears her throat. "I'm going to order a drink… Greg, walk me to the bar?"

So much for ignorance being bliss…

"Sure."

When the pair disappears from our line of sight, Elena turns to me. I don't react at first, but when I finally do raise my eyes I see that hers are filling with tears.

"Elena…"

She holds her hand up. "Are you guys going to tell me what is going on between you?"

I furrow my brows, regarding her with bewilderment. "You know what's going on."

"Not really," she counters. "I don't understand why you felt the need to keep this a secret."

"I don't want to be a cautionary tale, Elena."

"Not just about that. I mean you two hooking up. I thought you trusted me, Bonnie. Why didn't you tell me?"

I open and close my mouth. This—the way you're acting right now is what I want to say. I kept it under wraps because I was already hurt as it was, and then I had to face it, accept the consequences brought on by my stupid decision, and I just knew she couldn't handle it.

She turns to Stefan and Damon. "Give us a second please."

They exchange a glance with each other, wary of leaving us alone. They look at me and I nod. Might as well get this over with. Maybe, once our friendship is truly put to rest, I'll be less frazzled. I know deep down that it isn't true, but if I didn't at least try to believe it, I don't think I would be able to go through with our confrontation.

They leave the table, presumably to find Greg and Mehri, leaving us to our devices. They probably won't stray too far from the dining area. I am sure that Damon wants to know what was said between us.

"You know Damon is special to me. He's practically my big brother! This tryst you're having is driving a wedge into every relationship I have!"

"It's not a tryst," my voice is quiet. "We had sex once. And part of me will regret it for the rest of my life."

"Well, you should! I've been a wreck over this. You stabbed me in the back!"

"That's not why I regret it, Elena." My voice doesn't sound like my own. "I regret it because I… I don't. I know I should feel guilty because I would do it all over again if I had the chance to go back. And it's killing me that I am disappointing so many people I love because I… I don't want what they want. I should have a choice in all this! I shouldn't have to abort my baby because my best friend wants me to, because my parents want to control my future! Damon and I—we're friends; best friends… we were there for each other when no one else was…"

"You know how I feel about Damon!"

"You have a crush on him," I whisper if only so Stefan won't overhear me.

"No, but I care about him. And if you cared like you say you do; you'd have listened to what I said!"

I swallow the lump in my throat, blinking back tears. "I would've gotten an abortion." The raw pain I feel when finally confronting what we've been skirting around is almost too much. "Yeah, I know, but do you even know how Damon feels about it? Have you asked how he feels about his daughter?" The last sentence is meant to hurt her. I'm making this fact real for her, informing Elena that this baby is Damon's.

And that she is part of us—Elena has no say in the matter.

"As a matter of fact, I did! He wants to be a parent! I have no idea why… it's going to screw his life up. He hasn't ever talked about having a family… and now that's changed! Everything's changed… a-and h-he looks at you l-like…" she begins sobbing. Tears cascade down her cheeks and she buries her face in her hands.

"Like what, Elena?" Seeing her so distraught makes me want to lose it, too.

"I- I don't e-e-ven know!" she stammers, peeking at me through the space between her fingers. "I just don't know!"

"I'm allowed to be his friend. We aren't five—we can't claim people." I suppress the urge to hug her, to turn into a blubbering mess, and cry along with her.

She takes a staggered breath. "I understand that, but… I'm not used to it…"

"To what?" I say evenly. "To not being the center of everyone's attention?"

Part of me thinks I'm going too far, saying things that I shouldn't.

"Of course not!" she exclaims, recoiling.

"Then why do you hate me, Elena? I don't get it. You aren't pregnant at seventeen. You don't have to puke every morning and night or be the hottest topic at school. You don't get ogled at for all the wrong reasons. You don't have to worry about Damon's moodiness…"

"I don't hate you," she insists. "I love you… I just… I don't like being treated like I can't handle problems. You don't have to keep secrets from me—I need to know the truth!"

The floodgates open up and I find myself

"I don't want to go to Yale or any other Ivy League school for that matter! Biophysics puts me to sleep. I have to figure out how to tell my mom and dad that I can't stand it. I hate myself for fucking up so bad. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that the fact that I had sex with Damon is a bad thing to you. I love being his best friend. I'm pregnant. I want to keep it. I'm not sure if we can. But that's where I'm at. Everything's happening so fast that I am going crazy. There—those are the truths. It doesn't give you solid answers, but I mean every word."

"Okay," she nods slowly, processing my statements. "I see the whole picture now…"

"What is it?"

"I don't think I gave you the feeling that you could tell me… and that was wrong… you could have. I would've held your hand while you figured it out… but it was so much news all at once… and next time, I promise to stop and think before jumping straight to an emotional breakdown."

"And what about Damon and Stefan?"

"You know I love Stef… I just got so used to Damon coming to me for approval that I got jealous when he became close to you. And… I'm sorry… you're good for him. Stef's right about that… and I will try to do better."

"Okay," I say. I want to believe her, to forgive her. I know she's still clinging to all of the Salvatore brother's attention, but I want our dynamic to improve so much that I'm willing to see if she practices what she preaches.

We head to the bathroom to collect ourselves.

When we return, everyone else has, too. Mehri and Greg are sipping on some tropical-themed blue drinks and Stefan welcomes his girlfriend with open arms and a peck on the cheek.

My friend giggles, straightening her olive-color dress before sitting back down. I watch Damon, who is stone-faced. Something he's attempting to hide. I know because, when he catches me staring, he sticks his tongue out at me. When I do the same, he smirks, but the concern is still etched onto his face.

I go back to my place at the table, surveying each face carefully. Did they catch any part of what Elena and I were talking about? Stefan, Greg, and Mehri haven't given any indication that they did. But… there's a pit in my stomach, a cold feeling of something that isn't right.

"… and Damon ran so fast… crying! Over a stink bug!"

Mehri's re-telling of the story I heard from Milly elicits a collective laugh. I play along, desperately trying to shed the sense of doom hanging over me.

"Yeah, yeah. Again—I was a kid!"

When the waitress comes around, everyone orders something that I can't have or a menu item that contains an ingredient that will churn my stomach.

Damon and Stefan order steak—medium-rare, just like my Uncle Marshall prepares it when we visit him. And, according to him, well-done steak is a culinary crime (and seeing as I know nothing about cooking, I'm inclined to take him at his word). Elena orders sushi and I'm reminded of the way Caroline raved over the Asian cuisine in California. Mehri gets something topped with bleu cheese. And when it's my turn, I can't think of anything I'd find appetizing within my dietary restrictions.

That's another thing that sucks. The things I used to eat aren't appealing anymore.

"I guess I'll have the fried brussels sprouts." Even though I can't stand them.

The waitress scribbles something on her notepad and turns to leave.

But then Damon calls her back. "Wait… I want to change my order."

The curly-haired redhead smiles politely and holds her pen over the paper expectantly. "And what would you like instead?"

"One of those onion appetizer things. And can you bring it out on two plates? If you don't, she'll eat the whole thing." He points to me. "She's a fried onion fiend. Seriously, you'd think they were cocaine or something." He says this in the most dramatic stage-whisper I've seen.

"Sure!"

We both gauge Elena's reaction with discretion. She's smiling, but it's tight. Forced. Like the one, she plasters on her face when Caroline makes us watch The Notebook for the trillionth time.

She's making an effort… I tell myself, but one look at Damon's faltering smirk makes me realize that it might not be enough.

Damon is still volleying between two different settings: emotionally distant and what I consider to be his normal.

I keep trying to get him to share his feelings with me. And he starts to, but after a certain point, it's like we've run into a wall. He claims that he's just tired, that he's getting his shit together, and he's just not used to working so hard to insert motive or emotion here. He never actually says what it is, but he doesn't have to—the implication is there.

And every time I'm faced with the silence, it's like he's driving a knife into my heart.

Today, it hurts more than it usually does.

I receive a text from him ten minutes before I expected to see him waltzing through the door.

Feeling sick. Not going to school. Stefan promised me he'd be your pack mule. Talk to you later.

Sure enough, there's a light rap sounding through the foyer moments later.

I greet Stefan and Elena with a smile. "Thanks for coming over guys, but you don't have to lug my stuff around."

"I know," Stef says. "But I want to do it."

"He does." Elena reiterates. She appears less tense than the last time we interacted, which I hope is a sign in favor of our renewed sisterhood.

"Okay… just let me get rid of the stuff I don't need…" I once again remove my English lit supplies from my messenger bag, tossing them on the table haphazardly.

I'll worry about organizing it all later. "I'm ready. Let's get out of here."