~21~

~Chapter Twenty-One~

You've been trying too hard trying to start
It takes time, don't lose yourself
Don't keep fighting your heart, stay as you are
Don't change for anyone else

~Birdy, Beating Heart~

I just wanted one day.

One chance to get my bearings, to not worry about who thinks what about me—including my father, who has yet to speak to me in a normal, non-snarky tone since our disagreement the other day.

You would think that, after realizing your seventeen-year-old daughter totally destroyed the trust you had in her, that you'd become a little more watchful. Or at least there. Present. In the house, asking where she's going or who she's spending her time with.

Maybe a normal parent would even ground her.

Not Rudy Bennett.

He throws himself into anything but family life. Yeah, I know he did that prior, but it's gotten worse. He has rearranged his schedule, so he reports to work in the evening. That way, he completely eliminates the possibility of having to look at me.

Mom isn't handling this much better than Dad.

She's made an effort to leave work by six, to set aside thirty minutes to talk to me, ask me about my day. Surface level topics that she only used to bring up if our paths crossed as I left the house. Now, she does it on a daily basis. The forced attention adds to the tension between us.

I can tell by the way she talks, in a strained voice, always pausing every other sentence to evaluate my reactions. This hurts her. I'm not the girl she thought I was. A sentiment her husband is quick to agree with.

Care thinks I'm reading too much into their actions, that they're just coming to terms with being grandparents in their late forties. And, maybe, if I hadn't heard the conversation Mom and Dad had when they thought I was asleep, I'd say she's probably right.

But I did hear them.

Every single word, spoken in soft but angry tones. Whispers that gradually rose in pitch until it was practically a shouting match.

"I tried, Rudy, I really did! But… that isn't Bonnie—our daughter would never put herself in this situation!"

"So, we thought. She had such a bright future—I can't believe she honestly wants to go through with it. I can't believe you said it would be okay! Honestly, Abby, I'd expect something like that from your mother; not you!"

I never thought I'd miss the days where the worst thing I heard was the near-constant sex. But… here we are. This must be what rock-bottom feels like.

A swift punch in the gut. One that's knocked the air out of me, leaving me gasping desperately, scrambling to catch my breath.

When I woke up this morning, I thought I would be able to do that. The house had been parent-free, and I only had to puke twice during the night. A win, small, but still satisfying. This is what a Saturday morning in the Bennett household is supposed to look like.

Me, lounging on the sofa, in sweatpants and a school spirit t-shirt that I purchased when I was a freshman, cartoons on the television, a bowl of chocolate cereal in my hands. By the time I've watched half an episode of Rick and Morty, I'm usually done eating breakfast. But, despite my minimal nausea earlier, the smell of artificial cocoa is doing a number on my stomach.

My phone beeps, signaling an incoming text message. I'm relieved for the excuse to put off trying to force one more spoonful down my throat. Sure, I'm by myself and I can technically stop without anyone voicing disapproval, but part of me has started feeling guilty for not eating.

Like I'm deliberately depriving her (I've been trying to think about this situation in a warmer light) of nutrients, the chance to be as healthy as possible. A ridiculous notion from someone who doesn't even know if she has the wherewithal to take care of another human being.

Hey… can you come over? I need my Jiminy Cricket.

My response is automatic: Why can't I be the angel on your shoulder?

You're short and annoying. Duh.

That's a good sign. Damon's poking fun at my height again. Maybe that aloof, Stefan-like mood swing has balanced itself out. I certainly hope so—the vibe my best friend has been putting out lately has left me a little hurt and very confused.

I am going to forget you wrote that. I'll be there in fifteen.

The smiley face I get in return gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. A sensation that seeps down to my toes, spreading down my arms and into my fingertips.

At least somebody isn't acting like I'm a screw-up.

I quickly toss my dishes in the sink. And for reasons that have nothing to do with Damon, change out of my bedclothes. As I grab my keys, I hesitate. I know Dad will go ballistic if he comes home and sees that I'm not around—it's hypocritical. Sure, they can come and go as they please (and haven't even really bothered to alter the rules, though it's clear that they feel I should change them myself). I mean, how many ways can one take passive-aggressive comments like, "do you really think you should be going to Caroline's house this late at night?"

My dad will automatically assume I've run off to an orgy with Damon if he doesn't have any context to pull from.

I take a sheet from my mother's sacred notepad on the refrigerator. Writing:

Went to the drug store for a few things. Be back before dark.
-Bonnie

There, that should cut down on the possible interrogation I'll receive if one parental unit decides to abandon their roles in the workforce for half a day. Especially with the difference in Dad's weekly schedule (as if).

~~X~~

Stefan answers the door when I press my finger to the bell.

"Bonnie—thank God you're here. Damon's broken."

I laugh, a sound that becomes awkward when I notice that the younger Salvatore brother hasn't joined in. "Oh… you're not kidding."

"I wish I was," he welcomes me inside. "He's been… acting weird since he got up today."

"Weirder than the past few days?"

"Yeah…" Stef sighs, rubbing his temples. "I left Elena and Damon alone in the kitchen earlier."

A wave of anxiety hits me. Sweat begins to pool on my forehead as my body reacts to the burst in adrenaline. The possibilities stemming from an encounter between two of my three best friends aren't ones I want to imagine.

The first—and probably most likely, if I'm listening to the voice in the back of my head—would be Elena choosing to confess her not-so-platonic feelings for Damon. The scenario unfolding in the hell I'm creating for myself ends in them embracing, kissing… I hate how repulsive I find it… hate that I don't want to delve into the why behind my disgust.

"They got into it…" and when he sees the way I wrinkle my nose at his phrasing, Stefan adds, "a fight. Verbally."

That's not that much better… I think bitterly. Elena promised me she'd try not to buy a one-way ticket to Crazy Town. How is arguing with her boyfriend's older brother keeping her word?

"… I don't really know what it was about but… Damon was the one yelling… so, really, I guess he got mad at her. He apparently told her to go, so she did…"

Damon, at least the Damon who adores Elena, would never raise his voice to her. He values her high opinion of him far too much to jeopardize it.

"If you'll get Elena's side, I'll get his." I nod toward the staircase. Damon's in his bedroom. I can hear the 90's rock music from my place in the entryway. Just like that stupid kid's song… who knew I'd end up associating Bush with the insipid creator of Baby Shark.

Definitely not me.

"Thank, Bon."

"Ditto."

When I first see Damon, he's lying on his giant bed, hands on his chest, legs straight out in front of him. He is staring at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, though it doesn't seem to be doing that much good—his jaw is still clenched, body tense.

"Salvatore…"

"Bonnie—my judgmental partner-in-crime, what took so long?"

"I thought I made good time…"

"Way to hold yourself to a higher standard…"

I survey the surrounding area. Nothing's really changed that much as far as appearances go. His jacket is thrown over the back of a chair, a few flannel shirts are on the floor, having missed their target of the hamper adjacent to the bureau.

But the angst? It has far surpassed even Stefan's level of emo.

I climb into the bed, laying my head on the only free pillow. Not once has Damon even looked in my direction. Not when I came in without knocking or when I began to talk.

"What's wrong? Your ego finally died from over-exertion?"

He snorts, still refusing to turn his head. "I guess you could say that."

"What happened?"

"… don't worry about it."

"Well, it's too late for that. So just tell me."

A long, exasperated groan. "I blew up at Elena. Bad move. I think I may have been wrong. You know, maybe I overreacted."

"You've been known to do that," I say gently, placing a hand atop both of his. "But let me be the judge of that."

"It is your greatest talent."

"So, you've said—a billion times."

"Elena asked me about… my intentions. Said you deserved more from me, which isn't wrong. She told me you wanted to keep her," he cringes slightly. "Asked if I would stick around if we did… if that's what I wanted, too."

That's a little unexpected.

"And I said it wasn't her concern, that she should butt out. She's right, though. I feel selfish for still wanting to leave Mystic Falls but also wanting to play house with you—it's not fair to you or her." He closes his eyes, making it clear that he isn't referring to Elena."She said I couldn't do both… that I would never be more than a jerk… just like you always told her."

Ouch. I thought it hurt when Damon started "dating" one of my least favorite people, that it stung when Elena resented me when I needed her the most, that Enzo's betrayal was agonizing, same thing with my parent's crushing disappointment… but this… the sacrifices Damon would have to make so I'd have what I wanted… that's unbearable.

"Damon… go do what you told me you want. I'm not going to stand in your way… I can't ask you to make that kind of sacrifice… that's not fair. I wouldn't expect that from anyone. I don't get to choose what your future will look like. I don't want you to feel obligated to stay when you've worked so hard to go. We still have time to find a family willing to adopt her…"

The pain in his eyes is killing me. "Bonnie… that's not—"

"I want you to be happy."

"I want you to be happy, too. And I want the best for all of us."

I will the tears to stay where they are, burning my eyeballs. "Then make up with Elena… take the ASVAB… kick ass. Don't give up on everything for me."

He's going to try though; the proof is written on his face. The way he's trying to suppress his inner turmoil, how he holds my hand, silently begging me to listen to him.

But I can't.

Spending so much time chasing someone else's dreams has taught me that you should never force anyone to do exactly as you say. The end result is always resentment.

I pull away. "Damon… I need to think… I can't act like your plans are less important… please… just let me go…'

I hurry out of the room, running down the spiraled staircase as if my life depends on my hasty exit. I hear Damon open the bedroom door, am acutely aware of the heavy footfalls coming from behind me.

Don't look back…

I can feel his fingertips brush against my shoulder blade.

Don't look back…

I yank the front door open, running out of the house and down the driveway. I know I must look like a mad woman, crazy, delusional, but I can't bring myself to care. I only have one thought pushing me forward.

Don't look back…

I don't go home.

Instead, I go to the park.

My feet are on fire, my pulse pounding in my head, heart thumping wildly. Once I got far enough away from the Salvatore residence, I didn't know where to go, what I should do. So, I kept running. Boots slamming into the pavement, legs moving so fast I felt like I had been flying.

I only stopped when I got to the bench a few yards from where Damon and I liked to picnic, staring at the clouds or the moon and stars, depending on the time of day.

I collapse onto the seat, pressing my back to the connected table. My hands are on my knees, keeping my body somewhat upright. I gasp, pulling air into my lungs frantically. Though, after a minute, my heart rate starts to slow and I'm able to catch my breath.

Tilting my head to the sky, I try to soak in the little warmth the sun is providing. Perspiration cools on the skin exposed to the elements—my hands, neck, and face. It's such a beautiful day, despite the death fall and winter bring with them. Soon, it will be springtime—a season of re-birth. Another grain of sand on the bottom of an hourglass…

Closer and closer until I have no choice but to go to school on Dad's terms, until nature separates me from my baby in more ways than one.

The crying begins, leaving behind a trail of what feels like ice water on my cheeks. I don't want to let her go… it's killing me, but if I want Damon to follow his chosen path then I must… even though it'll leave me dead on the inside.

I've calmed down a little, the crying almost completely stopping when I tell myself there's no other way, that I need to buck up. But that doesn't last very long.

The anxiousness I felt earlier comes back full-strength. I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Damon's voice.

"I figured you'd be here."

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my coat. "That sounds like something a stalker might say."

"Oh," he says smugly. "I know."

"Don't sound proud of your creepiness."

"I'm not." God, why does he sound so even keeled?

"Whatever. You didn't need to come after me." My voice is laced with sorrow.

"Yes, I did," he brushes me off. "What's the 4-1-1, Bon Bon?"

"If you want an answer then stop talking like a dad from the nineties."

"No promises. It doesn't matter—you'll tell me anyway. I know your weak spots."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, Damon."

"I'm waiting, Bennett. Tick, tock."

I huff indignantly. "I want the best for you… for her… and it isn't me."

Damon's quiet for several moments. Ruminating over my words, as if each one had a sacred meaning behind it. He sits on the grass, motioning for me to follow suit.

I do, though I'm not sure why. "And I can't be a mom, go to Yale, and make my mom and dad the parents of a world-renowned doctor/scientist."

"No, but out of everything you listed, you only want one of those things."

"It's not about what I want."

"But it is—you can do it. What you want. You can go to Whitmore, be an English major or an anthropology student… they have a child development center for students that's heavily discounted. Maybe even free. I can help pay for it if it isn't, with the money I get from basic training. You just have to man up and tell everyone what you want."

"It isn't that simple…"

"I know," he says soothingly. "But I want her. I don't want someone else to be her dad… and neither of us have to sacrifice everything to do it. If you want to take an accelerated class, I'll watch her when I'm home. We can do this. It won't be all sunshine and roses, but we will work our asses off for the moments that will be."

He pulls me into his arms, left palm resting on my stomach. "Are you sure?"

"Not one hundred percent, but if you listened to what I said, you'd know I thought a lot about it."

There's a fluttery sensation in my abdomen. "I'm sorry… what made you come up with this?"

"I'm a superbly intelligent human being—it just came to me."

I give him a funny look. "How… humble of you."

Damon smirks. "I know."

"You're sure about this?" I ask again nervously.

"Yes—what's with the parrot act?"

"I guess I'm just worried about you missing out on things." I say, embarrassed.

"I'm flattered."

"You're not afraid of what could go wrong?"

He sighs and turns to face me. "No, besides, I think it's a little too late in the game to worry about it now."

"Oh really, then why were you so upset an hour ago?"

"I have my reasons," he replies without elaboration.

"What are they? Tell me, I'm all ears."

"It's you, Bonnie Bennett. You're the reason and it's driving me crazy." I see an intensity in his eyes that I've only witnessed a few times. Usually, it's directed at someone else. I'm a bit unnerved by how easy it is to get swept up in the enigma that is Damon Salvatore.

I shake my head and frown. "I haven't done anything!"

"But you are! Right now! You sit there and you're so nice to me, even though I completely fucked up your life and you're so smart and… you never do exactly what I think you will… and you're such a good person. And I'm not. How am I supposed to live up to a… a daughter when she has a mom like you?"

I'm a bit taken aback. "What?"

"… I don't want to be like him. He wasn't always an ass… after my mom died, he changed, and I decided I wasn't going to be like dear old dad. I wasn't going to strong arm you into doing something you didn't want. And I didn't want to get rid of her either. Even if it was the smartest thing to do."

"Damon…" the wind blows my hair in my face. He sweeps it behind my ears. I scoot closer to him, his free hand on my tear-stained cheek. "You have really long eyelashes."

"And you have pretty eyes." He shifts his body so he's in front of me.

I look down. "Yours are prettier."

"Yeah… I know." He tilts my head upward, snarky grin on his face.

Slowly, cautiously, he leans forward. I move backward until I am lying on my back, staring up at him. "Hi."

He moves closer to me and I remember that night in the expensive beach house. He stops. I blink and the next thing I know his lips are on my forehead.

"Damon…" I breathe. "What are you doing?"

He recoils like I've thrown ice water in his face. I almost regret saying anything at all. "I was going to kiss you…"

"Oh," I whisper. "Then by all means, don't let me stop you."

His lips are pressed against my cheek, and then my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, vaguely aware of how cold the ground is, how solid and unyielding it is underneath my body.

When he pulls back, I keep him from moving too far away, locking my fingers together.

"I like you, Bennett. A lot."

"I like you, too, Salvatore."

"Oh, good. I was worried there for a second."

"Is this going to become a thing now?"

"I hope so," and then he kisses me again, and I find myself in enthusiastic agreement.