~23~

~Chapter Twenty-Three~

I feel alive when I'm with you, baby.
So tell me that I won't ever be lonely again.
Don't wanna die, I wanna wander the world with you
and no one else for the rest of my days on this earth

~Lord Huron, Louisa~

See you at five.

The message he sent me sits open on my laptop screen.

Damon finally asked me out. Not that we haven't done things before… but this is different. There's intent behind it.

It happened a few days ago, when I was hanging out with Elena and Caroline—against my will, mind you—at the mall.

~~X~~

"Care—Cinnabon doesn't smell as wonderful as I remember it, why must you torture me?"

"I'll be done in a second—promise!" she shoved the last bite in her mouth and discarded the wrapper in the nearest trashcan.

I collapsed at the first empty table I see. Elena joins me, placing her shopping bags atop the sticky counter. "Are you guy really sure you don't mind if Damon and Stefan meet up with us.

Care and I exchanged an eye-roll. Yes, we kind of did. This was supposed to be a girl's only outing. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that she patched things up with them, but that doesn't mean they get an invite everywhere we go.

It didn't matter that Damon and I no longer wanted to kill each other, that we have fun together. He is not a good shopping partner. He's whiny and critical—he can't help himself.

Or so he said.

"… no, but only if Bonnie turns into a stammering, blushing mess when she sees Damon."

"Care!"

"Don't look all innocent—you know it's true!"

My gaze wandered to Elena, who had suggested that I ask him to the dance, who seemed okay with Damon and I being whatever we were. It was a slow transition, but I was finally beginning to believe it was going to stay.

"You kind of do…" Elena said with a shrug. "It's cute—some of the time."

I shot her a glare. The crowd in the food court was scattering. Huge gaps stuck out like sore thumbs until only a family of five remained in the area—in line at Subway.

Well, including the Salvatore brothers, who were making a beeline for us.

"Bonnie!" Damon called, cupping his hand over his mouth. "Marco!"

"Polo!" I shouted back. It was a reflexive response, but Caroline raises her eyebrows triumphantly as Elena elbowed me in the ribs.

"Hey Barbie, Judgy," Damon looked at the former girl of his dreams, his vision of her soured. They may have reconciled, but I haven't caught him staring longingly at Elena lately. "Knockoff Judgy."

"Very funny, Damon." Elena said, voice flat.

"Damon," his little brother chastised. "Can't we all get along?"

"Have you been listening to Bonnie's CDs?" he asked Stefan. "That's the kind of happy-go-lucky thing I'd hear playing in her car."

"Just stop being an ass," was Stef's reply.

"I'd be delighted to," Damon's tone was haughty. "But only if Bon Bon will allow me to escort her on a surprise date."

"Date?" I repeated, dumbfounded.

"That's what I said."

"Like… a romantic date?"

He laughs. "Is there another kind?"

"Uh, sure, I'd like that."

"Good—so would I. I was beginning to think you only wanted me for my body."

Elena choked on her smoothie.

Caroline yelled, "knew it," at the top of her lungs.

"Damon!"

"Yes?"

"I can't believe you!"

"Sorry—I just wanted to be sure you liked me, liked me." he wiggled his eyebrows.

"You're insane!" I exclaimed.

"About you, Bon Bon. Only about you."

"And a million other things," I countered, raising an eyebrow. There wasn't really an argument for my comeback—I'm right. And he knew it.

Damon nodded slowly and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. "This is a once in a lifetime chance, Bennett. I don't go on dates."

"I already said I'd go. That'd I'd be happy to, as a matter of fact. Are you insinuating that I'm going to have the worst night of my life?"

"No, I'm saying that you'll have the best night of your life. Wait—no, the second-best night of your life."

"Scientists should study your brain for abnormalities." I quipped, staving off the urge to look away.

"Bon," Care began, and the way she talked told me she had something up her sleeve. Thank God for our shared love of bantering with Damon. "It'd be cruel and unusual punishment to subject anyone to that."

"She's right," Stefan adds, slinging an arm around Elena's shoulder.

"Rude," Damon snipped.

"You can prove us wrong by getting me an order of onion rings," I suggested.

"Fine—but I'm doing it because I care. I'm getting sick of eating those things. Come to think of it, so do you."

This was true, but I was going to worry about that later. That was how I was approaching everything else on my plate.

~~X~~

I have spent a total of two hours trying to find something to wear. I'm not proud of it, but I can admit that I want to look perfect. I want to impress Damon. I almost can't wrap my head around the concept.

It's almost trippier than the fact I'm going on a date "date" with him, that this unspoken bond we have is actually romantic.

That I love him in a way I've yet to experience until now.

Not that I'm going to say it. Some things are best kept to oneself.

I survey my bedroom. The entirety of my closet has exploded on my bed. Caroline barely has any room to sit there and Elena has moved over to my desk chair. The dresses that don't fit me anymore have been thrown in a discard pile on the floor. The ones that could be passable are on the floor in front of my bed. There aren't nearly as many in this category, but they still cover the plush, white throw rug under my bed.

"This is useless!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "I look like a whale!"

"Bonnie, you do not look like a whale." Care says.

Elena smiles at me sympathetically. "You look great in that."

I look at myself in the mirror. My black hair is straightened and a piece in the front is pinned to the side by an ornate silver hair clip. A billowy green dress is draped over my body. It stops about half an inch above my knees. It has long bell sleeves, which was the reason I purchased it in the first place. The torso is a little tight, but not unbearably so.

"I guess this works," I go over to my bed and begin to collect the mountain of clothes I threw there. I place each garment on a hanger and lug them back to my closet.

Elena scoots over to me in the desk chair. Once my hands are free she takes them in hers. "Everything is going to go perfectly, Bon. I know because I've never seen Damon this invested in… well, quite literally anything. Even Stefan agrees."

I see conflict in her eyes, but she does her best to keep it at bay. "Thanks, Elena. I really appreciate it."

Caroline hops off my bed and pulls the both of us in a hug. "I'm so glad you guys worked things out!"

"Me too."

"Me three."

And then the doorbell rings.

I hurry over to the only pair of shoes that fit—you know, besides my moccasins and even they are starting to feel small. I run over to the door. Originally, I wanted to be downstairs and ready to go as soon as Damon's car pulled up, as my Dad said he would be going into work later. I thought it would be best to minimize the amount of contact Damon had with my father—he wasn't a happy camper when I told him I'd be out with the guy who got me pregnant—but I could already hear the front door opening. I crack my bedroom door slightly, hoping to hear their interaction better.

"Hello, Mr. Bennett, I'm here to take Bonnie out."

Wow, a polite introduction. Maybe miracles do happen.

"I know. I'm not happy about it." Never mind.

Awkward silence.

"I apologize for everything that's happened… sir." The words sound foreign coming from Damon.

"Uh huh." My father grunts skeptically. "We will see about that. I certainly hope you guys are going to have a very frank discussion about everything. For some unknown reason, my daughter is acting like she wants to become a mother at eighteen. And—against my advice—she insists that she can do everything she originally planned on. You better help her do that, son."

Except for the Ivy League school and biophysics degree… but I haven't fessed up to that yet. Talking and Dad are two concepts that haven't been mixing well since the fallout.

"I don't intend on letting her down." I can hear the sincerity in his voice. "Your daughter is special, and I only wish I realized it earlier."

On that note, I leave my bedroom and head down the steps.

"Damon." I give him a slight nod.

"Bonnie." He holds his arm out. "Are you ready to go?"

I smile. "I am. Let's get out of here."

Damon takes me to the park.

He has planned a picnic. He secures us one of the few tables available underneath a pavilion. He lays a red-and-white checked blanket over the counter, places a basket and a vase of fake flowers in the center. I'm impressed. I don't know what I expected, but I'm pleasantly surprised.

"Do you do this for all your dates?"

"I told you—I don't really go on dates."

I do my best to mimic his smug expression. "Aww did you do something special for me?"

"It was the only thing I could think of on such short notice. I know you were just dying to go out with me."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Salvatore."

I take a seat on the bench. Damon pulls out two plates, spoons, forks, and napkins from the picnic basket. He seemed to have packed most of the grocery store into it. Fresh fruit, vegetables, pudding cups, potato chips, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He hands me the bag with the sandwich, and I notice that he's written my name on it in all uppercase letters—with a sloppily drawn heart around it.

I can't suppress the smile that's spreading across my face. "This is really sweet. You even remembered that I told you I couldn't eat lunch meat."

"You didn't tell me that," he protests, "Google did."

"So, you took precious time out of your day to Google something on my behalf?"

"You act like I walked across a bed of nails for you." He shakes his head and smiles deviously. "I was already on the computer looking at porn. So, I figured I'd do something generous—that's the kind of man I am—a giver."

My face screws up in disgust. "You just gave me the urge to vomit."

"Hey, my sandwiches aren't that bad."

"If I wanted to know what you did on the internet, I would have asked you."

Damon shrugs casually. "I'm just being an honest communicator. Isn't that what we're supposed to be?"

I shake my head and take a bite of my PB and J. "You're…incorrigible, Damon."

"I know." He takes a strawberry from my plate. "It's one of my many endearing qualities."

I stare at him with narrowed eyes. "You can be cute—sometimes."

He beams in return.

"… So… not that I want to be a buzzkill, but have you looked any more into what you need to do?"

"I thought about it when we were on the way back from the clinic. And every day after that. When we finally got on the same page, I decided you weren't going to blow me out of the water. I don't want my child to think I'm a loser—especially because her mother is a genius. Turns out when you have insomnia and access to Google you can accomplish anything."

"You have a Google addiction," I tease.

"It's one of the better ones," he retorts.

I look down at the table in an attempt to hide my giddiness. "You're full of surprises tonight."

"Don't get used to it," he says sarcastically. "This is my good deed for the year."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Damon looks up at the sky pensively. "Eh—you're right. I have one more surprise. But that's it."

"Consider me intrigued."

After we clear everything off the table, Damon grabs my hand and leads me down a winding path. Trees line either side, giving the park a somewhat spooky vibe. The fallen leaves crunch under our feet and when one of us steps on a twig I jump. The only other sound is the chirping of crickets. Usually, I would enjoy the eeriness, but I've been feeling so neurotic that I can't appreciate the need for alertness or the quietness of the night.

We stop in the center of the park. Right where the marble fountain is located. The water is streaming down in a peaceful curtain. I peer over the lip of the basin and see a layer of silver coins on the bottom. I think about all of the children, lovers, and dreamers that have tossed change in the hopes of their greatest wishes coming true. I wonder how many of them actually did.

I turn around when Damon taps me on the shoulder.

"Here," he tosses me a quarter. I catch it, but just barely. "Make a wish and make it a good one."

I close my eyes and clutch the coin to my chest. I consider what to wish for. A perfect life? A healthy baby? Acceptance from our respective fathers? And then it comes to me: I should wish for happiness. Over the past few months, I've started to accept that perfection—at least in the way I viewed it—is unachievable. Life has twists and turns and you have to be willing to ride it out. And, well, if the baby weren't healthy, I don't think I could ever experience happiness—in any form—again. So, I wish for the one emotion that will cover all the bases.

The coin lands in the fountain with a splash.

I reach into my clutch and grab at the pile of loose change on the bottom. I fish out a dime. My fingers close around it and I turn to Damon.

"Here," I hold my fist up, dropping the money into his open palm. "Your turn." I guide his hand closed, placing his fist over his heart.

He chucks it into the fountain immediately.

"You didn't even make a wish," I accuse. "You didn't even think about it!"

Damon shrugs nonchalantly. "I already knew what I wanted."

"What is it?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

Later, a few weeks after Damon and I made our status as a couple obvious to the entire student body, we are sitting in his Camaro, listening to an audiobook. Well, we were listening to one, but Damon can be very persuasive and equally distracting.

Or maybe I'm just an emotional wrecking ball.

It's probably a mixture of both.

Tap, tap, tap.

The noise is so sudden and loud that I nearly hit my head on the window in my attempt to extricate myself from Damon.

Peering at me through the glass is none other than Mr. Salvatore.

"Damon, I hate to interrupt, but I need you to run some errands. And before you say anything, no, your brother can't go—he's busy." Mr. Salvatore says after I've rolled the window down.

I knew Giuseppe Salvatore was indifferent to most of Damon's antics, but I hadn't known the exact level of coldness he treated his eldest son with. I see it now and I'm beginning to understand why Damon doesn't respect his father. The older man's eyes are the same mesmerizing shade of blue as Damon's, but they are flat… displaying no sign of emotion. His face is lined with creases, making him seem a lot older than he actually is. He looks like the kind of guy who may have been happy at one time but has completely forgotten what that actually feel like.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something, dad." The frustration Damon is exhibiting is palpable. I can cut the tension in the air with a knife.

I throw Damon an encouraging smile, nudging him in the arm. I hope he receives the message I am trying to send we should probably tell him now. Let's get this over with.

He glances back at me and rolls his eyes. "As much as I'd love to run around the town square and pick up the things you are fully capable of getting yourself… we actually need to talk with you."

"We?"

Damon grabs my hand. "Yup. Hey, at least your hearing is still good old man. No hearing aids yet."

"What could you and… your new girlfriend possibly need to talk to me about." I don't miss the note of disdain in his voice.

I try to give Mr. Salvatore a warm smile. "It really is important, sir—and I'm not…" I trail off. I'd gotten so accustomed to saying otherwise that my response is automatic. "I am Damon's girlfriend."

"Wow, Damon you could learn a thing or two from this one. Much more polite than the last girl you chose to waste your time with." He turns around and throws a look over his shoulder. "You can follow me… and Miss—"

"Bennett," I supply. "Bonnie Bennett."

"With that display of affection, I'd hope you were my son's girlfriend. I'm glad I was right."

"Noted and thank you." I say, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

When Mr. Salvatore reaches the front porch, Damon shoots me a look that says: good going, in a way that certainly doesn't mean good going. "You shouldn't have said that."

"Said what?"

"That it was important." When I raise my eyebrows questioningly, he elaborates. "The old guy is jaded. He's not going to like that I'm making out with a new girlfriend who has something to tell him. I usually don't care enough for anyone other than you to meet my dad. Actually—I'm throwing you to the wolves. Sorry. It's going to be just great when he finds out you happen to be the mother of my child."

"Well… he didn't believe me. At least, it didn't sound like he did."

"… It's still a nail in our coffin."

"I'm sorry."

Signature Damon smirk. "Don't be. He likes you—way better than he likes me." He pauses, eyes wandering over my whole body. "You might want to put this on." He hands me his jacket.

I suddenly feel very self-conscious. "It's that noticeable?"

"It's not a bad thing. You still look like you, but we should just cover our bases… don't want him to suspect anything before I can tell him."

"Before we tell him."

"Look, I appreciate the back-up, but he's going to blame one of us and it won't be you." I don't like the sadness I see in Damon's eyes, but I can't think of anything to say that will fix it, so I just tighten my grip on his hand.

We get out of the car. Damon helps me put his coat on. I try to walk as slowly as I can because it feels like we have committed some abhorrent crime and we are headed to the guillotine. As we are standing at the door, I get the impression we are about to enter the lion's den.

~~X~~

The inside of the house is just as fancy as the outside. The first thing anyone notices upon entering the living room is a huge photograph of the Salvatore family when Damon and Stefan were very young. Stefan had been just a baby, Damon an unsurprisingly cute toddler. Their mother is absolutely beautiful. Long, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She looked happy and so did Mr. Salvatore.

I've spent many hours here and the extravagance in which the household is decked out in never fails to surprise me. I could spend months in this very spot, leave, and return and my reaction would be the same as it was when I first visited.

Awestruck and dumbfounded.

The furniture in the living room looks very expensive. A white leather sectional sits in the middle of the room, accompanied by a matching ottoman. In front of the couch is a large cherrywood coffee table with various lifestyles books neatly stacked upon it. Mounted on the wall is the biggest flat screen television I've ever seen. Underneath that, there is an ornate fireplace made of marble and cherrywood.

I loved that TV more than I'd like to admit. Damon said it was their Father's Day gift to Giuseppe and I can tell the older man had no part in selecting it. It's not as dated as most things in the room.

I'm wondering what it must have been like to grow up with everything you could possibly want but to not have any guidance or warmth when Mr. Salvatore clears his throat. "So, what is it that you want to discuss—it must be a life-or-death situation for you to refuse going to the grocery store?"

"I got Bonnie pregnant." Damon says casually. I hadn't expected him to rip the band-aid off so quickly.

"I see." Mr. Salvatore says. His face doesn't betray him. I can't tell if he's mad, sad, or disappointed. "And you must want money to…take care of it."

"Nope." Damon says and he sounds positively gleeful.

"No?"

"We are keeping her."

"Her?"

"Congrats Grandpa! You have a granddaughter!" Damon's delight is nerve-wracking.

That's when Giuseppe gets a little wordy, though his facial expression remains stagnant. "You've got to be joking, Damon. That's the most irresponsible, idiotic thing I've ever heard you suggest."

I collapse on the sofa. And I sit there silently. Just thinking. This conversation is very similar to the one I had with my own father. Who has only just recently stopped looking at me like I sold his kidney on the black market. I realize just how lucky I am to have my mother, who has done everything in her power to guide me through the mess I've made of my life. I don't want my daughter to feel as though she's a mistake, which she will if she has to spend any time with her paternal grandfather.

"Okay, Damon. This has gone on long enough. You can say 'gotcha' now."

"No can do. This is real and it's happening, whether you like it or not."

"Why?" Giuseppe is stone-faced. "You'd be throwing your life away—not that you had much to look forward to."

I flinch. That jab was brutal.

"See that's exactly it—I do have something to look forward to now. And I'm not going to fuck up my kid's life the way you did ours!"

"How very… valiant of you, son."

"I thought so."

"And what are your plans?"

"We're working on them."

"By kissing in your car?"

There's that defiant gleam in Damon's eyes. "I thought it was a good start."

"That isn't shocking."

I'm befuddled. Mr. Salvatore has yet to display any real emotion. I figured there might be some resignation by this point, but Damon hadn't been exaggeration his depiction of his dad.

"Well, son, I'm not going to hold your hand and walk you through this. You made the error, you fix it. And I expect you to have some semblance of a solution soon. Your mother would be ashamed that your playing games in such a serious situation."

That hit Damon where it hurt. His smirk falters and he doesn't have a witty retort.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me? Are you hooked on drugs, too? Breaking any other laws?"

"No," he chokes out weakly.

"Thank God. The shopping list is on the fridge. Be back by dinnertime."

And then his father goes into the foyer. I can hear his footsteps pounding against the stairs. And then a door slams, making me jump. Damon approaches me and sits down, putting an arm around my shoulder. I lean in to him and take a deep breath. I'm comforted by his smell, a mixture of soap and fabric softener. It's not enough, though. Listening to that exchange had been terrible and I feel guilty for not truly understanding the magnitude of Giuseppe's rigidity.

"I'm sorry," I say after a moment. "Your dad sucks."

Damon snorts. "And that went better than I expected."

"Uh… that's… nice to hear—I guess." I hesitate, unsure of how to articulate my next thought. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to make things worse."

"You didn't. He's been looking for an excuse to use that line for years."

"Still—"

"Don't sweat it, Bon Bon. My back-up idea is a guarantee."

"Back-up plan?"

"I could be a male model, make millions, live in a penthouse. You could visit when you want, as long as I'm not busy signing autographs for my adoring female fans."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"You just did." Damon points out.

"Whatever."

"I bet I could even sell my underwear online for a hefty price. I'm a heartthrob."

"I don't think so!" I say quickly, a little too quickly.

Damon smiles like the Cheshire Cat. "Aww, is my little Bon Bon worried about other women?"

I frown, pulling my legs onto the couch, tucking them under me. "No."

"Sounds a little like a yes to me. But hey, when I'm famous, you'll be sorry. Right now, is the perfect opportunity to stake your claim."

"Did you want me to?" I look up at him expectantly.

"Maybe…"

"Okay, and how should I do that? I actually thought I already did. In the car. Twenty minutes ago. Oh, and at school…"

"Do it again. But this time, talk about how amazing I am. Ignore my cell phone. I'm only going to record it for posterity."

"You are so difficult." I say, sitting up.

"Your point?"

"I like you. A lot. Isn't that enough?"

"For now," Damon concedes. "But a foot rub would really reinforce that point."

"Awesome. My feet hurt." I shift my legs, so they are resting across his lap. "You're a doll."

"Well, since you seem so excited about it, sure. I'll humor you.

"You'll humor me?"

"Uh huh."

"I'll humor you!"

"You are the one insisted I massage your gross feet." He reminds me. "Silly, Bon Bon. It looks like your hormones are going to your brain." He pats the crown of my head.

"Whatever, Salvatore! Just be at my house tomorrow. Seven o' clock."

"Why?"

"So, we can sit down with all three of our parents and present them with our Plan A."

"Boo—I think I like my Plan B better."

"Too bad. I liked your original one—don't be late."

"I wouldn't dare."

I swing my feet onto the ground and prepare to leave. I take the jacket off and hand it to him. "Bye, Damon."

"See you tomorrow!"