~27~

~Chapter Twenty-Seven~

No one's wrong,
no one's right.
It comes down on you.
And I have found, your life inside mine.

~Better Than Ezra, Teenagers~

Dear Miss Bennett,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Whitmore University for the upcoming school year! Congratulations! On the behalf of the entire Whitmore community, we want to wish you a very warm welcome!

Your academic achievements have allowed you to immerse yourself in all that our institution has to offer. You will be joining a diverse group of students with different interests and talents. Our campus provides our attendees with a well-rounded selection of classes and hands-on opportunities to learn.

Furthermore, after reviewing your academic transcripts, admission essay, volunteer hours, and extracurriculars, we are delighted to offer you the Mae E. Whitmore scholarship for outstanding academic accomplishments. This scholarship with cover the entire cost of tuition and books as long as you maintain a GPA of at least 3.75 over the course of your tenure at Whitmore University. Please fill out the required paperwork and Financial Aid forms by April 16th to take full advantage of this opportunity.

Please feel free to join us for our new student orientation on August 15th. You will be permitted to move into the dormitory up to a week before the first day of the semester. We also recommend that you view our first-year checklist on our website. It will provide you with a list of suggested supplies, textbooks, and a directory of important phone numbers.

We look forward to seeing you this upcoming Fall!

Sincerely,

Anne Winger
Whitmore Dean of Admissions

I can't suppress the excitement I feel when I read the letter I had received in the mail.

I've been accepted into Whitmore—and it's only midway through January! I had applied for the early decision back when I was filling out applications for different schools; before I decided to put my foot down on how I'd be approaching my college experience.

Part of me did it this way because I'd have a logical reason to jump on this opportunity as opposed to waiting on other possibilities. I deliberately waited to send in my Yale application for that reason, but all the convoluted planning had been a waste of time.

Then, even though I was well aware of my pregnancy, I had hoped to get Mom and Dad to see my side of things, although I knew deep down that they would only settle for an Ivy League college. No matter what I did or said—there was (and still is) only a single road to success in their minds.

And I'm running straight off it.

The fact that I earned the scholarship is the best part though. When Dad had a say in things, I didn't worry about the price tag of a college education as much—he always told me that he, Mom, and Grams put enough money in my college fund over the years to off-set the cost.

But doing the opposite of what Rudy Bennett wants means I'd have no access to that account until I turned twenty-one. So, if I hadn't applied for every possible grant and scholarship, I'd be stuck with a huge student loan that would probably bury me in debt.

Now, all I have to focus on is housing, and creating a monthly budget, and look for a part-time job.

No sweat.

Okay, it is a lot to do, but I'm going to have to get it all done. If I don't, then there is absolutely no way I will be able to take on the role of someone's mother.

And, if anyone can do it, it's me (Or I hope and pray that it's me).

I'm going to withhold judgment until I accomplish at least one of the items on my checklist. I don't want to be like Damon, unjustifiably cocky, and overestimate myself. It may work for him, but most of us can't get away with it.

But first… I'm going to celebrate.

I squeal--a high-pitch noise that goes beyond the frequency that most humans would be able to detect. I dance around the island, skipping over to the kitchen table, where I left the hastily ripped envelope.

"Why are you so happy?" a voice interrupts.

I freeze mid-jump, turning to see my father observing me from his spot in the archway. He's gripping his briefcase like it is glued to his palm, frowning, loafer tapping rather forcefully on the floor.

I try to maintain a baseline level of joy when I respond. "I got an early acceptance letter!"

"To Yale?"

I shake my head.

"Brown, Harvard, Cornell, or Princeton?"

"No," I say. "But I got a full-ride scholarship."

As expected, he doesn't appear enthused or proud. Disappointment shows as his exasperation deepens. Of course, he doesn't care about anything else, only what he deems as an achievement. "Don't tell me…"

"Okay, I'll show you." I hand the letter off to him.

"Whitmore," he groans. "You could do so much better, young lady."

"I'm doing pretty well, Dad. Not many people get their tuition completely paid like that."

"Says the girl who got pregnant at seventeen by a friend," he slams the paper onto the counter. "Not many people have the chops to go to the school where you were going to attend."

"Damon and I are dating now," I say defensively. "And just because this isn't what you wanted for me doesn't mean I'm a failure!"

He gestures to my stomach. "This is what you wanted out of life?"

"No. But… it happened and it's too late to go back and change things now… so, I'm going to play the cards I've been dealt."

"This situation is not something given to you, Bonnie. You had to know that having unprotected sex could potentially lead to this… your mom had the sex talk with you when you were fourteen. Or so I thought."

Ouch. So, the dinner and a movie outing didn't do much—if anything—to mend the cracks in their marriage.

"You're right… but…" I pause, somewhat unwilling to say my next rebuttal. "She's my baby and I love her."

If my dad was angry before, he is infuriated now. I see that bulging vein appear on his forehead again. He's grimacing now as if what I said is causing him physical pain. In the back of my head, I'm trying to estimate how high his blood pressure shot up… this kind of rage can't be good for his heart.

Blood pressure issues did not run in the family, but all the extra stress probably made my father a prime candidate for it now.

"Bonnie—you have no idea how hard it is to be a parent. No fucking clue. It's not a cake-walk—and you won't be able to do it. I know because I'm a parent… and I don't get a break! I can't stop being your father—I have to put you first! It's what you do for your child!"

His insinuations strike a chord. "I'm going to do my best… I don't care if you think we can't do it! I'm not giving up—it's my life and my choice!"

My whole body is trembling. Whether it's from the anger of my Dad's opinion of me or utter hopelessness I can't tell.

"You think that boy will stick around? Once he gets his orders, you'll be the last thing on his mind."

He's got a point, it'll be hard on both of us and I don't know how the future will turn out, but I'm not doing this for Damon. His support means more than words can ever express, but he's not the reason I'm choosing to keep her.

For the first time, I'm thinking about what I want from life. And, I can admit, a baby wasn't something I thought would be a part of it so soon, but I can't imagine anything else at the moment.

And I know part of it is selfish, something I never try to be, but that doesn't guarantee I'll fall flat on my face. Sure, it would be amazing to have a stable familial support system, but I haven't gotten that from Mom and Dad yet; so, I shouldn't expect differently.

I furiously wipe tears I hadn't realized I was shedding. "I'm not stupid—I know that. It doesn't change anything!"

"It's stupid of you to even say that!" Rudy bellows.

"Dad…"

"Don't dad me, Bonnie. I'm not going to sit idly by and watch you crash and burn!"

"W- what?" I stammer pathetically.

"I'm done," Dad states, stopping out of the kitchen without so much as a second glance in my direction.

My knees buckle and I sink to the floor. The impact of bone on tile smarts, even though my legs are covered in the stretchy denim that touts itself as the perfect maternity wear (something I still wouldn't purchase if Caroline doesn't bug me about getting every two weeks or so).

Well, this has always been a possibility. I knew that. I prepped for it ever since I found out I was pregnant. I just didn't quite understand that my father's total abandonment—along with the verbalization—would hurt so badly.

"Don't let him get you down, Bon Bon," Damon is saying, wiping an errant teardrop off my cheek. "You'll be a great mom!"

I hiccup. "Thank you, but I- I wanted him to b- be p- proud of me! Why c- couldn't he s- see how hard I w- worked!"

He leans back in his chair, contemplating this. Genuinely trying to come up with a plausible reason. "He's just worried, that's all. I know I'm proud of you. That scholarship is a huge accomplishment."

I smile through the sadness. "You think so?"

"I know so," he says, returning my smile with one of his own. "It's a big fucking deal, you should be proud of yourself, too. That kind of success takes a lot of work."

I lie my head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. "Thank you, Damon. How'd you get so good at pep talks?"

"I don't know," I feel his shoulders move up as he shrugs. "I blame you—you make me nice."

"You make you nice," I counter, closing my eyes, tension beginning to fade away. "I don't control you."

"No, but you set pretty high standards."

"I do not," I say quietly, but I don't know if he hears me.

He must not have, because I receive no answer. His fingers brush through my hair soothingly. It's so relaxing that I begin to drift off… everything seems so far away… and I feel so much lighter…

Better. Safe. Loved.

And, for reasons I can't comprehend, I fight my drowsiness. Open my green eyes, peer up at my boyfriend through my lashes. He looks so peaceful and content like he's about to fall asleep, too.

"Damon…" I murmur sleepily. "Can I tell you something?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He gazes down at me, grinning lazily. "You do?"

"Yes," I assure him with a yawn.

"How much?"

I consider this. "More than onion rings now, I think."

I find myself blinking, breathing beginning to slow once more. Damon's fingers are still coming through my hair. This is so close to perfect…

"High praise from you."

"Yes."

"Bennett?"

"Yes, Salvatore?" My voice is muffled by the fabric of his gray shirt.

"I love you, too. More than you know."

I have a response for him, but I don't remember if I said anything. Actually, I don't remember what it was. All I know is, I'm extremely comfortable. Damon makes a pretty good pillow, his arms a stellar blanket. I'm vaguely aware of a brief adjustment… probably Damon pulling his legs onto his dad's expensive couch, stretching his legs out so they don't fall asleep under the weight of my body while in an odd position.

If he moved again, I'm not sure. By the time I've registered the first movement, I'm already slipping back into my nap, thinking of all the things I have to be grateful for. Oddly, most of them involve Damon in some way, shape, or form.

Go figure.

~~X~~

Damon attempting to assemble a crib by himself, in a room I've never seen before, with our friends as his audience. It looks like we are in a room that has elements of my own bedroom and his. With some pieces of furniture, a fuzzy blur in the background.

"Viola!" Damon says, brandishing his hammer. "I did it—without any help from you!" He looks at his brother haughtily.

"I'm shocked," Care says.

"I'm not… I knew he'd figure it out eventually."

Elena looks at me in mild surprise. "Me too."

"See, Bon Bon? I told you that you didn't have to be embarrassed—everyone should know that I'm good with my hands."

The laughter that follows sounds like it's being filtered through a funnel. The scene changes slowly. And in a very creepy manner at that. Caroline, Damon, Stefan, and Elena begin melting away, their faces seeping into their flesh. The room contorts and I feel like I'm being folded in half.

But, when everything rights itself, I am staring at an open field, snapshots of different scenarios playing out in front of me—most, somewhat embarrassingly, have Damon in them.

Okay. All of them do. I'm not liking my subconscious very much at the moment.

A picnic, a little girl who is the perfect mixture of us both, running into his arms, giggling, Damon and I holding hands, smiling at each other goofily, declaring our love for one another in front of a man that looks oddly like Mr. Salvatore…

The images begin to fade away, the space around me goes dark until everything is blanketed in an endless expanse of pitch-black…

When I open my eyes again, I think back to the weird menagerie of dreams I had.

I can feel the blush creeping up my neck just thinking about some things my psyche created. And it didn't happen. It's not the slightest bit real, though it had been pretty vivid in some parts.

My boyfriend stirs, stretching his arms and back. He doesn't miss a beat, takes no time in fully waking up. Damon's alert, as if he sensed the opportunity to tease me before he even opened his eyes.

"Aww, someone is feeling nervous about something." Damon pinches my cheek. I turn and attempt to bite his finger. "Feisty, tonight are we?" he mutters, yanking his hand away from my mouth.

"No, I'm just trying to get my bearings and you're being counterproductive."

"Just because I'm not doing what you want, doesn't mean I'm being counterproductive."

I glare at the fake innocence in his eyes. "And what are you trying to accomplish… oh, two minutes after you woke up?"

"I want to see how long it takes for you to get frustrated and tear your clothes off."

"Again—we just woke up. And what does me being frustrated have to do with me taking my clothes off?"

Damon shrugs casually. "I think you'll get so fed up with my antics that you'll try to shut me up by any means necessary."

"Interesting theory."

"Yeah, you should prove me right."

"Yeah, because I love giving you bragging rights."

"You should."

"Maybe if you carry me to your room… I'm not in the mood to get up."

He grumbles under his breath as he completes the task, acting like it's the most strenuous thing he's ever done. I'm sure he's exaggerating the amount of effort it took, but he plops me on his bed anyway.

And then he smirks.

Just as I thought. I don't think Damon Salvatore has an off button. "Smooth Hercules."

"Very funny Medusa," he mutters. Sticking his tongue out.

That gets my attention. "You think being compared to a snake monster turns me on?"

"I don't know. Seems like something you'd be into."

"Where'd you get that impression?"

"That one time we were fucking and you—"

"Okay, point taken."

He just can't resist sticking it to authority figures.

I sit up, checking his alarm clock. His father won't be home until late tonight and my parents with be home in an hour. That should be enough time to—

Damon flops next to me and I nearly topple over from the unexpected movement. He props himself up and the look in his eyes is so intense that I can hardly stand it. I avert my gaze after a second. I may have better balloon-popping skills, but Damon wins in a staring contest hands down.

"I don't even know why you're still so insistent on this," I say. Furrowing my brows "I don't exactly look very attractive right now."

"Don't say that. Your boobs are massive."

I swat him on the arm. "That's not reassuring."

"What? The rest of you looks good, too. I just thought I'd open with a huge positive."

"How Shakespearian of you," I mutter.

"What can I say? Romance just comes naturally to me." He bats his eyelashes. "But if you're uncomfortable we can just watch a movie instead—just please don't put on nauseating chick-flicks."

"How about Kill Bill?"

"I knew you had good taste somewhere in that head of yours, Bennett. That movie makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside."

"You're deranged."

"The best people always are Bon Bon."