~30~

~Chapter Thirty~

When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No, I won't be afraid
Oh, I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand
Stand by me

~Ben E. King, Stand By Me~

My hospital room has become a revolving door of doctors, nurses, and visitors. Some welcomed and others tolerated. Among the people I'm hesitant to see are my parents, who I'm sure were extremely worried that they wouldn't be seeing me for a bit and that their primary source of information would be Damon. They don't look pleased when I finally consent to their presence. As much as I hate to admit it, I guess I understand why. Part of me doesn't blame them for feeling so put-off by my distance—I haven't been the best communicator. But I also feel that they relied upon my ability to be self-sufficient way too much.

So maybe we are all at fault.

But just because I can admit I didn't handle things all that well, that doesn't make up for their absence when I needed them or the shame they regard me with. The thought makes me start sobbing uncontrollably. This is normal—or so I've been told. My hormones need to regulate themselves and they wouldn't be doing that for a few weeks. Which fucking sucks.

So, when my mom comes over and envelopes me in a hug, I let her. My father stays as far away from me as possible, backing himself into a corner, right next to the large (white) wardrobe.

"I'm so glad you're okay, sweetie. It's alright." She runs her fingers through my tangled hair and presses her lips to the top of my head.

"I'm a h-horrible d-daughter!" I hiccup. I'm pretty sure the front of her pinstriped blouse is covered with my tears and snot. It's made of pure silk and I am pretty certain she only wears it to work when she has an important meeting to attend. Mom, however, doesn't seem to notice.

"You are the best daughter I could have hoped for, Bonnie Bear. Now are you going to tell me about my granddaughter, or do I have to text Damon?"

I want to tell her yes, that Damon actually is the best person to speak to at the moment because he can talk about her without bursting into tears. But I don't. Because that's not very fair and I really do strive to be that very thing—even to my own personal detriment, it seems. That's me: Bonnie Bennett—Martyr Extraordinaire.

I take a deep breath, steady myself, and begin my explanation. "She's doing alright. We aren't allowed to hold her yet—she's hooked up to a ventilator. She's about two pounds and she looks like a raisin. Well, in my opinion, she does. The doctors say she will have to stay in the NICU for at least a few months, maybe longer."

"I'm so sorry honey. I know how hard this must be for you."

I don't want pity. I already know how difficult this is. I don't want or need it to be reiterated to me every time someone new comes to see me. I won't get to take her with me when I get discharged. I have to live my life with constant worry. It's already killing me. Slowly and I can't even close my eyes and wait for it to be over. I need to keep moving, go about business as usual. I'm already formulating a plan to return to school. And then I'll be here, every second that's available and I won't leave until they kick me out.

"I'll be fine." I say, voice even. "I don't have a choice."

"I love you Bonnie," Dad looks at me. The turmoil he seems to be going through is almost too much to bear.

"Love you, too, Dad."

He opens his mouth to say something else. I see the restraint he's using to stay quiet. I might have commended him for it if it wasn't for the circumstances we are currently under.

My mother gives me another kiss, this time on my cheek. "Your dad and I are going to go to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?"

"No thanks." I force myself to look cheerful.

"Alright, honey. We will be back soon."

As soon as they exit, Damon comes through the doorway, holding two Styrofoam cups, and whistling the theme song to The Addams Family. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders when he meets my gaze. His eyes light up and he sits on the edge of my bed. I flinch as I scoot over to give him room to lay down.

He gives me one cup and takes a swig from the other. I can feel the heat emanating from my drink. I breathe in. Coffee. I take a sip, nearly scalding my tongue in the process. He ordered it just like I like it—no cream and three sugars. I've known Damon a long time—the majority of my life—and not once do I remember telling him how I take my coffee.

"Are you psychic?"

"What?"

I wave the cup in the air. "You just magically knew how I like to drink my coffee?"

The look of confusion vanishes. "Oh! No, not at all. You were begging me for it last night, but you were also dry heaving every two minutes; so, I figured I'd get you some today—because you're not stoned off your ass."

I have no recollection of this.

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Really?" Damon raises his eyebrows in a way that screams challenge accepted. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through various media files. When he finds the one he wants, he hands it to me, smirk already in place. "Then what is that?"

I press play and immediately wish I pressed delete instead. I'm whining. Loudly. Begging Damon for coffee because I pushed—or rather, attempted to push—a human out of my body just hours ago. He doesn't respond to me with words, he simply pushes a pink tub in front of my face when the aforementioned dry heaving commences.

This… well… this bit of video cannot leave this room under any circumstances.

I attempt to drag the recording over to the trash can icon, but Damon takes it from me before I have the chance to complete my mission. He holds the phone just above my reach and I know better than to try and grab it. No way do I want to fuck up my stitches.

"You're going to delete it."

"Why would I do that? One day, when Amelia is old enough to talk, she's going to ask about the day she born and instead of telling her how scared we were I'll show her this little gem."

"How thoughtful of you," I grumble.

There is a faint knock on the door. We turn around simultaneously and find Elena and Caroline hanging in the doorway. Chipper and carrying two bouquets of Queen of the Night tulips and orange begonias. To the average person, these two flowers would make a very strange looking bouquet. To me, they are a thing of beauty. The orange flowers are my favorite. The deep-purplish tulips were my grandmother's. She always claimed they have a bewitching quality about them. And they certainly look like it.

"I missed you guys!" I shoot Damon a look that tells him to move, which he does without complaint, slipping his phone back into its hiding place.

The girls encircle me. One friend sits on either side of my hospital bed. They both lay their heads on my shoulders. I find the smell of Elena's perfume and Caroline's shampoo comforting. Lavender and freesia make me feel like I'm back at home, watching The Notebook with them for the billionth time. But they are chomping at the bit for news; so, I can't revel in the familiarity.

"What's the deal with our niece?" Caroline demands impatiently.

Elena, in a calmer tone, says: "Damon says he has a picture. Can we see it?"

I nod. "Be forewarned, she's not going to look like a normal newborn."

"We know," Caroline assures me. "She's going to be the cutest preemie ever!"

I still don't think Care is prepared for what she's going to see. If Amelia's size doesn't shock her, the feeding tube probably will. I predict Elena will handle it a bit better, even better than I did.

Damon shows them with a long sigh.

Care gasps. "Oh Bonnie…"

"What's her name?" Elena sounds in awe… and something else I can't put my finger on.

"Amelia." Damon answers before I can even open my mouth. "Middle name Lillian."

Elena beams. "Did you tell Stef?"

"No. He can hear it whenever he decides to show up. I'm tired of being the messenger boy."

"Damon…"

A few minutes tick by and nobody says anything. The silence is only broken when Stefan strolls through the door, an envelope underneath his arm. Elena goes over to her boyfriend and wraps her arms around his neck. "Did everything work out okay?"

"Yeah, for the most part. But it was a pain in the ass to get it back up."

His older brother snickers. "You know, what you guys do in private is not my business, but I think you're a little young for that kind of issue."

"Shut up, Damon. Your brother got you a gift." Elena plants her hands on her hips in disapproval.

"Oh goody! It's not even my birthday."

Stefan rolls his eyes and passes the present to Damon. The envelope is large, and our names are written on it in Stef's clean, clear script. He shakes the wrapping and it rattles faintly. "It's not money. Man, I'm a little disappointed."

And then he opens it. A picture frame slides into his palm. It has hinges on the left side. When Damon opens it, I see three slots for photographs. The first space is filled with the picture from the Salvatore's living room, though it's a much smaller version. Stef must have had to drag the original to the drug store photo center so they could shrink it down properly. The other two are empty.

"When she comes home I figured we could take an updated family photo."

Damon stares at it and then looks up at Stefan. "Thank you, brother. It means a lot."

I never thought I'd dread leaving the hospital—especially after giving birth. But I do. I avoid going into my bags. I don't want to look at the clothes I won't be able to dress my baby in. I have been working very hard to keep the waterworks contained and that won't help me any.

Damon tosses me one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants.

He doesn't want to acknowledge it either.

I try to get dressed without groaning in pain. Damon ends up having to help me put the pants on due to my problems with bending over. I wished I looked more like I did over the summer, but I still resemble someone who is at least five months pregnant. And I feel much worse, if you can believe that. I try to be sneaky and sniff Damon's shirt. It still smells like him.

He crouches down and rolls up the hems of the pants. "Saw that."

"Don't know what your talking about," I counter, sticking my tongue out like he would.

"Sure, sure," he says, standing up.

I'm putting my slippers on when the nurse comes in to finish the discharge process. I sit down on the edge of the bed, throwing a miserable glance at the car seat Amelia is far too small to fit into. Damon offered to take it down and put it in his trunk so we don't have to look at it until we bring her home. I agreed, but I don't think it will fit there. His car is sleek and mid-sized, so I'm not too sure he will be able to shut it. I can only hope.

The nurse reminds me I'm not supposed to be driving or basically doing any other strenuous activities for six weeks or so. No sex until I make a follow-up appointment with my doctor after the allotted healing time. I don't make eye contact with her when I say that I understand what is being told to me. She reminds me that it's okay to go home, that I can come back at any time, but it's better for recovery if I rest anywhere that's not here. But I can't stand the fact that I can only look at my baby. I didn't even get a chance to hold her and wouldn't get to do so for a while.

This has got to be the hardest thing I've ever done.

I beg the nurse to write me a note saying I can return to school twelve days from today. I don't even know if I will be able to endure that long inside my own head, but I want to be practical. She reluctantly agrees, reminds me that my timeline is subject to change. Oh, and under no circumstances, should I be participating in PE. No big deal. The cheerleading team is flourishing with Anna. I know the football games have gained at least one loyal spectator because of her.

She leaves and I feel like dying as we walk, hand-in-hand, to the main lobby. We are in this together and we will get through it—come hell or high water.

The last twelve days have been absolute torture. We both spent the first half of the week going back and forth to the hospital. And the better portion of our days was spent sitting by her incubator and chatting with the nurses and other parents. Damon had to go back to school on Wednesday. On Thursday night, my mom suggested we chill out and watch a movie, so we opted for an Evil Dead marathon. I woke up midway through the second film. My head was on Damon's chest and we were covered with Grams' quilt. Damon had been snoring, sleeping like a log. The clock on the wall read one in the morning. I went back to sleep the second I closed my eyes again.

And today, I'm going back to school for the first time since that incident when I left the building on a stretcher. I really wish I had considered that prior to begging for a shorter leave. Dumb move. I am still subsisting on Damon's wardrobe and moccasins. I did my hair in hopes that it would distract my peers from the appearance of my body post-birth. As I'm scrutinizing myself in Damon's side view mirror, I conclude that it didn't help my cause any.

The sun is out, and the school looks idyllic, like something you would see in a teen movie from the eighties. Nothing has changed—it looks like it always has and always will. Red bricked with a grand entryway and the set of ten steps leading to the main doors. But to me, it's like I'm walking into an alien's spaceship. The comments start as soon as I open the car door, and everyone is incredibly vocal about their shock at my return.

No one even knows that I had the baby. Elena, Stefan, Caroline, and Tyler being the exception to the rule. But I'm sure they are curious. Hell, even I would be if I were an outsider looking in. A bunch of people start in on us like vultures as we walk through the main entrance.

Some classmates have the decency to ask how I'm doing. Others just want to know if I lost the baby—not that I ever explicitly told anyone I was pregnant in the first place. The first person to inquire about this is someone I loathe; Kai. Damon promptly shoves him against the lockers before the word dead leaves his mouth. It feels like time has stopped. If I didn't think I'd reopen my incision I'd have hit him myself. I put my hand on Damon's shoulder, causing him to freeze mid-punch. His arm is shaking.

"He's not worth it," I say as calmly as I can. "Let's go."

~~X~~

The gossip never ends. Throughout the day I hear whispers about me, about my daughter, about how lucky I am that Damon even bothered to stick around. I do my darndest to keep my nose to the grindstone. I haven't screwed up on an assignment yet and I'm not about to let some assholes get to me.

Fuck that.

So, I scribble my answers down, concentrating far too much on the curves and lines of each letter I write. History is thought-provoking and I've always been fascinated by the Salem Witch Trials. Alaric Saltzman's voice almost drowns out the sounds of murmurs and poorly thought out barbs, but not quite. That is, until he slams his teacher's edition text book on his desk. Then you could hear a pin drop.

"That's enough. Most of you are legally adults—you'd think you would have at least developed some tact by now." He nods at me. "Miss Bennett, I'm happy to have you back. Class just hasn't been the same without your insights. Do any of you guys want to add anything? I advise you to choose your words carefully."

The lack of response is deafening.

When I go to leave the classroom, I stop by my teacher's desk, hand him my missed homework. "Thank you, Mr. Saltzman. You didn't have to defend me the way you did." Especially since I bailed on his project.

"Of course, I did—you are going to do great things with your life Bonnie. Being a mother is only one accomplishment. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

I nod. Don't cry. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don't cry.

"I think you're the first person to say that to me—even my mother didn't put it like that."

He smiles at me. A genuine, honest-to-God smile. For a second, I understand why Caroline has swooned over him for the past three or so years. "Eh. I used to teach a poetry class before I moved here. Just so you know, the same basic principle applies to Damon. Would you mind telling him to come see me before lunch?"

"Sure thing—thank you again, Mr. Saltzman."

"No problem."

I exit the classroom, almost running straight into my best friends. They each hook an arm around mine. There's that unbreakable chain, still strong and solid despite the storms it has weathered over the years. And we walk like that for the rest of day—in the hallways at least—ignoring the looks we get for doing so.

This is it. The moment I have been waiting for.

Well, the first stepping stone leading to the moment I have been waiting for.

Damon and I are decked out in yellow smocks and gloves. We are about to hold Amelia for the very first time. I've been here nearly every day since I was permitted to leave the hospital. Damon has been with me all but one time—my mother came to see her yesterday. It had been the very first time she saw her outside of pictures. I can only hope she fell in love with Amelia just as I have.

I take her from the nurse eagerly. She is still incredibly small. It's almost as if I'm holding a feather in my arms. She still looks wrinkly, but she is beginning to look like a regular newborn baby. She can only be out of her incubator for a few minutes, so I reluctantly hand her off to Damon. All the worries and doubts people have vocalized about his ability to be a good father disappear and a aura so gentle and sweet falls over him that I don't know how to react.

One of the nurses offers to take a picture for us and I'm so thankful that this moment has been captured forever. The three of us together. A family—and I realize then that I have everything I could possibly want right in front of me. I finally feel complete.