Hey, guys. This is the longest chapter I've ever written. It took me over the last week to do. We see a slight glimpse into Claire and Damon's past in Mystic Falls, but this is only the beginning, believe it or not. Anyways, since it's such a long chapter, I hate doing long Author's Notes with it so...enjoy the chapter! Review at the end if you can!
Disclaimer: Refer to the first chapter please :)
Bloodlines
Mystic Falls, 1858
A burst of giggles sounded behind Marianne King as she and her two daughters stood in the town's apothecary, talking to the other townsmen. Marianne turned sharply and hushed her girls, and they both stiffened at the scold.
"Go outside, Clarissa," Marianne told her eldest daughter, who straightened as she'd been taught. "Take your sister with you."
The young, sixteen-year-old Clarissa King nodded, and with her hands respectfully folded by her stomach, she picked up her skirt and walked highly out of the apothecary with her sister by her side. They both stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight and listened as the birds chirped in the crisp air around them.
"Clarissa?"
"Yes, Amelia?"
"Why is Mother talking to Jonathan Gilbert?" Amelia asked, her voice sweet and childishly mature for an eleven-year-old. Clarissa turned to see her mother in deep conversation with John, but she didn't know what the conversation was about. Amelia was too busy distracting her with stories from school for her to pay attention.
"I'm not sure," Clarissa said simply, turning her head to her sister. Amelia was a small girl, petite and light, with blonde hair a lot more saturated than Clarissa's. But, despite their minor differences, the girls looked the same when it came to the small things—Marianne would dress them alike and braid their hair alike, things of that nature. In fact, they both wore a single-fashioned side braid that exampled their torso-length hair. "I'm sure Mother has her reasons."
The five-year age gap was a major difference, yes, but that never stopped Clarissa and Amelia from being the closest friends within the family. They shared everything together; sometimes to a point where it was too much. But, though Amelia was her friend at home, she had her own friend outside of her quarters.
"Look, Clarissa!" Amelia smiled, looking towards the direction of two boys heading their way. "It's the Salvatore boys!"
Amelia had developed a schoolgirl crush on Stefan, and Clarissa was almost positive Stefan felt the same way. Though, Amelia had her own friends, and she spent much of her time with them than with Stefan and Damon Salvatore. It was on occasion when she would join Clarissa, Damon, and Stefan's group, and though she kept this schoolgirl crush on Stefan, she had at least three other boys lined up right after him. Clarissa was very aware that her little sister would grow up to be quite the heartbreaker.
"Calm down, Amelia. There's nothing to get over-worked about," Clarissa warned her just as Damon and Stefan approached them, and their father went inside the apothecary. Clearing her throat, she said with a raised voice, "Besides. It is only Stefan and Damon."
"Only Stefan and Damon?" Damon mused to her, coming up to their side. Clarissa turned to him now, paying no attention to her little sister and Damon's little brother smiling idiotically at each other. "You've wounded me, Miss King."
"I reckon you can handle the pain, Mister Salvatore," she retorted in a light tone. Damon, though nineteen now, still kept positions with his childhood best friend, as did his twelve-year-old brother. But Stefan's presence was merely a courtesy to the young boy who wanted to be so much like his brother that he practically clung to Damon's leg.
The eldest children stared at each other for a while, their eyes getting mixed up in the sea of colors that floated around them. Amusing smiles crossed each other's faces, and they—for just a moment—forgot their surroundings.
"Boys," a harsh voice snapped, making Damon flinch along with Stefan, who had been conversing politely with Amelia, who was still by Clarissa's side. Clarissa, Damon, Stefan, and Amelia all looked to see Giuseppe Salvatore standing firmly with his hands placed behind his back. "We must come back later. Mrs. King is with Mr. Gilbert. Say goodbye to her girls now, we'll see them for dinner," he barked.
Giuseppe turned his back for a moment so that they could all give their temporary goodbyes. Stefan gave a shy bow and Amelia gave a similarly shy curtsey, but Damon and Clarissa weren't so reserved. Damon took Clarissa's hand in his and pressed his lips gently to it, a smile riding on his face. "Goodbye, Clarissa. Until later."
"Goodbye, Damon," she said in return, and watched as he released her hand and walked with his little brother behind his father, who led them back to the Salvatore plantation.
Claire awoke with a start, hitting the confinements of her seatbelt as she gasped back to life in the front seat of Damon's moving vehicle. The vampire driving beside her did not flinch at her sudden movement, but rather glanced over at her and smiled. "Morning, sunshine."
"What the…" Claire trailed off, gasping for air as she slowly began to remember what happened to her. Damon waited, anxious, as she snapped her head at him and her eyes flashed with a certain rage. "You snapped my neck!" she roared.
"Easy," Damon hushed her, jerking his finger behind him. "We're not alone."
"What the hell are you—" Claire turned around to see that they were, indeed, not alone. In the backseat, with her head rolled to the side, was the Katherine look-alike—Elena. Claire widened her eyes as she looked back at Damon. "You kidnapped Stefan's girlfriend?"
"I didn't kidnap her," Damon defended himself. "She was in a car crash. Someone was going to take her. I saved her," he said pointedly.
"Well, aren't you a regular hero," the blonde vampire snapped through her teeth. She looked outside to the moving buildings around her and raised her eyebrows. "Where the hell are we?"
"Georgia," Damon sung happily, which caused Claire to turn her head sharply, once again.
"Georgia? You kidnapped me and Elena and you took us to Georgia? Who put a stupid chip in your brain?" Damon only smiled at her anger, but she only was enraged by it. Leaning over, Claire jerked the wheel. "Take us back!"
"Ah," Damon said, regaining control of the wheel as he slapped her fingers away. She growled at him, but he was only encouraged by the sound. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph that he had stolen from Claire's pocket while she was out. Claire widened her eyes as she saw what was on the photograph.
"You asswipe!" Claire shouted and reached over to grab the picture from his hand. Damon kept it out of her reach as he single-handedly restrained her, happy that he'd been the one to have more strength than her. But she wouldn't rest, and Damon nearly lost control of the wheel.
"Hey, hey, hey. This car's a classic. If you make me crash, I will personally drive a stake through your heart."
"You say that like you don't already expect to be dead by the time that happens!"
Damon sighed. "If you want the picture back, why don't you be a good little girl, don't complain, relax, and just enjoy the ride?" he suggested, turning to her and her scowling face. "When we're back home, I'll give you the photograph."
"You shouldn't have taken the photograph to begin with, Damon!"
"Yeah, well, you didn't leave me with much of a choice," Damon shrugged, shifting in his seat so that he could put the photo away.
Claire crossed her arms. "Yeah, because the first thing a person thinks of to do after temporarily killing someone is to throw them in their car, take their most prized possession, and drive to Georgia with their brother's girlfriend, right?" she said pointedly, which earned another shrug from Damon. "Does Stefan know about this?"
"Uh…seeing as I didn't call him and tell him of my weekend plans, I'd say no," Damon scoffed. "Seriously. Relax. It's just for the day…possibly the night. But tomorrow morning at most," he promised.
Claire stared at him incredulously, and then scoffed, slumping back in her seat with her arms still crossed. "You are unbelievable. I didn't think you could stoop to such low levels before now."
"Oh, come on," Damon laughed, smiling as he turned to her but still kept one eye out for the road. "This can be like our first romantic vacation together. Isn't that sweet?" Claire reached across and slapped his arm hard, earning Damon to entertain her with a light, "Ouch."
She frowned at him. "You're not funny," she warned, and turned her head so that she faced the open window—and from that point on, she remained silent, despite Damon's efforts.
Elena woke up a half an hour later, when they were making their way through the first couple towns in the state of Georgia. Unlike Claire, she didn't awake with a gasp, but rather a groan, and it didn't take her long, either, to figure out that they were in a moving vehicle going somewhere unknown. Damon looked at her through the rearview mirror.
"Morning!" he chirped.
Elena was startled by the voice, but when she realized that it was just Damon, she relaxed. "Where are we?" she asked immediately, feeling her head for the injury that Claire hadn't noticed until now.
Claire sighed. "Georgia."
"What?" Elena asked, straightening. "Georgia?" Damon nodded, and she began to panic. "No, no. No, we're not. Seriously, Damon, where are we?"
"Seriously, we're—we're in Georgia," he answered. Elena groaned. "How ya feeling?"
"I…I—"
"There's no broken bones," he assured her. "I checked."
Elena was silent for a moment, but then she began to remember. "My car. There was a man...I hit a man," she realized. "But then he got up and…who was that?"
Damon's voice became serious, "That's what I would like to know," he told her. Claire turned to Damon.
"She was really in a car accident?"
"Well, did you think I was lying?"
Claire nodded. "Yes, Damon. I thought you were lying. Because that's what you do, you lie." She turned around to face Elena. "Are you all right?"
Elena took a moment to hesitate, but nodded eventually. "I-I'm fine." She paused. "Claire, right?" Claire nodded, and Elena stared at her for a second more before remembering something. She began to pad around her pockets desperately. "Where's my phone?"
At the question, Claire reached into her own pocket and felt around for her cell phone, but found herself enraged when she came up empty. She turned to Damon and widened her eyes in another episode of blind rage, and he just shrugged. "Vacations aren't fun when people know where you are. Takes away from the surprise."
"Okay, Damon, we really need to go back," Elena said desperately, her fingers hooking on the side of his driver's seat. "Nobody knows where I am. Pull over," she ordered, but Damon just kept driving. Claire sighed when she realized Damon wouldn't give up. "I mean it, Damon, pull over!" Elena shouted, but he said nothing in return.
"Just stop the damn car, Damon," Claire sighed at him without turning to look over.
At her exasperation and Elena's constant pulling on his seat, Damon groaned. "Oh, you two were so much more fun when you both were unconscious!"
He did as asked—pulled his classic sports car over to the side of the road, where he and Claire both got out of the front seats and Claire helped Elena, who had slid over to her side of the car, get out of the backseat. Though it was a challenge for the human, Elena managed to get out of the car with as much ease as she could muster—but she was clearly sore. Claire helped her stay upright, to which Damon inquired, "Are you okay over there?"
Elena nodded and straightened from her dry heave. "I'm fine," she assured him, and was released from Claire's soft grasp. She looked at the blonde vampire, "You didn't see the crash?" she questioned, using her knowledge of the previous conversation to infer that Claire hadn't been taken by her own will, either.
Claire, as expected, shook her head. "Nope. Damon snapped my neck first and then, I guess, he saved you," she said, a certain distaste in her mouth. Elena nodded, feeling lightheaded, and then she began to pace.
"We have to go back," Elena said angrily, now speaking to Damon, who groaned.
"Oh, come on. Look, we've already come this far!" he teased, giving her a trademark smirk. Claire just gave him an incredulous glance, but Elena continued on her rant.
"Why are you doing this?" the look-alike questioned. "I can't be in Georgia! I-I wrecked my car. I have to go home! This is kidnapping," she accused.
"Tried that," Claire mumbled.
Damon sighed. "God, what is with the theatrics around here? You two are being way too melodramatic, don't you think?"
"You can't do this," Elena snapped. "I'm not going to Georgia."
"Oh, you're in Georgia," Damon retorted, now dropping his light tone. "Without your magic little necklace, I might add," he pointed out, which immediately brought Elena's hand up to her neck. "I could very easily make you…agreeable."
Claire turned to Damon, alarmed. "What was in the necklace?" He smirked, silent. "Vervain? Did you take the vervain necklace from her?"
"N-No," Elena stuttered, stopping Claire from accusing Damon of something she'd done. "I…I took it off. Back at the boarding house," she muttered.
Claire sighed. "Little tip—don't take off the necklace that protects you from being mind-controlled by the undead," she pointed to Elena, but it wasn't rude—it was gentler than anything she'd said all morning. Turning around, she pointed to Damon next and used no gentle words. "As for you, I will beat your ass to a pulp if you don't let me and this poor girl go home," she warned.
Damon shook his head. "Can't let you do that."
Claire gave him a sour smile. "Watch me." She turned to Elena. "I'll get us out of here, I promise. I'll go to the nearest gas station and call Stefan or something—"
Damon whistled. "Yoohoo," said the taunting vampire, earning Claire to give icy glares as she slowly turned around to see Damon holding the picture he had taken from her jacket, waving it as if it were a trophy. "I think you forgot about this, Clarissa."
Elena raised her eyebrows. "What is that?"
Claire ignored her question. "Give me one reason—just one reason!—not to rip out your heart and feed it to the squirrels that roam around here!" she shouted at him, and Damon gave a playful smirk, giving her his one reason. "Not good enough," she snarled, but before the conversation could escalate, there was a ringing in Damon's pocket.
Elena straightened, recognizing the ringtone that was so familiar to her, "That's my phone," she said slowly, and Damon just rolled his eyes before pulling it out of his pocket and reading the caller ID.
"Mm," Damon taunted. "It's your boyfriend," he sung. "I'll take it."
Claire straightened against the car that she had resulted to leaning on. Elena stiffened away from the phone, but Claire did no such thing. "Give me the phone, Damon," she held out her hand, but Damon pressed the button to answer the call, all while fighting Claire off.
"Elena's phone."
"Where is she?" Stefan snapped on the other side of the line. "Why do you have her phone? Is she okay?"
"Elena? She's right here. And, yes, she's fine."
"Damon, give me the phone." Claire fought against the vampire, but his strength was to not be messed with. As Damon fed off of the vein as often as he could, it was Claire's intention to survive on blood bags like a humane vampire. "Damon…give…me…the…phone!"
"Is that Claire?" Stefan asked, confused. "Why is she with you?"
"Oh, she wanted to come along for the joy ride," Damon said, amused with a smile on her face. "We both know how much she loves me."
"Where are you? Let me speak to Claire."
Damon, seeing Claire open her mouth, kept the phone between his head and shoulder while he took his two hands and positioned the tips of his fingers at the top of Claire's photograph, and with a slight snap, he tore the outer edge of the frame. Claire winced, and instantly, she shut up. Satisfied, Damon smiled and grabbed the phone again with his hand.
"No can do, brother. I'd be happy to put you on the phone with Elena, though, if you'd like."
Stefan took a moment, but finally answered, "Put her on."
Damon, cautious around Claire, held out the phone to Elena, who shook her head and shied away. With a sigh, he put the phone back on his ear. "Yeah…I don't think she wants to talk to you right now."
"Damon, I swear to God, if you touch her—"
"You have a good day," Damon cut him off. "Mmhmm. Bye now." With that, Damon hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He then turned to Claire. "Are we clear on what's to happen if you try and get in contact with my brother?"
Claire snarled, "Crystal."
While Claire paced by the car, Elena and Damon talked by the hood of it. Elena tried to convince Damon for all he was worth to turn back, but he wouldn't budge. Eventually, Claire realized that Elena gave in, and she could hear the slight end of their conversation.
"Get in the car," Damon said abrasively. "Come on."
He walked to the driver's seat, and Claire walked up to Elena, who sighed. "You think I can trust him?" Elena asked, her voice low.
Claire laughed bitterly. "Not a chance in hell," she said lightly, and Elena sighed once more before turning around and getting into the car that Damon helped her in. When he shut the door, he saw Claire standing by the hood, her arms crossed and her expression showing nothing but anger. With an agonizing sigh, he walked over to her.
"I don't suppose I can convince you to enjoy this trip, can I?" Damon asked, walking over to her, making sure he was away from the car and out of Elena's hearing range.
Claire straightened as he approached her. "Why'd you have to take the picture, Damon? Why'd you even have to snap my neck? Have you ever thought of asking for a change?"
"Would you have come with me if I asked?"
"Hell no!"
"That's my point!" Damon groaned, but it was almost a whine. She waited as he began, "Claire, you are so uptight and moody and—"
"What the hell did you just call me?"
"Uptight and moody?" Damon reiterated, not bothering to dress it up for her. She scoffed and shook her head. "Come on. Elena's already on board and…I mean, she's like twice as uptight as you are."
Claire bit her jaw and turned back to him. "I'm not uptight. You just make me angry, Salvatore."
"That's not the only thing I make you," Damon taunted, a growing smirk on his face. Despite her best efforts, Claire was unable to keep the smile off of hers, but she was able to control herself before it got out of control. She covered her amusement up with a nod.
"You've got until tomorrow morning to get us back home," she agreed, compromising. "And, for Stefan's sake, I'm adding this in—if I see you look into Elena's eyes with a wrong intention, you and I will have some serious problems to deal with."
Damon shrugged. "We already have serious problems, sugar. We deal with them, too." The first comment, merely a tease, was overridden by the second one, which was an innuendo that Claire—if she hadn't had her neck snapped within the span of twenty-four hours—didn't appreciate.
She laughed bitterly. "If you think that this little arrangement we have going on is going to continue after a stunt like this…?" Again, she laughed, and she took a step forward so that she was inches away from him. The strong scent of her filled Damon's nostrils, but he didn't show any sign of liking it. "You are seriously mistaken," she whispered before her smile went blank, she brushed past him, and—with an icy glare again—climbed into the car.
"So where's my car?" Elena questioned with a sigh as she let her gaze drift out of the backseat window. Claire stared with annoyance at Damon's annoying trait of drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel while Damon answered.
"Ah, I pulled it off to the side of the road. I don't think anyone will bother it."
What about that man in the road?" she interrogated further. A silence passed before she spoke, "Was he a…?"
"From what I could tell…yeah."
"And you didn't know him?"
"If I've never met him, I wouldn't know him." As he said the words, Claire impulsively surged forward and placed her hand on Damon's constant fingers, flattening them against the wheel. He jolted at the touch for a moment, but then his head turned to the side where she was smiling at him sourly. Figuring that he received her hint, Claire took her hand off of his and moved back into her seat, where she leaned against the window and looked out at the fast-moving world. Damon continued, "I mean, it's not like we all hang out together at the vamp bar and grill."
Elena was silent, as if pondering the thought, and then she leaned forward so she would get a better view of the two passengers as she spoke, "So…I'm a little confused. Are you two, like—?"
"Elena, if you are about to say the word I think you're going to say, I'm going to have to stop you right there," Claire said, as calmly as she could, while turning back around to see Elena. She relaxed in her seat as Elena slid forward and peered through the two front seats.
"So…if you two are not…" she trailed off, but didn't say the word. Damon and Claire just kept their eyes peeled to the road. "I'm not going to lie, I'm a little afraid to ask, but are you…friends? It seems like you two do a lot of…heated arguing."
"We hate each other," said the two vampires in unison, which caused them to glance at each other from across. Elena just thought to herself for a moment while Damon spoke.
"We used to be friends," he admitted.
Claire shook her head. "We're not anymore."
"Oh…" Elena trailed off, still confused. Damon smirked to himself.
"But, if you want a real explanation, why don't you ask Claire over here about her infatuation with me," he challenged, raising an eyebrow smugly. Claire didn't need to see him to start laughing against the hand she leant against, and she didn't even turn while she responded.
"If that's how we're going to play it, why don't you just ask Damon why he stares at my ass all the time."
Damon shrugged. "It's a nice ass."
Claire scoffed. "You're an ass."
Damon looked over at her, capturing her attention, "Yes, and a nice one," he taunted, the pun fully intended. Claire, though she laughed at the joke, rolled her eyes and moved her head to the side to look out of the window again. Damon stared at the open road and pressed his foot on the accelerator.
"So," Elena started, "if you were friends once, what happened? There must've been a reason why—"
"Oh, there was a reason why," Damon cut her off as he slowly pulled up to a side road, getting off of the highway. "But it's a long story. And we're already here." He pulled to a stop in front of a building clearly labeled Bree's Bar.
"Where are we?" Elena asked, dropping all conversation of Claire and Damon's past when she saw the sign. "You brought us to a bar?"
Damon didn't answer as he opened his door, stepped outside, and helped Elena out of his convertible. Elena continued in the same condescending tone, "Damon, I'm not old enough. They're not going to let me in."
Damon didn't seem bothered by the slight problem. "Sure they will," he said simply, clapping his hands together as he walked away and guided Elena with him. "Come on, Claire, you're slowing us down!"
Claire, though contempt upon the fact that the place he'd brought her to had alcohol so she wouldn't be completely miserable, slammed the door of Damon's car and followed him exhaustedly, already hating the fact that he was controlling her with just the possession of a picture.
The three walked into the bar, Damon first, Claire and Elena behind him, and Damon seemed like he had done this on purpose—that he went to this bar for a reason. Suspicious, Claire and Elena both watched as Damon rubbed his hands together and caught sight of the bartender standing behind the counter.
"No," the woman gasped, either excited or mortified. "No, it can't be! Damon."
"Who's she?" Elena whispered to Claire, who just shrugged as she watched with a clueless nature that resembled that of Elena's. The bartender swung herself around the counter, sliding across a clear spot, before swinging her legs off and making her way over to the leather-covered vampire who stood just a few inches from Claire and Elena.
The woman sighed, "My honey pie," she said, almost nostalgic. The woman was tall—real tall. She towered over Damon, and with this, it made it easy for her to reach forward and latch her lips onto the vampire's, earning Elena to widen her eyes and a feeling of uneasiness overcome Claire, who just sighed and crossed her arms to protect from conveying her emotions. Damon and the woman pulled away for a brief second, and then he moaned slightly and brought his lips back to hers. Claire caught sight of Elena's shocked expression, and with a glance to her and a glance back to the interlocked people before them, she sighed.
"Looks like we've been kidnapped so Damon can act on a booty-call," Claire said, a slight edge to her tone. Damon pulled away at this and stared back at her, his lips swollen but nevertheless pulled back into a smile. She looked at the woman. "I think I'm going to need a drink for this."
"Listen up, everybody!" Bree, as Elena and Claire had collected from formalities, shouted while holding up a bottle of alcohol and turning around to the shot glasses lined up in a row in front of her. "Here's to the man that broke my heart, crushed my soul, destroyed my life, and ruined any and all chances of happiness." Each time she listed things; she poured the alcohol into the shot glass and distributed them—one to her, one to Claire, one to Elena, and one to Damon. Damon smiled, enjoying his dedication. "Drink up!" she toasted, tipping the glass back to drain her shot.
Damon did the same, and Claire followed him, but Elena—who sat next to Claire—held her glass in her hand. Claire, seeing Elena didn't drink her shot and didn't plan on it, took the alcohol out of the girl's hand without any protests from Elena, and drank it for her. First of all, it was a sin to waste alcohol. Second of all, they didn't want to be rude.
When Claire finished both shots, she returned to ground zero and laughed at Damon. "That's like a quadfecta!" she accused him.
"Is a quadfecta even a thing?" Elena asked, genuinely curious. Claire looked at her and nodded.
"Oh, yeah. Definitely." She looked over at Bree. "You think you can give me another one? Two, maybe?" She looked over at Damon now. "I think I'll try for my own quadfecta."
"You know, you might wanna slow down on the drinks, there, Claire. Can't hate me when you're drunk," he sung.
Claire laughed as she took the drink that Bree poured her. "I can hate you in any state, Damon," she said, finding the situation funny as she downed the other shot.
Bree began to fill her glass again when it was on the bar counter as she questioned the vampire, "So how'd he rope you in?"
Claire laughed. "Yeah…no." It was all she needed to say before she grabbed the drink and drained her forth shot. Bree turned to Elena.
"And you?"
"Oh, I'm not roped. I'm dating his—"
"Honey, if you're not roped, you're whipped," Bree interrupted, taking advantage of Elena's human innocence. She smiled. "Either way, just enjoy the ride."
Elena didn't argue. "Okay," she agreed and moved on quickly. "So, how did you two meet?"
Bree chuckled, as if remembering a thought. "College," she sung. Elena looked over at Damon, completely astounded.
"You went to college?" she asked in disbelief.
Damon, with his head against his hand, responded, "I've been on a college campus, yes." He drained his own shot that Bree poured for him as the bartender launched into the story.
"About twenty years ago, when I was a sweet, young freshman, I met this beautiful man, and I fell in love," she said with a certain degrading tone to her voice that mocked both her and Damon.
Claire snorted. "Are you sure we're thinking about the same guy? Because I get more of a Tom Cruise image than"—Claire jerked her head at Damon—"that image."
Bree snickered, "Believe it or not, it's true. And when he told me about his little secret…made me love him even more." She shrugged. "Because, see, I had a little secret of my own that, uh, I was dying to share with somebody."
Damon leaned over to whisper indiscreetly to both Claire and Elena, "She's a witch."
"Changed my world, you know."
"I rocked your world," smirked Damon, which caused a ripple of laughter to escape from Bree's lips.
Then, she turned serious, and faced both Elena and Claire. "He is good in the sack, isn't he?" Neither girl responded. Bree continued before they could even think about it. "But, mostly, he's just a…Walkaway-Joe." To this, she knocked back another shot before slamming it down and speaking. "So, what is it that you want?"
Damon said nothing, because he wouldn't dare in front of Claire or Elena. Instead, he stayed silent and shrugged, and merely observed while Claire studied him, trying to decode his ways.
It didn't take her long.
Clarissa braced herself for the impact of the tightly drawn strings on her back as her mother almost violently pulled them against her, tightening and tightening her core so that she would look her best for the evening. The Salvatores and the Kings were having dinner at the King residence. The two families had always been close, which was why Damon, Clarissa, Stefan, and Amelia were such good friends. They weren't forced to be together—they learned to be friends on their own.
"You must be on your best behavior with Damon Salvatore tonight," her mother echoed the words she'd been spewing all day. "You never know when he might want to increase things between you."
"Mother," Clarissa tried for what seemed like the trillionth time, "Damon and I are great friends. We do not think like that when it comes to each other."
Truth of the matter was, what she spoke was true—at least, that's how she thought he felt. Clarissa was worried that if she ever tried something with him, they would never recover. Since she'd grown the age where she could fully understand the concept of love, she'd been convinced that she had fallen for Damon Salvatore—fallen hard. Of course, at an early age, she thought that this concept of love was something to be thrown around carelessly, but as time progressed, she became more and more aware of her feelings. But the older she grew, the more cautious she'd become, and she never tried anything out of that sheer fear of becoming detached with him. Damon, a nineteen-year-old man who looked as if he'd been perfectly shaped, would certainly be interested in other women. Her feelings aside, she did not want to be a conquest. She wasn't sure she would be, just the fear alone was enough to hold her back.
Her mother, though…her mother was convinced that Damon Salvatore was just as in love with her as she was with him. Her father, too. Actually, the entire town was convinced that Damon Salvatore and Clarissa King were destined to be with each other since the beginning of time, itself. The three-year age difference did not matter to them all. All that mattered was the simple way of alliances down in the South.
"Listen to me," her mother said, oddly cold, as she looked in the mirror and tightened the strings of Clarissa's corset again, making her stiffen harder. "You and Damon will be married one way or another. Whether it be by the decision of your fathers or by decision of your own, it will happen one day."
Clarissa's mother finished tying her corset, which earned the girl to turn around and face her small, lovely mother. "Are you saying that Father will make me marry him, even if I don't want it?" she asked, her voice small.
Marianne's face softened and she placed her hand on her daughter's cheek. "I would fall in love with him before then, Clarissa. There isn't much time left."
"Much time for what?" she asked, her voice wavering. Marianne's smile twitched in the slightest.
"My darling girl," she cooed, her fingers stroking the young girl's face, "Men want young wives—beautiful wives. Your time will run out soon enough. Death is inevitable, and it is mortifying. When a woman grows old, her beauty degrades. It's not long before that happens for you. Your father and I already have someone in mind for your sister."
"Amelia?" Clarissa repeated. "Why, who on Earth could it—" she stopped cold in the sentence when she realized, putting two and two together. "Do you mean…do you mean to tell me that Jonathan Gilbert's son—?"
"Let's hope for the best," her mother interrupted, giving Clarissa her warmest smile. "If Amelia can find her own husband, we won't be forced with the decision. You still have some time left, yourself, if you'd prefer that option," she promised.
Clarissa was silent. "How long, exactly?" she asked, her voice soft.
Marianne was hesitant, but eventually, she sighed. "You should have until your twentieth birthday, dear."
After Damon was done talking with Bree about Katherine, which Claire obviously overheard and drowned her anger in the high consumption of alcohol, the vampire walked up behind Claire so that they were inches away from each other. "I'm guessing you're pissed."
"Pissed?" she repeated, taking a swig out of the bottle Bree had kindly let her drink out of. "No. Hitler was pissed Damon, but me? Oh…" she chuckled sourly. "Oh, you don't even know where it begins!"
"Claire," Damon said, trying to make her understand. "If I get Katherine out of that tomb, I will keep her as far away from you as possible. I know what it means to you for me to want to bring her back. I may hate you, but I'm not a dick." She raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Okay, I'm not a complete dick," he amended.
She wanted to say something, but instead, she didn't want to find the words. Leaving the bottle of alcohol on the counter, without a word, she turned out of her chair, grabbed the jacket she had shredded while Damon talked to Bree, and left briskly out into the cold air. Claire didn't know what to do—to run away, to stay, it was painful either way. She would lose the only picture she had of her younger sister if she ran away, but if she stayed, Damon would drive her into a hard drive that she was not equipped to handle. Never before had they spent so much time together other than when they were human friends.
But something pulled her out of her own internal dilemma—it was Elena.
"How am I connected to Katherine, Stefan?" Elena demanded.
"I honestly don't know."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"It's the truth. I…listen—" Elena angrily hung up the phone on her boyfriend, and Claire sighed. Now she realized why Elena hadn't been so happy-go-lucky for the past few hours.
Claire flashed up to Elena, accidentally startling her when the human turned around to face her. Claire held up her hands in defense. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I just…I overheard," she said, gesturing to the phone. Elena looked down at it and sighed.
"Yeah, well, it's just—" She paused and looked up at Claire, her eyes signaling her coming to the realization. "You knew, too, didn't you?"
"To be fair, I've only really known about you for a day now," Claire said, slightly shrugging. "But, yes, I know that you look like Katherine. Trust me…it's…" She blew out a long breath of air. "It's a headache."
"Do we look that much alike?" Elena asked, her voice a soft whisper. Claire gave a sorrowful, yet agreeing smile. "God, I just…why didn't Stefan tell me? Why did he have to lie?"
"I think he just didn't want you to know about her," Claire tried to make it better, defending Stefan but trying to maintain a good relationship with Elena as well. "If you knew, then…well, you would be more aware of it and you'd start questioning things. I mean, think about it. How would you feel if you were madly in love with someone before Stefan who looks exactly like him?" Elena silenced, taking her point. "You wouldn't want him to know, would you? Because you wouldn't want him to worry that you were only pursuing him because of his looks."
Elena, though silenced, found the will to sigh and angrily brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "He should've told me."
Claire shrugged. "Yeah, in all fairness, he should've told you," she admitted. "But there's only so much you can do about it now." Elena said nothing in return, signalizing that she didn't want to talk about it. At this signal, Clarissa began, "Go on back. I'll meet you inside, okay?"
Elena, though hesitant, nodded, and she made her way back into the bar. Claire let out a deep sigh. When did she become the mediator between all of this? Defending Katherine's look-alike? What was possessing her?
She turned around to meet Elena inside, realizing that—despite her arguments that never ended with Damon—Elena needed her mediation just as much as she desperately needed a drink. But, when turned, Damon, who stood right in her way, immediately stopped her.
"Everything okay?" he questioned, his expression serious and concerned.
Claire couldn't make out his intention of this, but she crossed her arms and relaxed her body. "Do me a favor and don't pretend to care about me or my feelings. We both know that all you want is Katherine back and you don't care how you get it."
"You think that I would be so cruel and let Katherine do whatever the hell she wants with you after she comes out? She'd kill you. That was her intention all along."
"Yeah, it was. But, hey, look at it this way!" Claire's voice was harsh and stern and made Damon flinch. "You'll finally be rid of one problem you've been dying to fix since eighteen sixty-four!"
This was the time when Damon immediately shut up, and his jaw locked in its place. "Don't you act like I never gave a damn about you," he snarled, but it was in a softer tone than a darker one. She flinched and straightened at his demeanor. "Because you know I did, Clarissa. You know it. And you were the one who screwed it up."
Claire was silent; completely astounded that he would bring that up again. She straightened now, trying to contain her anger and her sadness all in one. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, uncrossing her arms and avoiding Damon's gaze as she brushed past him, bumping his shoulder, and he watched as she walked back up to the bar.
Laughter filled the King mansion as Giuseppe Salvatore boomed from the seat next to Edward King, who was finishing up a story of his as regards to work. Clarissa, Damon, Stefan, and Amelia sat further down the table as Marianne sat beside her husband. The children's conversation consisted of no words but rather of slurping when it came to their means. Stefan and Amelia tried hard, as kids, to stay as sophisticated as their elder siblings, who both sat straight at the table and ate with a certain caliber that they were taught. The night was progressing fast, and soon, Amelia and Stefan had broken through their silence and were speaking to each other. It was Clarissa and Damon who stayed silent, the two of them well aware of what this dinner was supposed to cause—but they didn't dare say it aloud.
"Clarissa," Edward said briskly, earning his daughter's attention. "Why don't you and Mr. Salvatore take some time to yourselves, hmm? You two may be excused," he promised, but his intentions were what Clarissa expected the entire night.
But, obeying her father's wishes, she and Damon were forced to be by themselves. Though the thought had settled in the back of their minds the entire dinner, they acted like everything was normal as they made their way upstairs per request of her father. It wasn't a new thing—Damon had been in her house before. In her stairwell, in her living room, in her foyer—but never in her chambers. That's why it was surprising to him when she opened the door and stepped inside, giving him a glance of the inside furnishing. He made a joke on his way towards the door, but when she didn't laugh, he didn't have enough time to process it when he was staring into her revealed bedroom.
"Come in," she said softly. "It's all right, I…I would just rather be in here instead of downstairs."
Damon, though hesitant, eventually stepped across the threshold into her room, and that's when he continued his earlier thought. "Was my humor not appealing to you?" he asked, quite concerned if there was something wrong.
Clarissa let out as much of a breath as she could. "N-No, it's just…my mother's corset tying this afternoon prevents me from…any excessive air consumption." She wanted to laugh, but she was telling the whole truth—the corset felt like a dagger impaling her heart each time she took a breath. It was quite wrong to admit your corset troubles to a male guest, but she couldn't help herself. Damon was her best friend, and though it was uncomfortable, she wanted to be honest.
"Here," Damon said, stepping forward. "Allow me."
She wanted to protest, but he was already at her corset strings before she was able to stop him. His fingers tried to pull the corset strings loose so she could breathe again, but his hands on her made her lose even more breath than she did before. He saw her shield her eyes from the mirror, and she was quite aware that he was staring at her through the reflective device. Finally, Damon felt Clarissa let out a breath, and he backed away from her corset. "Better?" he asked.
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned around to face him, the proximity between them completely overwhelming. Their breaths were short—both of them breathed with caution, until Damon spoke.
"I would like to have more time with you, Clarissa. It feels like it has been an eternity since we've last seen each other."
"A complete moon cycle," she corrected him. "But I understand, Damon. You have been engaged with your father…I have been engaged with my sister…"
"That should be no reason to drift apart," Damon retorted. "You are my best friend. I would not like that to change."
"Neither would I," she agreed, and things went silent for the longest time until she found the will to speak, changing the topic. "I learned something today."
"What would that be?"
"That I will die," she said, her voice strained. Damon waited for her to continue. "My mother says that I will slowly grow old…that I will become an item that no one wants. That I will no longer be beautiful one day." The concept was sorrowing, but it was reality. She wasn't quite aware that one day, she'd lose her beauty. No one prepared a young girl for that.
"You, my Clarissa, will always be beautiful to me," Damon said kindly, reaching out so his hand brushed across her face. She felt the warmth on her cheek, and seeing her relax into it, Damon didn't move his hand.
"You believe that?"
"I much more than believe it," Damon taunted with a smile. "I am positive of it."
She was about ready to tell him that they should rejoin everyone downstairs, seeing as their silence filled the air around them. But, everything changed in those few seconds of silence. Damon's eyes poured into hers no more than it had ever before, and she saw it as normal. He, however, saw it as a sign—he saw it as a beacon that this, right then and right there, was the time to finally change things.
A life-altering decision took a second to think about and a second to execute. Within the passing moment, Damon took the hand on her cheek and moved it so that it would tilt her head up to his and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her soft-shaped lips that fit so perfectly in his. The moment their lips touched, he knew it had been the right thing to do, and a feeling of completion overwhelmed the nineteen-year-old. Clarissa, however, was shocked to begin with, but over the next growing second, she let her lips move with his to meet his light, perfect kissing.
Had she ever imagined of kissing Damon Salvatore, her best friend? Yes. Had she ever acted on it? No. So, when she began to feel him change—to become more urgent with his kisses and to feel him pressure her with a sweetness that only he could ever match, she began to panic, which caused her lips to fall slack to his touch. He drove their kiss, pulling her neck closer and trying to make their first kiss both beautiful and invigorating at the same time. She was clouded and…and quite lost to the scent of him and the way he felt against her. Their bodies were crushed together, chest-to-chest, perfectly fitting as one single form.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
And this was what scared Clarissa King more than anything in the entire world.
It wasn't the fear of losing Damon because he didn't return her feelings. It wasn't the fear of growing old and losing her beauty. It wasn't the fear of dying. It was the fear that she had found someone to love that forced her to stumble out of the kiss, taking Damon by surprise. He savored the sight of her—her raw lips, her red-hot face, and her shocked form. But he could see, very clearly, as she traced her cool fingers against her lips, that she was going to do something she'd regret.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why did you have to kiss me?"
"You know why," Damon said softly, determined to make her realize, once and for all, that she was the woman he wanted to marry. "I have wanted to do that ever since I realized that I was in love with you."
"Damon," she almost whined, and tears began to well in her eyes and push over onto her face. He was confused—baffled—as to why she would cry. "I won't be this beautiful forever."
"You don't have to be, darling," Damon said, taking a step forward. She shook her head, her tears staining her cheeks. His fingers brushed the tears off as he spoke, "I love you, for more than just your beauty. You are beautiful, Clarissa." She pushed out more tears now, and his fingers tried to brush away her hair, but she cried even more at that. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?"
She didn't answer.
"Tell me what's wrong." No answer. "Clarissa, please—"
"Please leave, Damon." She cried harder now. "Please, Damon, I-I would like you to leave."
There was one problem and one problem that Clarissa King would never be able to rid. Sure, she could find some will to control her anger and other emotions. Sure, she wasn't the most perfect person in the world. But this one problem that Clarissa King could not rid herself of was present even as a child ever since her Grandfather died. Her Grandfather, the meanest person of all in Mystic Falls, had warmed up to her, and she warmed up to him. Right in the middle of their routine time during the day, he had died, sitting right beside of her, and she was never able to rid herself of the guilt that haunted her. Everyone who found his or her way to love her would somehow end up wronged. Her father, her mother, and her sister…they were always given penalty after showing her affection. Over time, it became a paranoia of hers.
It was as if she wasn't meant to be loved.
And she wouldn't let Damon fall into that trap.
She watched as Damon, heartbroken, stood for a moment, his hands still on her face, tracing over her hot tears. But he finally was able to remove himself, and she felt her own heart break as he walked out of her door. Clarissa felt like she would break, but something else did it for her.
Rushing up to her bedroom door, she—through her tearful eyes—saw the hallway vase, the priceless vase, cracked in pieces, left in Damon's wake. Only, he was nowhere to be found, and she was right beside the vase when her parents had rushed upstairs to examine the commotion.
The thing about Damon was that he was so good at keeping his inner emotions hidden that his outer emotions displayed no sign of how bad he felt. Elena, Claire, and Damon all sat at the bar, their positions changed now. Claire and Damon sat father away from each other and Elena sat in the middle of them both, completely oblivious to the conflict that surrounded her.
"Let's…just say that I'm descended from Katherine…does that make me part vampire?" she asked the vampires sitting on either side of her.
Claire shook her head and answered the question first. "Vampires can't procreate."
Damon hummed. "But we love to try," he countered, his lips stretching into a smile. Claire scoffed at him and Elena, who was just plain annoyed by his comment, turned back to her.
"Don't listen to him. Look, if you're descended from Katherine, which you probably are, that means that she had to have had a child before she was turned."
"Did Stefan think that he could use me to…replace her?" she asked, a certain bitterness in her tone.
"It's kinda creepy if you ask me," Damon said, as if he wasn't drawn to Elena for the same reason. Claire just rolled her eyes and pulled Elena's attention back to her.
"No, Elena, you really need to stop even…asking Damon for advice," she sighed desperately, shaking her head. "I've seen Stefan with a lot of women. And when I say lot of women, I say a lot of women…" Claire trailed off, seeing Elena's distaste. "Anyway, the point is, Stefan doesn't care about those things—what a person looks like. He just cares about the person." She paused and ate her food before continuing. "Unlike the person to your left."
"This coming from the girl who voted for JFK simply because you wanted to screw with him," Damon countered.
"I didn't want to screw with him," Claire retorted. "I just wanted to screw him. There's a difference."
"Okay, I just…I need to know," Elena said, throwing her pickle down on her plate. "What happened to you guys? You said you were friends so…obviously something had to have happened."
Both Claire and Damon looked at each other, debating whether or not to tell Elena what they told Stefan. They both knew the truth, and here they had a chance to tell it. Either one of them could make the first move, but it was eventually Damon who told the story.
"I broke a vase in her house," he said, reiterating the stretched truth he'd told ten billion times to his brother over the years. "Her parents thought she did it and they were angry. She broke my father's favorite drinking glass as retaliation." At the end, he shrugged and acted like it was nothing, but really, it was everything.
There was a secret understanding between the both of them—the thought would be locked away in their memory and never touched until the time was right. The real reason Damon and Clarissa had grown estranged had been because of the vase, but they would've easily been able to get over that. The seconds before, though…those were permanently branded into their memories.
"This was all…over a vase and a drinking glass?" Elena asked, turning her head to Claire for confirmation, who nodded. "That's ridiculous! It was over a hundred years ago! Just let it go."
"It's hard to forget a memory like that," Claire told her, shrugging. "Besides, it's not like we're killing each other. Yet," she added.
Elena opened her mouth to speak, but Damon took the words from her. "You don't like pickles?" he questioned, changing the topic. "What's wrong with you?"
The human teenager watched as Damon brought the pickle to his mouth that Elena had put aside and he chomped on it, relishing in the taste. Elena, surprised, asked, "How can you even eat if…technically you're supposed to be…"
"Dead?" Damon finished for her, an amused tone in his voice. "It's not such a bad word. As long as I keep a healthy diet of…blood in my system, my body functions pretty normally." He smiled as he chomped down the rest of the pickle, chewing it childishly. Elena laughed to herself, but then, Bree came over to them, giving Damon and Claire their beers. Elena thought to herself for a moment as both vampires accepted the alcohol, and then, between them, she rose her head high and spoke.
"I'll have one, too."
Damon and Claire watched as Bree handed Elena a beer, too, and they all had matching glasses in their hands. With one no-word toast, they all drank the first sip of their beer, Elena giving a distasteful look as the first sip went down.
It was around the second beer when Elena started to get a little drunk, since she'd gone so long without alcohol that her tolerance worsened. Damon had been keeping her busy, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of Claire, who just sat in her seat, hating him and the world around her. While Elena was preoccupying herself in another area around the bar, Damon slid over to Claire, who was desperately wishing that she could go back home.
"Look," Damon said slowly, beginning his conversation off the best way he could. She looked over at him, her blonde hair shadowing the counter and her grey eyes waiting for him to say something, "Contrary to what we do, I don't want to fight you anymore today. I think I've maxed out."
Claire gasped sarcastically. "Damon Salvatore has a max on his witty remarks and retorts? Oh, how can this be?"
Damon glared at her. "Now, Claire, don't be rude," he scolded. She couldn't do anything but laugh, and at this, Damon smiled. "Take a time-out, okay? Just five minutes. Have some fun with me."
"Fun?" Claire asked slowly. Damon nodded. "With…you?"
"With me," he confirmed. She kept her eyebrows raised, weary. "We despise each other, we screw each other, whatever. All of that's on pause for a moment. Just…have some fun."
"I invented fun, Damon."
Damon smirked. "Then prove it," he challenged. And, after all, who was Claire King if she wouldn't accept a challenge?
It was now nighttime, and Elena was completely plastered—Damon and Claire as plastered as vampires could be for their nature. All of the men and women at the bar crowded around it, everyone ready with a shot glass in their hand, as Bree slowly counted down, "Ready….go!"
Elena finished first, then Claire, then Damon, who missed his mouth a little on the shot. While Elena did her infamous winning dance and politely—and loudly—conversed with the people around her, Claire laughed as Damon tried to catch the alcohol falling out of his mouth. "Oh, you're so pathetic!" She laughed lightly. "Do you need a bib, baby?" Claire pouted, giving him a teasing glance.
Damon gave a bitter laugh. "Sorry I can't unhinge my jaw like a snake to consume alcohol," he retorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, giving her a dirty glance and smile.
She snickered to herself before looking over at Bree. "Bree, can I get a two tequila shots with salt and lime, please?" Claire asked politely, though her tone was innocently vicious. Bree nodded and, beside Claire and Damon, Elena jumped up high, her hand signaling a line.
"…tolerance is like way up…here!" the teenager giggled, unable to stand still. Bree walked over to Claire and Damon and gave them the salt, the limes, and the shots all in one trip. They thanked her and Damon rolled his sleeve up, bracing to lick his thumb for the salt.
"Ah," Claire stopped him, grabbing his hand before he was able to press his tongue to it. "We're doing this my way."
"What way is that?" he asked, a certain sparkle in his eye. She smirked to herself.
"You remember JFK?" she asked him, to which he nodded. "Yeah, he always liked when we did this together."
With that said, she positioned Damon's fingers like he'd had them before and pulling his hand up to her mouth, where she licked the skin, grabbed the salt, and put it on the area she'd targeted.
"Grab the lime," she ordered, knowing that Damon was enjoying this. He reached over with his other hand, grabbed the lime, and she grabbed one of the tequila shots on the counter. Damon smiled and watched as a devilish grin spread across her face, she pulled his hand up to her mouth, licked the salt, downed the shot, and Damon held the lime up for her to bite. The alcohol, though strong and hot, went down easy, and because she was a vampire, didn't have as much of an effect. But the effect it had on Damon was more than enough satisfaction than she thought it would be.
"I like your way," Damon approved, the same smirk on his face from before. "That JFK was one smart guy."
"Not smart enough to hide the fact that he was cheating on me with that skank, Marilyn Monroe."
Damon laughed. "All right, 'fess up. You killed her, didn't you?"
"You'll never know," she said cryptically before gesturing to the other tequila shot. "Your turn."
His eyes caught hers for just a split second before he grabbed her hand, the warmth echoing through her, and he repeated her earlier process of the dirtier lick it, slam it, suck it. But he made it twice as painful for her as it was for him. He let his licks loiter, and the smile that he brought back onto his lips just increased the situation's intensity. When his was done, he tossed the tequila shot down on the counter and gripped Claire's hands tighter, launching her towards him.
"Let's go," he said huskily, pulling her in the direction he wanted. Claire gasped.
"But Elena…"
"Oh, who the hell cares?" Damon snapped. "She's drunk off her ass, she won't notice we're gone."
But Elena wasn't really the problem here. Claire's question was merely sarcastic, because she wasn't letting Damon get what he wanted either way. She bit her lip and shook her head, refusing his pull towards a place of solitude.
"Nope."
He blinked at her and stopped trying to get her to go with him. "What do you mean no?" he asked, his voice incredulous. Damon's eyes widened. "You didn't expect me to be so controlled after that, did you?"
She smiled to herself. "Actually, I was planning on the exact opposite."
Damon let his jaw drop in the slightest. "You…"
Clarissa turned their hands over so that she had control of them, and she brought Damon's salted hands towards her this time. Her fingers brushed over the salted spot, and Damon groaned at the soft touch. "I had to get even at you for stealing my picture somehow. I told you, our little arrangement is over."
"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?" Damon asked, sure that she wouldn't be able to hold this up. "You want me just as much as I want you. Maybe even more," he said darkly.
She shrugged. "True," Claire agreed. But her lips turned into a smile. "But not tonight, I don't." Damon looked like he was about ready to take what he wanted, but before he could, Claire caught sight of Elena over by the pool table playing against herself. With nothing said to the angry vampire in front of her, Claire just smirked at him, brushed his shoulder, and walked over to Elena, who spun around with her hands in the air because she had pocketed the ball she hit.
"Yeah!" Elena shouted happily and posed. "I'm awesome!" she sung. All of a sudden, though, there was a ringing tone, and Elena's attention was quickly diverted from Claire towards her cell phone giving sharp rings. She rushed over to it and answered. "Hello?"
"Elena," said a female's voice on the other side of the line.
"Jenna…!" The drunken Elena tried to cover up her intoxication by pitching her voice higher. "Uh…hold on. It's loud in here."
Claire watched as Elena grabbed her jacket and began to go outside and, seeing as the human could barely take two steps without stumbling, she tried to help Elena. Her aunt's voice pushed through the phone as Elena stumbled and stumbled, being saved by Claire, who guided her out of the building as quickly as she could while Elena jabbed at the air, trying to put on her jacket. Unfortunately, when Claire held the door open for Elena, that's when she needed it the most, and the teenager tripped and fell, dropping her phone in the process with a groan. Elena desperately clawed on the ground for her phone, and in doing so, she didn't even notice when Claire's neck was snapped for the second time.
"Hello?" Elena tried through the phone in her drunken stupor, oblivious to the unconscious vampire just a few feet away from her. By the time her reaction time had settled in and she realized that Claire was, in fact, temporarily dead, she didn't have enough time before someone put his hand over her mouth and she screamed, though it didn't do much help.
Meanwhile, back inside, Damon slid into a chair on the bar, sighing. Bree, who was behind the counter, noticed his presence, of course. "Hey," she chimed. Looking around, she searched for Claire and Elena. "Where are your girls?"
Damon looked up and around the room, his eyes sweeping across the facility to tell Bree just, exactly, where Claire and Elena were. But when he didn't find them, he hummed to himself. "They were right back there."
Bree said nothing, but Damon merely caught sight of an open back door, and he immediately took the feeling in his gut and acted on it. He looked around once he was outside, and when his eyes drifted to the floor, he soon realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong.
"Damn it," Damon groaned, seeing Claire's temporarily unconscious body on the floor. Her arm was laying across the hardwood floor, but her clothing had blended into the night. He had no doubt that he would hear about this when she was awake. He bent down and picked Claire up so that she wouldn't be lying so uncomfortably on the floor, and he set her down against the side of the building, her head rolled to the side. He was just about to think where Elena was, but the sight of a glowing phone on the outside deck reminded him. It, sure enough, was Elena's phone, but there was no Elena to be found.
Seeing as he knew Claire would be okay when he woke up, Damon reached down, grabbed the phone, and set off in another direction to find his brother's girlfriend.
Claire's fingers twitched as she slowly came back to life. The feeling in her hand was connected to her brain, and she rolled her head so that she woke up against the side of Bree's Bar. The world before her was slightly blurry, but in something of a second, it was returned back to normal. She wanted to blame this temporary killing on Damon, but she was ninety-nine percent sure that it wasn't him that had snapped her neck. It was someone else.
She looked around for Elena, but realizing that the teenager was gone, she began to panic.
That's when she heard a voice. Elena's, in particular.
"Don't do this." Silence—deafening silence. "I'm begging you! Please!"
Claire forced herself up from the ground and, with what little strength she had, she found the will to muster it all up and flash to where she heard the voices. As she arrived, she found Damon being thrown at the side of a power plant building by a vampire with tears welling up in his eyes. He began to saunter towards Damon, even when Claire showed up, and Elena's breath caught when she saw Claire arrive. The big bad vampire was stopped when Claire knocked him to the ground with the little strength she had left.
"That's twice in one day," she snarled, her fangs appearing in her mouth and her eyes going bloodshot and slithering with monstrous veins underneath. "I don't take kindly to vampires snapping my neck!"
It was when she realized who it was when she loosened her grip on the vampire's leather collar. "Lee?" she questioned, astounded.
"Claire," he said, but he didn't seem so surprised. In fact, he was on the verge of crying.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she growled. Now she was angry. Not only did she have her neck snapped twice but, by both times, it was from people she knew—one of which she actually liked. "What the hell were you doing snapping my neck?"
It didn't take a nuclear physicist to figure that one out—by the sight of everything going on. Gasoline was radiating through the air, there was a burnt out match in Lee's hand, and Damon was soaked in gasoline. "Were you trying to kill Damon?"
"He killed her," Lee began in a sobbing, painful voice. "He killed her."
"What the hell are you talking about? Killed who?"
"Lexi!" Lee shouted in her face, one sole tear drifting down the side of his face. "He killed Lexi! He killed Lexi!"
This was the moment of realization—the true turning point. Claire immediately went limp, losing all contact with her fingers and her brain. She began to feel emotions that she'd thought she had a handle on, at least most of the time. The anger, the sadness…they turned to rage and despair in one single instant. The despair was what gave out and what caused her to growl-whisper, "Lexi's dead?"
Lee nodded, and a whole eternity went by her. Lexi was…dead. Stefan and Damon lied to her. Stefan lied to her. It wasn't so much about Damon lying, it was Stefan. Stefan agreed that Lexi just went away. She wondered if he knew, and that's when it truly began to sink in—what if Stefan didn't know? What if Damon killed Lexi and told his brother that she left town? What if Damon, being the heartless bastard that he was, had killed one of her best friends?
Here's what: she would kill him. She would kill him with her own two hands.
Clarissa angrily yanked Lee up from the ground with her hands around the collar of his jacket. She could see the hope shine in his eyes that she might actually let him kill Damon, but instead, she squared her jaw. "If anyone is going to kill Damon Salvatore, it's going to be me, you got it? Get out of here," she snapped.
"Claire—"
"I said now," Claire growled at him, and Lee knew when to quit. His eyes flickered up to Elena, who was the innocent bystander in all of this, and with the same tearful eyes that he had shown up with, he flashed away, leaving Claire, Damon, and Elena alone.
"Claire…" She heard the whisper come from Damon's mouth, and in a mere second, she flashed up to him, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and forced him to stand straight.
"Tell me you didn't kill her!" Claire snarled in his face, jerking his head back. Damon was already weak from the beating that Lee had given him. "Tell me that you didn't lie!"
"I didn't kill her," Damon choked out, his voice desperately trying to match that of an honest person's. "I didn't kill her, Claire, believe me."
Behind Claire, Elena just raised her eyebrows. She had seen Damon kill Lexi that night at the Grill—why was he lying to Claire? Would it be so bad if she knew the truth?
Claire's eyes filled up with tears as she loosened her grip slightly on Damon's collar. "But…but you lied," she prompted.
Damon swallowed. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I lied." His gasoline-soaked hands moved up and touched her wrists. Not to make her pull away from him, but to show her that he was trying to make amends. Though the lies spilled out of his mouth like it was the actual truth. "She's dead."
She broke down. It was the first time in a long time that Damon Salvatore had ever seen Clarissa King cry.
It was a while later when Clarissa was sitting on the hood of Damon's car, drinking out of a bottle of alcohol that Damon had supplied her with to keep her from crying again. She hadn't cried all that long—a few minutes, at most. Elena was heartbroken at the sight, and she was very aware that Damon was lying to Claire about the situation. She wanted to know why.
She walked into Bree's Bar, where Damon had disappeared into after he said that they would leave. She walked in on the sight of Damon wiping his hands on a towel behind the counter. Elena could clearly make out the sight of blood on the towel, but she didn't want to ask. There was no doubt in her mind that Damon, such a vile monster, wanted revenge for being almost killed. If it weren't for Claire, he would most likely be dead, and Elena would've had to have been forced to watch that gruesome sight.
"You ready to go?" Damon asked, his voice somber. He was completely disheveled, and she realized that—out of the three of them, she had probably had enjoyed the trip the most, and she didn't even enjoy it that much.
"You lied to her," Elena whispered, her voice soft and quiet so that Claire wouldn't hear. Damon was right by her, so he would pick up on her words. "Why?"
"Elena," Damon said slowly, walking forward, "If Claire finds out what I did, she'll kill me. She already hates me enough."
"What if you're wrong?" Elena countered. She'd seen it over the last two hours—there was something there. Elena wasn't ready to believe that this woman hated Damon and he hated her. "What if she can forgive you?"
"Not everyone's as forgiving as you, Elena," Damon said, his voice oddly cold. "Maybe…one day, I can drop the bomb on her. Fifty years from now or so. But you won't be around to see it," he promised. Elena flinched slightly, and her mind drifted back to Stefan as if it was on automatic. It didn't take long before Damon ordered her out of the bar, grabbing his leather jacket on the way out.
Elena was sleeping in the backseat of the car, her snores the most prominent sound that was in Damon and Claire's ears, despite the fact that they had the radio on. They had been up all night driving back from Georgia, and now, the dawn broke out through the horizon and shone in their eyes. Claire hadn't shed a single tear since she cried, and she didn't show any sign of being down, even though Damon knew she was. He didn't say anything, though—he let her take the lead.
"So…tell me," she said, turning her head to him. "Why was it so important for me to go on this trip?"
Damon looked over at her with a playful smile. "What, besides the obvious?"
Claire shook her head, but a smile appeared on her lips. "Come on. You had your little witch bitch to keep you entertained and you could've dropped me back at the house to be with Stefan. So why did you haul my ass with you? Some sort of sick torture, maybe?"
Damon scoffed. "You're not the worst company in the world, Claire," he said, shrugging.
Claire stared at him incredulously. "Come on, seriously. Where's Damon Salvatore and how do I get him back?" Damon smirked to himself and looked out the window before responding.
"I…felt bad, okay? You pissed me off, I snapped your neck, and I was…"
"Sorry?" Claire filled in.
Damon frowned. "Yes…" he trailed off, a certain acrid taste in his mouth. "Yes, I was sorry. And I wanted a chance to make it up to you."
This time, Claire was the one who scowled. "By taking my most prized possession?"
"Hey, I needed leverage." He shrugged again. "Plus, you know, you are fun when you want to be. I mean, dirty tequila shots in a public place? When will I ever get a chance to do that again?"
"Find some skank and compel her like you normally do," Claire repeated his shrug, but a laugh escaped her lips.
"Yeah, but you're so much better at it than they would be."
"Mmhmm." She smiled. Damon studied her as she glanced out the window, and he hummed to himself.
"And…" he trailed off, capturing her attention. She watched as he strained himself for another reason. "You aren't the worst company in the world, Claire."
She appreciated the comment, and Damon's smile, but they knew that the second they went back to Mystic Falls, they would find something to hate each other over yet again. Damon was quite worried about what she would do to Lexi's killer—whoever he chose to take the blame. "If I didn't know any better, I would think that you just gave me a compliment." Damon laughed in agreement and turned his head out into the open road. She was silent for a while, "I saved your life, you know."
Damon turned his head to her. "I know."
"You owe me."
"What kind of payment plan would you prefer?" Damon asked, his eyebrows raising. But it was then that Elena woke up in the back seat, stirring slowly at first, but then waking in the next second, and they halted all conversation.
They drove back to the boarding house in no time, reaching it by the time the late morning was beginning. Elena went straight upstairs with a sigh, bracing herself with a conversation with Stefan. Claire and Damon stood outside, Claire leaning against the hood of her car, tapping her phone against her hand. Damon slammed his door shut and walked over to her. "You better not be putting scratches on my hood," he warned.
"Relax, Grandpa," Claire joked and jumped off of the hood of his car. She brushed off her hands and gestured to the sparkling blue Camaro. "See? It's spotless."
She turned from him, but this was the moment that Damon could see her contemplating things. He knew exactly what she was contemplating, and this was what made him stay silent until she spoke again.
"Tell me who did it," Claire said, turning around sharply to face him, her eyes as serious as they came. She nodded to him once, and Damon, who wore a pained expression, sighed.
"Claire—"
"It's okay, just…just tell me." Damon stayed silent. "Come on, Damon, you've been nice to me for the last couple hours. What will another five minutes do?"
Damon thought about it for a moment, but it wasn't the fact that he wanted to be difficult that stopped him from telling her. He didn't know what she would do if he said the word that popped into his mind to blame it on—it was the most realistic and practical person he could think of, of course. But what would she do? She couldn't get revenge against another for something he did.
"Just…" Damon trailed off. "Promise me you won't do anything rash."
Claire frowned. "Whoever killed Lexi…killed Lexi, Damon. If you died, wouldn't you want vengeance?"
"It wasn't on purpose," Damon tried, spinning his lie in the direction he wanted it to go. He would fill Stefan in on it later. "You know, the Council in this town is ruthless. They see a vampire, they attack it. That's just how it—"
"Damon," Claire spoke softly. "Tell me."
Damon gave an annoyed breath when he realized that she wouldn't give it up. "It was Sheriff Forbes," he said, his voice flat. "She thought Lexi was a vampire, she staked her, and Lexi died. They thought they were rid of the town's problem. If I could've done anything to stop it, I would've." Lies, something chirped in Damon's head, but he swatted it away like a bug.
Claire thought it over for a moment, but Damon could see the change in her eyes. She wouldn't do anything. Not to a human—not to someone on the Council. Not if it was a misunderstanding. If it was intentional, of course—which is was, in all honesty—she would've ripped out the killer's throat with no remorse. Despite Damon's hatred against her, he didn't want to fight her on this. He was hoping she'd never find out.
In desperate attempt to change the subject, Damon cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. "So…I said that I would give this to you when we got back," he said, pulling out the small photograph of Clarissa and Amelia. Clarissa was eighteen in the picture, Amelia thirteen. He remembered the pain that Clarissa had gone through when her sister died. Though Damon was furious at the girl who'd broken his heart, he still expressed his condolences. It was the only moment he had shared with Clarissa, obviously unknown to his brother, that hadn't been full of rage at the time. It was in the morning when all of the hopes and dreams he'd had of making things work with Clarissa that it all fell apart.
Clarissa took the photo from him gently, looking down at the picture. "Thank you," she said, but there was a certain hatred in her voice. If Damon hadn't taken the picture in the first place, he wouldn't have had to have given it back.
All of a sudden, all niceties were drained away from Damon, and he stalked forward, forcing her back. "What are you doing?" she asked him, but he turned them so that her back hit the side of the car and he kept her there with his own body. His fingers traced the side of her face and jerked it to the side, where he leaned forward so his lips were by her ear.
"You won't last a day without me, you know," he whispered in her ear, low enough so that Stefan wouldn't have the slightest clue. Besides, he was too busy with Elena to notice. "So you want to keep this up, you'll be the one coming to me next time."
Though Clarissa's breathing pattern was slightly jagged, she managed to retort, "You think I'm that weak? God, you don't know me at all." She gripped his hand that was keeping her head to the side, removed it from her face, and kept it balled into a fist when she looked back at him. But he was enjoying her retaliation, not moving as she closed more distance between them so it was even more limited now. "I don't need you, Damon."
Damon hummed. "We'll see," he smiled, the corners of his lips turning up vindictively. He stepped back, giving her an extra moment to smell his intoxicating scent, and then he yanked his hand from hers and she watched as he walked around the car. "I'm going to the Grill. Tell Stefan I said good morning."
With that, the old Damon was back, and he climbed into his car, backed out of the driveway, and drove off to drown his sorrows in more liquor—like the whole day yesterday wasn't enough.
So, I don't know if you all watched the Season 5 finale the other night...let's just pretend it never happened, okay? Okay. It's the only way I'm going to get through this summer. Raise your hand if you're still crying over it. *Raises my own hand*
Anyways, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I'll update ASAP. Review if you can!
Love,
BellaSalvatore1918
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