Chapter 9
I Can See You're Not Being Yourself
There were a lot of things in this world that Damon couldn't explain. He wasn't like to admit that aloud, but he recognized the fact.
That didn't mean he wasn't curious. He may have pretended not to care, but he was interested in knowing the answers, in seeing truths wherever he could, especially when it came to knowing people, because he knew people. He'd been around long enough to be able to read most, to understand why they acted the way they acted, so he thought he knew her, that he understood her, that she was simple, pure, and morally infallible at her core. And maybe she was still the last two in a way, but she was definitely not as simple as he'd previously thought.
No, Bonnie Bennett was an enigma.
A year ago, he would've said she had an air of innocence. The few times she drew his attention, there was a softness to her demeanor that belied an inexperience and naiveté. She was merely a normal girl just discovering she was a witch, cautious and curious of the supernatural. It was only after meeting him that an edge slowly but surely began to form, that her innocence became marred by the grief she carried and the choices she had to make. And yet despite that, it remained. Whenever he looked at her, he could still see that innocent inexperienced Bonnie... at least up until a few months ago.
He couldn't pinpoint when exactly he noticed something was off. It was sometime between her helping him with Mason and the sixties dance, but one day, after seeing her, it struck him that the way she carried herself was different, that there was a gravitas to her disposition that wasn't there before. Her judgmental nature predisposed her to being the grave and serious sort, but nowadays the way she spoke sometimes held a weight, a sense of knowledge and confidence that didn't match his impression of her, and it left him baffled.
And that wasn't the only thing that left him confused. What was even more strange was her change in attitude towards him. Damon could've sworn she hated him, despised him for the things he'd done and the way he'd treated her. They only coexisted for the sake of necessity, worked together because they had to, and even then she'd been eager to keep her distance from him. She feared him on some level or at the very least, she didn't trust him, and she had every reason not to. Damon understood that, and he didn't exactly care that she didn't like him, but seeing as he was trying to be less antagonistic, he figured he would offer her that truce. Being in a witch's good graces could never hurt if he ever needed a favor.
But at the time, her refusal had been instantaneous. She was stubborn and unmovable in her self-righteousness, so after that, he presumed that if there was a chance, it was less than slim, and he preemptively gave up on winning her over because she wasn't who he was after anyway. Elena was. And if Elena was in trouble, Bonnie was sure to come running. So he left things as they were, resigning himself to the fact that her high horse was too high for him to reach, and he'd been buried beneath the dirt it stood on long ago.
Imagine his surprise, however, when Bonnie was suddenly less caustic and more tolerant towards him. That wasn't to say they didn't argue anymore. No, she still liked to be Judgey McJudgerson and comment on aspects of his behavior she disliked, but there was less deep-seated disdain behind it and more plain old annoyance. Like his existence in her vicinity no longer made her wary and irritated, and it was simply his lack of regard towards others and the self-centered nature of his actions that bothered her.
Aside from that, she seemed, dare he say it, almost at ease in his presence, or more at ease than she used to be. No longer did she seem afraid of him. No longer did she look at him with distrust and contempt. She remained closed off, but occasionally there was an openness in her eyes that threw him for a loop, and that was only part of it.
To him, sometimes her entire demeanor screamed contradiction. Sometimes her actions were opposite what he expected. Sometimes she made him question if he were imagining everything or experiencing some sort of mini hallucinations. She confused him, managed to surprise him, and Damon no longer knew what to make of her anymore.
And then there was the dance.
Before he found her at the bar, that was the first time he'd consciously recognized the contradiction.
That night in particular, he'd noticed a quiet solemnity, a grace and dignity in the way she carried herself and sometimes, he would swear she moved with the assuredness of a woman far beyond her years. Damon chalked that up to her maturing, transitioning from awkward teenage girl to young woman alongside her resolve to die for Elena if things came down to it. He could think of no other explanation because even in his arms, she moved with certitude. From the moment her hands touched his, from the moment the dance began, he expected her to recoil from him, but she leaned in instead, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. This Bonnie, the one who asked him if that polka dot dress suited her, was so easy to tease, and the banter between them was able to slip into innuendo for a moment before she inevitably shut it down by changing the topic. She had looked delicious in that dress too. All prim and proper and pinned up hair begging to be unraveled. He didn't lie when he said he'd been tempted to eat her and in more ways than one.
Damon wasn't blind. He'd never been impervious to Bonnie's beauty. It may have been subtle to others, but it wasn't subtle to him. She was attractive. Her petite stature, those asymmetrical lips, those verdant green eyes. Lately, she seemed to realize her appeal, dressing in ways that subtly emphasized those assets, but even when she wore those frumpy outfits, and even underneath that conservative sixties dress, he could tell she had just the right amount of curves.
So yeah, sure, he wouldn't be opposed to sex with Bonnie, not in the least. But in his head, Bonnie was pure, unattainable, and incorruptible. She was so far out of his reach, there was no point in a serious proposition. She would always reject him and he didn't want to think about what Elena's reaction might be if she found out he'd tried to get in Bonnie's pants. It'd be a fruitless endeavor.
Yet that didn't stop his mind from wondering. On the night of the dance his imagination had very briefly drifted to what it might be like to have her in one of those empty classrooms, dress hiked up over her waist and bent over a desk screaming his name, but he killed that stray thought as soon as it arose.
Instead, he tried to focus on the conversation, on confirming what he heard earlier and making sure Bonnie was willing to throw her life away for Elena's. Her conviction satisfied him, but letting her die didn't sit right with him. It wasn't just his promise to Emily Bennett. It was his pesky conscience that pricked at the back of his mind and drove him to think of a way to ensure Bonnie's survival.
Because what a shame it would've been if she died. All that youth, all that beauty lost in a grave of self-sacrifice, one of her own makings because she was incapable of putting herself first. So, he came up with the plan to fake her death, and she did it.
She trusted him and placed her life in his hands because she had no other option, and he was glad she did. Death did not become her, even if her body was only in a state of suspended animation. It was fragile when he picked it up, limp and lifeless. That also pricked at something inside him, pulled at his thin heart strings enough for him to think he might actually be sad if she'd truly died, and he was grateful she didn't.
The next time he saw her was a few days after that. Climbing up from that basement he left her in with Jeremy, she looked very much exhausted and out of it, like she would rather be anywhere but there. Still, there was that solemn grace about her, but he blamed her being out of it for why she asked if he was going to be alright because she couldn't have known. No one knew about the werewolf bite except for him. He'd been beginning to feel the effects, and he thought he'd been hiding it well enough, but maybe he hadn't been. Maybe that's what she'd noticed.
After Klaus got away and his brother traded himself for the cure, he didn't see her for a long while. He noticed her absence, heard she'd gone to visit family for the summer, but he didn't think about her much. He was too preoccupied with searching for Stefan, and she was the furthest thing from his mind when he walked into Sullivan's, hungry and frustrated after a fruitless search. His intentions were purely to have a pretty snack, then head back to the boarding house, but a woman sitting at the bar caught his eye. She was facing away from him, her hair piled high into a bun, leaving her appetizing little neck on display. He licked his lips, his gums itching at the sound of her pulse. Though there was something familiar about her, something he was drawn to about her, and as he approached, his eyes widened as he realized what it was. He would recognize that honey gardenia scent anywhere, but what was she doing there in that bar dressed like a woman full-grown with a glass full of brown liquor in her hand?
Damon aimed to find out.
He sidled up next to her, and she turned to look at him, her surprise mirroring his own. She obviously hadn't expected to get caught. His eyes roamed over her for the second time, noticing the deep v neckline of her shirt and the way it hugged her waist. Then that bartender came over, and by the way he looked between the two of them Damon could tell he was into her, that he was ready to protect her from him, and he found that irritating. Partially because the guy thought he could force Damon to do anything, and partially because he was being presumptuous over his intentions towards Bonnie.
Before he could say anything, she informed the presumptuous bartender that she knew him, and Damon nearly smirked at the way he hid his annoyance. He backed off easily and asked Damon what he wanted to drink. Wondering what exactly Bonnie was drinking, he told him he would have what she was having, but the last thing he expected was for her to be drinking bourbon.
He didn't expect a lot of things that came from the conversation that followed. She continuously surprised him, knowing when his birthday was, actually smiling and even laughing. The alcohol had loosened her up, but not enough for her to give him the real reason why she was there, and there had to be another one. There was no way she only came because she liked to drink. It was so inconceivable to his impression of her, that he knew there must be some other explanation. Either that or he just didn't know her well enough, and there were even more layers to her than he'd thought.
Tired of his questioning, she'd ended the conversation almost abruptly, planning to leave and an inkling of disappointment arose in him. At the same time, he had the thought to ask her to help him find Stefan, and she'd looked as if she wanted to but refused. He didn't push it.
The weight of her hand on his shoulder was heavy when she told him not to worry too much, that he would find Stefan like she knew he would, and he wanted to believe that.
After some time away from Mystic Falls, the second time he went to the bar was on a whim. He wondered if she might be there if he showed up, so he'd pulled into the parking lot and got out of his Camaro, walking up to the doors. He saw her straight away sitting at the bar in the same spot as last time.
She was watching him as he approached her, then she turned to the girl behind her who said something before she got off the stool. Damon took her space, and Bonnie greeted him. Obviously, she was a little more drunk than she'd been last time, but her eyes had this look. They weren't just open. It was more. He'd seen a hint of it when he danced with her, but it was plain on her face then, the invitation.
That's what he felt when she danced with him, when she spoke with him nowadays, an invitation. Small, but there. It wasn't sexual, but it was as if she was open to knowing him, to accepting him despite his faults, to forgiving him. But maybe he was imagining it. Maybe deep down it was what he wanted. Maybe he was projecting.
As they sat at the bar, once again he asked her what she was doing there and once again she dismissed the question and turned the conversation around on him. Somehow, she could read him and see his frustration. And there it came, the invitation to talk about it. There was nothing to talk about though. The simple fact of the matter was that he was annoyed at this entire situation and wished he could carry on with his life without feeling obligated to get his brother out from under Klaus' thumb.
Bonnie seemed to think otherwise. She had the nerve to call him a good brother, to think that he was searching for Stefan because he loved him, but he was not that pure-hearted, so he argued against her assumption. It made him feel strange, having her of all people try to see the good in him when he didn't deserve it, and it reminded him that she was just a seventeen-year-old girl, still naïve and hopeful despite everything that happened to her.
And she'd been through a lot. She had sacrificed more than most because she cared far too much and she couldn't stop caring. It was the same personality defect his brother had, only worse and Damon was suddenly curious to know what she'd be like without it, if she was Bonnie uninhibited without the burden of protecting her friends. The thought made her smile a different kind of smile, a mischievous one that piqued his curiosity. She seemed to have an idea, but wouldn't tell him, but then that inviting, almost warm look came to her face as she mentioned becoming friends in an offhanded way, like she was completely unopposed to the idea.
It confused him for a moment, but then she was reminding him that he didn't deserve a chance to make amends with her, that he didn't know how to apologize. She lectured him, and for some reason, he let her, even though he had no intention of listening. But then she surprised him again by saying she wanted to give him a chance, that she was already giving him one. Those words gave him pause. Despite the evidence that she wasn't lying, he tried to rationalize why she was. She'd been drinking. She didn't mean it. That was the only thing he could come up with and that's what he wanted to think, but she stared at him with those eyes again, so light and so green, and he wasn't even sure how to respond to that because he knew he didn't deserve anything from her.
She blinked and the look in her eyes left as she glanced at the door behind her. She stood to leave and stumbled towards him. He reacted, grabbing her arm to steady her, her other hand resting on his thigh and squeezing just a little as she righted herself. There was a short pause where their gazes met, she blushed adorably, and his skin burned under her touch.
He ended up offering to pay for her drinks, and she thanked him with another one of those smiles and waved goodbye. She walked to the door on steadier feet, and Damon found himself downing the rest of his glass, throwing some cash on the bar counter, and following her. She was about to call a taxi, he knew. He'd heard her do so after she left the last time he came, and something in him compelled him to offer her a ride.
She agreed easily, hopping in without hesitation, and he pulled off. The car ride was silent the whole way back. She had rolled down the window, a far off look in her eyes as she stared at the road ahead, and he wondered what was on her mind the whole way.
After that, Bonnie had begun to cross his own mind occasionally when he was in town and drinking alone in the boarding house. More than once, he thought about joining her simply because he was bored and felt like messing with her a little, but he never did.
The night she called him from that party was one of those nights. She'd just crossed his mind when his phone rang and lo and behold her name popped up on the screen. He answered, wondering what on earth she was calling him for, hearing the slur in her voice and the music blaring in the background. As usual, she surprised him. The reason she called was because she needed his help. She thought she killed someone.
Receiving the address to the party, he drove over there, navigated his way through the crowds of college students, and met her in the room she'd described to him over the phone. He saw the two bodies first, the one of the guy on the floor in a pool of blood and the other of a girl unconscious on the sofa. Bonnie told him what happened over the phone, but to see the mess she made in person vindicated him. How the mighty have fallen from their high horse, he thought. Bonnie Bennett, a murderer, and yet she looked calmer than he would've expected her to. She looked good too. Her legs were out in a black skin-tight dress that came down to her thighs, but her arms were covered underneath a short denim jacket and he could only see a hint of the low neckline of her dress. She stood, arms folded across her chest, tipsy and irritated with his teasing.
After she woke up the girl for him and he compelled her, Damon told Bonnie to wait for him in the car. She'd tried to offer him help, but he'd seen the way she swayed on her feet when she walked. She would only get in his way.
When she left, he went to take care of the guy, trying to think of a way to get him out of the party undetected when saw the minuscule rise and fall of his chest and heard a faint heartbeat. Damon shook his head. Bonnie Bennett should count her lucky stars, he thought as he ripped into his wrist and fed the guy some blood. He had to coax him to wake up and drink it, but the guy ended up fine and Damon compelled him on his way.
Once that was over and done with, he went to find Bonnie, heading back through a bunch of drunk college students dancing and was about to head outside when he caught a glimpse of her in the kitchen. Irritated that she hadn't listened to him and had another cup of alcohol in her hand, he took it from her and poured it down the drain. She'd clearly had enough.
Dragging out his name in complaint, he turned around and she slipped her hand into his without thinking. She pulled him forward to admonish him for his behavior. But his mind was stuck on that smile of hers as she did and he forced himself not to read into the actions of a drunk teenager.
He said hello and goodbye to her friend, pulled her back by her hand, and noticed that she'd left his car keys on the counter where anyone could've snatched them up. Glaring at her while she obliviously brushed back a wild strand of her hair, he slipped a hand around her waist and started herding her towards the door. He practically pushed her out of the house and she stumbled in front of him, nearly tripping as she got inside his car.
For a second, he wondered why he was insisting on getting her home, on why he even came in the first place, and he came to the conclusion that for some inexplicable reason, it bothered him seeing her like this. Something was clearly wrong with her that she wasn't talking about with anyone. It could have been any number of things between loneliness, grief, and depression. But whatever it was, it wasn't his problem. He should stop thinking about it, and yet…
She was asleep when he arrived at her house and when he tried to wake her up, she wouldn't budge. He wasn't invited in, so he took her to the boarding house instead.
Quietly, he opened her passenger door and not even bothering to try and wake her up, he slipped his arm around her small frame and underneath the bend of her knees. She stirred then, her arms wrapping around his neck with her nose pressed into the crook of it. His skin tingled under her breath and he found himself suppressing a shiver.
She spoke against his skin, apologizing for bothering him and he'd said she owed him while momentarily distracted by the smoothness of her thighs and the intrusive thought of what they might look like wrapped around his neck. But he blocked the thought almost as soon as it invaded his mind, blaming it on having her in his arms, on feeling her lips brushing against his skin when she spoke. She was making him hungry and he pushed down on the unwelcome arousal, but it was hard when the way she responded almost sounded suggestive.
She snuggled against him again and he again reminded himself not to read into the actions of a drunk sleepy girl, thinking she probably thought he was Jeremy. Yeah, that had to be the case because why else would she kiss his cheek and say thanks, honey as he placed her on one of the guest room beds.
He tried to dismiss it, but he was stuck on that moment for a long while after. The way she sounded so warm and sweet made him feel off. Her gratitude had been genuine, but it wasn't meant for him. That kiss was a stolen moment meant for someone else, and it took him some time to realize that it bothered him so much because he wished it was his. Not because he deserved it for going through all that trouble for her, but because of the affection that poured through her voice and that simple little kiss on the cheek. He couldn't remember the last time anyone spoke to him like that. And after being deprived of moments like that for all the years he wasted on chasing a lie, he wanted it for himself.
Morning came and Damon was downstairs indulging himself in a blood bag when he heard her wake up and throw up. Fifteen minutes later she was walking down the stairs, somehow still looking graceful as hell. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and just messy enough to look like she could've just been laid. Moreover, she'd taken the jacket off so he could see the entirety of that black dress. In the light of day, it made her curves look more pronounced, and damn if it didn't cause another one or two intrusive thoughts about getting her out of it.
She cleared her throat. "Thanks for last night." She leaned against the counter next to him.
"Do you even remember what happened?"
"Bits and pieces." She casually played with a strand of her hair, her eyes never leaving his. "Do you think I could get a ride home?"
Was she doing that purposefully? Trying to look cute while she asked? "That's three favors you owe me, do you want to make it four?"
"Three?" Those cupid's bow lips pursed in thought.
He grinned slyly. "One for keeping your secret, another for helping you clean up that mess yesterday. And a third for not telling Jeremy that you kissed me."
Green eyes widened into a panic. "What are you talking about?" So she didn't remember.
He tapped his cheek and her eyebrows fell inward as she tried to remember what happened. A second later, they slowly raised and she blushed, losing a bit of her confidence. "He wouldn't believe you."
She was right. He wouldn't believe it, at least not at first. It would take some convincing. "He might."
She chewed her lip as she considered it. "Either way, I'm not afraid of owing you, Damon."
Bold words. As if he was pulled by a magnet, he stepped closer to her and lowered his head and the pitch of his voice. "You should be."
Bonnie didn't back away, nor did she look phased in the least. Instead, he caught her glance down at his lips, and a different sort of tension leaked into the space between them. He let his eyes wander down that dress again and his fingers twitched at his sides, but her expression didn't change from that slight uppity look of annoyance, making him think he was imagining things again.
She blinked. "So can I get a ride or not?" Just like that, whatever tension Damon felt dissipated.
He raised his head. "No can do, I just got a lead on Stefan and I have to head to Chicago."
He went to grab his jacket.
"You're leaving?" She almost sounded disappointed.
"Yeah," he looked back at her. "I assume you can see yourself out."
She nodded. "Good luck," she said.
"Thanks." He tilted his head. "Oh and Bonnie-"
"Hm?"
"Try not to kill anyone while I'm gone."
A/N:
It's a Christmas miracle in October ya'll. I'm updating more than once in a single month! This one has been kinda mostly ready for a while though while the next one is a mess waiting to be edited. Hopefully I'll get to that soon, but thanks for reading!
Chapter title from "Hold On" by SBTRKT and Sampha.
