Later that night, Damon struggled to sleep.
He went with option three, stupidly repeating his question about the cellphone. Elena had nodded in reply and ran back upstairs to pack an overnight bag. Resurrection had been painfully overwhelming for her too but not as painful as Damon's odd behaviour and lack of communication. Caroline would know what to do. Heck, Caroline would at least welcome her back to the land of the living with open arms. Which was more than she could say about her boyfriend.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Damon groaned.
The hands of the clock on his wall were a comfort to him once upon a time. The soft sounds used to ease his breathing pattern into a guided rhythm which helped him sleep. One, breathe in - - three, breathe out.
But there was more to the story.
The antique clock was given to him by a duchess whose name he cared little to remember, as a means of saying thank you for everything he did to make her final few days as a single woman 'comfortable'. It served as a constant reminder that Damon was immortal; that time could never determine the course of his life like it did with humans.
But now, two hundred years later, immortality had lost all meaning.
Time was cruel to him now.
Time taunted Damon, telling him that he couldn't spend any of it with Bonnie.
And poor Bonnie lay next to him, reading his face like an open book.
When did you start overthinking things? Who are you?
Damon was a complex being, that was no secret. But the constant push and pull of his heartstrings was tiring. His mind darted back and forth in odd patterns.
Elena. Bonnie. No. Elena. But, Bonnie...weigh 'em up. Pros and cons. Pros and cons? Don't be a testa di minchia, Damon. What in the world? The only time you insult yourself in Italian is never. Mio dio, what is happening to you?
It felt like he was yelling a one-way conversation with his mouth shut.
"Damon, would you cut it out?"
Then all of a sudden, he was yelling with his mouth open. He couldn't take it anymore. He was torn and couldn't tell the difference between Bonnie and Elena; loyalty and servitude.
"Stupid. Fucking. Clock!"
The little witch flinched. The impact of Damon's cellphone hitting the antique clock sent waves of anger and frustration flying around the room. So much so that Bonnie was pulled back to the real world.
Damon immediately sensed the heat emanating from the body of his little witch. He turned his frown upside down. His heart swelled to the size of his ego but he wasn't about to give that away.
"Hello again," he greeted casually, turning his head.
Bonnie froze.
"You can see me again?"
"I sure can."
Her eyes averted from his piercing eyes to his hungry smirk.
"Oh."
"So...about what you were saying in the kitchen earlier..."
AN: Uh-oh, looks like Damon did hear witchy's confession after all.
This next vignette could either be sappy, sweet or sassy. Take your pick.
Quick welcome to new readers and a thank you to the old ones who stuck around!
