Her eyes move under her closed lids. Her exhausted body barely stirs on the single bed of the health center but the tension in her muscles is palpable, tying her down and subjecting her to the visions of the sadism in which her last visitor liked to revel. Bonnie does not make a sound as the squirts of blood start dripping down the wall painted with sea animals of the newborn child's room, but horror and disgust kicks her out of unconsciousness before she can see through his eyes what he did to the little body in the crib.
Her eyes are wide open and her heartbeat starts to slow down.
"And in the end, the sleeping beauty woke up," Damon says making her turn to him. Her pale face, as she searches for something to fix her sanity to before it can sink irremediably, makes him slightly irritated.
"Damon…" she brings her right hand to her forehead, instinctively. She feels like she could break her reason apart with a touch, so her fingertips barely brush the skin.
"What time is it?" she asks, trying to regain some control. "I need to go to class." She looks about herself, but still not making a move. She slept, maybe just a few minutes but she slept, and no ghost has played pranks on her, no one tried to use her, and until those images came to hunt her it's been so beautifully quiet inside of her.
"That's all?" he asks back, grimacing. "You wake up in a bed that's not your own, with me playing the reluctant guardian angel and all you ask is what time is it?"
He's got a point, she realizes, but what can she really tell him? She's trying to keep her life together, and if she confesses it all then it's done, every chance she ever had to live her life for herself is gone and she will just be the ghost's exit sign, the recycling bin of their conscience, the one to pity, and she can't face that. Moreover Damon is the last person she'd tell. He might have brought down hell to make her resuscitate, but they were more intimate when she was dead, all considered.
"Isn't this how college life is supposed to be?" she asks, trying to sound amused, "Waking up in a stranger's bed without knowing how you got there?"
The white and pale green of everything surrounding her and the aseptic smell do not leave many options outside of hospitals rooms and infirmaries.
From his face she can see he'd tempted to give in and believe her, but it doesn't last long. His blue eyes are as hard as stones and her first instinct is to keep the distance between them, yet she remembers clearly now, how that white eyed ghost disappeared when she touched him.
"Yeah, you, totally the promiscuous one," he says, sounding sarcastic.
It bothers her how he will not believe that of her, but just the day before she was angry at Jeremy for thinking the opposite. Being completely truthful, at least there is still a way to tell apart the girl she is from the girl this curse is trying to make of her.
"Thanks," she says cheerfully, pushing her legs out of the bed to get up, "now if you'll excuse me."
"No, I don't think I will," he says, crossing his white, muscled arms on his chest, leaning back against the wall "unless you tell me you already got rid of the problem and just need help disposing of the body."
"Killing is not my hobby," she informs him.
"Right, that's mine," he says, snapping his fingers together like he just remembered. "Well, too bad," he adds, looking away from her. His jaw tight, his lips closed into a thing line. "The kid dressed as a doctor says you've been abused."
He spits the last word like he's insulting her. She doesn't know what he expects from this conversation or what would make it shorter.
Truth is that she never thought of it that way. She never thought of all the pain and the lies and the loneliness that way. Bonnie hopes that the surprise registering on her face can work in her favor.
"He's wrong," she says, trying to sound as firm as she can. Damon doesn't falter at her words, looking at her like he's studying every trait of her face.
"Is he?" he asks back, sounding blank and unimpressed, "So what? Did you bump into a shutter? A door? You're just clumsy, right? That's quite a classic," he adds, taking a step towards her and faking an amused tone.
"I really don't know what you're talking about and I don't care."
"Well, that makes two of us, then," he says, clearly annoyed, turning his back on her to walk to the door.
"You're not going to tell Elena, are you?" she's almost breathless at the mere idea. She can't really bear to think of what will happen then. She will be forced to think about how everyone else feels about this and will become a blur into her own consciousness.
"You think I won't?" he asks back, turning to her with a feline grace. Head cocked to the side and a horribly playful sneer on his pink lips, "But, why not?" he asks with a shrug.
He takes a step towards her, and then another, "The doctor is wrong after all, isn't he? Elena really needs a good laugh right now and this should be entertaining enough."
Bonnie turns her face when he leans into her, avoiding his eyes, but she never backs down, never lets him think he can actually scare her. So who is it that can reduce her to such condition? He can smell no hint of fear on her skin, just her usual scent of vanilla and bitter almonds, which linger on her like a warning that she can be lethal to one's system just by breathing her in once.
His instinct warns him to stay out of this, before she manages to push him into some other crazy mission, like she did when she brilliantly thought to go and die on them.
"It really doesn't concern me," he decides, as self-preservation kicks in, "I'll let your friends worry about this," he explains, like he's not one of them. He's not used to caring – not so much, not so often anyway - he tells himself, the effort could tear a muscle or something, it is better if he stays out of it.
He's fast in turning from her, relived that he can shake her off like she's dust on his shirt, but before he can actually reach for the door her fingers wrap around his elbow, "Damon, please," and he remains still, because those are two words he never heard in the same sentence, not from her anyway.
He concentrates so hard on the rhythm of her breathing, on the hold of her hand, trying to figure out what it is that made her break the unspoken rule between them to never, ever ask out of each other something that is not hidden under some twisted vision of the greater good, that he can feel the very own patterns of her fingerprints pressed against his skin and the substance of her breath in the air around him.
He turns his head but doesn't look over his shoulder, doesn't meet her eyes as he gives in to her, cutting voice and stark words, "Do it your way, but do it," before leaving the room for good.
The sound of the door closing is loud, hard. He thinks he just tried to cut a bond with that slamming, which is ridiculous because they are barely on speaking terms.
#
If he had gone to look for Elena he would have spilled the news immediately one way or the other, because he was fucking mad.
She had quite the nerve to be in that state and deny it right to his face, like he's that stupid to turn blind in front of her bruises.
Bonnie was never less than a pain in the ass, always judgmental and way too generous for her own sake, but she was never a liar. She could cut him out, send him to hell, fry his brain, burn his ass, but she never lied to him, not even once, and even when she was waiting for an excuse to free the world of his dirty presence he still knew he could trust her to tell him the truth.
He was never shaken by her insults, by her lapidary judgment, because she was honest, if brutal. But having her lie to him, made his viscera burn with anger. With something that, when he still remembered what it was to truly hope, he would have called disappointment.
Damon snaps out of his thoughts and tries to focus on the book he's reading. He's still on the same page he was one hour ago and he crosses his legs at the ankles as he keeps his left arm bent under his head, to pillow it.
He tries to push out the sound of Jeremy entering through the front door to concentrate on the book. He must turn it in his hand to remember what he's actually reading. "Tolstoy," he mutters, less than enthusiastic.
"You didn't take off your shoes," he turns his eyes to Jeremy before looking down to his feet, after flattening the open book against his chest.
"So?" he asks, irritated at the fact that his clean-freak-self suddenly took a vacation without him noticing, and that Jeremy has caught on to it, "I'm the one cleaning the damn thing."
Jeremy just shrugs and tries walking away with a "Whatever"
"How are things?" Damon asks, pulling himself into a sitting position, resisting the urge to look over the spot where his shoes touched the leather of the sofa to check for traces of dust.
"As usual," the other just says.
Damon nods, trying to find something else to say to prolong the boring conversation. He's not mastered yet the art of looking like he gives a damn about the things the kid has to say.
"Have you been visiting your sister lately?"
"So this is about Elena?" Jeremy asks like he's just caught him with his hands in the biscuits jar. Damon grins.
"Isn't it always?"
"She's fine, holding up. I think she misses you."
The idea gives him a regurgitation of tension, he wants to have her regardless of how he will feel later, regardless of the only short satisfaction the will follow, of the guilty pooling at the bottom of his stomach and the lies he will tell to convince himself that, in time, he can understand the person she is now and he will deserve the girl she was before.
The sudden compulsion is only toned down by the question pushing against the wall of his skull.
"And what about her roommates?"
Jeremy is surprised by his sudden interest for anyone else outside of his sister but, to his relief, decides to amuse him.
"Well, Caroline is enthusiastic-"
Of course he would start with vampire Barbie, he thinks, reminding himself to not roll his eyes, but letting the sound of the words dissolve in the air. What makes baby-Gilbert suspect he gives a shit about the blonde?
"And Bonnie…"
The name sparks Damon's attention, and he tries to push him to continue, "Judgie what?"
"She's working hard, I guess," he says, reluctant.
"You guess?" he asks grimacing, "Isn't she your girlfriend? Don't you see her naked on regular basis?"
"What's this talking about Bonnie naked?" the boy eyes him with puzzlement, but there's not an ounce of suspect on his face.
"I'm just saying, your knowledge of her wellbeing should be more accurate then I guess." he says, trying to sound cool "Weren't you together last night?"
He remembers the heavy trail of after shave he left in the hallway and wondering if he had ever saw at least one hair daring to grow on baby-Gilbert's face. He doubts he was trying to impress Donovan.
"Yeah, but we fought," he admits, his expression growing dark as he holds the strap of his schoolbag with both hands.
"You did?" Damon presses. If he's stupid enough to admit it there will be no going back, no matter how badly he wants to get in his sister pants. Furthermore, she will probably find a way to let this murder pass like a momentary slip.
"It was bad," he says, let himself sit down on the armchair with a plop, "I-"
Damon bends forward, his forearms pressed against his thighs as he waits for the words to come out of the boy's mouth. It's not that he's so eager to defend her or something, it's just that he had to make a deal with devil - and not in the metaphorical sense – to bring her back from the dead so he won't let anyone waste his work.
"I accused her of cheating on me and I left," he says, looking down at his sneakers.
"She should," Damon sighs, pushing himself back to sprawl out on the sofa.
Jeremy can only glare at him, it's not like he was in condition to throw any stones at her. And even Damon, who had done some pretty shitty things to the people he loved, never cheated on anyone.
"Why would you think something so idiotic?" the vampire asks, clueless.
"She's strange lately, distant. She won't let me-" he doesn't finish the sentence, too embarrassed by the immaturity that drove him to fight with her. "I suppose I'm not happy about sharing her attention with her new responsibilities."
"Oh, aren't you the understanding boyfriend," Damon says sarcastically. He's a boy, a teen ager, and he's too preoccupied with his sex-drive to take any notice of the fact that his girlfriend is, literally, too broken to take any other risk with her fragile body.
That's her fault for having such bad taste in men.
#
She's the last to leave the class so that no one will push her trying to get away. Bonnie looks over at the notes she took, happy with herself since this time she can make sense of them, before putting them back in her bag.
"Miss Bennett?" the voice is too warm and gentle to belong to any dead visitor, and when she raises her head she meets the gentlest brown eyes.
"I didn't scare you, did I?" he asks, walking towards her.
He's about 6'3, his thick blonde hair is short and spiky, there's a veil of blonde facial hair on his cheeks like he forgot to shave.
"Not at all," she says pushing back an invisible stray of hair. For just one short moment she's surprised by how handsome he looks.
"This morning you left before I had a chance to speak with you," he says, tentatively, like he's trying not to upset her, "I'm Dr. Noah Rowe."
"Oh, well, yes," she says, "But I'm fine. Really."
"I visited you while you were unconscious, and I don't think you're fine," he explains, his voice gentle but firm. She couldn't fool Damon, who had an idea about the craziness of her life, so there's no chance she can fool a doctor.
"I heard about your theory already but I can assure you, no one did this to me," she says, as firmly as him.
"You mean you did it to yourself?"
"No, of course not," she protests, slightly insulted at his insinuation. "I know what it looks like from the outside, but it's nothing like that. Trust me, I will not let a few bruises get the best of me."
Noah had worked for Whitmore College for three years now, and has already encountered many girls battling with so much, from eating disorders to parental abuse to drug addiction to self-mutilation. He was there to offer the help they didn't think they needed or didn't think they deserved, putting them in touch with specialists and, sometimes, police. No one was happy about it at first, but still behind those hard stares he could see their fragility, their need. With this one girl it seemed quite the opposite. She might be wounded on the outside, but on the inside she's clean and untouched.
There's something resolute about her, it feels like under her appearance there's a rush of wind trying to sweep away old leaves to make space for a new beauty that's about to bloom the world into spring.
"Your friend said pretty much the same thing," he says, trying to shake himself back into the conversation.
"My friend?" she asks, confused.
"Tall, black hair, looking like he would rip my head off if I didn't tell him exactly what was going on with you," he lists, "Ring any bells?"
"Damon," she deduces, pressing her lips together to offer an apologetic smile, "And you didn't even see him at his most charming," she adds, trying to humor him.
"Well, he seems like he cares. Maybe, whatever it is that's happening to you right now, he can help."
"He's not easy to read," she just says. It's what Elena seems to think, sometimes, while she was dead, she wondered that, too, even ventured herself into believing that he missed her once, but truth is he brought her back for Elena's sanity, and she is grateful. Their relationship right now sums up to this.
He doesn't seem satisfied with her answer, and he probably doesn't trust her to keep herself in one piece. Not trusting her seems like the trend of the week.
"What do you say about a coffee?"
She's not sure what he's offering, "Actually, I have to study..."
"I'm not talking about now," he says, "But I would like to check on you. I can make an official request to have you coming every day to the health center to be examined or you can casually pass by in the cafeteria while I'm having my coffee break and entertain me for a minute or two," he explains.
Bonnie is not sure he can actually do that, but she's not eager to draw any more attention to herself and so the easier way to go is to give in. Still, she needs to keep her face.
"You should know, I don't like to be blackmailed," she informs him.
"I will buy your coffee," he offers, trying to make his idea sound less invasive of her private time than it actually is, "And you can tell me everything you don't like so I won't do it."
Bonnie crosses her arms under her breasts and sighs, rolling her eyes. "Fine."
"I have a coffee break every day at eleven a.m. and four p.m." he says, walking away.
"Doctor Rowe!" she calls after when he disappears outside the door, watching him walk back a few seconds later.
"I'll have a caramel macchiato," she says, her chin high, her expression in between demanding and playful.
"And a conversation with me about what should be called coffee and what shouldn't," he informs her with half a smile before disappearing behind the corner.
But she can still hear him when he calls, "See you tomorrow, Miss Bennett."
#
Note: Dr. Noah Rowe is played by Justin Hartley.