AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you guys so much for reviewing! Sorry if this took a while. I'm probably the laziest writer on here. Oh wells! Hope you enjoy :)
DISCLAIMER: TVD belongs to who it belongs to, and that is not me.
3 - SLOTH
Laziness.
Maybe he'd kill her tomorrow.
He was going to have a little fun first. He watched her with hateful eyes, his lips curled into a sneer. He was tingling with what he could only think of as self-satisfaction. His eyes swept over her sleeping form, hating how she still managed to look beautiful in such a compromising position.
He watched as her back heaved up and down, her breathing choppy and irregular. She was hunched over in the torture chair, her fragile wrists locked in those ever so convenient metal straps. Her hair shadowed her face, slightly damp with, from what he could smell, was blood.
Damon snarled as he felt his inner demon threatening to take over. He could feel the veins sneaking across his features. His fangs were teasing his tongue. As quickly as it had risen deep inside of him, the hunger suppressed as his mind took control of his appetite.
He wouldn't drink her now. He wanted her conscious for that.
He felt a low, almost unrecognizable chuckle vibrate in the back of his throat as he gazed at her vulnerable form. He wanted to watch her body react against the very thing that thrived within her. All amusement he felt vanished as his cold, icy eyes strayed from her and onto the object he clenched in his right hand.
It was small, sure. But he knew it would make her scream. The dark sound of amusement in the back of his throat was born again as he ignited the lighter in his hand. He was going to get her back with the very thing he knew she lived to use on him.
Fire.
Bonnie hesitated before opening her eyes. Not for fear of what she might see, but because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to see anything at all. Her head felt as if it'd been driven over, crushed with a grand piano, and then backed over with a two-by-four for good measure.
Her legs felt numb, as if all the blood had rushed to her hands, which felt like they'd been electrocuted. Her eyes were heavy when she pried them open, and it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of wherever the hell she was.
She could make out the shape of her legs, her hands, and her feet. She could feel the locks of her hair stick to her forehead, mixed with blood and sweat. It was only when the silver cuffs her wrists were trapped in, strapped to an uncomfortable, battered mahogany chair gleamed in the moonlight, streaming from an uncovered window that she remembered why she felt as injured as she was.
Damon, she thought. She hissed as she tried to turn her head to get a better view of her surroundings, and found, unsurprisingly, that her neck was excruciatingly sore.
Bonnie lifted her head, ignoring the pain and a sudden chill crept over her. Goosebumps slithered on her bare arms, as her eyes met Damon Salvatore's torso. She strained her eyes and kept her whimpers nill as she stared up at him.
His eyes were distant, unkind as they bored into hers. She swallowed the bile that had risen in the back of her throat, suddenly not feeling as defiant as she usually did around him.
She was off her game and it was all his fault. She inwardly cursed herself for how fucking stupid she was to ever trust a single word he said. Every sentence he spat was a lie. Every single one. For once, he got the jump on her. Damon was surely living up to his reputation of kicking a man when he's down. Bonnie, however, swore to herself that she'd never let herself be taken by surprise.
She'd danced with the devil, and it only led her to its lair. She would have punched herself if her hands weren't restrained. She felt her arms tug and pull, but the steel only pinched her reddened skin.
She cleared her aching throat, "Where the hell β"
"Ah-ah-ah." Damon cut her off. He looked as if he was waiting for her to speak so he could interrupt her. "Play first, talk later."
Bonnie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and her mouth twisted in fear as she watched him walk around her, coming to a stop behind her. She felt his cool hands snake their way across her shoulders, his touch as light as a feather. Her body reacted involuntarily as she whimpered at his soft touch. She thought she heard him growl as his fingertips slid across her jugular vein, his breath cooling her hot skin. She shivered.
"How are we doing tonight, Bonnie?" Damon taunted, whispering the mocking words in her ear, his lips moving against her skin. "Feeling strong?"
"Fuck you," Bonnie spat, feeling her temperature rise. She was tired of the games.
Damon cupped the back of her neck hard, as if trying to choke her from behind. His words were spoken low and menacing. "Is that a promise?" he hissed, gripping her neck tighter. "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get to some day."
Bonnie spit at the far wall in front of her, writhing in the chair, trying to get her hands off of her.
"Over my dead body," she dared.
"Oh, I intend to," Damon countered, sounding serious. "But not until..." Bonnie could hear a scraping noise and a slight cackling sound from behind her. "We have a little chat."
Bonnie swallowed as he walked back around to the front of her. This time, he held what looked like a hot poker in his hand. She raised an eyebrow before she met his smug face.
Bonnie noticed the hot poker was already heated at the tip, like it was already placed in a fire. She quickly registered that that was the cackling noise behind her. Damon had set up a fire behind her.
"Look at you," Bonnie began, trying her best to be strong. Damon raised an eyebrow, looking seemingly interested in what she had to say. "I'm getting the Mason Lockwood treatment? How original. I must be special."
He smirked. "Says the witch who's never used any other method of attack against me other than migraines and third-degree burns."
Bonnie rolled her eyes as best as she could. "What are you going to do, Damon, huh? Kill me? You think I'm afraid to die? I've been prepared for this since the day I discovered who I was."
Damon twisted the hot poker in his hands, looking down at it with faux admiration. His eyes met hers again and he held her gaze for a moment. He sighed.
"I don't know what it is Bonnie that makes me feel the need to hurt you," he confessed, his eyes holding hers.
"Maybe because you're a raging psychopath. That ever cross your mind?" Bonnie suggested.
"Or maybe it's because you provoke me. You and all the rest of your little Scooby gang - which, I gotta say, if it's lead by Elena, that's kind of depressing, even for me."
Bonnie didn't know why she could not just ignore his words. She couldn't resist telling him off, though. Anytime, anyplace, she was ready for a verbal throwdown.
"Elena doesn't lead anything," she clarified. "We're what people call friends. Our goals aren't to overpower each other like you and Stefan seem to do; it's to protect each other... And why are you finding this funny?" Bonnie glared at his laughing face.
"Did you hear what you just said?"
Bonnie blinked. "I was there when I said it."
"I just find it β what's the word? β ironic that the one time you need protection, no one is here to help you."
Before Bonnie could send a retort Damon's way, she found her words cut off with an ear-piercing scream. It didn't take her long to realize it was hers. She hissed as the hot poker Damon had in his hand detached from the seared flesh of her right arm.
She looked up at him, eyes burning with stubborn tears. Whatever was in her expression seemed to alter his. He almost looked apologetic.
"Not so tough now, are you, little witch?"
His words proved otherwise.
He'd been torturing her for three days. He'd left marks on every part of her body. Every part except her face. He could not, for whatever reason, stand to harm it. Maybe if she'd pretended the pain wasn't there, pretended to be completely oblivious to the fresh, open wounds he'd left on her, he would have been able to destroy her beauty.
But as he stared at her tired, exhausted figure, he saw that there was no chance of her beauty being destroyed.
Damon twisted the hot poker in his hands, his night-adjusted eyes still on her. He didn't feel like killing her. Not tonight. He laughed to himself at the fickleness that always overpowered him when it came to Bonnie Bennett. One day, he wanted her dead, the other, he wanted her around.
"What is it about you, Bonnie?" he sighed, knowing she wasn't conscious enough to hear him. "What is it�"
He suddenly dropped the hot poker with a clank to the ground and ran a hand through his messy black hair. Tonight, he wouldn't kill her.
Maybe tomorrow night.
END NOTE: I hope this wasn't too confusing! In WRATH I did a take on Bonnie not being able to kill Damon, and in this chapter, I wanted to do a take on Damon not being able to kill Bonnie. He seems to think it's because he's lazy when it comes to killing her, but I think we all know better. ;) Reviews are lovely!
