Mystic Falls; May—2013
THE BEGINNING RAYS of sunshine cut through layers of clouds and smoke to warm the asphalt that was wet with water runoff from fire hoses and hydrants. Heavy work boots sloshed back and forth as clusters of people stood out on the outskirts gaping, documenting, and hypothesizing about what happened. About what or who could have caused the fire that burned down the law offices of Mason Lockwood.
He either had enemies or bad luck was the general consensus. Some were secretly giddy that a member of one of the families that controlled the city had been brought down a peg or two. Outwardly, they showed concern that no one had gotten hurt or worse—killed.
The latter part was doubtful since the blaze started in the middle of the night, during an hour no one should have been inside the building. Yet there could have been an overzealous intern, associate, or paralegal that wanted to get the jump on their day and arrived at three a.m. to get ahead on assignments. Again, that was doubtful. Mason was pretty laid back for a lawyer and did not normally handle high profile cases. His brother Richard Lockwood did. So was it possible one of Richard's enemies torched his little brother's office as a warning?
None of that mattered to Bonnie who pushed her way through the gossiping crowd to the front of the crime scene police tape barrier.
She had seen on the news and couldn't believe. Now being right across the street from the burned down office, taking in its smoldering remains, her jaw dropped open in incredulity.
Of course a fire would breakout at the very law office she signed her divorce papers in the day before. Of course she and Stefan would have to restart the process of dividing their assets and putting it down on paper. Of course she'd have to sign line after dotted line severing, irrevocably, all ties to her first love, and act like none of it fazed her. Of fucking course!
Feeling a familiar sensation of awareness course down her spine, Bonnie looked to her right and there stood Stefan dressed entirely in black wearing a ball cap low on his head. As if sensing her too, he shifted his head to the left spotting her. Both of them missed a disheveled Mason Lockwood looking bankrupt, helpless, and wrathful as he spoke with investigators. They were too focused on one another beaming silent unanswerable messages to each other. Until Stefan broke the connection by redirecting his attention elsewhere. He drank in the scene one final time before disappearing. Bonnie fought instinct to follow. Those days were over.
New York; September—2013
JITTERY. Damon Salvatore couldn't stop his hands from shaking. And he hadn't touched a single drop of caffeine. He sat behind his imposing desk that sat on top of twenty-seven floors of concrete and steel, and though his mind should have been feasting on the endless reports that poured in nonstop, he was thinking about three hours ago.
Showered and dressed in a freshly laundered suit, he still sniffed himself paranoid he could smell perfume. Did he really need to find himself falling face first into the oldest stereotype for men in his tax bracket with his level of status and success?
"This can't happen again," he had told her as he tucked his shirttails into his custom made trousers and zipped up his cock that had led him astray. "I'm going to get fired."
"I doubt that. You're too valuable."
He had walked (skipped) out of the top floor condo, tying his tie while thumbing through the string of incriminating text messages they had sent to one another for the last two weeks. Two weeks of harmless flirting and innuendos. It was never supposed to lead to him shirking his duties to arrive on her doorstep in the middle of the fucking work day. Damon lied to himself saying he was merely going to help her out because she called him panicked. It had been an emergency and only he was semi-available to help her.
Of course he ignored (barely) the fact she wore nothing but a thigh baring robe in the one color mostly associated with sex—red. Damon had followed behind her like an obedient puppy, eyes glued to the swells of her ass that jiggled in a rhythm he would testify in court had put him into a trance. It wasn't until he ran into a chair at the kitchen table he realized where she had led him then pointed toward the sink.
A precious diamond bracelet had fallen off and was now stuck in the drainage pipe. She pouted about being no good with tools, and mocked her inability to tell a hammer from a socket wrench. Damon indulged the ploy, removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, tossed his tie over his shoulder, and went to work.
Fifteen minutes later he saved her bracelet and she had thrown herself into his arms, cheering as if he caught a ninety-yard pass and scored a touchdown. Her soft curves pressed into his muscles, her nipples beading and scraping against his chest. The scent of her moisturized skin had been too much.
Right there, in the kitchen. He bent her over the table, hiked her robe above the voluptuous hills of her ass that wouldn't quit. He had nearly ripped a hole in his pants so eager to get them off and plow into her offering that was wet with the most mouth-watering aroma. He had succumbed so easily. Hadn't put up much of fight. They had both known if he meant for their flirting to be nothing more than flirting he wouldn't have ended a meeting and crossed town to come to her aid.
Damon thought busting one nut would kill the craving, stuff the curious monster back into his cage. Wrong. It only made him hungrier.
This time he had to see her completely naked, otherwise, he was positive he'd go blind.
And seeing her naked had been almost too much. Her pinup girl proportions, her flawless skin, her pedicured toes. Damon thought he was depleted, had nothing left to give, but felt himself firming up, thickening with arousal so potent he wobbled in the loafers he still wore. He licked his lips as she caressed her own skin, sinking fingers between her breasts, down her flat and knotted belly, teasing the engorged clit of her bare pussy. Damon pounced, burying his tongue in her mouth, kneading her breasts. Hiking her leg around his waist, he had entered her again. Harder than he could ever remember being.
The pen in his hand rolled and dropped to his desk. "Fuck," he whispered harshly. "Shit."
Today had been their first time not using a condom.
Delirious panic swept through him as he thought of the repercussions of that. But he reminded himself she was on birth control.
Just as he pushed back the chair of his desk to make a dash for the bathroom to splash water on his face to calm down, the door to his office opened.
Damon swallowed his tongue and slowly found himself retaking his seat.
"What are you doing here?"
Bonnie Bennett hoovered beneath the threshold wearing a modest button down tucked into a pair of skintight light blue jeans, hair styled in a fishtail braid looking the epitome of classic and wholesome. Many would be hard pressed to believe she had stuck her fingers in herself after he finished the second time and licked those fingers slippery with his cum and her essence clean.
He gulped. Bit back a groan at the memory.
A corner of her painted lips lifted as she entered his office completely, softly closing the door behind her. Shutting that door made him feel as if she had sealed off any new access to oxygen, space, rational thinking.
"I said what are you doing here?" he sat straighter in his chair.
From behind her back she lifted up his Rolex watch.
"You left this behind. Figured you might want it back."
He spied his left wrist. It was naked.
Damon's hands lowered to his legs. He gripped his knees. The soft plodding of Bonnie's five-inch burnt umber heels across the carpeted floor, the cadence of his breathing sounded ominous. Sweat beaded along his hairline as his heart knocked against his ribs. Damon kept his gaze locked on her even as she rounded his desk and gently plopped his watch on top its messy surface.
"Thank you," he replied softly.
Bonnie sank her ass on the lip of his desk, crossed her legs at the ankles. "You're welcome."
That teasing smile was back on a face too beautiful for its own good. It was a face that could afford her anything she wanted. All she had to do was ask and it was given. Given cheerfully. Reverently. Long ago Damon had made a vow, sworn an oath he wouldn't fall into the group of men who would gladly relinquish their sanity just to have one night in her bed, in her arms, drowning in sensation and emotion. Failed.
"You didn't have to come all this way to return my watch."
"I know I didn't. I wanted to. We don't have much time left before I have to hop on a plane to Mystic Falls."
"You sure there's nothing I can do or say to get you to stay?" he ran his tongue across his lip top, tasting the saltiness of his own skin, even faint traces of her pussy.
As if he delivered that lick straight to her clit, Bonnie's pelvis throbbed. She cleared her throat, "I'm sure. My life is still there."
Damon felt a pinch of irritation. Shouldn't he be considered "her life"? "Don't remind me," he grumbled. "You can move. New York is beautiful in the fall," he graced her with a winning smile.
"So is Mystic Falls," Bonnie countered. "My clients are there. My practice. Things have finally settled and the last thing I want to do is move. Again."
Damon sighed heavily. "Bon, I'm tired of making these airline companies richer. We spend more time traveling to see one another than actually seeing one another. Something has got to give. Besides your practice, what's honestly keeping you in Virginia? Your divorce has been finalized. The townhouse has new owners. Your friends are living their lives, getting married, and having babies."
He hoped mentioning the latter two things, Bonnie would pick up on his hint.
Instead, Damon jumped at the feel of her foot on his calf, rising higher. Using her toes, she swiveled his chair toward her, and he swallowed his tongue as she ran those pedicured feet along his in seam headed straight for Plymouth Rock.
"I already told you," she crooned. "I'm not uprooting my life until I'm ready to do that."
Damon bit his tongue. From the moment he found out Stefan had filed for divorce so there wouldn't be any surprises later, Damon had wanted to torpedo his relationship with Bonnie to the next level. Moving in together. They were living together, technically. She had moved into the condo he leased in Mystic Falls; however a bulk of his time was spent several states away. So the obvious solution was Bonnie relocating to New York. Unfortunately, his headstrong girlfriend was deeply opposed to that. Yes, her reasons were valid, Damon mused, but he felt the longer they lived separate lives the longer it would take to make things completely solid, real, and permanent between them. He was in this for the long haul. This wasn't a meaningless fling. They weren't friends with benefits. They were in love.
But hardly anyone knew it.
Mystic Falls was not the most open-minded of places. Prior to Stefan's disappearance, his little brother and Bonnie had merely been "that interracial couple", but that sentiment transformed into them being not exactly star-crossed lovers, but a storybook romance for sure. Those who were aware of Bonnie and Stefan's separation were on the side of true love conquers all.
And it pissed Damon the fuck off.
Traveling back and forth, Face-timing, sexting, and late-into-the-night conversations had so far kept their relationship afloat, but it was taking a toll on them both. Damon wanted more. More time. More her. More of everything, and while Bonnie gave what she could, bouncing back from emotional punches wasn't as easy as it had been when she was younger.
Losing relationships, severing connections was like having a limb amputated. With a large part of her life closed off, sealed behind bricks, Bonnie still found herself suffering with phantom sensations. And she was spending a great deal of time running from those feelings. Feelings of failure. Feelings of regret. She did her best not to let it show.
"Are we still having dinner tonight?" Bonnie rubbed her foot along Damon's hard length. He sucked in a sharp breath as she rubbed the crown of his dick. She knew she shouldn't tease him like this, but lately hadn't been able to help herself.
Gripping her foot to cease its movement, Damon cleared his throat, "Yeah, we're still on for dinner. If you let me get back to work I can be done faster which will then equal more time for us."
Bonnie slipped her foot away, bent forward, seizing hold of Damon's tie. She wound it around her fist drawing him closer, close enough to have his lips in range. Close enough to kiss. Their lips grazed as she said, "Sounds good."
Chuckling darkly, Damon crushed their mouths together, spread his lips before sinking his tongue in her warm, welcoming orifice.
Breaking off the kiss before the frenzy started and clothes started flying, Bonnie wiped her lipstick off Damon's mouth. It was a lost cause. She stuck her foot back into her heel and got to her feet.
"I forgot to ask," Damon straightened his tie, "is Mason Lockwood still running for a seat on the city council?"
"He is. Why?"
"I think he's trying to hit me up for money," Damon explained. "I've been invited to a gala he's hosting next week. Wanna be my date?" he waggled his brows.
Though the fire that burned down Mason's practice had been ruled arson, no arrests had been made. Some speculated Mason sat the fire himself to claim the insurance money to fund his campaign. Others believed it was a disgruntled client, but whoever had been responsible, they lit the figurative fire under Mason to throw his hat into the political ring. The man was looking for sponsors, and any citizen of Mystic Falls, former or current, was being called to cough up their hard-earned cash.
Bonnie had received an invitation as well. One she'd yet to respond to.
Mistaking her silence for apprehension, a muscle ticked in Damon's jaw. "How much longer are we gonna hide what we are to each other?" he asked tersely. "I'm done with keeping us behind closed doors, dammit. If people have a problem with us it's their problem."
"Sorry for wanting to put some distance between ending one relationship and getting into another. You're not the one who has to live in Mystic Falls once we go public."
Damon growled. "You haven't been with Stefan in almost a damn year. You know what? We're not going to get into this right now. I'm not going to air out our business for my nosey ass assistant to overhear," he glared at Caroline who quickly ducked her face behind her monitor.
Bonnie looked through the glass wall separating Damon's office from his assistant's desk and laughed a little. "Fine. We'll duke it out later. I'll see you tonight," she smacked a kiss on his cheek and made her way to the door.
"Hey," Damon called. Bonnie faced him. "I love you."
Green eyes sparkled and Damon felt his chest swell. "I love you, too."
Mystic Falls; September—2013
A RIVER bloated with frogs, larvae, and worms belched burped, and submerged anything in its wake, flowed like sludge. Acidic bubbles ate the riverbanks diminishing it, birthing a parasitic aroma. The shutter of Stefan's camera captured it all.
There were a lot of interesting things happening in the woods behind Mystic Falls High, and Stefan had been contracted by a local environmental conservation org to photograph, as evidence, what a refinery a few miles west was doing to the area. Taking a few more shots he retraced his steps going back the way he came. Through the forest.
Mystic Falls on an entertainment scale may have been boring, but there was no denying its rustic beauty.
Stefan crossed the football field taking in the manicured gridiron. In his head he heard the phantom sounds of helmets crushing against helmets, cleats clomping on the track, whistles blowing, coaches losing their shit when a play was incomplete. It took him back to the days he was a star athlete his freshman year; the only year he actively participated in sports. Not nearly as tall and muscular as he was now, but decent enough to attract the eye of cheerleaders, majorettes, or anyone who wanted to fuck a football player.
If only life could be that simple again.
Climbing into his vintage Porsche he finally tuned up and washed, Stefan drove home. On the way he called the director of the conservation org to let her know he'd upload the images later that night after tweaking the specs.
It felt good to have a purpose again, direction, he thought as he bobbed his head in time to Rick Ross. His days were no longer spent in a detached stupor and his nights weren't spent loathing his crippling loneliness. Losing out on that studio Stefan likened to day one of having amnesia. He had no clue how to rebound and not find himself stuck, perpetually chasing a dream that didn't want to be caught. He understood people heard the word 'no' numerous times a day. No didn't mean never just not right now.
Accepting that, he started looking for work to build up his profile. Started combing the streets again capturing anything that made him ravenous for more angles, to tell a story through film.
"Maybe I should make a movie," he thought aloud as he pulled into the boardinghouse driveway.
It wasn't until he entered the foyer and shrugged off his jacket that Stefan remembered he had a houseguest this week. Evidence of that were the open bag of chips, dip, and two beer bottles littered on the coffee table, and the converse sneakers poking from beneath the couch.
Gritting his teeth, he dumped his camera bag and jacket on the blood orange damask sofa, and followed the drone of music to the backyard.
Slowly he lumbered closer until he reached the hot tub. It took everything Stefan possessed to make sure his eyes stayed above her neck, but he already knew her bathing suit top was black and had various strings that wrapped around her delicate shoulders and neck. She had piled her hair atop of her head, and sipped what suspiciously looked like his favorite bourbon.
Elena Gilbert squeaked at his sudden appearance. She had been too busy swaying her head, eyes closed, while singing off key. "You're back."
"So I am. I see you're making yourself right at home."
Pink dots formed on her olive cheeks. "Yeah, sorry about the mess. I have every intention of cleaning it up."
"Un-hun."
Stefan almost asked if she had gotten word from her contractor if she could move back into her house. She was having the place renovated, and the old wiring was being replaced which meant no working electricity for a couple of days. Elena had been a guest for three but it seemed longer to Stefan.
They had never been close. Cordial and sometimes tossing barbs and jokes when required to socialize, Stefan and Elena never made any attempts to hang out. Her living in his family home was a bit…weird. Elena had promised to stay out of the way, make herself scarce when she wasn't working, and so far she upheld her end of the bargain. It seemed today they'd be forced to say more than "hi", "bye", and "do you need anything?" to one another.
"Got any plans tonight?" Elena began conversationally.
"Other than processing some shots, not really. Why?"
"I was going to head to the Grill. You can join me if you want. Actually, I insist that you do."
Stefan stuffed his hands in his pockets, "Nah. I've had my share of restaurant cuisine for a while."
"I'll cook," Elena volunteered and abruptly got to her feet revealing…Stefan forgot himself, ogled her dripping wet form and wondered if she was bald or had the landing strip because her bikini bottoms left no margin for error.
Stefan turned away, ears a bright red. He listened as the water sluiced down her body while she climbed out of the tub. Heard the rustle of fabric as she slipped on her robe. Heard the tell-tale slap of flip flops traipsing across the concrete.
"Maybe I should assist to make sure what you cook is actually edible," he quipped. Stefan faced her again when he felt it was safe.
Elena shoved him. "I might not be culinary gifted, but I have enough know-how to whip up something that won't have you hunched over the commode, thank you very much."
"And Icarus shouldn't have flown so close to the sun on wings made of wax."
Elena cut her eyes at Stefan but chuckled reluctantly. "Talk shit all you need to, Stefan but I promise you'll be moaning by the end of the night," her jaw dropped once she realized how that sounded.
Stefan merely pulled a 'yeah right' face.
"That didn't come out right," she blushed and stepped inside the boardinghouse. Grabbing the lapels of her robe, Elena dug her toe into the floor. "I'm going to get dressed. I'll meet you in the kitchen in twenty minutes."
Elena showered and donned a long sleeved Henley that had a deep V-neck that showed off plenty of boob, and her favorite pair of yoga pants. She left her feet bare and twisted her hair into a messy knot on the crown of her head. Standing in front of the mirror, she put on cherry flavored Chapstick, a little mascara then debated about spritzing on some perfume. Her nose wrinkled. That would have been too much.
Ambling to the kitchen she wasn't surprised Stefan already had the center island covered with pots, pans, and fresh ingredients. She was handed a knife and told to get cracking on chopping.
Elena struggled with slicing the carrots into little sticks, too enamored with the way Stefan sliced and diced as if he trained with Emeril or Gordon Ramsay.
"You're really good at this," she commented.
"I learned a few tricks over the years. But I really honed my skills when I was living in Montana."
"Right," she murmured though she had no real idea of what Stefan's life had been like two years ago. She heard bits and pieces but never the full story. "What was it like living there?"
Looking up, forehead bunched like an accordion, Stefan held Elena's gaze before concentrating on spearing the knife through a bell pepper. "Less complicated even with a fucked up memory. It was cool for the most part. Quiet."
"Did you make a lot friends…meet someone special?"
"Yeah," was Stefan's monosyllabic response.
Sensing the tension the topic stirred in him, Elena dropped it. "Are you going to move to back to California?"
"I don't know. I might stay here for a while. Why? You think this city is too small for me and Bonnie?"
That's precisely what Elena thought. "No," she hedged. "I just thought you wanted to get started on opening your studio. Mystic Falls doesn't offer much in the way of opportunity."
"No, it doesn't," Stefan agreed and dropped the diced vegetables into a hot pan to sear and sauté. "I want to build up my portfolio some more. Maybe trying to open a studio in competitive ass Los Angeles was biting off more than I can chew, but I can start an empire here and expand."
"Well, there are several nurses at the hospital who are getting married. I could give them your number. Unless wedding photography isn't your thing."
"I'm in no position to turn down jobs. I had some cards made," he trailed off, feeling self-conscious for some annoying reason.
"I'd be happy to pass them out for you," Elena beamed.
Inclining his head, Stefan uttered, "Thanks."
Deeming it too quiet besides the occasional bang of a pot or hiss of a pan, Elena turned on some music and bopped around the kitchen. Tried to initiate the bump with Stefan who threatened to snap a towel at her.
"Here try this," he held a wooden spoon filled with chicken broth out to Elena who blew on it to cool.
She wrapped her lips around the spoon and moaned in appreciation as the warm broth coursed down her throat. Stefan, who watched with rapt attention, swallowed then ducked his head.
"That is…really, really good. If you're not careful you might spoil me then I'll be forced to kidnap you, and stow you away to my house once the renovations are done."
Stefan smirked and let his gaze trail up her long figure. Elena's mouth dried up at the blatant perusal.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
They settled on the couch to eat their food in companionable silence as the latest episode of The Bates Motel unfolded on the screen. For Elena it was one of the nicer nights she's had in a while. Dating was a game of chances. The pressure to be anything but yourself was high despite the advice to be yourself. It was nice being around a guy she wasn't trying to convince to date her on a consistent basis. Though she did have to remind herself this wasn't a date. She and Stefan were merely tentative friends.
Drowsiness kicked in and they were out like a light. At around two in the morning, Elena woke up and realized she was curled around Stefan like a pillow. The shock of their closeness made her heart pound and other parts flare with awareness. She absently wiped her chin of any possible drool, and for a second watched the subtle rise and fall of Stefan's chest. Warmth spread over her and for one wild second, she allowed her mind to wonder what it would be like if…
She must have made a noise because Stefan became conscious, and not long after, cognizant of their entangled limbs.
Everything seemed to become suspended. Ripe. In Elena's head she was saying "he's your best friend's ex-husband; he's your best friend's ex-husband", but her body was saying: Bitch it's been eight months.
Besides did Bonnie have any right to get mad if they explored whatever this was? Or maybe this was just all in Elena's head. She was the queen of sending and receiving mixed signals.
It didn't matter, she decided. Girl code had kicked Elena in the kidney and she nearly leapt off the couch.
But…Stefan's hands gripped her hips, staying her. Elena hitched a brow. Anticipation made her tingle. Her fingers flexed against Stefan's chest that she had to admit felt very nice. She couldn't read the expression on his face. He wasn't leering and, if anything, he might still be half asleep. Then the tiniest shift occurred. A beckon, a summons and her head was lowering closer to Stefan's, and before she could count to three they were kissing.
She broke it off maybe a minute too late. "We can't do this."
Stefan remained silent, leaving her to figure out which direction this went.
"You're my friend's ex."
He tilted his head against the arm of the sofa, waited.
"We shouldn't," but Elena made no move to climb off him. "We…shouldn't," she caved.
They were kissing again.
Moaning and whimpering at the onslaught, Elena curled her toes and threaded her fingers through Stefan's hair. She sighed when he switched their positions, putting her underneath him. Her legs widened to form a cradle for him to fit which he did. She wiggled around unconsciously searching for…ah yes, she found it, and her eyes nearly popped open.
Back arched, neck arched, Elena offered herself up. Consequences be damned.
New York
THE IRON HORSE between his legs vibrated as he hit the clutch, lurching the two-wheeled machine faster. Every now and a then he'd check his side view mirror just to make sure a cop hadn't snuck up on him. Zooming through traffic lights, Damon eased his motorcycle cleanly and smoothly to a stop outside of the hottest new restaurant to grace Manhattan. Pulling off his helmet, he climbed off the bike then assisted Bonnie to her feet.
They were bustled inside and led to a dark booth that offered a panoramic view of the eatery that teemed with people.
Bonnie's eyes grew big when a few New York Knicks players strolled by their table. They were well-dressed walking trees who exuded the type of swagger and confidence that came with being multi-millionaires before thirty. And in their entourage, amid the fast talking managers and agents, were the requisite racially ambiguous hourglass shaped femme fatales.
Across the restaurant, servers held supersized bottles of alcohol with sparklers attached, winding their way through the tables to a specific section. Someone was celebrating a birthday. Camera lights flashed, a chorus of Happy Birthday rang out, applause. No one who was here had merely arrived to eat. But to celebrate, to be seen, or spy what celebs might patronize the eatery.
"This is nice," Bonnie sing songed.
"I'm glad you love it, babe."
"I hope the food is as good as they're charging for it," she remarked dryly.
"Would I let you eat some nasty shit?"
"Yes. You remember that place outside of New Haven? Beautiful, upscale décor, but everything we ordered tasted and smelled like day old ass."
Damon groaned a laugh at the memory. "All right so I flubbed on that place. I'm allowed one poor restaurant choice. But I was duped. It had a lot of four and five star reviews."
"Yeah," Bonnie squeezed lemon juice into her water, "they were probably posted by management."
Their server arrived to take their food and drink order. They ordered a bottle of Sangiovese to go with the antipasti they'd share as an appetizer before moving to their main course of smoked salmon for Bonnie and a medium rare tomahawk steak for Damon.
"What do you want to do for your birthday this year?" Bonnie asked once their server left.
Damon leered, "I want to do you under a baking Mexican sun."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, "Why am I not surprised? Seriously, what do you want to do?"
"You know I'm never pressed to celebrate my birthday. Just the two of us being together is all I want. I have everything else. I've done everything else."
Bonnie twisted her lips, "You've done everything?"
Seeing where she was going with that, Damon backpedaled. "Within reason," he amended. "Really, it doesn't matter what we do, how we celebrate, so long as we're together that's all I care about."
"You're easy to please."
"Sometimes."
Bonnie stroked the back of her boyfriend's hand. "Let's play our game. Tell me something I don't know about you, Salvatore. And something not sex related," she added when Damon opened his mouth to reply.
He pouted. "You already know almost everything about me."
"Almost, key word there."
"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"
"No, I'm not so quit stalling," Bonnie nudged him.
Damon ruminated for a second. He ran his fingers along Bonnie's forearm, pressed his thigh into hers. Luckily for him he was given a bit more time to answer as their appetizer and wine was delivered. He sat and observed as his girlfriend dug into the antipasti and licked her lips clean of the pesto sauce. "I didn't cry at my mother's funeral."
Shocked, Bonnie nearly choked on her food. She roughly swallowed. "Why?"
Shrugging, Damon reached for his glass of wine and nearly emptied it. "I don't know and to this day I have no idea why. Stefan cried. Even my gotdamn father cried. Me? Nothing. I was sad. I felt alone, sure. I missed her. I don't even think I was angry at my father though I blamed him for her death. I guess I was just numb. At first I thought I didn't love her."
"Why'd you think that?"
"People cry at funerals. It means they loved the person who died. At least that was my thinking at the time."
"Did you cry after?"
Damon shook his head. "Forty-eight hours later I was put on a plane and shipped back to boarding school."
"I thought you were close to your mom." Bonnie was aware the Salvatore boys had major issues with their now deceased father. Yet she had lived under the belief their relationship was better with their mother.
"We were a family for appearances sake," Damon plunged his fork into the antipasti. "I knew my mother loved me, but there was a disconnect. I don't think it was my father she wanted to marry. I snooped through her things one day and found a bunch of love letters from someone who signed with only his initial. J. Don't know who he was but it was clear he loved my mother. A lot."
"How do you think she felt about him?"
Damon replied after forking pasta into his mouth. "She kept his letters knowing what it would cost her if my dad found them. I'd say the feelings were mutual."
"Do you think…do you think if she hadn't gotten sick she would have struck up the courage to leave your dad to be with J?"
"Probably. The funny thing, I wouldn't have been mad at her. Finally she would have done something for herself."
Conversation lulled for a moment. Damon hadn't meant to bring up such a heavy topic on their last night together, yet he was relieved to have gotten something off his chest that bothered him. Periodically.
Bonnie twirled her fork, "Since we're on the topic of mothers, I haven't spoken to mine in," she counted up the months, "it's been years."
Damon's brows mashed together as he studied her stupefied expression. "Do you even remember the last thing you two talked about?"
"I don't. I don't even remember where she called me from. She moves around a lot. She might not have even been in the country."
"Do you miss her?"
"Hard to miss someone you don't even know."
When the bill came, Bonnie slapped her card down before Damon could reach for his.
"Are you sure?"
"I can cover it, Damon. I'm not hurting for cash."
"Bringing you here was my idea. I should pay."
"You paid for my flight and whatever else I may have needed. Let me cover dinner."
Stefan had been generous in the divorce and they split the profits of the sale of their home down the middle. Bonnie had investments, had her own coin. And the few times a year she splurged happened around her birthday and Christmas. She could afford to pay for their date and not cringe at the hit to her account.
While she signed the receipt, Damon nuzzled into her. "I don't want you to go. Who else is going to take me out on extravagant dinners?"
"I'm sure there's some pampered granny sitting in her high rise right now wishing she had a hot young stud that's well hung to make her feel young again." she laughed.
"If she's not Betty White I ain't interested."
Bonnie giggled and kissed him full on the mouth.
Like always, Damon wasn't just satisfied with a kiss. He had to nibble and explore, bite and fondle whatever he could reach.
"What the hell is this?!" a familiar British accent shrieked.
Bonnie whipped her head, eyes enlarging by the second. Standing on the opposite side of the table was an incensed Rebekah Mikaelson-Donovan and her equally irate husband and Stefan's best friend, Matt.
Numerous questions flew through Bonnie's head. The first, what were they doing here? The second, how could she diffuse the situation before it drew attention and got ugly? And the third, could she melt through the floor to escape the embarrassment? Bonnie knew Rebekah. Knew that when she was ready to have it out she'd have it out and didn't give a damn who saw or heard.
Rebekah pointed an accusing finger. "He's the reason you and Stefan are no longer together?" The disgust clear in her scathing tone.
"Nice to see you, too, Rebekah," Damon spat through clenched teeth, jaw ticking.
Defrosting, Bonnie clamored out of the booth, grabbed Rebekah by the wrist and hauled ass to the bathroom.
"How long, Bonnie?" Rebekah yanked her arm away. "Does Stefan know?"
"He does."
"Please tell me you didn't start fucking his brother when he came back from the bloody dead!"
"No."
"I suppose it doesn't really matter when whatever you're doing with Damon started. It's the fact it started at all. This isn't you, Bonnie. You're a psychologist. You should know better."
"Newsflash, I'm human. Being a psychologist doesn't make me infallible."
Rebekah clucked her tongue, unimpressed. "I never pegged you to be a cold-hearted bitch but I can be wrong sometimes. If you wanted to move on, fine, but with Stefan's brother? Really, Bonnie?"
The sting of that rebuke ricocheted around Bonnie hitting each and every significant and insignificant part of her. From her heart to her psyche, from hair follicle to pink toenail, she felt stripped. The fact she was being shamed in full view of the public was just an added bonus. However, if she couldn't have the guts to go after what she wanted or defend what she had, then she didn't deserve it, she realized.
Bonnie took a step forward that had Rebekah taking one back.
"Call me a bitch, call me a whore, call me a slut I really don't give a damn because nothing you say will ever compare to what I think about myself. What's happening or has happened between Damon, Stefan, and myself is between us. All you need to know is I've apologized to Stefan. I'm not laughing at or reveling in his pain. So I don't need your judgement. I judge myself enough."
Arms folded, lips pressed together Rebekah grappled for something to say. She still didn't think it was right for Bonnie and Damon to be together, but what could she do? Besides voice her objection?
She chuckled guilelessly. "I feel so stupid because I hatched this ridiculous plan of trying to get you and Stefan back together. I haven't meddled with anyone's relationship since high school, yet there I was coming up with scheme after scheme to get you two facing each other and talking again."
Hearing Rebekah's matchmaking confession sparked something in Bonnie.
"Did you…did you have something to do with the fire at Mason's office that essentially destroyed our divorce papers?"
Rebekah gaped at Bonnie in disbelief. "When I said scheme I meant setting you and Stefan up on a lunch date, not arson. Why would you think I'd do something like that?"
Bonnie stared at her drolly, "As evidenced by my love life people do unconventional things."
"So wait, does that mean you and Stefan are still married?" A flare of hope began to burn in the center of Rebekah's chest. Maybe there was still time to salvage things.
Bonnie shook her head. "We retained another lawyer. I re-signed the papers. They've been finalized and filed with the court. It's done."
Shaking her head, Rebekah exhaled. "I don't know much about Damon, but I do know you, Bonnie. You may be happy now, but one day the guilt will catch up to you. I hope your integrity won't be in shambles when it does."
Mystic Falls
ELENA WOKE UP alone in bed to her chagrin. Stretching her arms above her head, a grin broadened her features until she remembered what happened and most importantly with whom. Dread filled her belly that Elena tried to push aside.
Naturally the thought ran through her head that last night was merely revenge. That things crossed a line with Stefan because he consciously or unconsciously wanted to hurt Bonnie. Feeling used, Elena was no stranger to that. Hopefully that wasn't the case.
The world didn't end and no one needed to know. Still though, her conscience nagged at her. Nagged so much she shot up and swung her legs out of the bed.
Elena saw something that made her blood run cold.
"My hair. Ohmygod! My hair!"
It was spread all over the floor, all over her. Chunks of it. Her fingers flew to her scalp and came away with more severed layers of shiny mahogany hair.
Flying out of bed and into the in-suite bathroom, Elena turned on the light and screamed Sarah Michelle Gellar style. Only, what was scrawled across the mirror in red lipstick wasn't "I know what you did last summer", but one degrading word.
CUNT.
A/N: Thank you for reading and for reviewing. I appreciate y'all so much. I say this all the time but really, let me know what you think. See you next time, kittens.