New York; November—2015
Clink, tap, sigh those were the sounds that melded with conversation which ebbed and flowed like the water being poured into her crystal glass. She muttered her thanks to the waiter for his prompt service.
Candlelight, big band music, peals of laughter, the smell of entrees prepared by a renowned chef massaged some of the kinks out of her body. From her half-lidded gaze anyone would think she had a buzz going. Far from it. She was mellow in order to make herself invisible.
Work had been tedious, hell, flat out boring and yet satisfying in a way Bonnie Bennett couldn't really describe. Prior to uprooting her life, finding employment had been tantamount. One of Bonnie's colleagues put in a good word for her with the dean of the psychology department at a small but thriving liberal arts college. Teaching was the last thing Bonnie actually wanted to do, but if she was going to makeover her life, she couldn't just stop with a housing change. She aced all three interviews, passed the licensing exam, got hired. Now she taught a general studies Intro to Psych course three times a week. The rest of her time was spent rebuilding her private practice clientele.
Bonnie jumped. This time the touch was deliberate as she was positive the other "accidental" touches had been as well. It had been a knee that definitely nudged her thigh.
Gritting her teeth, Bonnie looked to her left, at the culprit whose attention was rapt on the reason they were all gathered at Jacopo's on a Wednesday night. Her colleague Dr. Kellan Cavendish. He taught Research Methods and was a known manwhore. Sure, by any standard he was nice to look at, but his beady blue eyes always unnerved Bonnie who moved her leg out of his range, sat up straighter.
Since she joined the faculty of Vergennes College he harbored something of a crush on her that Bonnie pretended didn't exist. She hadn't been with that many men but she knew when someone was into her, wanted to fuck her, or wanted to be with her. Heath showed classic symptoms. Popping up at her office uninvited just to "check in". Touching the small of her back, or arm, or brushing against her any time they were in the lounge. Giving her looks that left little question as to the nature of his thoughts. Getting an attitude with her whenever he caught wind she had gone out on a date with her boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Bonnie spaced out again. It had been happening off and on all day, better yet, for the last eight weeks. She had done a good job concealing her inner turmoil so her colleagues wouldn't ask probing questions. They could compare notes about students, but most craved details about how someone's life was imploding. Needless to say they would have had a field day with hers.
Even after working at the college since fall of 2014 Bonnie was still considered the new kid on the block. She understood the importance of making sure the line in the sand was clearly drawn. Bonnie was friendly with her coworkers, but inviting them into her personal business, she just would not do. No one had been intrusive, harassing her for details about her life in Virginia, but there was a clear sense of community, a bubble Bonnie hadn't burst her way into and she had no immediate plans to change that. She did procure one ally because she understood it was important to be seen as a team player. Unfortunately her ally couldn't make tonight's dinner as the psych department celebrated the assistant dean's 46th birthday.
"Boyfriend being a douche?"
A slightly accentuated baritone voice broke into her thoughts. Bonnie slighted Kellan with a look before returning to her untouched pasta.
Kellan leaned his elbows on the table, drew close enough to Bonnie she could smell his cologne. It wasn't unpleasant but it made her nose wrinkle all the same.
"I only ask because he's not here for one, and you've barely touched your food. Haven't had a glass of wine or champagne, and you've barely muttered five words tonight. Your students worship the ground you walk on, at least that's the word on the street, so I know none of the little punks are giving you trouble."
"Dr. Cavendish," Bonnie rarely called him by his first name wanting to establish they were nothing more than colleagues. Not friends. Not anything that could transcend into something more or illicit. "Thanks for the concern but I'm fine."
"Yes, you are but I can tell something is weighing on you. Despite what you may think of me, Bonnie," he stressed, "I am a good listener. If you wanna talk my door is always open to you."
Bonnie glanced at him and just as she suspected he was leering like a hungry coyote. "Thanks but I already have a therapist," she said dryly.
Kellan chuckled and finished off the rest of his beer. "You never let up on the façade, do you?"
"What façade?"
"You know," he nudged her with his elbow mostly as an excuse to get even closer.
"No, I don't know but I'm pretty sure I can guess what you mean and on that note," Bonnie tossed her napkin on her plate and scooted her chair back. "Excuse me. I'll be right back," she said loud enough to garner a few curious looks but no one questioned where she was going.
Kellan lightly grabbed her wrist. Bonnie's nostrils flared and she added an extra dash of wrath into her annoyed expression. Kellan swallowed and wisely let her go. She bent to whisper, "Touch me again and I'll knee you in the gotdamn balls."
Beady blue eyes blinked, cheeks reddened, and then Kellan reared his head back and laughed. "I knew there was a little hellcat in you."
"Is everything all right over there?"
Bonnie looked at Dr. Raquel Hawthorne, a hard-nosed woman of now forty-six years. She reminded Bonnie of former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Raquel and pretty much everyone was aware of Kellan's hard on for anything pretty and under the age of thirty-five. Though no complaints had ever been filed against the professor who sometimes grew too familiar with his students and female counterparts, his reputation preceded him.
Kellan cleared his throat. He might get away with a lot but he knew he couldn't cross Dr. Hawthorne who basically held the chancellor in the palm of her hand.
"Everything is fine, Raquel," he waved her off as he visibly shrunk in his seat, cheeks heating for a different reason.
"I wasn't speaking to you," she retorted brusquely and looked squarely at Bonnie, brow arched.
"There's no issue. Just going to step out for a minute. Excuse me."
Bonnie sighed and plopped down on one of the couches in the seating area of the spacious bathroom. She pinched the bridge of her nose wondering when the night would end. Wondering when she'd be given leave to go home, crash into bed, and stare at the ceiling. She didn't want to be here. The more Bonnie thought about it, she didn't mean here in this restaurant but here in New York. It still wasn't home to her. She thought for five seconds it could be but then…
"Shit," her nose tingled and she felt tears coming.
The door opened and Bonnie straightened, wiped at any tears that may have fallen unbeknownst her. The click of heels across the tile told her whoever just stepped into the bathroom wasn't headed for a stall but right towards her.
Raquel stood in the entrance way that separated the stalls from the seating area. Dr. Hawthorne was her boss, but being only a handful of black women on staff at Vergennes College, there was an unspoken kinship between the two women. Raquel in her Michael Kors plum suit and sensible heels, her classic bob and shrewd dark almond eyes assessed Bonnie in an eerily similar fashion as her grandmother used to do. Bonnie straightened her spine even more.
"You would tell me if Kellan's being an inappropriate asshole, yes?"
That didn't sound like a question to Bonnie but she nodded. "Of course. Would anything actually be done about it is the question."
"I can't speak for others but I can speak for myself and say, I don't play. Though this department isn't entirely mine to run how I see fit, my word does count for something. Kellan has been treading on very thin ice and one word, he's out. Yet I sense Kellan and his…overly attentive demeanor isn't the reason you've been…off the last few weeks."
Shit, if she noticed who else noticed, Bonnie's stomach rolled. "It's nothing, Dr. Hawthorne. Just personal growing pains I try my best not to let affect me while I'm working."
"You're not still interviewing for the job, Bonnie. I do care about the overall health of my colleagues. If something is going on…I don't need total disclosure but some insight helps."
Bonnie nibbled a corner of her lip. It would be so easy to spill her guts because she knew Raquel was opening the floor for her to expunge what had been eating her inside for weeks. Could she do it though? The number of people Bonnie had to confide in dwindled once news broke she traded one brother for the other—that was the consensus. People didn't care about the circumstances surrounding her relationship with Damon. They just salivated over the salaciousness of it. She couldn't really step foot in her hometown without generating stares and whispers. And things certainly weren't helped the night Damon was attacked and she was nearly bitten by a poisonous snake left by someone obsessed with her personal life on a psychotic level.
Even now, remembering that night and the fallout made bile rise up Bonnie's esophagus. The loss of friendships, moving to a foreign state and acclimating to its politics and culture, sublimating how she saw herself as a person and a woman, Bonnie did her best to juggle the changes admirably. Yet something inside of her just would not let her be fully engaged and happy.
Fear that the worst was not over?
While she had been contemplating how much she wanted to reveal or if she'd reveal anything at all, Raquel had moved to sit across from her on the other plush chair.
Bonnie snapped out of it.
"This stays between us," she stared at her boss in all seriousness.
"You have my word."
Bonnie's lips separated but slammed together when the door opened. She held her breath and released it once seeing it wasn't a fellow instructor who sauntered to a toilet. She met Raquel's unwavering gaze. "I took a pregnancy test last night."
Raquel felt her heart speed then settle at the news. Her eyes of their own volition fell to Bonnie's abdomen.
"But before that my boyfriend and I broke up. We've been broken up for the last two months. He came over and I took the test and…"
"Yes?" Raquel was already going through the mental process of having to find an alternate as Bonnie took maternity leave or a new hire if she decided to outright quit.
"I'm…not pregnant."
Raquel released a relieved sigh but then admonished herself because clearly from Bonnie's crestfallen expression that hadn't been the outcome she had hoped for. She felt saying sorry would be disingenuous, yet muttering some other trite platitude wouldn't suffice either.
"Disappointed?" Raquel asked despite it being more than obvious.
"Yes and no and that's why I feel bad." Yes, she would have loved to be pregnant, to carry a child and become a mother. However none of that would fix what had been wrong in her relationship with Damon. That was the crux of Bonnie's sadness and her continued funk. "I'm relieved but disappointed. It's not that I feel some urgency to have a child or children by a certain age or anything like that. Or that it would interfere with my career goals. It's…my ex…he wants to get back together regardless of the results and…"
"You don't," Raquel surmised.
Bonnie couldn't voice it, merely nodded. "I love him so much but…"
"Love isn't enough."
Picking her nails, Bonnie shook her head, "Sometimes our own personal shortcomings chip away at love. Sometimes you feel…you don't deserve to be so happy because of your past. And the last thing you want to do is drain the happiness out of your partner because of your constant struggle to be happy with yourself."
Raquel murmured noncommittally. She didn't know that much about Bonnie beyond her observations, and from those observations she abstracted that she probably spent more time in her head than necessary, but she rather have an overthinker than someone who didn't think at all on her staff. Yet the most telling thing Raquel noticed about Bonnie she had a selflessness about her that could be, based on perception, admiring or exasperating.
"If you're taking the time to figure things out then you're making the right choice, Bonnie. It may feel innate in you to do something that makes someone else happy, but you can't neglect yourself in the process. If you think you two are better off not being together, then there's a reason for that decision and that decision shouldn't be compromised."
"In the moment something can feel like it was the right decision and then later feel like a mistake."
A particular decision she made years ago flashed in her head that Bonnie swept aside.
"True. But you'll only know that with time."
Bonnie absorbed those words. She'd wait until she was alone to break down what Raquel said. She switched topics. "Are you enjoying your birthday dinner?"
"My salmon was overcooked and my potatoes were runny but hey…the champagne's good and the school is footing the bill so I'm happy."
The two women shared a polite laugh.
"Thank you for checking up on me."
"No problem, Bonnie. I'll give you a minute to freshen up then I want you back at the table but seated next to me."
"Yes, ma'am."
Alone, Bonnie's hands dropped to her belly. Her muscles contracted and relaxed and contracted once more. She might have been full of food but had never felt hollower on the inside.
::::
Awolnation's "Sail" roared through the brightly lit private gym as he grunted along with the auto-tuned sung words physically pushing his body to its max. Exercising was a body sculpting form of discipline, and helped to center the riotous thoughts in his head that bludgeoned and backstabbed one another for attention.
Sweat trickled down from Damon's hairline, wet his sleeveless tank, and made his loose fitted gray jogging pants stick to his ass. He didn't give a shit how he looked, just wanted to trample down on his feelings of lack of control, rein in it before he did something irreversibly stupid.
Wouldn't be the first time.
The loud clang of the free weights hitting the floor after he did his reps momentarily brought Damon back to the present. He was the only person utilizing this space—just the way he preferred it, and though there were mirrors all around giving him a perfect three-sixty view of himself, he avoided actually making eye contact.
Last night stuck on repeat in his mind.
The reason they broke up, to him at least, was far less important than the fact they were far from done with each other. Damon had catalogued each of Bonnie's responses to his nearness, down to the sound of his voice. She struggled with the same issues as he did, but of course she had far more restraint when it came to ignoring the body's cry for physical closeness. Their attraction was just as palpable as it was the day they shucked the blinders and admitted they wanted each other. Damon had reached that conclusion far earlier than Bonnie and tempered it best he could until she came around. If only she could get past the past, forgive herself because he knew she hadn't done it, they could rekindle what they had. Get back the time they've lost and rebuild the connection.
But Bonnie was so terribly stubborn, a trait he had found endearing and cute, but now it pissed him the fuck off. What would it take for Bonnie to allow herself to be happy?
Damon had the answer and he hated it.
Absently, he rubbed at the scar on his left temple. A memento left behind of the scariest moment of his life. Being cold cocked from behind, pistol-whipped, and literally thinking he was about to die, Damon learned just how loud a gunshot could be. The bullet missed him by a foot according to the police ballistics report. The threat that was issued, Damon ignored. Leave Bonnie or I'll put a bullet in your head. He wasn't going to let a psycho come between him and his woman.
The one thing he could thank the person for (outside of not changing his mind about putting a bullet in his head) was their actions hastened Bonnie's move to New York. Damon wouldn't hear of leaving her behind while an unhinged, obsessed sociopath roamed the streets believing themselves to be some kind of guardian angel or Cupid. Fuck that.
Damon's stomach soured. His attacker was still free. Mystic Falls PD had come up with few leads and the case had gone cold. But he never stopped searching faces, being weary of entering vacant or dark places, never stopped worrying. And after last night, waiting for the results of that home pregnancy test…Damon had been two seconds from interviewing former Marines and Green Berets who did private security.
His fingers moved to his forehead. Fatherhood. Whoa. Damon couldn't adequately describe the rollercoaster his emotions had taken and had yet to really settle down. He'd heard that most men didn't feel like a father until they held their child. For him, all it had taken was just the possibility Bonnie was carrying their child for the connection to be made. And to think it had been right there and like sand slipped through his fingers. A negative result. His sperm had not fertilized her egg. The vacant look on Bonnie's face after they checked the test and read the instructions on the box carefully. The anxiety that rushed through his head so quickly he almost blacked out. The numbness that took over and finally acceptance. Damon had wanted to say the words when he called his brother to wish him a Happy Birthday that he had missed a chance to be a father by a day a cycle, he couldn't really say. He had just wanted to get it out, voice it, put it out into the atmosphere.
His phone started ringing and Damon nearly broke his leg trying to get to it as fast as he could. Reading the name of the caller, Damon sighed heavily in disappointment.
"Yes, Caroline," he barked into the mouthpiece.
"Good morning to you, too," she sniffed at his less-than-friendly greeting. "I just got an email blast. The deal with Wharton and Associates is off."
"What do you mean it's off? We're just days away from finalizing it."
"And now we won't be. The CEO was arrested this morning for embezzlement and mail fraud. So PR is drafting a press statement right now announcing our withdrawal of support and business. Just thought you'd like to know."
Damon cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Months of haggling and delays and for what? Shit."
"I know, sir."
His eyes moved back and forth across the carpet. Hearing that news was disappointing but hardly anything that would ruin the rest of his day. However, the answer to this question might. "Are there…any other messages?"
"No, sir."
Damon's shoulders slumped. "If anything else happens, keep me posted."
"Will do. I'll see you at the office."
He ended the call and realized someone had joined him in the gym. It was one his neighbors obviously but one he ran into a couple of times when he first moved into the building. One he had shared a drink with one foggy night. What was her name again?
"Ah, long time no see," she tossed her towel on a bench and stretched her arms above her head before finger combing her blonde hair into a ponytail. "Where have you been hiding?"
"Haven't been hiding. I've just been busy."
"Right. Who isn't busy in this city? Should I even bother to ask if you remember my name or should I reintroduce myself?"
Damon snorted. "It begins with an L," he was guessing. Most of the women he met their names began with an L, A, or K. There was only one B though.
"Very good. Now what are the rest of the letters? I'm teasing. Can you spot me?"
"I was just about to leave."
"Pretty please? I've been derelict in my exercise regime. I totally blame it on binge watching shows on Netflix. Just fifteen minutes if you can spare them," she bent over at the hip, her generous breasts in danger of falling out of her sport top.
He didn't take the bait.
"Sorry, I really gotta go. I'll see you later, L."
"It's Lila," she winked. "Lila Chastain."
Damon tossed his towel and water bottle into his bag, made sure he had his keys and phone. "Nice to meet you…again."
She beamed and began adjusting the row machine. "You sure you have to go?" and her voice dipped down into an inviting timbre that probably got her, her way more often than not.
Damon imagined she didn't get turned down a lot, if ever. She was pampered and plucked, maybe even nipped and tucked, which there was nothing wrong with that. But he had bedded dozens of women like her. The kind who dated no one who made less than $250,000 a year, the kind of who believed they had the Ferrari of vaginas. She was sexy and girl-next-door. She was everything he no longer got hard for.
"Money calls and I have to go make some."
"Understandable. Guess this means I'll have no one to look down my top as I burn the calories off my near perfect ass. Woe is me."
Damon chuckled, collected his belongings and made tracks towards the door.
"Something tells me we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon, Damon Salvatore."
Damon paused at the door. Stared at his buxom neighbor over his shoulder. She now straddled the row machine.
"See, I haven't forgotten your name. It's fate."
:::::
Hands braced on a balance bar, eyes peering out toward the city seeing dark figures lumber along the avenue, at the first sound of the piano key, Bonnie's head fell back.
One of the things she loved about New York was being a nightcrawler or early riser wasn't shunned. She could even take a dance class at five in the morning though most would probably balk at willingly getting up that early to put your body through a bruising routine. The city was overwhelming in size compared to Mystic Falls. Loud, bright, congested, cold, and unforgiving so she needed to find a way to make it small, warm, and personable.
Besides, she wanted a life outside of being Damon's girlfriend when she first moved here. She had drilled it into her clients' heads for years how they had to establish their identity, find their purpose. What kind of a therapist would she be if she didn't live what she taught?
She found this haven by word of mouth. Her instructor was a former Cowboys cheerleader, and had danced professionally with the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater. Tasha Byrd, all long toffee limbs and kinky curls with bright brown eyes. She was positive, hyper, but also a perfectionist. Sometimes, when requested, she taught a few signature moves from her days as a cheerleader, and if you were brave enough, the legendary jump split.
Bonnie declined leaping in the air to land in a split. She was brave but not that damn brave.
Her mouth moved and lip-synced the lyrics to the song that accompanied the music. The last time she stood in this studio sweating out her perm, her thoughts had been occluded with fear of the unknown and jotting down every minute change with her body from the physical to the hormonal. Worrying ceaselessly if there was a fetus growing in her uterus.
This time around, she was merely here for the sheer pleasure of dancing, of manipulating her body in ways to tell a story Bonnie couldn't put into words the conventional way. An outlet to bare her soul without racking up property damage in the process.
"Focus! Get out of your head!" Tasha yelled and Bonnie felt that was specifically aimed at her. "Whatever you're going through, incorporate it in your movement. Carry each move out to the bitter end. Make it an extension of yourself!"
Bonnie leapt in the air executing a jete before landing in a crouch on bended knee. Snapped her head up, and wound those hips while slowly rising to both feet.
Beads of sweat formed on her skin, rolled down and soaked into her sports bra and leggings.
"Make me believe you!" Tasha clapped her hands as she paced the room. "Attack the steps like you only have five minutes left to live…Suck in those ribs…finish the movement."
Bonnie absorbed the criticisms and hit each count, each move with all the power her petite body could generate. The more she danced it seemed the angrier she became; though if questioned why she was angry she wouldn't be able to give a solid answer. It would seem dance brought out the dormant aggression in her.
"One, two-three-four- five-six-seven-eight. And a one-two-three-four, come on, ladies and gentlemen! Show me you're awake this morning!" Tasha bellowed.
The mirrors began to fog and sweat, the temperature rose along with the pungent scent of perspiration. The studio was becoming a sauna even with a couple windows cracked open and the fans blowing.
There came a freestyle part in the routine. Bonnie said fuck being timid and holding back. If she couldn't be free here in this space then where could she be free? So she let it go. Let the false pregnancy alarm go. Let the disappointment of being unable to have a stable relationship go. Let the second-guessing, losses, and failures go.
The music drew to a close. Heavy breathing, the shuffle of feet along the hardwood floor, giggles, and murmuring filled the humid room. When Bonnie blinked she noticed several people staring at her, stupefied.
"Gurl, I don't know who the hell you were thinking about, but dayum! Lucky or poor bastard," one of her classmates cackled. Others joined in.
Cheeks burning, Bonnie accepted accolades, snatched up her towel and mopped her face. She headed to the corner of the room where she stashed her belongings and donned her socks, Uggs, and shrugged into her fashionable pea coat. Most of the others congregated into their clichés and circles, others crowded Tasha asked for tips, criticism, selfies. Normally Bonnie would try to stick around afterward to socialize, but today wasn't feeling up to it. She waved goodbye to those who waved at her, thanked her instructor, and hit the door.
The bitter cold air slapped her and what otherwise would have caused Bonnie to recoil she embraced it. Her skin was flushed and her heart still pounded from the strenuous session. She pulled out her iPod and froze. In her peripheral she saw a very recognizable outline. Lifting her head, Bonnie looked across the street.
Damon.
Dressed in all black, he was the guy you wish you dated in high school to come whisk you away in his vintage American muscle car in front of the bitches who hated you. Scarf draped around his neck, he was the guy you hoped would crash your study session in college for a quickie and take you out for a burger afterward. Takeout coffee cup in his hand, he was the guy you dated for a year or two and decided he was yours for life.
They stared unabashed at one another. It was too late to pretend she hadn't seen him. It was too late to act like she hadn't missed him. Someone had to make the decision to cross the street. The decision was made when Bonnie heard a couple of her classmates refer to Damon as "Zaddy" and "Cum muffin". She waited for a car or two to pass before trotting across the street, clutching the strap of her Pink tote bag and purse tightly.
Her steps slowed to a crawl before eventually stopping a foot away from Damon who never once looked away from her. He drank her in. Hair piled into a fishtail braid, minimal makeup she was grossly beautiful to him. Damon counted her freckles to make sure they were still there, inhaled as much of her heady scent as he could knowing their time together would be cut short because Bonnie would find a reason she needed to be somewhere else right this second. He extended the takeout cup towards her. Bonnie eyed it skeptically. He usually got her favorite coffee drink wrong. She suspected he did so on purpose because he found her being pissed he couldn't remember something as simple as her favorite caffeinated drink—cute.
"Thank you," she accepted the cup, took a sip. Her tongue didn't automatically revolt.
"Did I get it right this time?"
"Close."
"Needs an extra shot of expresso?"
"And a dab of hazelnut."
Damon winked. "I'll remember that next time."
Bonnie picked at the lid of the cup. "What are you doing here?"
"It's been a week."
"Yes, it has been."
Damon rocked on his heels. "How are you?"
Wishing standing in front of you wasn't this hard. Out loud Bonnie said, "Busy. Finals are coming up. Research papers are due and everyone is scrambling to keep things together."
Damon didn't care about that. He wanted to know how she was emotionally and Bonnie damn well knew that. She was trying to maintain post breakup boundaries. They were blocking foot traffic on the sidewalk and Damon lightly touched her elbow to maneuver them out of the way. Sucking in a breath, he stuffed his fists in his coat pockets.
"How are you?" Bonnie asked.
"Good. Things could be better. Much better."
"How's work?" Bonnie pivoted and started making her way down the avenue toward her subway station. She had a ten o'clock class to teach. Damon fell in step beside her.
"Work is the fucking same as it always is. There was a bit of a PR mini-disaster that thankfully I don't have too much to do with. Other than that, everything's copasetic. I have some vacation coming up."
"Made any plans?"
"They were scrapped," he frowned, annoyed she wasn't asking the right questions. "I want to know how you really are, Bonnie."
"I told you," she sipped her drink and fought back a grimace.
"You gave me the standard response."
"I don't know what else you want me to say. We had a long discussion about you know what last week."
"That was last week. This week is different."
"How are you?" Bonnie glanced up at him.
"Still disappointed," he met her gaze.
"Same," Bonnie muttered after a considerable pause. "I haven't really stopped thinking about it."
"Neither have I." He got an idea.
Bonnie knew that look. She braced herself.
He tried not to smile too broadly. "You're swamped with work, right? You need a night to unwind. Dinner. You and me. Tonight."
"Da—"
"Just as friends," he hastily added on.
Bonnie casually sipped her drink, observed as an Impala nearly rear-ended a delivery truck that had to make a sudden stop. Horns blared. The driver of the Impala stuck her head out the window to shout obscenities at the delivery truck driver who returned her sentiments.
"C'mon, Bonnie. There are plenty of people who remain good friends with their exes."
Her brow furrowed. "Really? Like who?"
A corner of Damon's eyes shrank. "I can't think of anyone I know personally but I know they're out there."
"Or they exist on television where they have no choice but to talk to one another. Limited cast members and all that."
"So you're saying you and I can never be friends because of our history?"
"I'm not saying that. But I don't like lying to myself either. Or pretending. It's too soon for us to act like we don't have this complicated history to be friends only as a poor excuse to be around each other."
"Then let's get rid of the excuse," Damon reached for her shoulder stopping her from taking another step. "I still want you, Bonnie just like I know you still want me. Deny it."
Bonnie blinked rapidly and her pulse throbbed in her neck.
"Deny it, Bonnie."
"I…"
Damon's phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. "Shit." He was going to ignore it but had been expecting an important phone call. He dug it out of his back pocket.
Bonnie saw him blanch. Damon's head flew up and he stared at Bonnie with such deep uncertainty it was unnerving.
"Who is it?" she asked.
Damon could only mouth the name.
Stefan.
A/N: So now we're back in the present time. Bamon is still broken up and there is no baby on the way. I know some were hoping for a little Bamonette, apologies. I will say I thought about it for five seconds but realized the story would be over and there's so much more story left to tell. The person who briefly terrorized Elena, Damon, and Bonnie is still on the loose and well…I hope you guys are still curious to see how everything unfolds, comes together, or gets even more blown apart. Thank you for reading! Reviews=love.
Oh and you probably won't care but just want to let you know I made up the college where Bonnie teaches. I don't know ish about NYC ;)