Flames Of Passion
She could not understand it, but just knowing that Damon was somehow making trouble with Elena or Stefan, or both, filled her with dread. Elena was her friend, hopefully still was, but even Bonnie had to admit that this friendship was barely holding together as it was. Now that she knew her secret, the thing she had been keeping from almost everyone for months, would there be anything left to salvage of it when all was said and done?
Bonnie felt the her fingers give under the weight of the leather bound book and saw the pen topple to the floor beside the bed. Blue ink bled onto the pink rug from it's tip and a stain had already pooled beneath it. The purple diary was lying open on the floor, it's open pages facing the floor, and for a moment she let herself worry if it would still be unusable should she want to write in it again. The rug was ruined now, not salvageable she thought, and she wanted to forget if it was all over; her friendship with Elena, her romance with Damon, the rug she had gotten for Christmas one year.
She brought the stained rug into the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind her. She knew the risks of what she was about to do but didn't think about them. If she thought too much about anything, she knew that the little voice that whispered in her brain would tell her to stop and that she was being silly. Silly little Bonnie: She didn't want to hear that from anyone, and especially not herself. The rug fit nicely into the bathtub and the candle she lit on the tub beside it was blue.
XxX
Stefan deserved what he got, and Damon refused to feel guilty about anything. Almost anything. Perhaps one thing. Bonnie; why had he left her alone, when he could see how upset she was by the whole fiasco, with her guilt so ripe inside her? What had he been thinking, leaving the one he loved to go be with another who he hated with a passion? It was a mistake that would never happen again, and there was nothing that could change that fact.
Something strong was tugging him in the direction of her house. He didn't believe in intuition, but he would have built a shrine to instinct. He had been alive for centuries, evaded many men and woman whose intention had been to kill him, all because he had unwavering instinct about what danger there was in the world. He sniffed the air, went still, and moved so suddenly that it seemed as if he had simply disappeared. He ran through the street and didn't care about how he looked to anyone who might be watching. Anyone who watched, they didn't matter, all that mattered was that he ran as fast as he could.
He ignored the piercing siren of the fire-engine and the screams. He knew none of them were her's, but that gave no comfort at all. Just because she didn't scream didn't mean that she was somewhere safe. The chances were that she was still inside, he thought as he scanned the faces of the humans around where he stood, and that she was unconscious. Breathing smoke would do that to you, if you were human, and by now she would have succumbed.
Raised voices followed him as he sprinted for the front door, which was wide open showing the dark interior of the hallway. He could tell just by looking at the splintered door that it had been forced down, and also that the fire had not reached the downstairs. He guessed that the fire was isolated to one part of the house, a single room maybe, and definitely on the next floor up. Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder and he turned. He hadn't known that the change had come over him until he saw his own reflection in the fireman's eyes and the fear stamped on the human man's face. He shoved the man back out into the bright sunlight and disappeared into the smoke and debris.
He couldn't hear her breathing or her heartbeat over the crackling roar of the flames bursting around him.
XxX
Bonnie tried to twist the knobs on the taps but the flames were just too close. Even if they did not touch her, she could imagine how it would feel. If she could just ignore the fear and turn the tap on she could begin to fight the fire, and she would have to soon. With every second, the air grew harder to breathe and the smoke clouded her eyes. It was so hot inside the little room. She through the shower-head she had been holding into the fire and stared at her tingling fingers. They were red and burned and bleeding, and numb. They shouldn't be numb, she thought, I should feel something – anything.
XxX
He followed the smoke along the corridor to the furthest room on the left, following his instinct on where she could be. It was her bedroom and the ceiling above him was clouded with wisps of grey that hadn't been there before. His mind registered everything, the smell, the smoke, the roar of flames, but it took a second or two to make himself move towards the little bathroom that was her's.
"Bonnie?" he asked the closed door, "Bonnie!" She coughed and he knew she was still alive – the dead were silent.
"Stand away from the door," he shouted, hearing other's enter the house below him. He only had a few more seconds before he was unable to do what he knew he had to. He broke the door down moments before the firemen reached him and found her clinging to the wall furthest from the flames.
He felt her clinging to him and he pressed her tighter.
XxX
Smoke had blackened his face and burnt skin was flaking away to reveal new layers underneath. Bonnie closed her eyes and tried not to recognise the smell of charred flesh on his neck as she pressed her face against him.