Chapter 4:

Why am I so early?

The lone thought reverberated throughout my pounding brain as I tried to focus on applying a light layer of clear lip-gloss to my puckered lips. I hated the gooey shit, but I'm masochistic and so I continued to glue my lips together with the gunk.

Sue me.

Letting my eyes lazily drift over the deserted school parking lot, I realised that only a smattering of cars were present. The pristine cars were void of anybody and I quickly gathered that they were cars belonging to the teachers of Mystic Falls High. I shrugged indifferently and averted my attention back to the matter at hand –applying lip-gloss.

Scowling at my reflection in the rear-view mirror with my lip-gloss tube in hand, I admonished myself for my internal bantering. It hurt to think, what with my pounding headache that made everything seem as if it had a pulse. I wanted to curl up into the foetal position in my cosy bed and let the blanket envelope me along with imminent sleep, I wanted to cast out the sunlight that felt like it was penetrating my eyes, and, most importantly, I wanted to happen across an abundance of aspirin to drown everything out, including thoughts of Damon Salvatore. To rain on my parade even further, the previous night's debaucheries on the makeshift dance floor were eating away at my barely-functioning brain.

I groaned, resolving to never drink again, knowing deep, deep, deep down that my efforts would be put to waste. Instead, I threw my arm over my squinting eyes and closed them tightly, blacking out the pressing sun that was creeping idly up the horizon. This dreadful morning paired with my awful mood made the sunrise look crappy in my eyes, whereas any other morning I would blissfully watch as it reached it's apex.

I sighed and took a deep breath. Jeremy was miraculously absent from his bed this morning. Mum said he was up early to catch up on some woodwork project in class, which he'd explained that he'd missed the beginning of since we hadn't resided here during the start of it.

That was all well and good, except for one probing detail –Jeremy didn't take woodwork as an option.

Of course, I didn't tell mum this pressing factor. She would have shat a brick and she'd already got enough on her plate, what with moving and all. If Jeremy wanted to ruin his life with drinking, drugs and lies –oh my!– then he could continue to do so. I wasn't going to manipulate and control his life, he had to take responsibility and make his own decisions without an instructions manual or handbook to refer to for help. A.K.A. me

He hadn't always been a bad kid. In fact, he had been better off than most. That is until dad died. We'd both changed since then, for better or for worse. I was the stuck-up bitch type before dad died, whilst Jer was the laid-back, goody-goody –Daddy's boy. I resented Jeremy back then –why couldn't mum and dad appraise me for my achievements? It'd always been "Jer this" and "Jer that", but never Elena… I guess I was a smidgen bit metaphorically blind back then, because they had appraised me, loved me and cherished me. I was just too stuck-up to acknowledge this. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and Jer, and will continue to do so, and I wasn't always a total bitch –just your average teenaged girl, I guess, with all flaws and ostentatious behaviour included.

With a heavy sigh, I shrugged on my white cardigan, leaving it unbuttoned, and smoothed down my creased denim shorts that had risen up my thighs slightly.

Today, the sky was a brilliant blue and void of any oppressing clouds. The exact opposite of how I felt. It was slightly breezy –hence the cardigan- but I was embracing the sun open armed for once.

As I slipped my hand around the car door handle and tugged lightly, I looked up and realised that a light blue vintage Chevrolet Camaro SS convertible was parked pretentiously close to my car –my baby- effectively blocking me in.

Fuck my life.

Intending to give the owner of the beautiful car a piece of my mind, I clambered out of the passenger side door of my own, noticing for the first time who the owner of the offending vehicle was.

And who else would that be other than Damon-ever-fucking-present-Salvatore.

Is he stalking me? I thought spitefully.

Muttering under my breath all the while, I sauntered over to the offending vehicle, but before I got the chance to give a piece of my mind to Damon, something hard knocked into me, effectively forcing the air out of my constricted lungs.

I groaned as I collided with the body, exclaiming a string of profanities as I groped my boob. That shit hurt…

When I was young and unflattering, I was a flat chested child and despised it. I was one of the 'late bloomers'. Whilst girls proudly strutted their first padded bras and bragged how they were 'women' for having started their oh-so-womanly periods, I was left in the wings, sulking may I add. Multiple hissy fits were threw due to these dire circumstances and now I was a proud representative of a perky pair of C-cups, that is until this perpetrator decided to invade my personal space whilst I was in the midst's of a killing spree –Damon's killing spree- and just had to hurt my two poor babies. I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to concave due to the force they bumped into me with, and so I looked down like the crazy individual I am to make sure that they were still intact.

They were, thankfully.

Expecting Damon to be the perpetrator that collided with me, I fumed, "Of course it had to be you, yet again, who has to fuck up my tits."

When there was a long silence, punctuated with a slight stuttering noise, I looked up with a sour face and gaped, because this sure as hell wasn't Damon Salvatore standing before me. No, this was an astonishingly tall boy with a mane of golden bronze hair matted to his sculpted head.

I blushed furiously and inwardly cursed myself for my lack of filter as he mashed his lips together, trying to refrain from erupting with laughter. With wide doe eyes and almost incomprehensible mumbles falling from my mouth, I extended my hand to him, muttering "Elena" and "Sorry" as I did so.

"Stefan." He said, but I was in a daze.

"Stefan?" I questioned blankly.

"Yeah, that's my name…" He sniggered.

"Oh."

Way to go, Elena.

And as cliché as it sounds, I literally wanted to be swallowed up by a black hole on the spot.

"Listen, I'm sorry for near flattening you out there. I was trying to open this goddamn timetable." He gestured towards the mentioned timetable lamely before continuing. "I'm new here, you see. You wouldn't happen to know where room…" He squinted down at his timetable, his black square framed glasses just about hanging onto the jut on the bridge of his nose, "64 is, would you?"

"Uh, I'm sort of a newbie here myself, so…"

Before I could finish speaking, a sharp and abrupt voice sounded from directly behind me, "It's between rooms 63 and 65."

It's Damon, of course, and my anger flared as I remembered that I needed to give him a piece of my mind.

"I see," Stefan said emotionlessly, "I'll see you around, Elena." And then he was retreating back the way he came, walking backwards a couple of steps with his eyes lingering on Damon and myself. He scurried back to the main building and dispersed into the growing crowd of students.

I sort of felt bad for him.

Spinning on my heel to face Damon, I folded my arms defensively across my chest, "Well, that was rude of you."

"Why, thank you." He bowed and winked at me, a crude smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

Pretending I was oblivious to his panty dropping smirk, I rolled my eyes skyward and wagged my finger at him accusingly, "You're a dick."

He raised his eyebrows at my remark and chuckled, "Watch it, Gilbert, a potty mouth like yours won't be getting you any job tomorrow afternoon." He winked at my astounded expression.

Looks like telling him my name at his party last night was a waste of time if he's going to continue calling me Gilbert…

"Listen," I sighed, trying to keep my cool, "do us both a favour and park your car elsewhere. I couldn't open the driver door an inch today and I doubt you would appreciate your car covered in scratches with my door scraping it every time I open it."

"Ah, yes, sorry about that. You see, I just wanted a peek of the Elena snooze-fest before school." He snickered, a snide sneer on his face. Of course, he was referring to the fact that I was thinking about my worsening hangover and Jeremy's evasive behaviour with my eyes closed, "It helps get me into the right mind-set for the day." He added, tapping his temple when he saw my enraged expression.

I was only resting my eyes! I wanted to shout.

"Fuck you." I cursed instead.

"Do you kiss your father with that mouth?" He retorted smugly.

My face fell simultaneously at his comeback and my stomach dropped, my knees turning into the consistency of jelly. They shook underneath the weight of my body.

Dad…

I inhaled deeply and clenched my jaw, biting my lip until I tasted blood. I felt cold as the blood drained from my face. What was worse than the overwhelming grief that seeped through me so abruptly was the brimming anger inside of me. I could suddenly see red everywhere. Red, red, red.

Don't blame him, I thought, trying to defuse the situation, he doesn't know about Dad. I mean, how could he?

I flung my bag higher up on my shoulder and tried to battle through my traitorous tears.

"Just move your car, okay?" I sniffed, trying to repress the tears. I would not cry in front of Damon Salvatore. With this thought in mind, I pushed passed him with slumped shoulders and a bowed head. He blocked me instantaneously, of course.

"What'd I say wrong?"

Don't blame him. Don't blame him. I recited my mantra several times before taking a deep, cleansing breath to calm my nerves and the boiling anger that was threatening to spill over.

"Nothing, Damon, I'm late for class, that's all." I pushed passed him roughly and continued my trek towards first lesson with my head in a worse state than when I initially started the day, which I admit was pretty bad. The effects of the hangover seemed to vanish as I was subjected to visions of dad pre-accident. Damon Salvatore had opened a vault that I'd long since locked.


As soon as I arrived home that evening, I leapt up the stairs to my bedroom and flung myself at my bed. As I lay there, sprawled out and entangled in my blanket, I snuck my hand inside my pillowcase to retrieve a picture of my dad and me.

The picture illustrated the last holiday we had had with him before he was cruelly stolen from us. He was grinning hugely at the camera as I cheekily squinted back at the camera besides him. My grin was spread from ear-to-ear and my eyes were closed from the blinding flash of the cameras light. I was encircled in his warm embrace as he crouched down beside the eleven-year-old version of me.

Turning the card over, I read the scruffy scrawl that was his handwriting on the back of the photograph and wiped away a stray tear that was cascading down my cheek with the back of my hand.

Mischievous Elena… Like father, like daughter, June 2008, it read.

I sighed, rubbing my thumb over my father's words. In the corner of the page there were two imprints of lips in a bright red lipstick. One was smaller in size than the other and I smiled at the memory.

I'd been dressing up in mum's fancy clothing, applying layer upon layer of crimson red lipstick to my tiny lips, when dad had come home after getting the photos developed after our holiday abroad. He'd brandished this exact photograph to me and wrote the note before me. Giggling gleefully at his cheeky words after assessing what he'd wrote, I'd bent down and kissed the corner of the photograph, smearing lipstick stained lips onto it. He'd laughed at my shocked expression and took the small stick from my hands and painted a line on each of his pouted lips. After pressing his lips to the photo, he'd kissed me sloppily on the forehead. Screeching as I scraped at the stickiness on my forehead, I had flung myself at him and kissed every inch of his face until he was also smeared in various shades of red from the intensity I'd kissed him with.

I blinked down at the photograph, more tears forming in my eyes. I wiped them away hastily with the back of my hand and clenched my jaw.

No.

There would be no more weakness. I was a strong woman. Dad had died years ago, I had to move on. That's what he'd have wanted.

With a newfound sense of determination, I straightened my posture and brought the picture to my lips. Pressing my lips gently to the larger of the kisses, the one that belonged to dad, I smiled before enclosing the endearing photograph into my pillowcase once again.

Laying my head atop the pillow in reference, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift.

I hadn't spoken to or acknowledged Damon for the remainder of the day after the mentioning of my father. He'd tried to grasp my attention of course; shouting my name down the corridor as he weaved through the bodies to get me, passing me notes in Chemistry and getting Caroline to ask me what he'd done or said wrong. Henceforth, I'd also avoided Caroline, since she kept badgering me about it.

Slipping from the bed, I reached into my denim shorts pocket and retrieved the note Damon and myself had exchanged during Chemistry, reading it inwardly.

What did I do to offend you? –Damon.

I had sighed, snatching the paper from between his outstretched fingers before scrawling on the back.

Forget about it. –Elena.

Of course, he wouldn't let it go.

If you don't tell me what I've done wrong, I'll be blindly apologising and it won't be sincere. –Damon.

I snickered quietly to myself and shook my head wordlessly.

Since when did you start apologising for wrongdoings? –Elena.

Damon had pressed his pencil to the crowded scrap paper and began to write his response. His brow had crinkled for a second as he inspected what he'd written. Frowning, he'd scribbled out what he'd written and wrote something besides it instead. I'd watched attentively, my interest piqued, as he wrote. After a handful of seconds, he'd inconspicuously slid the note towards me across the lab table.

Ah, so you've admitted that I've done something wrong. –Damon.

Distantly, I thought I saw the words "since you arrived" written in a neat cursive above the note, but the harsh scribbles of his pencil made it somewhat indecipherable. How had I not noticed this earlier?

I didn't reply after his response.

Rubbing my eyes, I placed the note in a textbook on my dresser before drudging back to my bed, tugging back the comforter before climbing in.

I needed my beauty sleep to get my thoughts in order. After all, I had my interview the following day with the devil himself.


I dusted off my grey pencil skirt and smoothed down the front of my maroon jumper. The skirt belonged to my beloved mother, since my wardrobe consisted of jeans, sweats and not-so-formal skirts –no work material– and she wouldn't allow me to attend the interview in sweats, god forbid. We'd compromised that I would get the choice of the upper-body clothing and she'd paired it with one of her own variety of formal pencil skirts. I was somewhat taller than my mother and so the skirt stopped short just above my knees. Flat suede shoes adorned my feet, the exact shade of maroon as my jumper. My hair was pulled up into a messy bun –much to my mother's dismay- but it was Damon that would be interviewing me and it was only for a tiny job as a waitress, nothing huge to fawn about.

Sucking in a sharp breath of air, I brought my clenched fist to the door of Damon's office of sorts and tapped once, twice, three times. There was a shuffling of paperwork and the faint sound of someone clearing their throat before a husky, deep voice, filled with sensuality, rang from the other side of the mahogany door, "Come in."

And so I did.

Tugging on the door handle, I opened the door and superiorly strut into the confined room with a smile plastered to my face. As I approached his desk, I extended my hand to Damon as if I hadn't the slightest idea who he was. "Good evening, Mr Salvatore."


A/N- I'm not overly pleased with the way this chapter turned out, but hey-ho. Last chapter, I mentioned the fact that I was thinking about the interview being in this chapter, but as it turns out, I changed my mind. Technically, it sort of is in this chapter although only a snippet, so it will continue from this point in the next chapter. Despite me not being pleased with this chappie, I hope you are! Thank you for all of your favourites, follows and all of your encouraging reviews, it generally means a lot to me. Oh, and what do you guys think of Stefan? I'm team Damon at heart, but I guess I tolerate Stefan;)