"I only wanted to keep her safe."
"...So was I."
Bonnie may have been dying and her organs may have been shutting down, but that didn't make her deaf. And it wasn't like they were trying to be quiet. The words exchanged between Damon and Enzo brought salty tears to her eyes. Her stomach tightened as she tried to keep quiet, breathing through her nose, because she knew if she opened her mouth the only thing that would come out of it would a scream. Being that she was human—too some extent—she didn't have supernatural abilities like her boyfriend, who had super strength, super speed, and super hearing. That last one would've come in handy right about now, along with Enzo's ability to heal at abnormally fast rates.
She hated being left in the dark. She was usually the one fixing things, keeping everyone safe, and now she's the one who needs protecting. She's the one who needs saving. And she hates it—she hates that this is who she is now, or at least, for the time being before the pills finally take over and their effects reach her heart and she dies. As tears roll down her cheeks, she feels the tickling in her throat and something surging up it. Without any hesitation, she's rolling herself onto her side with some difficulty, and reaching out for the deep, yellow plastic bowl that sits on the floor. Her fingertips graze over it, and as her mouth begins to fill, she stretches out just a little bit further and she's holding onto the side of the bowl. Yanking it up onto the bed, placing it at her side, no longer being able to contain the liquid that was filling up her mouth, she parts her lips and it all comes spilling out. As expected, some get on her shirt, but most of it lands in the bowl.
"Ugh," she groans, gaze landing on the bowl, and instantly, she gags, almost throwing back up again.
Inside of the bowl isn't the usual red crimson liquid she had become accustomed to seeing over the course of the week that she's been trapped in this bed for. But, instead, a black, greyish substance that has her shuttering. Had that really come out of her? She thought, snatching a tissue out of the kleenex box that sat on the nightstand by the bed and wiping her mouth. When she holds it up to inspect it, she finds that on the tissue, there's only some red mixing in with the grey, but most of it was black. Her nose wrinkles up in disgust. Setting the bowl back down on the floor—which proved to be slightly harder now that it was filled with the black goo—she leans back down, settling into the mattress and pulling the covers up to her chin. Nestling her head into the pillow, she closes her eyes. Maybe sleep would come easier this time.
...But of course, it didn't. After five minutes, Bonnie became restless, rolling back in forth. When a few more minutes pass, she gives up on sleep entirely and instead calls for the one person that might be able to help her.
With a choked shout, throat burning, she yells, "Enzo!"
And she waits patiently for her boyfriend to come flying through the door and zooming over to her bedside like had done many times this past week. Enzo usually comes within seconds of hearing his name being called, ready to ask how she was doing, eyebrows scrunch together in concern as he stared down at her with a loving—but sad—gaze. But as she lays in bed waiting, and he hasn't arrived yet, her curiosity begins to get the better of her. Where was he? This was unlike Enzo; since she's gotten to know him over the course of these past three years, and then having to begin dating him, she's discovered a few things about him. And one of those were that Enzo was never late to come when called.
Bonnie almost gets up out of bed but decides against it when she shifts and a sudden wave of nausea runs over her, hitting her like a tidal wave and groans. Shutting her eyes and pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep whatever contents were in her stomach down. Rolling her head to the side, eyes cracked slightly, she just barely catches a glimpse of a blurry image entering the room before it rushes over to her. Now, if she didn't have a boyfriend who was a vampire (and an ex-best friend who is also a creature of the night) outside of her bedroom to kick the ass of whoever dared to enter the cabin uninvited, she would've been more afraid. But with that being said, with Enzo a being of the supernatural, she was very familiar with the gust of wind his ability to super speed caused, so she knew that when she felt the bed dip that it could only be him.
...Or so she had thought.
"W-What are you doing here?" She croaked, her throat dry and still burning from when she had thrown up the black goo. Her eyes had widened slightly, just enough that she got a clear image of a pair of sparkling glacier blue eyes, raven black hair, and pale porcelain skin.
"Checking up on you."
It was Damon's only answer, head cocked to the side, eyebrows—much like Enzo's—were scrunch together in concern, eyes narrowing as he stared down at her. Bonnie didn't understand why the vampire seemed so upset, and maybe that stemmed from the fact he left her for his girlfriend lying in a coffin, stuck in an eternal sleep until Bonnie dies—and by the looks of it, Damon's one wish in life (that wish, being to have his 'true love' back in his arms) would be coming true. Especially when she knew that she only had mere hours to live, and probably wouldn't be alive to see the sunrise.
She silently wonders where Enzo is, but guessing from the blood on Damon's hands, he was cleaning himself up. Bonnie could only guess that he had heard her calling and that was the reason behind why he was here. The sight of the blood on his hands didn't startle her by the slightest, used to seeing his hands like that, even if it was her lover's. Even though she didn't have the energy to fight or the want to argue, she stills says with no humour in her voice, "Looks like Elena's going be coming home sooner rather than later. You must be happy."
It wasn't a question, rather a statement that she spoke—a statement that Damon wasn't very fond of.
"Looks like it," he replies, blue eyes flickering down to Bonnie's shirt, where splotches of black stain the fabric near the collar of her dark purple long sleeve shirt. It wasn't the first time he noticed it—the black goo. The stench it had created, although he hadn't known what it was yet, had wafted out into the hallway. He had heard Bonnie wrenching it up, his ears picking up the sound of her faint heartbeat—the same heartbeat that had been going just the slightest bit faster at that moment in time—and then her puking. It had been right around the time him and Enzo had been staring blankly at each other, not knowing what to say as he watched the other man's face begin to heal. The smell had hit him like a freight train, causing him to gag.
The smell had hit him like a freight train, causing him to gag. Damon didn't believe there was anything worse smelling than the awful cheese he'd been served that one time, a few centuries ago, when he had visited Italy. But now, he was sure, he had smelled it all. The scent was one that reeked of decay, something similar to a rotting corpse. Except, much, much worse. And has he peered over the side of the bed, near the window that was built into the side of the cabin, and saw a yellow plastic bowl filled with a type of black goo.
Damon had felt like running into Bonnie's bedroom to ask if she was alright, but considering just a few days ago she was telling him to basically screw himself, he wasn't exactly running at the chance to piss her off again. Especially when she was in this state. It's only when Enzo had gone to the bathroom to go clean the blood off his face and change his shirt that was stained in red crimson, leaving him alone in the family room with Valarie, had Damon heard Bonnie calling her beloved boyfriend's name.
Before zooming to her bedside, he had to make sure Valarie had all she needed for the spell. When the red head heretic had said yes after a few short moments of awkward silence, then had he gone to check up on the dying witch in the next room.
And that's what got him here, sitting on the edge of Bonnie's bed, and staring down her. She didn't seem to like that. Not one bit. She also didn't seem to like his reply to her statement. It was obvious she was expecting something different—maybe a snarky comment, a sarcastic quip. But definitely not him agreeing with her.
"Y-You're agreeing with me?" She stuttered out, confused, asking the question after a minute of silence as she tried to figure out how to answer. It was clear she still didn't know what to say, as her forehead crinkled and her eyebrows wrinkled. "...Why?"
"I'm not agreeing with you," he tells her after a second, tilting his body away from her, knitting his hands together, correcting her by saying, "I'm humouring you."
This, of course, just causes her more confusion, to which just makes Damon sigh. Now having to explain—which he found odd, because usually Bonnie gets what he's trying to say, but from all the time apart, she may have forgotten (or could just have something to do with the poisonous pills that are currently killing her and rotting her guts out, he decided to give her a slide)—he opens his mouth.
"You see, Bon-Bon," he begins, hesitantly grabbing a hold of her hand, "Enzo might be fine with letting you die, and holding your hand in your last hours, and giving you what you want; respecting your wishes. And he has that kind of respect—to step back and do nothing, even though he actually wants to everything to help you. But won't. Because that's the respectful thing to do, to give somebody you love the things they want and wish for. Enzo is a gentleman, a pleaser, and a giver. But me?...Well, we both know I'm none of those things. I'll take what I want and the consequences don't matter—but I'm learning that they do. Any you taught me that; that we always have a choice in life. And I'm choosing not to let you die; I'm choosing to continue fighting even if it may seem hopeless. I don't care if you hate me forever, Bonnie. Because, in the end, if what I do gets you to live, then I'll be okay that—with you hating me."
Damon pauses, taking a quick breather before continuing. "It may not seem like I care about you—which I do very deeply—but when I try to do the right thing, things seem to do the exact opposite to screw me over for the hell of it. Call it bad luck or destiny, or what-the-fuck-ever. But I'm going to do what I know best: and that's getting what I want. And I want you to live, Bonnie Bennett. I want you to see the world. I want you to live a happy life—with no magic, no vampires, not supernatural anything. Because, the only thing that should be able to kill you isn't a werewolf attack or some vamp sucking you dry, or some stupid pills. It should, however, be the normal things—childbirth, a car wreck, a gunshot wound to the chest. And I would do anything to be able to eat something and actually taste it and not want to throw it up afterwards because it's not a blood bag. I would take being able to walk in the sun and feeling it on my face without needing my daylight ring. I'd just want one day, and I could die the next, to just feel normal. Don't you want that, Bonnie? Normalcy?"
But before he can let her answer, he keeps talking. "You may think that I don't know you at all, but that would be a lie. You tell everyone that you're fine with dying, that that's how things go in life—you live and you die. And I get it, to some extent, how dying so many times can get boring after awhile and all you want is to have that final death. The one that's permanent. You want normal. But we both know that's not going to happen. You are a Bennett Witch, one of the strongest, bravest, and selfless people I've had the pleasure in getting to know. I realize I made a mistake by letting you go. But that's all I wanted for you—was for you to be safe and normal. But now, I understand, that's not going to happen. You are always going to be surrounded by the supernatural—hell, Bonnie, you're even dating a vampire. But here's the thing about that, about my mistake of letting you go and deciding to desiccate. I did it so you could live. Not die. At least not like this. I'm humouring you, Bonnie, because I'm not going to hop onto your little pity-party-train. I'm not going to let you die. So you lay here, with Enzo holding your hand while he secretly wishes he could grow some actual balls and say 'fuck no' to this idiotic plan of yours. He may let you go into that good night, but here's the thing about that 'good night' Bonnie: It's not it's cracked up to be. And I'm going to make damn sure it's not a gentle trip either."
Damon doesn't wait for an answer. Just pats her hand before pulling his away and standing up and walking over to the open bedroom door, where he could hear Enzo pacing up and down the hall, waiting to talk to his sick girlfriend. As his hand goes to the doorframe, fingers curling and gripping it tightly, he glances back over his shoulder at Bonnie and finds her staring back at him. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, which leaves him to say everything and anything.
"You will continue to rage, Bonnie Bennett. And rage you will be."
It's the last thing he says before turns his head away and walks out of the bedroom.