She turns to lay on her back and her hand reaches blindly for the clock on her nightstand. The trill seems to hammer in her temples for a few seconds even after she pushed the button to turn off the alarm.
She sighs in resignation as she relishes her last moments in bed; she could have slept better but she woke up in the middle of the night because of that dream, and she traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she inadvertently remembers details of no importance and hide herself from the day and her own embarrassment pulling the blanket above her head.
Her phone rings, signalling an incoming message and she slips one hand out to take the phone from the nightstand. It's Jeremy, texting her Good morning. I can't wait to see you, and she holds her phone to her breast, wishing she could have dreamed of him instead.
She closes her eyes, trying to recall his hands on her while they were inside his car, and his soft mouth sucking gently on her earlobe, and yet the memory of Damon's large, dark pupils as he looks down at her and pants, trying hard to please her it's more vivid than anything else. Haunting her down.
Bonnie gets up in a rush; she won't let a stupid dream ruin everything for her, she decides. She showers, and with a towel wrapped around her body she opens her closet looking for something to wear. As her eyes fall on the jacket Damon lended her the night of the ball she pushes back the impulse to wear it now, feel the texture of it on her naked skin, instead she picks a turquoise skirt and shut the door like she just trapped a monster inside.
She concentrate on making herself look presentable; there's a tiny, silly part of her scared that someone will read on her face the things she dreamed of, the things still flashing in her mind every time she lowers her defences.
Walking in the hallway she realizes that she's making a few heads turn in her direction. The first impulse is to hide; she hugs her books to her breast and lowers her eyes, but then her reason scolds her, and she rises her chin bravely. If she can face Originals and dark creatures of any sort, she can certainly face the fact that she's actually capable to attract a few specimen of the make kind.
With her head held high she notices Jeremy waiting for her, his back leaning against her locker. He turns his head meeting her eyes and he's smile fades slightly, as he raises his eyebrows, and then comes back bigger on his face.
"What?" she asks, suspicious, touching her face like she's expecting to find something that shouldn't be there - that would explain all the interest guys are showing them this morning, "There's something wrong with my face?"
"No, no," he answers shaking his head, "Actually, you look... stunning" he says, blinking. Like there's something new about her on which he can't put his finger on.
"As opposite to everyday when I look horrible, you mean?" she asks, raising her eyebrows, faking offense.
"I didn't mean that," he rushes to say, smiling when he realizes she's joking, "But there's something about you lately..."
"What kind of something?" she asks, curious and flattered.
"I have no idea. I know that I said goodnight to you yesterday and I thought to myself that it was impossible that any girl could be any more beautiful, and you barely wait the following day to prove me wrong," he says, with a light amazement in his voice, "What did you do last night to look so hot?" he asks with hoarse voice, leaning into her, with one hand placed on the locker and one at her waist.
She turns her head to the side, trying to smile as in her mind Jeremy's hands are replaced by Damon's ones, "A girl needs her beauty sleep," she says with a shrug.
"It totally worked," he says, "I didn't sleep much, instead."
Bonnie turns her eyes on him; he's so close she can see the sparse freckles on his nose.
"Too busy thinking of you," and from the way he says the words she can picture exactly what he's been thinking of.
"Yeah?" she asks; her flirtatious tone could not be more obvious. She's just decided she'll leave subtle for a time of her life when Damon Salvatore does not infests her mind.
#
But he's like an echo.
The words stop mattering, the inflection in his voice she can't remember with precision anymore; she goes from clear pictures popping up into her retinas to meaningless details her conscience fees her in whispers and spots of color. Yet Damon stays inside her mind, like a sound or a vibration. Like an echo.
Bonnie ignores him. She walks over his naked expression with her favourite boots as she leaves her locker for her next class. She swallows his nicknames and pants with a bite of her lunch as she sits in the courtyard with Jeremy and Elena. She talks over his moaned questions when a teacher asks her to recapitulate their last lesson.
She's so set on avoiding his presence in her head that she actually forgets she's supposed to endure his presence in person that afternoon because she needs to meet with Stefan to work on her powers. Her telepathic communication is still one sided, which it's inconvenient.
Her struggle cause her to be late, which she never is. Having Stefan welcoming in the house brings a sincere smile to her face, and as he leads her to the kitchen she's relived to be informed that Elena is there as well. With a little more luck Damon is not going to be there, and she'll stop feeling like she's about to fall down from a cliff. Or more probably he's going to be there, but will be too busy hanging off Elena's words to take any notice of her presence.
This last possibility clouds her, but she chooses to deny that even to herself. This is not the moment nor the place for some soul-searching.
"Bonnie, come in," Elena greets her with a smile, pushing a long strand of hair behind her ear, "We were just taking a coffee."
"I'm going to my room to take the books you wanted," Stefan tells Elena, "I'm coming back in a minute," he adds for Bonnie.
Damon doesn't say a word; he just looks at her scanning her rapidly and grins before turning his back on her. Bonnie tries to concentrate on her friend, "I'm sorry I have to steal Stefan for a bit," she says, apologetically.
"Oh, don't be silly," Elena answers with a smile, "I'll forgive you as long as you give him back to me in one piece."
Bonnie is about to say something when Damon pushes in her hand a cup of coffee. The ceramic is white and there's 'Whatever' printed in black letters. The coffee smells good.
"With cream and sugar," he informs her, before turning his back again to go and sit on a chair.
She stares at him trying to not show her surprise, but she's not sure if her eyes are already giving her away.
"Thanks," she says with some effort. Her mouth is suddenly dry at the thought that he knows something so stupid like the way she likes her coffee and she sips on it to try and swallow her reluctant surprise.
"I'll try not to kill him. Again." Bonnie tells Elena, trying to sound cheerful.
"Otherwise," Damon says, cutting into their conversation, "I know for a fact that she gives great mouth to mouth resuscitation. Well, I wasn't unconscious but she brought back to life more than one part of my anatomy, I must say. I see dying as a fair exchange for that," he explains calmly, taking another sip of his drink.
He knows he did a wrong move the moment he sees the color draining from Bonnie's face, but it's too late now to take it back. And even if it wasn't he wouldn't anyway.
It's a petty reaction, he knows, but he's angry at her for dating Jeremy again - she made him feel so close to her just to jump from one stupid boy to another without even sparing him a thought; he's angry at her for being so fucking beautiful - it's like putting a feast in front of a starving man after you tied him up like a salami, and they call him cruel. Ah!
Elena blinks repetitively as the notion sets into her brain, and yet she still wants to deny it.
"What- you're kidding, right?" she looks from him to Bonnie and then back to Damon. His eyes never leave the witch.
"You were really eager to say it, weren't you?" Bonnie asks, angry.
"Oh, you know me so well," he answers with a grin, "we must really be in sync."
"Did you-" she gasps, "did you two kissed?"
Not only she must deal with Damon behaving like an ass, but she even needs to explain to Elena something she couldn't explain herself in the first place. It's like hell opened up in the Salvatore's kitchen.
"It wasn't-" Bonnie can't find the words to explain what happened, "...a- real kiss," she ends weakly.
"What does that mean?" Elena asks.
"Yes, Bonnie. What does that mean? What do you mean exactly with real kiss?" Damon asks, making sure to frown in confusion and look at her like he's mocking her, "Because I clearly remember some remarkable tongue action," he explains, "Rush of blood, dilated pupils, swelled lips..." he lists sounding almost clinical, "all signs of an honest-to-God kiss. But I recall we were just discussing your peculiar idea of real when it happened, so maybe that's the problem."
"I can't believe it," Elena says, looking at him disconcerted.
"Why are you doing this?" Bonnie asks him.
"Why not?" he asks back, "It happened, I don't see any reason to hide it," or forget it, really, because it seems like the thing she can do better is forgetting him, "It's not like we have some dirty affair."
"Yes. In fact we have nothing!" she spells him like he's an idiot unable to understand the simplest things.
"Did you do it to make me jealous?" Elena asks, "It's some sort of sick revenge against me? Because I picked Stefan over you?"
Damon grimaces, "What? No!" he says, "Have you hit your head?" he asks, baffled that she can even think this is actually about her and not Bonnie. Does he even exist in her eyes for something else aside from worshiping her?
"Then what reason could you possibly have?" Elena asks again, but he doesn't listen. He sees Bonnie putting down her mug precariously on the edge of the table, turning her back and leaving and he just runs after her "Bonnie, wait!", bumping into Stefan.
From inside the kitchen he hears the sound of her mug falling down and breaking into pieces.
When he reaches her car, knocking insistently on the glass of her window she almost runs over him to get away. She doesn't even raise her eyes to look at him.
#
Of course for Elena there's no way that kiss could be about him actually wanting her even just for the fraction of a second. Not that she actually wants him to want her - even if fragments of her recent dreams come back to bite her in the ass - but it's humiliating to be so underestimated, to know that even her own best friend thinks that she is not worthy of an homicidal vampire. But can she really blame her? She has always lacked self-esteem when it comes to boys, let alone immortal creatures that could have just about anything they wanted.
The his voice comes from outside. She sees him looking down from behind the window of her bedroom.
"Bonnie," he says, pressing his forehead against her front door, "Bonnie, come' on."
He knocks again, using the side of his fist and feeling ridiculous.
"Open the damn door, Bonnie, now!" he says, trying to not sound like he's ordering her around. He supposes he's failing. If she even suspect he's trying to force her to do anything she will never even come close to the fucking door, "In case I failed to make it clear I meant that as a please, of course," he lies. Her heartbeat sounds a lot closer than before and so she must be not so far from the front door.
"Okay, fine!" he yells, "I went too far, happy now?"
He can actually hear her behind the door now. The doorknob seems to move but then stops. It seems like an age before she sighs and opens the door looking at him like she's waiting for a, not even good, excuse to grill him.
"I didn't bring an olive branch, but I can actually steal a lemon one from your neighbour's garden, if you like, "he says raising a thumb over his shoulder to point at the garden. She thinks he could really do that.
"I will ignore what you just said," she informs him, stern.
"This is a sign of wisdom," he replies, nodding, playing along.
"I suspect the true wisdom would require me to close the door in your face," he's the vampire between them, but she looks like she can bite him any moment, and not in a sexual way. What a shame.
"Okay, but what is wisdom without mercy?" he asks, hoping he will actually get to say enough positive words to give her a better disposition towards him. Well, he probably should give her a vocabulary and hope for the better.
"I screwed up," he admits, stopping himself from shrugging, "which, let's be honest, is nothing new. But was that really so terrible? I'm quite sure I had some brighter moments in the past," he says with irony.
Bonnie is slightly distracted by his choice of words. Oh, if he knew the things she's been dreaming about she would die of embarrassment, and he would never, ever stop bragging about it.
"The fact that your main occupation is... screwing up things doesn't mean that that's the way is supposed to be. And yes, it was that terrible!"
"The kiss itself or the fact that I spoke about it in front of Elena?" he asks, with a grin, playing with her. "Because on a scale from one to ten, with ten being the most erotic thing I ever did involving my tongue-"
"I'm done!" she says, trying to close the door, but he holds it open inserting his foot between the jamb and the door with an, "Wait- ouch!"
"Okay, another go," he proposes, making her sigh.
She looks at him expectantly, crossing her arms under her chest. He can see the sweet curve of her breast, as she bats her lashes with a patient look on her face. Turquoise becomes her. Well, nakedness becomes her, and suits him a lot more, but this is not the point. She's irritated and impatient and she never looked this good. But good it's not the right word, Damon thinks. There's another one, right on the tip of his tongue, and he would love to find it but she's so beautiful and distracting and "delectable," he says, to himself.
"What?" she asks, frowning.
"I- mm" he clears his throat, looking for a way to say that he's sorry without actually having to say the words. Because that would be lying and he doesn't want to lie, not to her. There's no way he's going to be sorry for kissing her or for letting Elena or whoever else know about it. He wants everyone to know, so they'll stay away or, at least, they will have no excuse to whine about how bad he is when he breaks their bones one by one for touching her. If only Bonnie would not make such a biggie about a few broken bones.
"I... acknowledge that I did wrong," he admits, slowly, trying to look sincere.
She looks like she's deciding if to believe him or not.
"Let's start over," he proposes, looking hopefully at her. She's so tempted to say yes that she hates herself with a passion for a few seconds.
"From which point?" she asks, holding on to her distrust, "The point where you kill my mother or the one where you tried to humiliate me in front of my best friend?"
"I wasn't trying to do that," he protests, and she believes it. After all the humiliation came from Elena not believing that he could desire to kiss her, not from his words directly.
"And I did my best to behave lately, even if not always with the greatest results," he admits, "But I'll accept any chastisement you'll assign me, and even do some extra homework, teacher," he says with a smile.
His smile has such a kind inflection, all of sudden, and she's not equipped enough against this side of Damon Salvatore. And, after all, he did save her life, and he didn't even bragged about it. He could really pass for a good imitation of a mature person.
"Let's be friends," he says, in a rush, and the proposal almost shocks her.
Bonnie looks at him with wide eyes, and he insists, "Come on. Chances are that I'll listen to my friend" he empathize the word, "telling me to stop being a dick. Or at least my friend," he stress it once again, his intention so obvious that she's on the point to laugh, "has a better shot then the witch I want to piss off, don't you think little bird?"
"Damon, stop-" stop calling me that, she wants to say, but she can't bring herself to, because she likes that nickname he has for her. And aren't friends allowed to have nicknames?
"Stop dragging it so much," she sighs, "One wrong move and this friend-thing is over," it seems to her that this way it sounds a lot less threatening then admitting she wants to try this. Being friends with him. And maybe her dreams will stop, who knows.
"I'll accept corporal punishments for any transgression on my part," he says, making her grimace.
"You're disgusting," she says.
He smiles.
#
When she opens the front door she finds Jeremy with a smile on his face and two dvd cases in his left hand. Which he waves for her to see.
"I'm here with Dirty Dancing and You've got mail," he says, sounding like he's telling her he's about to jump from a tower.
"You're really giving your best shot at this, aren't you?" and there's a voice inside her head asking her why she can't do the same. She's going to invoke the fifth emendation in this.
"I try," he says, leaning into her to kiss her.
Bonnie holds to the fabric of his jacket and pulls him inside, as he kicks the door shout. She giggles and leaves him to take him something to drink.
"I was just fine," he protests, almost whining at the loss of her.
"Let me make popcorn and I'll be back right away," she yells from the kitchen.
"Double butter?" he asks, taking off his jacket to leave it on the arm of the couch.
"Think about my waist!" she reproaches him.
"Oh believe me, I think a lot about your waist!" he yells back, "And the rest of you," he sighs to himself.
Bonnie is sexy, that's not in question. If she actually knew the range of her appeal she could have a harem ready to answer to her every need, but luckily for him she's not that kind of girl. The popular ones that are always looking for something better, the ones that never find rest or love because they're too busy looking in the wrong place - like the mirror or the back seat of a car with a tattooed guy that smokes pot and talks about things he's read on the cover of books he never even opened.
He's been stupid to throw everything they had away, just like that, but now he has every intention to fix it.
He opens the dvd case and puts the disk in the player, waiting for her to come back. When she does, she carries in her hands a big bowl of popcorn and two cokes.
"Are we ready?" she asks with a smile as she sits next to him on the couch.
"I don't know, are we?" he asks back, with a voice huskier then it was supposed to be.
Bonnie blushes, turning her eyes on the TV screen, urging him to "Press play."
She's watched Dirty Dancing so many times before that during most of the movie she can easily mouth their lines, and Jeremy grins as he watches her. He hates that movie, but he wants to please her so he can actually stay there with no complain.
It's like a classic movie date at the theatre; he puts his arm around her shoulder, she leans in a bit, he smells her hair and nuzzle at her ear making her turn so he can kiss her. It's simple, almost linear.
In her head this is the only possible version of the story, because this is what you do when the boy you're dating comes over with a movie he loathes and the house is empty, so she follows the script. Her brain guides her like it's following an exact scheme: put the left hand on his right shoulder, moan when he kisses your neck, then lay back on the couch and look up at him like you want him.
His hand slides under the hem of her shirt and he kisses her lips more, all the while her brain is clear and unaffected. She can hear Solomon Burke singing Cry to me and she thinks she loves that scene. But she should love what she is doing now more, she reminds herself. His hand travels up to cup her breast through her bra. It's warm and nice and she concedes him a sigh.
Bonnie brushes the inside of her leg against his thigh and he moans against her.
Being so in control is almost funny; she has all the power and he doesn't know. She moans his name, because that's part of the script, and he presses his lower body against her letting her feel his erection pressing against her thigh. It's a good feeling, but she's not as aroused as she should be. To say the truth, she's probably not aroused at all.
Jeremy's hand goes down to tug at the button of her jeans and she knows what she must do now.
#
Outside the window the lightning tear the sky and the crow watching them from a branch turns its head with a sharp movement, before flying away.
#
Jeremy's hand starts slipping into her jeans and she stops it when her own, as a thunder makes her jump back.
"Wait!" she says, gasping.
His pupils are dilated, his skin is flushed and he breathes hard. There's a bit of satisfaction flowing in her, a bit of sadness because she was not really with him, and nothing more.
"I- we... I'm sorry, I can't."
"It's okay, really, I- " he clears up his voice, which sounds way to affected by her, "I understand," he says, but he thinks he would sound a lot more truthful if he didn't have a bulge on the front of his pants; that's all he can do right now to not upset her. The lights go off.
She blinks and looks over his shoulder for a moment; outside her window there's the Flood coming down, or something incredibly similar.
Jeremy turns his head over his shoulder, "The weather seems really bad."
She hugs her knees to her chest, and he presses her against his side. It's nice, and sweet but it doesn't last long. Elena calls him to ask where he is, to make sure he's fine, and he tells her he is, even if he's on the point to tear his arm away for the desire to take care of his business at the south region of his body.
Staying the night is not an option if he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of her.
#
"I thought you were at Bonnie's place" Stefan says as he watches his brother drink the last remains of a bottle of bourbon - which he remembers it was full that morning - while he sits on the couch in the dark.
"She had other plans," he informs him, resisting the urge to bite his tongue. Her plans involved an horny teen-ager that had picked a ghost over her, and a night that should have belonged to them alone. It did, in another life.
Over the sounds of the storm he can her moans and panting, his broken name on her lips mixes up with Jeremy's name and he holds his glass into his hand until it breaks and cuts his palm. Damon lowers his eyes on the little pieces falling on his lap and his brother walks towards him.
"Damon, if you need-"
"Another drink, " he says, abruptly, "I just need another drink."
Talking about feelings is not Damon's forte; usually feeling them is even less his forte, and Stefan doesn't want to press him too much, because the moment he breaks, it's likely their furniture will break too and he will still not say a word about it.
"I think there's another bottle somewhere," he says, walking towards the liquors cabinet to pick a bottle of Jim Beam Devil's Cut, produced in Clermont, Kentucky.
"Thanks," Damon says, with a voice so low and tires that Stefan can't help but turn his head over his shoulder to look at his brother.
"Anything," he just says, hoping he'll believe him.
#
Two days later, she tells him she needs to take a step back; they jumped into this too soon, she says, I like you, she insists, I'm just not sure this is right, she explains, and the more she tries to make it better, the worse he feels. And all this has nothing to do with Damon - it's easy to believe that because Bonnie is not one easily fooled, and she never fell for the supernatural creature's charm; she's not the kind of girl that falls for an idea, a myth, she wants the real thing and he thinks he can give her that.
He tells her that he can wait - like teen-agers are famous for their capabilities in the waiting department; he tells her he doesn't want to pressure her - but really, the only way to not make a move at her is keeping some distance or he will become blue in the face; he says they can hang out as friend - and as he holds her hand casually he ignores her dubious eyes on him.
It's something between them and they don't tell anyone they are not actually, properly, dating - they still hang out, he still look at her like she's his favourite dessert, she still blushes.
#
A week later the night Damon and Bonnie never lived anymore; a week later the night in which Bonnie never had sex with Jeremy; a week later the night in which Damon thinks Bonnie had her first time with someone else, she is supposed to go at the Salvatore boarding house for another telepathy session.
Despite his declared friendship intents Damon never got near her after that afternoon and so he is not prepared to hear her voice; the craving of her and the absence of her so tied up together that his very flesh hurts as the sound of her washes over him.
"Damon, is that you?" she says, and he suddenly realizes just how much this whole week without her it's been unbearable for him.
It takes him a moment to answer, as she asks, "Hello?"
"Yes, I'm here little bird," he says; right here, he think, the same point he was one week ago, one month ago, three months ago. In love with her and not getting over it any time soon.
"I wanted to tell Stefan I can't come over and that we need to cancel," he wants to ask why she hasn't called him on his cell phone instead of calling home, but then again, he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
There's a male voice in the background and he frowns, "I understand," he says, stark.
"My father's home and I wanted to make something special for dinner," she explains, even if she didn't need to, lifting a weight from his stomach, "I'm in the middle of some chopping at the moment."
"You mean, someone is willingly putting a knife in your hands?" he jokes, suddenly feeling a better disposition towards this conversation.
"I will have you know that I'm actually very good with this kind of stuff," she replies, the smile is clear in her voice.
"You'll forgive me if I'm not too anxious to know the full range of things you can actually do with it. There are appendixes of my body to which I'm quite attached," he says, flirting with her.
"Don't give me any idea, Damon," she warns him.
"I'm sure I could give you a few which would be a lot more pleasurable then you chopping off the dearest parts of me."
He can hear her laughing over the phone. How pathetic is he for feeling so triumphant over something as insignificant as this? Oh, but her laugh is so bright, so good to hear. Why not indulge a little?
"Well, as sad is the fact that you'll not grace us with your witchy presence I'll pass the message to my brother," he tells her, "Maybe tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow sounds good."
"Good," he says, feeling a bit like an idiot.
"Thanks, Damon," and there's a long pause before she says goodbye. During that pause he wishes for her to tell him any other word but that one.
#
Her father invites him in, just like that. He's at the phone and mouths him to come in.
Elena told him that Bonnie's car was giving her troubles and he thought that giving her a ride was as good an excuse as another, so he showed up in the later afternoon ready to offer her his services, when he heard her father speak about driving back to whatever hellish place he was before conceding his company to a daughter who practically lived alone.
Well, good for him, right? If she was alone there were more chances to get closer to her. But then again she longed so much for her father. He remembered very well the way she threw glances at her phone waiting for a call or a text from him and he didn't want her to go through that once again.
Yet, it wasn't his business, was it? And then again, when did he ever care if it wasn't?
"Close the phone," he tells the man, watching him frown in confusion.
"It's a very important call, son," he says, "You can sit. Bonnie will come down in a moment anyway."
But as he fixes his eyes into his, Damon demands him to "End the call, now."
The man blinks stupidly, as the vampire keeps on talking, slowly, "You're going to spend time with your daughter. You're going to take care of her, show her some affection," he's only been back for a day and he already wants to leave. The nerve he has!
"You won't pick any call nor you're going to leave for a week," what it is a week compared to Bonnie's happiness after all?
"What are you doing?" Bonnie's voice is already trembling from rage.
"Just my luck," he murmurs to himself as he turns around to face her.
"Just a little talk with your dad..." he lies, hoping for the better, "We were getting to know each other."
"You were compelling him," she says, "I can't believe you," and her voice sounds bitter, "I knew I couldn't trust you, I was wrong for ever thinking otherwise."
"I wasn't trying to do anything bad," he says.
"Oh no, you never want to do anything bad, you just happen to do it!"
The phone rings again, and Mr Bennett looks at it stupidly, bumbling how he can't answer the phone. Damon passes one hand in his hair, murmuring "Leave us alone, please."
"I told you, one wrong move and this friendship would be over," she says as her father leaves them.
"I only wanted you to have your father to yourself for a while, was it so bad?" he asks, angry at her for not seeing his good intentions.
"It's none of your business. I can take care of myself!" she answers, offended at the fact that he could think differently.
"But it's his job to do that! He's supposed to love you better than this!" he yells, against his better judgment. But how can she be so willing to let everyone walk all over her? He doesn't want to see her put up walls just to hide the fact that she's human. Being human is everything.
"Why do you even care?!" it's strange how angry he makes her, how open she is when she feels this way. There's no barrier high enough in this moment to hide behind in her mind.
At this point they're both yelling at each other, fuelled by all the things unsaid, by dreams she doesn't want to remember, things he can't have back again because he had to choose another path so that she could stand there and yell about how untrustworthy he is.
"Because I love you!" he burst out.
It feels like an explosion; he screams in her face, and now the cat's out of the bag so why not go down in style? "Can't you see? he asks as her eyes go wide, and takes a step back like she's been just hit by a bullet, "I'm fucking in love with you!" he spells despite his loud voice, "You are a judgy thing who can never loosen up a bit and I like it! You have the vivacity of a mummy early in the morning and I adore it," he tells her remembering their mornings together, "You could sacrifice yourself to save a good for nothing and I love you for it despite the fact that this behaviour makes me crazy!" he says, almost laughing at himself, "You can never let me win an argument and I live for them!" he admits, throwing his hands in the air, "And I'm here trying to wrap my head around the fact that you are blind to me in the best of cases!"
She doesn't even blink to his words. As he comes down from his high and she doesn't say a word.
He though having Katherine and Elena tell him that it was Stefan, that it would always be Stefan for them was bad. He was wrong. Because having her staring ahead and not seeing him, having her not utter a single word to him pouring his heart out on the floor of her kitchen is torture.
"Say something," he begs, breathless, "Just, something...", but she just stands there. Still as a statue, with the expression of someone terrorized by what they're seeing and he can just shake his head, leaving the place with rushed, long strives. Like the devil himself is going after him.
But there's no one behind him.
#
She's been trying to open up a two ways telepathic communication for weeks, and always failed. Until now. Just instead of opening up the door of her mind Damon just broke down the whole wall and images and sensations and sounds came rushing drawing her.
Bonnie is overcome, surrounded by thoughts she recognizes as Damon's. They move like leaves hit by a gust of wind and their trajectory is so irregular that she can't possibly avoid them, and every time she gets touched by one of them the memory unfolds and the feeling attached to it washes over her, until it's like a sea.
The first memories are the freshest, the newest ones. She's kissing Jeremy on her couch and the images are colorless and blurred. Something in her chest tightens. Many shots are from high places, windows or trees, she doesn't know.
And then as the next memory hits her she can feel a deep, animal want mixed to protection instinct as she holds her hand over his mouth and then again when she falls onto him.
Every image is so vivid, the emotion balling up in her stomach so strong.
And somehow they're all about her. Her name resounds even when the memory is about Stefan or Elena or strangers he hunted like animals down looking for a way to have her back. She can't understand, because she was never his, was she?
She sees her gravestone, feels a desperation so annihilating that her whole body trembles and falls down. She's stuck inside her mind with this pain and she welcomes the hit of the next memory as something liberating. There's a sound in the background, one she knows, a song which repeats itself like a stuck recording that becomes louder when the memory is silent and fades in the back when the words are more important for him.
When she says I'm picking you the silence is deadly and she feels like crying.
And it's impossible to understand how can she be a virgin and yet know the feeling of Damon's member inside of her, and yet in the blurring, hot memory of that night, she can feel it; can feel her own flesh wrapped around his hardness, the needneedneed and the effort and the will it takes him to not let himself go, the intense desire to not have her regret this in the morning.
Her thighs press together on her own, her mind trying to will her body to not feel it. It's impossible. He is into her like her own mellow bone.
The images coming after are so stupid; her hair behind her ear, her smiles. So many of them, like he spent hours catolguing them, comparing them. Her face listening to him telling her about his abusive father, just so she could know she was not the only one alone. And then desire again. Alight or hidden under the surface, but yet it travels from her head to her blood and in every inch of her skin.
She sees her hair, her body lying down on the bed as he spoons her. The feeling of rightness. Then again jealousy, confusion, denying and Why do you care?
She's everywhere and he can't stand it. You die on me and I'll kill you. She's everywhere and he can't have enough of her. You're not the princess, you're the witch and the witch never gets to the last page.
She's going dark and he can't let her.
And then the waves calm down, it becomes a gentle rocking, like she's floating on his emotion and it feels so warm.
Her eyes are open on the ceiling, but she can't see a single thing.
She can see everything.
#
The trip left her spent on the floor and when she regains consciousness she's on her bed, with her father next to her.
"You made me so scared," he tells her, caressing her cheek. She smiles despite the tiredness and the dizzying sensation.
"I'm sorry, I slept bad lately and I guess my body rebelled," she says, trying to reassure him.
When she moves to stand up he pushes her back on the bed telling her she needs to rest and that he's going to make dinner for her for once.
Her emotions are all messed up, mixed up with Damon's but they're fading little by little. Leaving her for good, she knows. In the end only hers will stay.
Everything has a reason
Everything has a start
Anything that ever burned had a spark
Bonnie let her father trying to do his part, for how clumsy. She showers as he cooks and let him find her tucked under the blankets when he comes back with a plate of chicken brood. It's a bit salty but she tries to not cringe. When he tastes it himself to make sure it doesn't burn he must admit his poor skills and calls for take away. She's in the mood for Chinese.
He refuses to let her leave the bed to eat so she knows that leaving the house is out of question; she doesn't even ask.
She looks at the clock on her nightstand; once, during this night, at this very moment, Damon found her dead. Poking at that particular memory she almost feels like crying for him, for how completely devastated he was.
Bonnie waits until she's sure her father is asleep to sneak away like any other proper teen-ager. She had hours to work all the things in her mind, give the events she saw and felt a chronological order; so many things make sense now and, as she waits, part of her feels like a child counting the hours for Christmas morning to come so she can unwrap her gift.
Her knuckles are almost white when she knocks on the mansion's door with clenched fists.
She thinks she must do this before she loses her nerve or her mind, and when Damon opens the front door, holding a glass of bourbon in his hand, he looks as confused as the very first time.
"I have a vague sense of dèjà-vu," he says, looking worried.
"You're going to fix my father," she demands.
He needs a moment to absorb the fact that she's not going to scream into his face like she already did twice but that they actually moved on from that point of their story. If they have a story at all.
Anything I ever wanted
Anything I ever needed
Always seemed to leave me standing in the dark
"Yes, I- of course... now?" he asks, grimacing at the last part. It's past three in in the morning.
"You're not allowed to take away people's will just because you think it's right. Compelling doesn't fix things!" she scolds him.
"Noted," he says, wary, "I was wrong," he admits, "I did something pretty stupid even for my standards. It won't happen again."
"As long as we're clear on this..." she says, her resolving is living her and she's starting to feel self-conscious. She's so much better at move wars against the evil then she is at this.
She only stares at him while her heart and her fears try to talk her into or out of something she's not sure it can really be avoided. Because some things are bound to happen. And the pull she feels is stronger than anything else. She's tired to secretly cherish dreams she tells herself she must regret. She's tired of waiting to meet him casually or because they must face an new threat. She's tired of all the denial and the hiding. Truth is supposed to set you free, isn't it?
And truth is that he let her see something, a naked side of him which she longs to touch.
"Listen," he says with a nod, "About my pathetic and unwanted confession, I-"
He has no way to finish whatever it was he wanted to say - since suddenly he can't bother to remember anymore - before her mouth is on his and her hands are gripped tightly to his shoulders. Damon's reaction is fast; his brain orders him to not leave her any time to change her mind now.
Suddenly I'm caught in your light
Opened the door, and you stepped inside
He cups her face holding her to him as he invades her mouth with his tongue. It's a warm, hard, deep kiss and he can feel the electricity flowing from one body to another, like a chemical reaction. If the entire block should blow up now he would not give a flying fuck about it and just keep on kissing her.
She smells like her honey soap, and as she presses herself against him he almost purrs into her mouth.
Forgetting entirely that she actually - physically - needs to breathe he tries to prolong their kiss even when she pushes against his chest with her open hands to put some space between them.
"Damon," she pants his name and that distracts him enough to make it easier for her to push him back a little. As he watches her, hypnotized, he just let his hands slips down to close around her waist.
Bonnie trembles and her eyes are dark pools. He grins at that.
"Yes," he says. It wasn't a question but he'll say yes to whatever it is she wants now if she'll let him kiss her some more.
Damon looks so beyond passion that she wants to giggle at her effect on him. She's flattered about it, and allured too. It feels so good to know that they're both feeling this, together.
And I'm watching the house looking for reasons
Finding that I'm missing every beat of your heart
"I suppose-" she clears her voice, trying not to smile, trying not to panic at the thought of what she's about to say, "I- I think we can give it a try."
"Oh, God, yes," he groans, making her blush, "We'll try a lot," he assures her, "Practice brings to perfection."
"Can you stop that?" she asks him moving her eyes away to hide her embarrassment, "You sound like you're dying to-"
"Kiss you," he fills in, trying to not force her too much. He can't be too graphic about what he's dying to do, not now anyway. She needs to do things slow and he'll do that. Then they'll do the fast and hard, too.
He picks her off the ground, holding her against his chest like she weights nothing. Fixing his eyes into her.
"I need to... explain things to Jeremy before we can... actually..." she tries to explain, cupping one cheek with her hand. Touching him like this comes so natural all of a sudden that her brain can't really process it, and yet she can't bring herself to stop either.
"Feel each other up?" he suggests, suggestively.
"Damon!" she scolds him, holding on to his shoulders and looking down into his eyes from her high position, "Don't you even want to know why I am here in the middle of the night, kissing you?"
"Not in the least," he says without missing a beat, "I am fully convinced that there are better things I can do with your pretty mouth," he adds.
She's outraged but she's too busy gasping for air to roll her eyes at him, still she tries to hold on to her good sense, "Can you be serious for like five seconds? I'm telling you-"
She would explain him what she saw, what she knows, but patience was never his forte. To think about it, it's quite endearing how hard he tried to restrain himself with her.
"Whatever!" he concedes, "Can I kiss you if I let you win?" he asks her, almost begging. He makes sure to show his best puppy face ever, and she giggles before kissing him herself. He can be childish, and adorable - she will never say it or she'll never hear the end of it - but one touch of his mouth, of his tongue and there's a tingling, warm feeling between her thighs. A rush that makes her breathless and thrilled.
Bonnie links her arms around his neck as he walks backwards to go inside the boarding house. He kicks the door shout and brushes his cheek against her neck and hair, inhaling her. Outside, he sky is about to become coral above them.
'til you're back in my arms,
I'll be waiting up counting the stars
Counting the stars.
fine.
#
Note: The song I used in this last chapter is "Counting the stars" by Augustana. Well, what else there is to say? I enjoyed writing this; I'm not satisfied with myself but I'm just happy so many people loved it. I hope you weren't disappointed in the end. I always knew how would it all end, I feel almost giddy that I could write all the events in my mind and finish the story, even if I wanted to do better. Since not many know about it, "Dormiente" means "asleep/sleeping" in italian. I have an idea I could use for a sequel, if needed. I really don't know. Do you need a sequel or should we leave it all at this? Let me know in the review.
Thanks to everyone that's been so kind to leave me their comments, they've been very useful, in fact I went back to read them every time I felt like I was stuck or I was not in the mood to write, and they helped me a great deal. Thanks to 1beaut for being so ready to help out with her corrections, and to bewitchedbennett for betaing the last chapter; thanks to TheWunzelx3 for her fabulous trailer; thanks to everybody that was so amazing to actually recommend my fanfiction (SanjaTanja, irishcookie, Wahinetoa, jaywillikerz and more), thanks to those who made arts, thanks to all the people talking and tagging about Dormiente on tumblr. It's been my pleasure writing for you.