Chapter 3

I remember a recent event where Klaus through a bitch-fit and hurled a wedge of fencing through the Gilbert house. Why, prey tell, would he engage in such a temperamental act of barbarism? Because he was not invited in, of course. Klaus was such a swell guy! Well, right now, I feel the way that sorry slab of wood must have felt. I ache down to my very core. My back, my legs, my arms, hell, even my eyebrow hair is whining for sympathy. Unfortunately there is no one around to dole any sympathy out. I am all alone in some windowless hospital room, strapped to a stretcher like a metal patient and too weak snap my restrains. What's more unfortunate is that I am still wearing the ugly checkered hospital gown. I can't help but wonder if Rick is watching me on the Other Side and laughing his ghostly ass off at this scene?

I should not concern myself with imaginary ghoul Rick gaining amusement from my misery. I need to concentrate on an escape-plan from the blood-jackers. I need to invest some time in being freaked-out by the fact that I have blacked-out, freaked-out that I have no idea where I am - where Stefan and Elena are. But that's easier thought than, well, thought.

While I was unconscious I'm pretty sure that my brain cells indulged in a buffett of Red Bull and Pixie Stix. I can't focus! I can't steady a spotlight on any singular thought. My ideas are stuttering and jutting erratically across my brain like wind-up toys - every time I try to pinpoint my focus upon an idea it just darts to the side!

Did I just compare my thoughts to wind-up toys? That's so 1910, uggh! Way to show your age Damon.

I doubt Rick ever played with wind-up toys. If he did they were probably plastic, not the quality tin variety that were popular in his grandfather's tot hood. Rick was probably more of a G.I. Joe kid anyway. All I can do is speculate these super important details of Rick's childhood, it's not like I can text him a ask him about his toys. Rick is dead . . . what a waste. He knew how to appreciate good bourbon. I bet he'd at least laugh at my text inquiring about his childhood toys, depending on his mood he might have humored me and replied, or ignored me not wanting to reinforce Drunken Damon's annoying antics. I wish I knew what he might say. I wish I'd listened to him better while I had the chance.

Damn, what a waste. What a shame for so many reasons, but of course, my thoughts always go back to her. Once again she is guardian-less. Adopted parents, biological parents, guardians . . . Kaput. Now does a guilty insurgence barrage my hyper little brain cells, sobering them like cancer. Regret, agony, envy, sorrow - they stomp back and forth from my heart to my brain, leaving my insides a trail of emotional rubble.

If I can't drown myself in blood or bourbon then I will fall prey to feeling.

Don't go there, Damon, not here, not now.

But I can't get off of the rollercoaster once it has left the gate.

I should not be bitter or angry that she chose Stefan. It wasn't really a surprise. I admit that she got my hopes up (along with a certain part of my male anatomy) during our little road trip. But again, I am not really surprised. If anything, I guess I should be thankful for this whole Elena Experience – she's showed me that I am capable of loving again. I spent almost 150 years loving Katherine and now the mere thought of her gives me the heebeegeebees. If I can overcome more than a century of devotion to Katherine then I can certainly triumph over my feelings for Elena Gilbert. I've known Elena for a fragmental blip in my existence compared to Katherine, so getting over her should be easy-peasy.

I know that Elena never meant to hurt me, not like Katherine did, but she did hurt me. If I had a functional heart I'm sure that it would have splintered just like Klaus' fence post. I guess it technically is already broken though, seeing as it sits cold and mechanical in my chest, just like Katherine's heart and just like Elena's does now.

Wow, Elena Gilbert is a vampire. The idea is still foreign in my mind, making me twitch like a parasital brain–eating worm.

Were things better when she was a human? Elena being human meant that Stefan was still going to be my brother long after she was dead. So, hypothetically, being with Elena didn't really put a permanent halt to an eternity of brotherly bonding. Sure Stefan would probably annoy the shit out of me until the end of days, but at least we'd be together. Maybe the sentimental side of me was looking forward to that? Then again, was I ever really going to allow Elena to grow frail and die? Wouldn't I have stepped-in if Doctor Fell had (unintentionally) not? But, mercifully, I'll never have to make that call. Fate called it for her, for all of us.

Elena is no longer human, she is a vampire and it changes everything. Providing that we survive whatever this is, for the rest of existence I have to deal with Elena and Stefan as a package deal. I can only hope that the feelings I have for her will subside and lessen over time like my feelings for Katherine have, and logically, they should. There are other fish in the sea and no shortage of women who would love to ravage me. Maybe eternity won't be so bad? Maybe I don't have to be a loner? Maybe I can learn to accept the lovebirds and be glad for them? If I can do that then we can all be one big happy-sharp-toothed-family forever and ever and ever . . .

I think I just threw-up in my mouth.

It's the connection I share with Elena that's special, intense - that I haven't been able to find with anyone else. Granted I haven't exactly been open to finding love with anyone else as I've been so deadest on finding Katherine since 1864. I wasn't even looking for real love, Elena just snuck up and bit me - or rather I wish that I had snuck up and bitten her, but you get the point, pun intended. I digress.

I wasn't expecting to fall in love with Elena. But because I wasn't expecting to fall in love with her, maybe the same thing can happen for me again? Maybe I can fall in love with someone else? Providing that is even what I want. Or maybe I can be okay by just being me? The loner. The bad ass brother who enjoys casual sex with anyone, anytime and then cuts the strings. It's an easy existence.

But is that the problem? Do I want to exist or do I want to live? Live as sensually and emotionally full as I possibly can? Do I want more? And, if so, do I want more with a human, like Elena was, whose existence is fleeting and I don't have to worry about the long-term? A relationship with another vampire could potentially be . . . very, very long. What if I got bored? What if I didn't? I can't imagine someone not driving me crazy after a few decades, but maybe if this hypothetical female was the one - my soul mate or whatever crap - then I would relish every minuscule second that she did make me loony, thrive on it, exist for it . . . like I do right now with Ele-No. I don't know what I want if I can't have her. I know that I wanted Katherine for over a hundred years. I know that I want Elena right this second. Pursuing unattainable women nonstop for so many years must be psychologically unhealthy - like force-feeding my psyche fast-food. I think I need some psychological granola, a reprieve from women who prefer Stefan anyway.

The problem is that unhealthy shit is addictive. I don't have the resolve to just get away from her! I need to be around Elena, I survive off of the crumbs of attention she tosses my way. Any attention that she gives me, even negative attention, fuels me - excites me, spurs me on.

From the moment I laid eyes on Elena I knew that I was powerless. There was nothing that I could do to protect myself from her. I have been fighting a losing battle with my own heart. My heart waved the white flag before a threat was even set upon the table. No contest. K.O. I actually thought that I was holding my own until she kissed me at that scuzzy motel. She kissed me. Elena kissed me.

Her final human words haunt me worse than Rick's sarcastic smile.

Maybe if you and I had met first . . .

You and I did meet first, Elena.

I met her first and she now knows it. She remembers it and she is livid as all hell with me.

Is it even possible that Elena is angry because she has now run out of excuses not to acknowledge – not to embrace—what has been smoldering between us since that night I mistook her for Katherine on the road? Maybe it was an instant Cupid's Arrow for her too? Maybe her feelings have been there, subconsciously, this entire time and she's been fighting them and fighting them and fighting them so long that she hasn't even realized the white flag, the no contest, the K.O ? Not realized it until she woke up thirsting for blood, thirsting for me? Maybe she woke up frightened by the fact that she lusts for us both upon her lips - needs us both to sustain her - especially me?

Whoa, Damon, did you buy a one-way ticket to Fantasyville?

I don't get to answer my own weird question because Stuart and Darlene enter the room. Curse my inner monologue! I've spent all this time Elena-obsessing and not crafted a single escape-plan. I can envision the look of disappointment on Ghost Rick's face.

The blood-jackers appear over me, matching dart guns aimed at my chest. I am immediately struck by two things and, luckily, neither one is a dart. One: the Canadian girl smells delectable. Two: the ear wax strewn throughout Stuart's moustache smells absurdly foul. How can he stand to have it wafting right up his nostrils?

I suppress an earwax induced gag as I speak: "The guns are unnecessary, I'm strapped to the bed, thanks."

Darlene giggles in an adorable kanookish way. Despite her carefree laugh, her sight burns me like emerald lasers, assessing whether or not my restrains seem secure. "One can never be too careful," she admits. "Keep that in mind, I'll shoot if you move a finger."

Darlene didn't say anything about flapping my lips: "and here I always thought that Canadians were so sweet and polite."

"We are sweet and polite to living creatures."

"Touché. I like you."

Those emerald lasers flare with challenge as she says: "Oh, Damon, you and I are going to have such wicked fun together."

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Darlene the blood-jacker's idea of 'wicked fun' probably involves physical anguish on my part. Oh, she's a twisted 'lil Canadian chick, my favorite kind. I think it's best to continue playing my flirt card for now; it's possible she'll trade some info for allure. I've never needed to compel any female to want to please me - they innately desire to do so all on their own. Even in this god-awful gown I'm confident in one thing: no girl can resist me for long.

Well, except Elena.

Masking my weariness with polished charm, I toss Darlene the most confident grin in my harem of seductive smiles. "Dar? Can I call you Dar? Do elaborate upon these wicked plans of yours?"

My ego nods with approval: I hear Darlene's heart rate accelerate and detect the savory rush of blood to her cheeks. I loved making Elena's skin flush, I'll miss that human bit of her.

"Damon, you can call me anything you'd like so long as you behave like a good little vampire today."

"Little? Dar, if you'd draw your attention to-"

Stuart clears his throat obnoxiously loud, snatching my words: "Enough idle chit-chat, please, we have work to do."

Stuart and Stefan have more in common than the 'St' in their names. Both gents have impeccable cock-blockish timing. I am interrupted whenever I dare to enjoy a fragment of anything flirtatious and fun. Sure this is neither the time nor the place, blah-blah—BUT, from this day forth I will no longer associate with anyone whose name starts with 'St'. Of course, in the City of Cock Blockers Jeremy Gilbert is still the King - The Douche Champion of Bad Timing. Yeah, I'm still a touch sore over his interruption of Elena and my make-out session at the motel . . .

"Getting to the point, Damon," Stuart's voice yanks me from me my imaginary game of darts where Jeremy's face is the target. "As you know we are interested in your blood. However, before we can qualify you as a specimen donor your blood must be purified. This process is in your best interest. Many vampires suffer a reaction to our darts. We have run this process through dozens of times. You have nothing to worry about."

Stank 'stash Stuart's words do diddley-squat to elevate my concern – I convulsed and passed out, NOT NORMAL. "Okay, so what is happening to my body? What did you dart me with? Not Vervain or earwax, I take it?"

Darlene barely swallows her laughter as Stuart plays oblivious to my jab at his premo 'stash gel: "Many vampires are Vervain savvy these days. We've been forced to evolve our hunting tactics over the past several years. Incapacitating one of your kind is never easy or without risk."

Darlene seamlessly caries on Stuart's explanation: "In a nutshell, we use sunlight against you. Your Daylight ring only protects your outer flesh from incineration, not your internal workings, mainly your nervous system. We were able to isolate the total frequency spectrum of electromagnetic radiation given off by the Sun and store it inside of microscopic titanium beads. When the beads are injected, via dart, into the vampire's body the nervous system is shocked by intense ultra violet light. Usually the beads dissolve after several hours, but in some cases the residue lingers causing the nervous system to fail. Thus the seizure-like symptoms. But, as Stuart mentioned, we have a process to clear you of this reaction. We have to bleed you dry," Darlene pauses awkwardly, but recollects her words and continues with the zeal of someone reciting a grocery list: "Only by bleeding your body empty can we fully rid you of the UV beads. Damon, you will fry from the inside out if we don't. Unfortunately all of the blood we initially drain has to be scrapped as waste, we can't use it. After we've cleared the soiled blood from your system, you will be permitted to feed on a human to replenish . . . I will allow you to feed on me."

"Darlene has volunteered herself to refill you," Stuart pipes in again, solidifying that I was not mishearing. "Her blood will immediately replenish yours anew. Only then can we again drain you and collect your usable blood for processing."

Stuart and Co. are not some band of rinky-dinky-hickish jackers. Attacking us with internally with electromagnetic radiation is no small-town ploy. I compel myself a physics tutor once every decade to stay savvy on basic scientific advances (surprised, Rick?). I am no Einstein, but I've assimilated enough intel to know that Stefan, Elena and I are in deep UV shit. The only words I can utter right now are: "What the HELL?"

Stuart grins proudly, deciphering the meaning in my question like a Sesame Street what-sound-does-the-cow-make-quiz. "I am a nuclear physicist, Darlene is a geneticist. Our other cohorts are also scientists."

"I don't know if I should be impressed or very deeply disturbed. You four are this educated, and yet you blood-jack vampires for a living? You let us FEED off of you? Willingly?" I glance at Darlene; she smiles as though she's volunteered to give me a pedicure. I'm betting that's she's played vampire-snack-food before. "What makes you think that I won't kill you once I start to feed?"

Stuart apparently thinks that the question was directed at him, another Stefan similarity: "Because we'll euthanize your brother and his girlfriend if you don't stop. But, Damon, we really do not want to do that. We've gone through a lot of trouble to get you all here. We've been tracking you and your brother for months, just waiting for those Originals to leave town. Our UV darts probably won't work on them so we had to lay low. Elena turning was just icing on the bloody cake. We always abduct vampires with at least one other loved one to ensure cooperation – getting three that are emotionally linked is hitting the jackpot!"

"Congratulations."

Stuart pinches the curls of his moustache, it's very super-villain-esqu. "Thanks, now we must discuss one other detail before we begin bleeding the beads from you, Damon. The preliminary labs that we ran on the three of you showed great promise for the healing properties of your blood, but all three of you need to cut-it with this blood bag bullshit. Drinking animal blood or processed human blood from a plastic bag is ridiculous! It's unnatural – you were designed to puncture human flesh with your teeth. This artificial feeding robs you of vital nutrients and adrenaline - it dilutes the serums restorative properties. While you three are here as our donors you will ALL consume fresh, raw human blood directly from a willing volunteer. This is the most proven way to maximize the value of each drop we collect."

And here I gave these jackers an A+ on their Salvatore Brother's history. Let's trade the grade for an epic FAIL. If I had a blood pressure it would have blasted to Mars. "That is not a good idea," I don't sound calm, I'm not going to fake it. I shake against my restraints causing the bed to jolt forward - Stuart and Darlene prepare their trigger fingers but I refuse settle down. Bleeding us is one thing, destroying any chance Stefan and Elena have as sane, functional vampires is another! If the lovebirds bite flesh they won't walk out of here alive, and even if they do, they'll both be out-of-their minds with bloodlust.

"I can handle raw human feeding, I can control my hunger and sustain from killing my food. Elena and Stefan are a different matter entirely! Elena is a new vampire and she won't be able to stop herself from killing your volunteer. And my brother is a hardcore blood junky – he's finally just weaned himself off of the real stuff. If you force Stefan to drink it again . . . let's just say it's best to let sleeping blood-obsessed dragons lie, okay?"

Stuart lowers his dart gun just enough to show me that he's listening, spurting my words on: "Use me, drain my blood a hundred times if you want to, but leave Stefan and Elena out of this. It's for your sake as much as it is theirs. I am offering to be your very own personal blood factory. I won't complain, I won't fight. I'll just drink and bleed, but you have got to let Stefan and Elena go free."

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