A/N: Howdy my darlings! So, as promised, we have a few answers for you in this chapter! Are we excited? Because I am!

My dearest Trogdor19, thank you so much for beta'ing this and for going crazy with enthusiasm over my evil hushed plot developments that I kept from you and for giving me lots of hugs and love and support through my technical tribulations. Don't know what I'd do without you, girl!

Chapter 9: Buried in My Closet

I ring the doorbell and shove my hands in my pockets as I wait.

Saturday afternoon, and I need a whole lot of not-thinking-about-Elena time. If that's even possible at this point because after hanging out with her at the driving range, I can't get her off my mind. What she's doing this weekend, how bad her workday was yesterday, where she's going to magically appear next or if it's technically my turn now and—

Yeah, good job not thinking about her. Yay me.

"Jenna," I smile when she opens the front door.

"This was not my idea," she whispers and my eyes narrow.

"What wasn't your idea?" I ask suspiciously and take a step back from the door.

"You'll see," she softly sing-songs and grabs the front of my shirt, yanking me over the threshold. "Ric!" she calls out and my buddy saunters into the foyer from the living room, looking way too fucking happy about me coming over to drink his alcohol and to make fun of him until one of us passes out.

"Damon," he grins at me and I clench my fingers around my car keys in my pocket.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

Fight, because I'm not a bitch.

"You're right on time," he tells me and I look at Jenna.

"You let him do drugs?" I ask and she snorts. "And without me?"

She pinches my arm disapprovingly, and I roll my eyes.

"Does someone want to explain what the fuck is-"

"Hi," a sugary voice says from the solid 9.5 currently making her way into the foyer. With a body like that she'd be a 10, but she's blond.

Ric grins at me deviously with his back to her before he pivots, extending an arm out in an invitation for her to come closer. She eyes me appreciatively as she approaches, using every bit of those legs that go on forever because she's gotta be pushing 5'9. I smirk at her when she holds her hand out and I take it and cover it smoothly with my other, and like clockwork, she blushes before I let her go.

"Jules, this is Damon," Ric says eagerly.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Jules tells me with a smile that ignites a symphony of alarm bells in my head, and I hear Jenna clear her throat.

I hope for Jenna's sake that she's got a decent life insurance policy on Ric, because he's a fucking dead man.

"So, I finally get back to the warehouse, and in one hand I've got twenty rolls of foil, and in the other is the box of belt buckles, and there are bird feathers just everywhere!" Jules says and Ric bursts out laughing like it's the funniest shit he's ever heard. Good for him, because at least he'll die happy.

I chuckle politely and stand, grabbing my glass and the empty one in front of Jules. "More wine?" I ask and she beams at me.

"Thank you, Damon," she says breathily, practically licking my fucking name and I'm having it changed to Bart as soon as I get out of this house.

I escape into the kitchen, hearing the soft patter of Jenna's footsteps following behind me. I set down both empty wine glasses on the counter, opening a drawer and searching until I find what I'm looking for before I turn to Jenna, who is watching me with more than a little amusement.

"Help a guy out," I plead quietly and hand her the carving knife, the pointy end aimed directly at my chest.

"You're terrible," she smiles and puts the knife back in the drawer.

I groan and drop my forehead onto her shoulder. "You're so mean to me."

"I told you, this was all him," she whispers.

"Why?" I ask and straighten, crossing my arms over my chest, and she arches an eyebrow at me. "I told you, I'm not dating Elena," I hiss. "And even if I was, it's not his decision."

She laughs softly as she refills her own wine glass, then smiles sympathetically at me when I pout at her. She pats my cheek mockingly, then firmly grips my chin.

"Don't even think about it," she warns like she somehow knows I'm counting the seconds until she disappears back into the dining room so I can bolt out the front door. "I made too much food and I'll hear that car of yours, and so will Ric." She pushes my face away and takes a sip of her wine.

"So?"

"Damon," she growls at me and I roll my eyes. "If you are really nice to my friend," she tells me and I grunt, "then I'll make it up to you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I think Ric would be pissed," I smirk.

She ignores me and reaches down to open the cabinet under the sink, and when I check, she's got a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle down there. I go to grab it and she smacks my hand, closing the cabinet.

"Later," she tells me and spins on her heel, sauntering out of the kitchen.

Dammit, this is so fucking unfair. It's already been a life-draining two hours of Jenna's high school friend going on about her life as an assistant to some cracked out artist, her two pug dogs and her being a snotty brat about breeding them, how much she just loved going to some contemporary art festival and how she doesn't understand people that would rather spend their time at a bar than working on their chi and absorbing some culture.

That one I just couldn't help but snort at, and Ric kicked me under the table, but I don't think Jules even noticed because she was too busy picking at her food and asking Jenna if the peas were organic. Seriously? They grow in the goddamn ground, it's not like they were artificially manufactured out of cigarette butts just because they came out of the freezer section at the grocery store instead of being bought at a farmer's market.

I really am trying to be nice, but only because it's Jenna's friend and she's spent the entire afternoon shooting me apologetic looks because she knows that no matter how hot her friend is, and she's hot, that I wouldn't waste a single tequila shot on her if my balls depended on it. Not that Jules would drink it, because apparently tequila is for hookers and bums and Miss Fancy Pants prefers white wine. Maybe if I dumped her Chablis all over her she would stop touching my damn arm. But that's only going to earn me another kick under the table because Ric has seemingly decided that this is to be the future Mrs. Salvatore, and excuse me while I look for a chainsaw so I can destroy his recliner in a blaze of revenge.

That total and complete dick is currently running a close comparison to my mother, telling Jules what he thinks are charming and funny stories about me and she's eating them up and I want to die. I don't want her knowing about me winning some dumbass track meet when I was 16 or that yes, I can bake some badass stuff because my mom does, or how our boss is always trying to "promote me" into different departments. I don't want this woman to know my name.

I sigh and refill both mine and Jules' wine glasses, and the peach of the afternoon comes sauntering in. Joy.

"Oh, Damon, that's too much," Jules says with a fake laugh and picks up the fuller of the two glasses, which was mine, and leans against the counter beside me.

I fill up the other glass even more and take a deep pull, and she giggles.

"It's nice to see a man that enjoys wine, instead of guzzling beer like so many do."

I flash a tight smile, praying for the patience to keep my mouth shut so I can earn my bottle of bourbon from Jenna.

"So," she says and tosses her hair, blasting me with a choking amount of jasmine perfume and it makes my eyes water. "Ric says I should ask you about your car. He says it's the love of your life," she says in a husky way that I'm guessing is supposed to make me drool all over her designer shoes. Better luck next time.

"Pretty much," I tell her and take another drink. She arches an eyebrow and I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. "It's a '69 Charger."

"Huh," she says takes a sip. "You know, you should really get a SmartCar. They're so much better for the environment."

Fuck the bourbon and fuck Ric, and I'll apologize to Jenna later. She always forgives me eventually.

"Damon," Ric says as he comes into the kitchen. "Keeping Jules all to yourself?"

God, who is this guy?

"I don't mind," she tells him while batting her eyelashes at me.

"Damon!" Jenna calls out from the living room. "I need your help, I can't reach-"

"Be right there," I say a little too desperately, pretty much running the hell away.

T minus 6, 5, 4…

"I had a really nice time today," Jules smiles at me beside her SmartCar. The sight of which is making me want to build something big and useless with expensive power tools because good God that thing is a vagina on wheels.

I'm only out here because Ric and I almost got into a fist fight over his decision that I was going to walk her out to her car, all the long and dangerous way to the driveway, which I refused to do. I almost wish Jules would've heard the argument and gotten a clue about the fact that she and I are not happening, but unfortunately she's still oblivious to everything because Jenna, my favorite person in the world right now, was running interference by talking with her in the kitchen.

"I'm glad," I muster out and Jules looks like she's taking my forced smile as a declaration of my undying love for her. Yeah, okay.

"Maybe next time we can do dinner just the two of us…"

I wink at her because it's the only thing I can think to do that won't be a direct lie.

I am many things, but a liar isn't one of them. I don't tell a girl I'll call her when I won't, I don't make promises I have no intention of keeping and I don't swear that I'm not seeing other women when I am. I may be a prick and a man-slut, but I am an honest slut.

Jules hands me a business card and actually has the nerve to kiss my cheek, and I close her door gently and am heading back through Ric's front door before she's even out of the driveway.

I fling the business card away and make a beeline for my "buddy," and Jenna bounds up out of nowhere and plants herself directly in front of me.

"Calm down," she tells me seriously.

"No," I tell her then glare at Ric over her head as he starts strolling towards me. "What the hell was that?"

"What? Jules is nice," he tells me and gently moves Jenna to the side so she's not between us. "She's smart and accomplished and she's not ugly, Damon."

"Jenna, no offense, but I have no interest in seeing her ever again."

"No offense taken," she tells me, then turns to Ric. "I told you he wouldn't like her…"

I face Ric again. "And what makes you think I want you to set me up on some crap blind date? You could've warned me," I growl at him and he scoffs.

"You never would've showed."

"Yeah, because I don't want to date anyone!"

"Who wants dessert?" Jenna says lightly and we both ignore her.

"Bullshit," he snaps at me. "There's more to life then drunken bimbos, and you know it. Having a girlfriend is not a bad thing, and who knows? A miracle could happen and you may actually find someone that likes you for longer than twenty minutes at a time."

"Checkers, anyone?" Jenna tries. "We haven't played that in forever…"

"Look," I tell him seriously, "if you guys want to get married, then that's great. I'm all for it. I'll make the toast and catch the bouquet and whatever else you want…"

"Thanks, Damon," Jenna says softly.

"But if you think I want any of that shit for myself, you couldn't be more wrong. I like being single and I have no interest in seeing a woman for anything longer than it takes to get her undressed."

"Damon," Jenna scolds and I glance at her.

"You don't count."

"You know what your problem is?" Ric sneers, getting in my face.

"Oh please, Yoda, enlighten me."

"You're afraid of having any responsibility over someone that you care about, because of what happened to Devon!"

Jenna sucks in a breath that I barely register, because I'm too busy paying attention to my fist slamming into Ric's jaw.

I hiss at the crack of my knuckles against bone, and he stumbles back in shock.

Fuck, that hurt.

"Damon!" Jenna screams at me and I shake my hand out while she fusses over him, then I turn and head into the kitchen.

I hear him curse while I stand in front of the refrigerator, trying to steady my shaking muscles. I can't believe he just said that. I've known him for almost ten years and he knows better than anyone not to bring up Devon, and some shit you just don't say to people that you supposedly care about.

I take an unsteady breath as my eyes travel over the photographs Jenna has stuck up all over the place. And within the chaos that drives me nuts there are notes and To Do lists and other married-type stuff, but mostly it's just pictures of her and him: decked out in Ranger jerseys at a baseball game; sharing an inner tube as they floated down the Guadalupe River with massive sunburns and under the influence of one-too-many beers; proudly holding the "Sold" sign in the front yard, taken on the day they closed on this house.

There's only one of me and Ric because I'm always the one behind their camera, but Jenna's a sneaky little thing and nestled in with all the other photos is a shot of me and my buddy chilling on the back patio. We'd just finished unpacking the moving truck and decided to celebrate by drinking a beer, and it's the back of our heads as we faced the dead lawn in a couple of shitty beach chairs like a redneck version of a Corona commercial. But somehow she timed it perfectly to catch our fist bump, and our knuckles meeting between the armrests is the focus of the photo.

I shake my head as I open the freezer and grab two bags of frozen vegetables, resting one over the top of my hand and carrying one back to Ric. He avoids my eyes as he takes the bag and holds it against his face, and Jenna looks pissed.

"Did you break your hand?" she asks sharply and I shake my head. "And you?" she snaps at Ric, who mumbles that he's fine. "Well? What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

"You know you deserved that," I tell him and he nods once.

"I know."

"Keep going," Jenna tells us harshly and I blow out a breath.

"I appreciate what you're doing," I tell Ric and he rolls his eyes, "but in the future I would like to choose the women I date."

Jenna nods approvingly and then turns to Ric. "Your turn."

"Jenna was right, Jules was a bad idea," he admits and this time, I roll my eyes.

Because Jenna immediately softens and lasts a whopping two seconds before she wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes him.

Manipulative suckers, both of them.

"I don't know why you boys can't seem to recognize that I'm smarter than both of you combined," she tells us, her head resting on Ric's chest. "Neither of you ever, ever, listens to me…"

I smile and when she returns it, I tilt my head innocently. "Can I have my Van Winkle now?" I ask and she nods.

"You got him Pappy Van Winkle?" Ric asks jealously, and I sashay backwards into the kitchen while he glances back and forth between me and Jenna.

"Um, yeah! You set him up on a surprise blind date with Jules!"

I head into my mom's house and I'm instantly bombarded by 85 pounds of black and tan fur, a slobbering tongue and a tail about to wag itself right off.

"Hey, Rascal," I say and nudge my—well, now my mom's—German Shepherd back down so he has all four feet firmly on the floor instead of two clambering up my chest and shoulders because my boy is a hugger. I've had him since I was fifteen, but he needs space and exercise and a lot of attention, and I'm never home but she always is because she prefers to bake at the house and then just take it all up to the store. Except on Sundays, but I'm not sure what that's about.

"Baby, is that you?" my mom calls from the living room.

"Nope, it's an axe murderer. Run for your life!"

I push Rascal down again and stroll into the living room, finding her sitting on the couch with a blanket on her lap as she watches some old black and white movie. Some Saturday night party she's got going on. I lean over the back of the couch, resting my weight on my forearms, and she smiles up at me over her shoulder.

"You hungry?"

"Nope," I tell her. "Need a favor."

Her brows snap down. "What did you do now?"

"Nothing," I protest. "I just need to borrow some stuff." I swallow. "From my room."

"Oh," she says softly, then pats my arm. "Of course."

"Thanks," I grin and stand up, heading down the hallway.

I ignore the photographs lining the walls and take the familiar left into the master bedroom, making a beeline for the closet.

I hate this room.

I learned to crawl and walk in an apartment, but we moved out of there and into this house when I was ten. And she insisted that Devon and I share the master suite and she take the smaller single room because it's only a two-bedroom house and there were three of us. At the time. And I told her that she was welcome to switch rooms after I moved out, hell, I told her that after it happened, but she won't. I think she hates the room as much as I do because she's a total neat freak, but this room has a thick layer of dust covering it and I can tell she hasn't been in here in forever.

I open the closet door and sigh, leaning against the doorframe. She still hasn't moved his stuff to the attic or even the garage. And I get it, she feels like it's disrespectful to his memory, but I just can't stand to see it. For four years I lived in this room after he died, with half of the room silent and an empty bed pushed against the opposite wall that I would stare at for hours when I was supposed to be sleeping. I finally snapped and boxed up his clothes one day because every time I went to get dressed I was slammed with him, and she was devastated when I did it, but I couldn't take it anymore. It's bad enough I see his face every time I look in the damn mirror.

Honestly, I don't know how she does it, because not once has she ever looked at me and made me think she was seeing him instead. And I will never be able to explain to my mother what that means to me. But then again, she could always, always tell us apart. No one else could because there are identical twins, and then there was me and Devon, but no matter how often we tried to switch on her, she nailed us every single time. It's like she had some sort of sixth sense when it came to us. Makes me wonder if she has the parent version of phantom limb syndrome now.

I flick on the closet light and I'm instantly bombarded with his name peering down at me from the trophies and awards that are crowded next to mine on the top shelf. He was all academics because his asthma kept him sidelined while I was out running around in circles, but he didn't care because he loved school. I hated it.

I was restless, and it was boring because everything was too easy since I refused to take the advanced classes they kept trying to shove me into alongside him. They just seemed like a bunch of bullshit hassle and I only wanted to impress girls by mastering the perfect slam dunk because we were always the tallest in our class and I was the only one that could do it. But Devon was obsessed with foreign languages and theater and getting the perfect grade so he could try to graduate early, and he would've, too.

For him it was Dartmouth or bust, and that scared the shit out of me.

There was no way I was interested in going off to some Ivy League college in fucking New Hampshire. And it's not that we had to do the same thing, but we were practically each other's shadows and him moving thousands of miles away? Thanks, brother. Send me a postcard.

You can't just like…rip yourself in half. Or, I guess you can, but then shit gets jagged.

Like having issues playing golf with people that aren't him.

It's the one sport he and I could do together because for the most part it didn't mess with his asthma, and we played every chance we got. Hours and hours we would be out there, just the two of us walking the fairways under the sun where we were protected on either side by trees and we didn't have to deal with people not knowing which one of us was which. We were just free to be ourselves. Who we were individually, but also who we were together as a matched set.

And it was just a normal, kickass day when everything got fucked.

Fifth hole. It was the fifth hole when he stopped being able to breathe. I still don't know what set him off, he just…stopped. And what I really don't understand is how we didn't have a single inhaler between the two of us because he was always so careful, and I had a habit of carrying one on me just in case, but that morning we had been late getting out of the house and somehow, we both forgot.

He panicked when we realized that we had screwed up in a way we never had before, and it sent the attack spiraling out of control. It just…it happened so fast. We were five holes from the clubhouse and four from the turn, and we didn't have a cart because we always walked the course. So I ran.

I left him, because I had to. And I'll never really know how scared he was, but I felt it. I felt it in every single step that I sprinted to save my brother because it didn't matter how hard I pushed and that I reached the clubhouse in record time and screamed at them to call an ambulance, the cavalry of managers coming back with me to where he was collapsed and gasping on the ground, because when I finally got back and fell on the grass beside him, he grabbed my hand. He squeezed it and stared in my eyes with a panic I don't have a name for, and then he was just…gone.

I don't remember much after that. I was a fifteen-year-old kid and I had just watched my identical twin brother suffocate in open air. Shock doesn't begin to cover it. I'm sure they tried CPR and all that stuff, but it was done. It still is.

Nine years, and he's not coming back.

So I'm guessing Devon probably won't mind that I'm going to borrow his golf clubs.

I take them out from where they're buried in the back of the closet, looking them over quickly and they're exactly the same. I check through the pockets of the bag, half-terrified I'm going to find an inhaler I might have missed that day, but there isn't one. Just a couple of golf balls and some tees and his glove. His Dartmouth ball marker that he used for putting. I slide it into my pocket before I hook the bag over my shoulder, turning off the closet light and shutting the door. I don't look at the two empty beds and the matching desks when I walk out of the room, closing the door as quietly as possible.

"Did you find what you needed, baby?" my mom asks as I come into the living room, and I hate that I'm about to do this.

"Yep," I say and head straight for the front door, trying to conceal the bag as much as possible, but it's useless because when my hand lands on the doorknob I know she sees them anyways.

"Are those…" she gasps and I blow out a breath.

"Yeah," I say quietly, turning to face her and swallowing thickly. "Is that okay?"

She smiles at me from where she's sitting on the couch before slowly getting up and walking over to me. "Of course, Damon," she says and looks the bag over. "Haven't seen these in a long time."

"I know," I admit quietly. And I almost apologize, but I don't.

"I didn't know you still played," she smiles at me, head tilted curiously, and I wince. "That's a good thing, Damon. You boys always loved it so much. I think you both would've slept on that silly golf course if I would've let you."

I huff half a smile.

"You don't have to hide it from me," she says quietly and I roll my eyes.

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Damon," she scolds and I grit my teeth.

"Fine," I admit. "I'm hiding it."

"Why?"

"Because," I say quickly. "It's Devon and I don't want to talk about it and…"

"And you don't want to upset me," she tells me and I shift my weight. "Damon," she sighs, "he was my son and I miss him very much, but you are my son too and I care about what is going on in your life. And if you want to talk to me about playing golf, then I want to hear it."

"Great," I say sharply. "I'll tell you all about it, tomorrow."

Her shoulders sag and the corners of her mouth turn down, and I feel like such a prick. "Okay," she nods dejectedly, stretching up on her toes to hug me once before she turns and heads back to the living room.

I walk out the front door and throw the golf clubs in the backseat of my car, and I sit with my keys in my hand for a good three minutes.

Just sitting.

And thinking.

Debating.

I curse and get out of the car and head back inside, Mom's head whipping towards where I just blew through the front door. I walk around and plop down on the couch beside her.

"What are you watching?" I ask, squinting at the screen.

"Casablanca."

I reach over and steal the remote from her, turning off the TV.

"Damon!"

"You've seen it a thousand times, and I thought you wanted to know what I'm doing tomorrow?" I taunt and yeah, this is gonna be such a bad idea, but fuck it.

"If you want to tell me, I'd love to hear it," she says sweetly and I drop my head back onto the cushion.

"Fine. Let's go." I stand and snatch the blanket away from her, taking her hand and pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asks suspiciously.

"We're going to dinner because you need to get out of this damn house, and ten bucks says you've only eaten tuna fish and saltines all day and that is not food."

"Watch your language," she snaps in a reflex and I widen my eyes mockingly, then start steering her towards her bedroom. "Don't you have a date?"

"I do now unless you're turning me down," I tell her, nudging her into her room. "Purse. Go. Hungry."

She chuckles. "If there are two things that you are, my son, it is a born flirt and infinitely hungry."

"I'm a growing boy!" I tease and she shakes her head, slipping her purse over her shoulder and coming back out to meet me in the hallway.

"You are a lunchbox."

"'Cause you put food in it," I finish the joke and she laughs like she always does. "By the way, I'm driving," I say and steal her car keys out of her purse, and she tries to smack me on the shoulder but I dart down the hallway out of her reach.

"Like hell you are!"

"Language," I admonish, holding open the door that leads into the garage where her beat up old station wagon is waiting.

Rust creeping in at the edges, a cement dust pan for an engine and 0 to 20 in an hour.

Oh yeah, come to daddy.

A/N: So, who called it? I'll tell you who: Scarlett2112 NAILED Damon's backstory in a PM she sent me. Bravo to you girl, take a bow! As for Elena's backstory? Well, we'll just have to see when that comes a popping up, and how! *laughs wickedly* In the meantime, can't wait to hear your comments and responses, and stay tuned for LOTS of Delena interaction, seeing as how I totally robbed you of it this chapter. All in good time, my dears. :)

-Goldnox