It's where my demons hide

-Imagine Dragons

#

It was a tight squeeze getting into her apartment as something blocked the door. Bonnie pressed her weight against the door pushing it open, mould made the door stick. The dusty floorboards creaked as she finally hurtled inside nearly crashing into a chestnut wood grand piano.

"When did they deliver it?" she asked maneuvering her way around the decaying monstrosity.

"This morning" Kol smiled sitting in front of it, all pink cheeked dressed in a tattered wool sweater and smelling like nutmeg and peppermint mouthwash.

"What do you think?" he asked gesturing to the rotting piano and raking nervous fingers through his messy dirty blonde hair.

"It looks fantastic" she lied leaning over to kiss his warm ruddy cheek. He had the furnace switched on again and so his tanned face was warmer than usual.

"I'm just tuning it" he said smoothing his hands over the ragged ivory keys. Bonnie headed to their small makeshift kitchen to rummage their fridge for a can of cold beer. She pressed the icy metal can against her face listening to the hard pounding rain and Kol's expert fingers dancing over the squealing ivory keys.

"So, what was he like?" he called still playing the out of tune piano.

"Who?"

"Damon Salvatore"

"You mean the artist formerly known as Damon Salvatore. He goes by ass-shit now"

Diving into their warm bed, she wriggled out of her snug grey jeans and pulled her black Beatles vest over her head ruffling her damp hair.

"He looked like an ass and smelled like an ass" she huffed blowing a strand of hair from her face.

"Therefore rendering him an ass" Kol chuckled pushing his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, cunt is more like it" Bonnie shrugged wrapping a towel around her honeyed body and Kol cringed at the cutting phrase much to her delight.

"Did you miss me?"

She removed the sheet music book from the piano and sat down in front of him raising the hem of her dove grey towel. Slowly she opened her glossy brown thighs to him, steaming up his glasses.

"I missed you" his deep dimples creased his cheeks as his gaze travelled up her bare thighs lingering on her damp fingers.

Kol reached up to brush the hair from her forehead and she closed her eyes feeling his breath against her cheek. His fingers tangled in her hair as she threw her head back, fluttering eyelashes dusting the top of her cheeks. He held her hair in his hand, coiling the strands in his fingers and pulled her head up to kiss her mouth. His other hand cupped her ass sliding her down so she could seat on his lap and straddle him. He brushed her hair back over her left shoulder and lowered himself to nibble the side of her neck over her throbbing vein.

She wanted to feel Kol's weight on her, needed to feel his skin against her skin. It had been long.

"Not tonight' he moaned softly when Bonnie unzipped his bulging crotch.

"Are we ok?" she murmured against his neck not looking up at him.

"Yeah, it's just this…work…concert stuff"

Kol held her tightly, fingertips caressing her ridged spine. She held her breath combating the tingling desire that charged down her spine. His hands moved slowly from her back to her stiff shoulders, then slid up to her messy hair.

"I promise after all this…"

"I know" she heard the longing in her own gruff voice and swallowed hard fighting back whatever need was curling its way up her tight chest.

"I love you" he whispered kissing her wet eyelids.

"I love you"

#

Damon woke up at 3am drenched and tangled in his black sheets. The girl was still there in his bed like an insurmountable life source taking over his bed, his life. She was a fucking apocalypse. He woke her up, called her a taxi and gave her a fare which included what they called gratuity in New York.

"How about an autograph?" she smiled with that same wide mouth that had teased him like an expert only a few hours ago.

"Autograph?" he cleared his throat rolling his baby blue eyes.

"Didn't you used to be Damon Salvatore?"

He hated when they did that. Ignorant groupies were worse than persistent journalists.

"Yeah, used to be" he mocked winking at her.

"Call me, "she murmured pulling out a small brown bag from her small furry pink purse. Damon hesitated as she handed him the heroin. She'd caught him off guard with the bag; he hadn't figured her for a supplier because she didn't quite fit the stereotype of a drug dealer. Pushers did not have warm dipping mouths that did half the things her mouth had done to him. He had to stop pigeonholing people.

"It's a gift, "she persisted until he relented "I had a great time, "she breathed into his ear, her nails digging into his bare back as he held the elevator door for her.

There's no such thing as a free lunch, Damon thought watching the metallic doors close, the bag warm in his hand.

After she left with her cloud of lust his insomnia came again and he sat up in his bed watching as the shadows scaled his rum bleeding walls. Damon could still smell her fruity scent in the tangled sheets. There was a new smell now too, the one he was trying hard to ignore…to resist. It smelled like a strong chemical cleaner or the smell of burning plastic after an electric thunderstorm. He had missed that smell. He hated that smell. Heroin, his dragon.

He finally gave up on chasing sheep and avoided chasing the dragon by meandering around the apartment eventually finding himself in front of the bulky computer. He knew why he was there starring at the blue monitor. Damon had been thinking about her all night. He slowly typed the name on the search engine and waited for the site to open, Mainstay Magazine.