Chapter Twelve: Damon Salvatore
Three and a half years ago
Mystic Falls, VA
New Year's Day, 12:05am
Damon pulled the burlap sack from Phoenix's head, continuing to hear fireworks in the distance. "Of all people I didn't want to see in the New Year with, it's you."
Phoenix shook his ruffled hair back into place. "Was the sack really necessary? It smelled like potatoes in there," he complained.
"That's because it's a potato sack, moron," Damon shot back. "Yes, it was necessary, you think I can concentrate on driving with you leering at my neck all the way here?"
Despite Damon having explained what he was going through in the car, Phoenix had yet to be convinced. Of course he'd rather be a vampire than die, but this wasn't what this was. This was... he didn't know what this was. He lifted up his bound wrists. "Why do you own three pairs of handcuffs?"
Damon pointed to each of the two heavy-duty cuffs around his wrists. "Vampires. Vampires." He stopped at the flimsy, fluffy pair. "That one's none of your business."
Phoenix sniffed, his nose still irritated from the fabric of the sack, and looked around, taking in his surroundings. For the most part, it seemed like any other regular neighbourhood basement. Except for the weapons. There were a lot of weapons. Stakes, crossbows, knives, axes, guns, and bullets lined up in ammo holders, all gracing the walls. Phoenix tested the ropes that were securing him around the chest to the chair. He felt stronger now than he used to feel, he was sure he could break out of them if he tried. Then he watched Damon take a wooden stake from off the wall. Something told him he shouldn't try. "Your basement looks like a torture chamber."
"Oh, it can be," Damon confirmed, heading towards some large cardboard boxes. He placed the stake under his arm, opened a box and removed a worn stuffed dolphin and a photograph. He strolled back, smiling down at the toy, then held it out to show Phoenix. "I had to win this for Stefanie when she was four years old. She had stubbornly insisted on going on this fairground ride on her own, and it looked like the slowest ride ever, so I let her."
"She cried because it was too fast?"
"No, don't interrupt," Damon snapped. "So anyway, she was in this little blue teacup with two other boys, a year or two older, when the one next to her started pushing her and pulling her hair. There I waited, ready to give this little brat an earful the moment he got off the ride. Then the little plastic door opens and out he's about to step, when Stefanie taps him on the shoulder. He turns around and she punches him square in the face." Damon clasped the dolphin to his chest, sighing in reminiscence. "I was so proud. But of course, being only four, I hadn't taught her how to properly punch yet." He held up his fist, his thumb tucked underneath his fingers. "She hurt her thumb, started crying and didn't stop until I'd won her this dolphin."
Unsure if Damon was about to make a point, or if he'd missed it, Phoenix just nodded appreciatively. "Cute story."
"Stefanie loved dolphins as a kid. She's got this fear of drowning, you see. Wouldn't go near a pool of water until she was seven, not even a bathtub." Damon turned and placed the dolphin back in the box, still keeping hold of the photograph. "That little stuffed dolphin couldn't go in the water either, but it wanted to – at least I assume so, it's a dolphin, right? Sometimes we want to do things but we can't, and sometimes we want to do things but we're scared. Stef didn't want to be scared anymore. That toy taught her to be brave; taught her to keep fighting; taught her to feel invincible." Damon's expression turned vicious as he charged up to Phoenix, yanking him by the hair and glaring into his face. "And you nearly took that away from her."
Phoenix slammed his eyes shut, wincing in pain as Damon's grip became tighter. "I'm sorry!"
Damon commanded Phoenix to open his eyes, shoving the photo towards his face. It was a photo of Stef when she was seven, her lighter hair tied above her head, wearing a dolphin-patterned swimsuit, beaming proudly at the camera with two thumbs up, while standing in a play pool of water that came up to her chest. "This is my baby girl! Don't you ever, ever, put my baby girl in danger again, you got that?"
Phoenix shook his head vigorously. "Never."
Studying Phoenix's face, confirming he was taking the threat seriously, Damon was finally satisfied enough to release him. He glanced at the photo once more, reminding himself of what he nearly lost, then carefully returned it to the box. He'd killed people for less than Phoenix had done tonight. Did Phoenix even have any redeeming qualities? What was it his daughter liked about him so much? Perhaps Damon would have understood if he were a charity case, but Phoenix was pretty popular, as far as class-clown sycophants could be popular anyway. Stefanie was just so much like her mother: always seeing the best in others. Who was Damon to decide who was worth forgiveness? There were plenty of times in his own life when Elena stood by him when he didn't deserve it. Perhaps he shouldn't judge Stefanie for doing the same for Phoenix. But that's not to say he had to like it.
Damon brought forth the cooler he had stored the blood bags in. He knew he had to offer them to Phoenix – there was no doubt about that – but if he was going to let Phoenix around his daughter, Damon had to test him first. He dropped the cooler a few feet away, rested the stake on top of it, and went over to the wall, selecting a knife that he then sliced into his palm.
"What are you doing?!" Phoenix cried, pushing against his restraints, his teeth already sharpening at the smell.
Damon didn't flinch at Phoenix's sudden burst of hostility, casually strolling up to him, flicking the blood from his palm towards him. "This is a lot fresher than what's in that container over there. Much more appetizing, isn't it?" Holding his palm closer, Phoenix drew his chin into his neck, realizing it was a test. "I guess you believe me now." Damon took out some keys from his pocket, crouched down in front of him and unlocked the first set of handcuffs.
"Don't," Phoenix protested weakly, shaking his lowered head, feeling like he might sob at the lack of control he anticipated.
"Better me than her, Phoenix," Damon said, pulling the first handcuffs off his wrist. He gestured to the fluffy ones. "I'd better do these ones next, don't want you breaking them. They're kind of sentimental to me, and you're looking pretty hungry right now."
"I wouldn't hurt Stef," Phoenix insisted, unsure himself if he meant it, the hunger now tearing him apart.
"You want me to trust you around my daughter?" Damon asked, two handcuffs now released. "Then I need to trust you around me." He unlocked the third pair, removed them, and stood, taking a few steps back. "I imagine I'm a lot more tempting to kill."
Phoenix remained with his head down, breathing heavily through his mouth.
"You need me to untie you too?" Damon questioned doubtfully.
"No!" Phoenix took a few breaths, deciding that he did need this; deciding that he could do this. He yanked at the rope so forcefully that it slackened and he was easily able to slip it off over his head. He remained sitting, breathing deeply, and then stood. As soon as he raised his head, he forced his eyes to focus on the container. He would not look at Damon. He would not focus on the blood dripping from his hand. He was going to pass Damon and get to the blood bags.
Except, the moment he stepped towards them, Damon side-stepped, blocking his path.
He did the same in the opposite direction.
"I don't want to hurt you!" Phoenix yelled.
"Well, that's not true, is it?"
"You don't know what this is like!" Phoenix's tone ended with a whimper.
Damon grabbed Phoenix by the front of his t-shirt. "You listen to me, I know precisely what this is like! You know when I first went through this? 1864 it started. Over a hundred and fifty years of being a vampire, feeling exactly like you do. You want to do this alone? Fine with me, I'll hand you a blood bag right now. But you will disappear and you will never see Stefanie again."
Phoenix paced the room, his fists clenched. Stef was his best friend. This was his life. He was not about to give that up. He was not going to just disappear, alone and out of control. Stef knew about vampires. She understood. The only person who could help him through this. His only confidant. He stopped pacing. "What do I have to do?"
Damon looked at his watch. "One hour. One hour of resisting the blood and I'll trust you around Stef. You can be provided with blood bags, courtesy of Mrs Salvatore, and you can carry on with your so-called life as it was."
Phoenix's eyes flicked towards the cooler. "One hour?" He could do this. In one hour he would have the blood and still have his life. Nothing would change. Except his diet, obviously. But one hour. Just one hour. He could do this. He had to do this. He had to believe he could do this. He could feel the pain subsiding just thinking about it, the strength inside him growing. Yes, one hour. It might even be easy.
Except it wasn't easy.
Almost an hour later, Phoenix was sat down, his legs trembling, his eyes pinched together, being forced to hold an open blood bag, while Damon quietly sung along with the Taylor Swift lyrics to Bad Blood while playing Hangman on Phoenix's cheeks, of course using blood.
"Five letters," Damon said.
"Blood! The word is 'blood'! It's been 'blood' the past five fucking games!" Phoenix screamed, digging his fingernails into his palm.
"Correct!" Damon confirmed, tipping out more blood from the blood bag onto his fingers in order to write out the word. "I sure hope you don't swear this much in front of my daughter, Phoenix, else I might have to rethink our bargain."
"How much longer left?"
Damon held a finger up, quietening him while he scrolled through his cell phone.
"Are you checking the time or your playlist?"
"Can you believe there are playlists that are entirely dedicated to songs that contain the word 'blood'?"
"How much longer?!"
Damon tucked his phone back into his pocket, then looked at Phoenix. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed that he had passed his test. Damon indicated towards the blood bag Phoenix was holding. "Drink," he said, while he went to get another from out of the cooler.
Phoenix had finished the first bag as soon as he was being passed the second. There was no feeling like it. It was incredible. There was a rush of pleasure and he felt alleviated, satiated, powerful and invincible all at once. He swiftly took the next bag and finished it.
"Phoenix," Damon started, his tone serious, "you're a vampire now. You protect my baby girl, okay?"
Phoenix nodded, dropping the empty blood bag to the floor. "I will."
Damon half turned, before deciding he had something to add. "Oh, and one last thing..." he said, strolling behind his chair.
As soon as Phoenix tried to look over his shoulder to follow him, Damon wrapped his hands around his head and snapped his neck.
"I promised myself I would do that."
