Chapter Ten: Bada Bing, Bada Bam
Damon Salvatore
Well... this was certainly a category-ten shitstorm.
Elena had a secret predatory stalker:
The designer-suited Douchebag696969.
The moment Elena was out of sight, Elijah straightened his jacket, and said, "Okay, we're going to make this quick," before turning his back to Damon, rapping his knuckles obnoxiously on the counter to get the barista's attention, and ordering a macchiato.
Damon had no choice but to step closer to listen to what this clown had to say. Given his hints, it seemed that Elijah had worked out that Damon was the stalker Elena had requested him to track down. But how? At the time cameras were installed outside Elena's apartment, Damon had worn that biker helmet from the moment he'd left his bedroom, to the moment he'd returned to his bedroom, stuck on Born to Be Wild, and danced around in the helmet for a little bit, feeling like a badass but probably not looking like one. What the hell did he have on him?
"There can only be one man in Elena's life," Elijah warned him, "and that man is me."
"That's funny, seeing as she doesn't want you," Damon replied.
Elijah's tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek; likely a calming method to control his temper, but really he just looked like he was trying to dislodge a sesame seed from between his teeth.
"If you don't want Elena to find out that you're stalking her, you'll leave and never contact her again," Elijah carried on calmly.
Damon leaned sideways against the counter, chuckling at the threat. He probably had scare tactics for every guy Elena tried to date. He has no evidence, don't fall for it. "Do you actually listen to yourself when you speak? I'd recommend loosening that tie a little – let some oxygen to your brain."
Elijah took his phone from his pocket, tapped into an app, rotated it to the side, and held it out for Damon to view the video footage of himself...
... carrying roses... and takeout...
... inside... Elena's... apartment.
Not outside.
Inside.
Losing his cool, Damon grabbed hold of Elijah by the lapels of his suit, growling, "Tell me Elena knows about that camera!"
Elijah simply smirked and looked slowly down at Damon's hands, pleased to have finally rattled him.
"Want me to call the cops?" the young barista asked flatly behind the counter, indifferent to the response, like a sudden brawl in the Cozy Cuddles Café would be the highlight of his week.
"No, boy," Elijah said patronizingly, raising his hands and pulling Damon's off him in a tight, twisting grip. "The suit is wrinkle-free, I'll be fine. Why don't you focus on bringing me my coffee sometime today?"
The last of the barista's customer service demeanor dropped, and he gave a slight head tilt to Damon, like Go ahead and punch him – I'll be looking the other way, making this dickhead's macchiato.
"So, you see," Elijah continued slowly, addressing Damon, "I have all the evidence I need."
If that was supposed to be some kind of bluff, it was a poor one. "Go ahead," Damon insisted. "Show her. Once we're both done beating the crap out of you, I'll let her beat the crap out of me. It'll be worth it."
Elijah's coffee finally arrived. He took a long, indulgent sip of it, taking his time, savoring every second of Damon's unease. Setting the mug back down, he smoothly declared, "I don't have to show her. I have a feeling you're the kind of man who won't be able to hold this in. As soon as you spill the beans about the hidden cameras –" he let the word hang for a moment before adding with a flash of malice, "that's right, cameras, plural – I'll feign ignorance. Then she'll discover the cameras, believe you put them there – after all, you were the only one who knew about them – and you'll get locked up when you could have just simply..." Elijah wiggled his index and middle finger in the air, as though they were tiny legs toddling toward the exit. "... walked away."
Hearing footsteps behind him, Elijah quickly put his phone away and took hold of his coffee again. "Let's test how high your morals are," he whispered to Damon.
Elena stopped next to Elijah, only for Damon to take her by the arm, and pull her gently in next to him. She looked between the both of them. "Are you friends yet?" she asked hopefully.
"Oh... the best," Elijah smirked into his cup, finishing the drink.
Taking hold of Elena's waist, Damon turned her in his direction. He had to find those cameras and get them out of her apartment. He could deal with Elijerk later. Relaxing his voice into a charming tone, he smiled sweetly at her and suggested, "What would you say to us heading back to your apartment, watching a movie of your choice, and I'll pick us up takeout for lunch?"
Elijah stepped to the side, hovering behind Elena's shoulder, and said knowingly, "She likes seafood."
Damon's eyes went to him, trying not to snarl at Elijah's hint-filled taunt.
Her eyes flicked up and down Damon coyly, and Elena beamed from ear to ear, considering his proposal. "I think that sounds like a wonderful afternoon," she eventually agreed. "But what about the video footage? Shouldn't we wait for the image showing the stalker's identity?"
"Oh, Elijah knows his way around a computer, I'm sure he could email it to you himself." Damon stressed the last word with a satisfied jab. "He's good with technology – like installing secret cameras. I bet he could install some so small you wouldn't even notice them – after all, he's probably used to handling tiny hardware." Damon shot the phallic joke smugly over her shoulder at Elijah, who appeared unimpressed. Still addressing Elena, he then added, "You said he works in IT, right?"
While Elena confirmed that he did, Elijah kept his piercing gaze locked on Damon, his head moving in a smooth, calculated shake of denial, his lips quirking into a sinister smirk. Then he boastfully mouthed three syllables, steadily and meticulously, so there could be no misinterpretation: Ma-fi-a.
Seriously?!
Come on, that asshole did not just claim to be in the mafia! Did he think he was the main character of one of Elena's books, or was he just failing at being intimidating? Err, okay, Elijah696969, sure, you're in the mafia... along with Don696969 and Tony696969. There's probably a mafia group chat too, called the Bada Bing Bozos. What. An. Absolute. Prick!
While Elena continued to speak to Damon, going into detail about Elijah's line of work, Elijah took out his phone, scrolled around for a second, then held the screen up behind Elena's head, just within Damon's vision.
Damon's eyes widened in fury, and his top lip curled.
On the screen was a zoomed-in shot of Elena, taken with Elijah's hidden camera. She was in her living room, bending over to pick something off the floor, wearing nothing but a white camisole and pink panties.
Breathing heavily, Damon's fists clenched. He couldn't let Elijah goad him into his trap. He could get those cameras out of her apartment today and link them back to the real perpetrator who put them there. Elena would never believe him if he blurted it out now – accusing her so-called friend – without the evidence in his hand.
But, to anger Damon further, Elijah kissed the edge of his phone, like that was his prize-winning shot... and he'd had a lot of fun with it.
Then. Damon. Lost. It.
Elijah barely had time to register Damon's sudden movement, instinctively backing up against the coffee counter, while fumbling to shove his phone into his pocket. Sweeping around Elena, Damon drew his fist back and delivered a solid blow to Elijah's face. The impact snapped Elijah's head to the side, the momentum first carrying him along the edge of the counter, then downwards, his back sliding against the polished wood as he crumpled to the floor. The phone he had been desperate to hide clattered to the ground beside him.
Elena's hands flew to her face in horror. "Damon!"
The barista grinned.
After the initial shock subsided, Elijah remained splayed out with his shoulder tilted uncomfortably against the bottom of the counter, his eyes suddenly glinting with mischief. With an exaggerated howl of pain, Elijah pressed the back of his hand to his bleeding nose, rubbing excessively to cover his hand in blood, which he then presented up to Elena with a hammy performance, like he was starring in some damn Shakespearean tragedy.
"Elena, my dear!" began his theatrical monologue. "I don't understand! I've done nothing to deserve this! I thought we were getting along, but he's obviously nothing but a jealous sociopath –"
Damon's eyes formed a dramatic arc. Oh, enough of this shit! Kneeling down over Elijah, he snarled. "C-minus, you overactopus! Now get up!"
Suddenly, hands grabbed the back of Damon's jacket.
"Get off of him!" Elena shouted, pulling him to his feet, and forcing him to spin around to face her. She waved her arms widely, shrieking, "What the hell was that?!"
Before Damon could answer, Elijah chimed in, his voice now at an obnoxiously high pitch that grated on Damon's nerves. He couldn't wait to reveal this phony bastard for what he really was. But now, with his temper having slipped out of control, how was he supposed to pull it off? Please, Elena, let me into your apartment – I only punch people for apparently no reason.
"Elena," Elijah whined, attempting to stand by sliding up the edge of the counter, only to bump his head on the worktop lip, and slide back down to the floor again. "Who is this man? Why is he with you? He's insane – look what he's done to me! I think I should go to the hospital. My nose might be broken... my tooth might be broken..."
Damon spun his head, hissing down at him. "I'll break your jaw too if you don't shut up!" This was a nightmare! He needed to damn well think, and he couldn't do that with Buster Keaton flailing around in the background.
Rushing between Damon and Elijah, Elena shouted, "Stop, Damon! You need to leave!"
Damon grasped at his temples with his hand, rubbing firmly. He had completely screwed this up. "Elena, please, I can explain –"
"There's nothing to explain. Elijah's right: he did nothing to deserve that. Now leave!" Elena's voice trembled with a mix of anger and disbelief as she stormed toward Damon, her palms outstretched. With a forceful shove, she pushed against his chest, urging him to go.
Damon stumbled slightly, his breath hitching in a sharp inhale before it turned into a low groan. "Elena –" he started.
Elena froze. "What was that?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
"What was what?"
Elena's brows knit together, and she shoved him again, this time harder. As much as he tried to hide it, the impact forced him to visibly flinch with evident pain.
A cloud of realization suddenly descended on Elena, and, with wide eyes, she grabbed at Damon's shirt, pulling forcefully at the buttons, tugging them open one by one.
"You couldn't wait until we were out of here?" he joked. But he knew it wouldn't lighten the mood. He'd already figured out what she was searching for: the bruises he'd stupidly mentioned earlier.
She stood back, her lips tight, her expression a mixture of anger and betrayal, as she observed the lightly-purpled handiwork she'd dotted over his chest the night before.
After a moment of her standing there, staring at his chest, looking like the calm before a storm, a pot silently ready to boil over, Damon's mouth opened, his voice quiet and low. "Elen –"
Snapping back into the present, Elena charged past him without giving him a second glance, though Damon still caught the tears forming in her eyes. She headed back to their table, grabbed her laptop, shoved it fiercely into her bag, and stomped out the door.
Getting to his feet, Elijah leaned back against the counter and grabbed a napkin to place against his bloody nose. The fold of white tissue draped over his chin didn't conceal his wide grin. "Well," he declared in satisfaction, "that went better than planned."
With a final glare at Elijah, Damon followed Elena out of the exit. Beating the crap out of Elijah again wasn't going to achieve anything. Elena was his priority now and, if he drove fast enough, he could catch up with her before she reached her apartment. She could call the police... she could beat the shit out of him... but he was still finding those damn cameras and ripping them out of there – even if Elena refused to believe he wasn't the one who put them there in the first place.
Making his way to his car, he saw Elena had already left. Maybe she wouldn't read another message from him... or maybe she would. He opened up his phone and went to her profile.
He sighed. She'd blocked him already.
He got into his car and started the engine. He'd have to set up a new username. One that accurately reflected the new position he was in now.
User2154257211184.
Bodyguard.
That was where they were at – whether she liked it or not.
Of course, she might be okay with it... if she was willing to listen to him...
And if she happened to know the passcode to Elijah's phone that Damon had stolen from the floor in the scuffle.
But – he swore on all things holy – if it had the number 69 in it, that's how many times Damon's fists were going to pound down on him the next time they met.