I sat at the bar with Damon, us eating burgers and fries.
“Okay let’s just say that me and my sister are descendants from Katherine. Does that make us part vampire?” I ask, looking at Damon.
“Vampires can’t procreate.” He says chewing, his gaze landing on mine.
“But we love to try.” He says smirking.
“Hush.” I say pushing him with my shoulder.
Smiling, he shakes his head.
“No, if you were related it means Katherine had a child before she was turned.”
“Elena thinks Stephan is using her to replace Katherine.”
“That’s kinda creepy if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but I get it.” I say eating my fries.
“Get what?”
“He gets a chance to see someone he loves again. Even if it’s not the same person. That’s why you hang out with me right? I got the same curls Katherine had. I look more like her.” I say looking at him.
I watch him wrinkle his brow and shake his head.
“No, you may look like her, but you don’t act or smell like her. You’re a different person.” He says eating another fry.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask watching him eat.
He nods, him chewing.
“How can you eat, if you are… ya know?”
“Dead?” He whispers looking around.
“It’s not such a bad word.”
“I was gonna say vampire.”
“Right.” He says chuckling.
“As long as I keep a healthy diet of blood in my system my body functions pretty normally.” He says eating another fry. His nose wrinkles up as he does it.
I can’t help but smile at how cute that looked.
“Elena keeps telling me this nice act is going to end soon.“
“I thought we agreed to not listen to the evil big sister?” He says making me giggle by his new nickname for her.
“Yeah I guess you’re right.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Here ya go hun.” Bree says coming up to us handing Damon a beer.
“I’ll have one too.” I say.
“What?” Damon says, looking at me.
“I didn’t peg you for a beer type of girl.”
“I didn’t peg you for the nice guy, we are getting me drunk and happy remember?” I ask looking up at him.
“There ya go.” Bree says handing me one.
“Thank you.” I say, taking it from her.
Damon holds out his own bottle towards me. I clank mine against his and take a drink wrinkling my face up at the bitter taste. I earn a laugh but ignore it.
I don’t know whose idea it was but after a while someone suggested taking shots. Correction: who could take shots the fastest.
“Ready?” Bree asks. Her, Damon and I are all having a shot. Along with a couple of other people in the bar joining in on our game.
“Go.” Bree says all of picking up the shot.
I down mine first doing a little wiggle as the warm liquid runs down my throat.
“That’s three.” I say holding three fingers up to Damon.
“Well I’m sorry I can’t unhinge my jaw like a snake to consume alcohol.” He says, wiping his chin off.
“Funny.” I say sticking my tongue out at him.
“Alright, who’s next?” I ask looking around the bar.
“Another round Bree?”
“Honey, you should be on the floor.” The blonde lady next to me says.
“I’m not even drunk.” I say knowing my high tolerance was from months of drinking after my parents died.
“Alright here we go.” Bree says pouring us another round and walking over to serve the man who just walked in.
After a few more shots I asked Damon to go play pool with me, declining him needing to talk to Bree about something.
“You suck.” I say jumping from the bar stool.
“You know it.” He says winking at me.
“Eww.” I say wrinkling my nose up remembering the time he fed from me.
I walk over to the pool table and start to play when my phone starts to ring.
I grab it and answer it wishing I hastened when it’s Elena.
“Where are you?” She asks, sounding angry.
“Wait a second, it’s really loud in here.” I say heading for the door.
“Jenna is worried about you and I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” She says, making me sigh.
I step out the door just to trip, making me fall and drop my phone.
I hiss in pain rubbing my shin as I pick up my phone.
“Hello?” I ask standing back up.
“Octavia where-.”
I jump when someone wraps their arms around me from behind covering my mouth, making me drop my phone. I try to fight and scream, the person dragging me with them. I bite their hand making the man yell and hit me in the back of the head everything going black.
I wake up tied to a large oil drum. No one in sight. I start to scream but stop when a man appears in front of me in a link. He is definitely a vampire.
“Don’t scream. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you as bait. I’ll let you go as soon as I get what I want.” He says gently.
“What do you want?” I ask him, only earning a smirk.
“You’ll see.” He says diapering again.
Only moments pass before I hear footsteps. Damon coming around the corner of a building.
“Damon.” I cry out making him look up at me.
He doesn’t get a chance to respond to the male vampire coming from nowhere and hitting Damon’s legs with a piece of wood, and starts hitting him over and over.
I try to wiggle from my ties realizing that I was barely tied down. I get free just as the man grabs a can of gas and starts pouring it on Damon.
“Stop!” I yelled running towards them having no idea what I could do to help but I was going to try.
The man turns towards me flashing his fangs, his eyes bloodshot daring me to come closer. It makes me stop in my tracks.
“Who are you?” Damon asks the man sounding out of breath from the man hitting him in the stomach.
“That’s perfect you have no idea.”
“What are you talking about? What did he do?” I ask, earning the man’s attention.
“He killed my girlfriend.” He says, glaring at Damon.
“What did she do to you? What did she do huh!” He yells clearly upset.
“Nothing.” Damon says through labored breath.
“Wait, are we talking about Lexi?” Ask the man looking at me.
“Exactly. She went to visit Stephan and Damon killed her.” He says kicking Damon in the face.
“My sister said you were human. She turned you?” I ask, making him look at me.
“If you want to love someone forever, you have to live forever.” He says pulling matches from his pocket.
“She loved you!” I call out trying to stop him.
“I talked to Lexi. She was an amazing kind person, she wouldn’t want you to do this. If you love someone you don’t walk away from them.”
“Well lucky for you you won’t have to make that choice.” He says, glaring at me and turning back to Damon.
“Don’t! Please don’t hurt him.” I beg, shocked when my voice cracks.
“I’m doing you a favor.” He says lighting a match.
“Please.” I say, him looking back at me. I feel a single tear run down my cheek.
He doesn’t say anything, only turns to pick up Damon by his shirt. He throws him into the building making slam into the ground. I can hear him groan from where I stand telling me he’s still alive.
“Thank you.” I say, the man looking at me.
“It wasn’t for you.” He says, through his clenched jaw. Him taking off after that.
I quickly ran over to Damon bending down to help him up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, helping him stand.
“Not really.” He groans out.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.” I say, him looking down at me.
“What?” I ask, him giving me a weird look.
He opens his mouth as if he is going to say something then shakes his head.
“Nothing. Let’s go to the car.” He says, walking.
By the time we reach the car he is walking on his own.
“Stay, here I’m going to tell Bree we are leaving.” He says zooming off.
I throw my hands up in the air at him walking off.
“It’s not like I was almost kidnapped or anything.” I mumble, getting into the car and shutting the door.
I only sat there for a moment or two, Damon coming back out.
“Everything okay?” I ask when he gets in the car, looking almost mad.
“Everything’s fine. Now let’s head home.” He says starting the car and heading towards the road.
“So why did you bring me with you?” I ask after a while of us driving.
“You’re not the worst company in the world Octavia.” He says smiling at me.
“No really? Why? I didn’t help you do anything.”
“Well, you were laying there in the road all damsel in distress like and I knew it would piss off your sister which would piss off Stephan. Plus you’re not the worst company in the word Octavia.”
“Everyone tells me I used to be more fun.”
“You did okay.”
“I did save your life.” I say smiling at him.
“I know.” He says lowering his brow.
“And don’t you forget it.” I say grinning.
“I’m sure you won’t let me.”
“You got that right.” I say, the both of us laughing.
Laying my head back on the seat I sigh, a smile on my face. Despite everything that happened I was happy.
You woke in a daze. The ever-shifting lights and blurred shapes in your vision swam together in a nauseating pattern and you groaned. Your cheek pressed into something soft under your head as your senses returned, the ache of unconsciousness subsiding slowly.
You were in a bed- a large one, adorned with thick, lush blankets and pillows covered in satin. It was familiar, though it was the first time you’d found yourself in the bed, and as you slowly pulled yourself up, you came to realize where you were.
Damon’s room was large, with an expanse of empty space between you and the door. Though it was dark, you could see light spilling from the bathroom, and the patter of water from the running shower.
Pushing the blankets down to your waist, you frowned at the feeling of silk sliding against your chest. Your clothes were someone else’s, a stark contrast to the thin cotton shirts and leather of your jacket you had spent the past few decades wearing.
Somewhere downstairs, voices floated toward the bedroom, and you strained to hear them. They were familiar, some of them overlapping in their argument, but the words were blurred by their hushed tones.
Light spilled across the dark wooden floor and onto the foot of the bed as the bathroom door pushed open. Steam rolled out, warming the otherwise cold room as Damon stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. His lips tugged into a smirk as he padded across the floor, leaving a trail of damp footsteps on the floor.
“And here I thought I was going to have to kiss you.” He stopped at the foot of the bed, the glow from the bathroom illuminating the water dripping over his muscles. “You know, to wake you up.”
“I’m hardly a princess,” you scoffed, leaning back into the pile of pillows behind you. Damon let his breath out through his nose, resting his hands on his hips. “What happened?”
“Kol’s dead,” he said, pulling the towel off his waist. You rolled your eyes, looking away as he toweled off his chest and arms. “Jeremy staked him after you went all kamikaze. Klaus is trapped in Elena’s living room, and Caroline found you some cute Hello Kitty pajamas and helped get all the vervain away from your skin.”
“Peachy,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “You wanna put some clothes on?”
“Not particularly.” Damon crossed to his dresser, tugging the top drawer open. “Living room’s full, by the way. Shane’s taking us to the cure in the morning, so we’re having a little sleepover. Pretty sure there’s a game of spin the bottle going on, if you’re interested.”
Leaning your head back, your eyes traced the shadows along the bedroom wall as Damon pulled on a pair of pants. “Not even a little,” you said, sighing. “Tomorrow? That soon?”
“Klaus’s time in living room jail is limited,” he said, tossing the towel on the floor. Coming toward you, he ran his hand through his wet hair. The bed creaked as he sat beside you, feet hanging over the edge of the bed as he turned toward you. “How you feelin’?”
Your brows tugged together and you shook your head, frowning. “I’m fine now. The vervain water…”
“He could have killed you,” he said. Damon reached toward you, his fingertips dancing over your cheek as he turned your face towards him. Your eyes remained on the wall until it slipped out of your peripherals, and there was nothing left to look at but Damon’s face. The light from the bathroom illuminated one side of it, his eyes shining brightly in the darkness of the bedroom. “You scared me.”
“Damon,” you sighed, reaching up to brush his hand off your cheek. His hand was cold, his fingertips calloused, but there was a familiar sense of warmth in your chest as his eyes scanned over you, as though checking for signs that you were still injured. “I had it handled.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed, dropping his hand in his lap. “That’s why I had to drag you out of the street and keep you away from Klaus.”
“So he knows the truth now.” You pulled your legs toward you, crossing them under the blanket. “No more pretending we’re on the same side.”
“Nope,” he said. “That is, as long as that’s what it was– pretending.”
“Of course I was,” you said, fidgeting with your fingers. Damon was close, leaning back on one hand as you spoke. “The only person I’m loyal to now is myself. You made sure of that.”
Damon’s smile wavered, and he stood up to move to his closet. “You can sleep downstairs if you want,” he said, pulling the door open. He reached up high and, unable to see the top shelf, felt around for something. “But Bonnie and Elena called dibs on the couches and the floor is pretty much all taken.”
“I’m not really a ‘sleepover’ girl.” You sat up straighter as Damon found what he was looking for, brushing dust off of an old, wooden box. He held it with both hands, his thumb fiddling with the lock.
He opened the box, sinking into the mattress beside you. He left one foot on the floor, bending the other at the knee as he settled into the pillows beside you. The box flipped open, and you tore your eyes away to stare hard at where his left foot nestled into the blankets beside your knee.
Damon carefully moved some of the contents of the box aside. Finding what he was looking for, he removed it, then carefully closed the lid and sat the box on the bedside table. His weight on the bed shifted and he held the object toward you. You glanced down at it, biting hard on the inside of your cheek. The rabbit was falling apart, the cloth yellowed with age, seams splitting at the ears and nose. One of the eyes had fallen off, leaving behind only strands of thread, and the stuffing had almost completely flattened in the torso.
“You used to sleep with it every night,” he said, shaking it back and forth so the ears flopped against its head. “Remember when you ran away? You thought it was gone forever. You were so upset, I had to go back and get it.”
Your hand shook as you reached for the rabbit, feeling the rigid, thick fabric of its face under your fingers. It was like touching a memory- you could see Damon, sitting in the plush red chair as you squeezed the rabbit against your chest, the glow of a fire illuminating his grin as you thanked him over and over again for returning the rabbit to you.
Your hand retracted, grabbing the blanket in your lap instead. “I’m not a child anymore, Damon.”
He lowered the rabbit, tucking it in the space between your bodies. “Yeah, I know.”
“And I’m not your flower.”
Damon slowly nodded, looking straight ahead. He clicked his tongue in understanding, clamoring slowly to his feet. “You should get some rest,” he said. “We’re leaving as soon as the sun’s up.”
The floorboards protested his heavy footsteps as he started for the door, and it fell closed behind him. You didn’t move for the longest time, hands limp in your lap, staring ahead without seeing.
The floor was cold under your feet. Your body moved without thinking, feeling all too heavy as you carried yourself toward Damon’s desk. The drawer echoed loudly as you pulled it open. The parchment paper filling the drawer had been folded and unfolded probably a hundred times, and the ink was somewhat faded, but by the light of the bathroom, you could make out your own handwriting on the top page.
Dearest Damon,
The world is dark here. Even in the company of my darling Christopher, I cannot help but feel the shadows that surround me in my own home. I am, some days, a prisoner, or a fluttering bird that cannot be freed from a wrought iron cage. Though I am reminded by your letters that there is light to be found, I fear I will not see it again, as you are so far away and I find myself thinking of you often.
I have grieved for you, as I have not received a letter in some time, and find my soul invaded with an ache caused by your absence. It is because of this that I have come to realize two things about myself that I can no longer deny.
Your throat was tight, barely letting your breaths pass through as you clenched the letters in your hands. The words blurred, and as you kept reading, you realized it was not the age of the ink or the creases in the paper, but a glaze of tears on your eyes that made the words hard to read.
The back of your hand scrubbed the tears from your eyes as you tossed the papers on the desk. Your breaths shook as you tried to will them away, and you made your way to the sink in search of tissues.
Damon’s door opened and closed as you were standing at the sink, your head hanging over it. You gripped either side of it, clenching the ceramic, lips parted with deep breaths.
“You’re wrong.”
Damon’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but sounded like thunder in your ears. It was not the voice of the cold, callous man he had become, or the softened tone he had taken with you as a child. It was sincere, coming from deep in his chest, more from his heart than his lungs. You raised your head, the tears gone, and could see him clearly. His arms hung limp at his sides, his face crestfallen, as though he had… given up.
“About what?”
He hesitated, only for a second, tongue tracing his bottom lip. He did that a lot, when he was looking for the words to convey whatever he was feeling, whatever rage or anger or frustration tumbled around in his head. But he also did it when he was lost, or broken, or just plain… sad.
“You were always mine.”
“Damon-“
“I made it all the way downstairs,” he said. “Cause I thought, you know, it’s really over. This is really the end of whatever we had. She doesn’t want me anymore. And then I realized…”
You let go of the sink, standing up straight, eyeing him as he lingered in the doorway.
“I realized I’m not okay with that.” There was an air of confidence in his posture, the way he held himself very, very still, but his voice was unsteady and unsure. “I’m not okay with that at all, because I’mnot ready for it to be over.”
The bathroom was warmer than the bedroom. Whether it was the heat blowing through the vents or leftover steam from Damon’s shower was unclear, but what was undeniably obvious was the softness in Damon’s words, the twinkle in his eye that only appeared when he was looking at you.
“It’s been over,” you breathed. Your lips were numb, your skin tingling from the way Damon looked at you. “Whatever we had, it’s gone.”
“No, it’s not.” Damon shook his head, just barely, and he was smirking, knowing as well as you did that your words were empty and hollow. “I know you feel it, Y/n. I saw it at the pageant. I felt it… At the lake.”
He was right. You had seen it, too, in the way he looked at you when he first saw you, for the first time in a hundred and forty years, at the pageant. You had felt it at the lake, with his chest so close to yours, his breath on your face when he told you he had not forgotten you. It was the pain you had felt when you thought you were going to have to kill him. You felt it in his smile, in the depths of crystalline blue eyes; in his voice when he begged you to kill him. Every moment since you came to Mystic Falls, you had felt yourself being pulled toward him, closer and closer to the edge.
But–
He had hurt you, so many times. He had made promises he was unable to keep, had touched you gently and then let you go; had kissed you tenderly and left you in the cold. He had offered you love and companionship and then abandoned you.
“Damon,” you cleared your throat, stepping backwards. Damon’s brows dropped, realizing his overstep, and he didn’t reach for you like you expected him to. “I can’t do this.”
His jaw tightened, and he searched your face as though looking for- hoping for- some sign that you wanted him to press you, like maybe your words didn’t quite match what you were feeling. And they didn’t- you didn’t wanthim to let go, to leave you, to abandon you again… And he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do those things if you didn’t let him in in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, letting you put distance between you. “Y/n, I’m sorry.”
You nodded, staring down at your feet. “So am I.”
Damon rubbed at his nose, at a loss for what to do with his hands just to keep from reaching for you yet again. He glanced sideways, frowning at the sight of the stack of letters sitting on the desk.
“As a reminder.”
“What?”
“You asked why I kept your letters,” he said. “I kept them as a reminder that I never deserved you, so when I thought of you and felt bad that I lost you, I would remember it was my own fault.”
Those letters, wrinkled and faded and read a thousand times over, were the only tangible evidence of what you had once felt for Damon. And, in turn, they reflected the ache in his heart, the pain of spending years an ocean away, and the following century so far from your touch. And now, he was standing in the bathroom doorway, his wet hair sticking out in every direction and the bottom of his pajama pants scrunched around his bare feet. He was an arm’s length away; close enough to trace your fingers over his collarbone or tangle your hand in his hair. Only a moment stood between you curling your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and tasting the sweetness of his lips.
Why was he so far away?
And he wasn’t, not by the time your mind floated back to the surface, drifting away from the memories of fresh baked bread and roses, of Dracula and Mina, of the sunlight casting kaleidoscope shapes through the leaves of an elm tree. Your feet had moved you toward him, across the cold tile of the bathroom, until you were face to face with his bare chest. His head tilted toward you, daring you to look up into his eyes.
You could trace the shape of his muscles, tight under his skin, spreading like hills over his chest. The veins along his throat were rivers, guiding your eyes to his face. Blue eyes- lakes or oceans or the unending sea- flickered back and forth over your face. If Damon was a map, the destination was home.
Damon’s chest rose and fell with each breath, nearly touching the front of your silk shirt. His throat bobbed with a thick swallow, and as your hands found purchase on his arms, he too found your shoulders. His grip was steady but soft, thumbs coercing goosebumps on your flesh.
Your face raised, the warm taste of Damon’s breath on your lips. He was utterly still, his lashes fluttering as a shuddered breath escaped his mouth. His tongue pressed against the inside of his lips like a dare.
No one had utterly, endlessly owned your heart the way Damon had. The way he stilldid. Even with the mistakes, every moment when you’d felt lost without him, the heartbreak he had caused you time and time again, the longing for Damon consumed you in a way that hurt even more than all the things he had done. Perhaps having him here, so close and so far, washed away all of the fury and despair you’d felt in his absence. There was a hole in your heart, and Damon eagerly waited to pour his cup into it until you overflowed and drowned from it.
He kissed you. There was no poetry ever written, no sonnet or lyrical ballad, that could convey the faint press of his lips against yours. It was barely a kiss at all, as though the kiss were a secret, whispered by a ghost… Meant for you and only you. A delicate taste of bourbon drifted just out of reach, and when Damon slowly pulled himself away, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and the vague wonder of what do I taste of? flashed across your senses.
His eyes fell closed as though in a dream. Damon lifted his hand off your arm, curling it gingerly around the back of your neck. His lips pressed against your forehead, and your skin tingled at the sensation of him murmuring.
“Goodnight, flower.”
Your eyes had fallen closed, somewhere between Damon’s lips meeting yours and the press of a kiss on your forehead. All at once, the sound of his voice, the careful hand at the back of your neck, and the lingering kiss on your forehead vanished, and when you opened your eyes again, you were alone.
He wrote to her every week. He was always moving, never staying in the same place for too long. He kept count of the days by the letters: sent one as soon as he took up residence in the home of a compelled farmer or baker, regent or banker, so she would have an address to respond to. When he received her letter at the end of a long, torturous week of waiting, he moved on.
She responded with urgency. It was never more than ten days, sometimes less. He tried to stay close, at first, moving in a circular motion around Chicago until he was beckoned by something that drew him further away from her. Ten days was too long, but he kept his patience by keeping himself busy with other socialites and their liquor. After ten long, restless days, he’d received the letter he had been waiting for and purchased a ticket to France— the furthest he’d been since the letters began.
