Words Unspoken (The Vampire Diaries)

Chapter 2

I grab her arm in an instant, seizing it in my fury. She is standing in her own filth, curling her toes in its warmth. The screams come first and then desperate cries as if begging me for mercy. I begin to push her down, face first, into the wetness until she is just barely hovering it, my roars of anger bouncing off every wall.

"We do not do that. Bad girl. Bad," I bark over and over.

She is physically shaking in my hold, clawing at my body for balance. Her feet slip repeatedly on the hardwood floors, her grunts of effort rising in volume. Before long, I drag her along the wood toward the bathroom, the anger pumping ruthlessly throughout my bloodstream. The urge to rip her limb from limb is boiling inside me, the devil whispering for me to do it.

I plop her down on the toilet, pushing on her shoulders as if to enforce my demand that she stay.

"This is where you fucking piss. On this toilet, here," I snap.

She looks up at me as if I have murdered her entire family. Her bottom lip wobbles when her eyes lock with mine, and I pull away before they can make me feel a single ounce of regret. I shake my head, reminding myself that I should be livid. She needs to understand the difference between right and wrong.

Comparing Elena to a dog at this point is not a far-fetched concept. Still, it only further validates my reasons not to keep her. I am a fucking vampire, not a dog trainer, not a babysitter. I can't do this. I pace the bathroom momentarily, contemplating. Damon, your fucking life depends on this. Bonnie's going to resolve this and then your life will resume as normal, I tell himself.

My eyes click up to look at the fragile girl, still trembling. I catch a whiff of her and I nearly gag. I can't stand it any longer. Taking two long strides over to her, I scoop her up like a sack of flour and set her into the base of the bathtub. She doesn't even fight me. It's as if she's surrendered. I stand back up and look down at her. The girl silently sobs, yet not moving a muscle from where I put her. I roll my eyes, turning the knob of the structure until the water begins to pound in front of her.

I am shocked that she doesn't move. Her body is reclined against the porcelain, allowing the water to engulf her frame like a slow seeping venom. I grab a bottle of soap and squirt a good amount into the water with her until the liquid turns to giant bubbles. Her futile sniveling dies down soon enough. It seems the warm water has shut her up. I smile in approval before turning off the steady stream of water.

The tub is filled up about ¾ the way with liquid, just skimming Elena's shoulders. The dried blood on her nightgown fuses into the water around her in a light pink shade. I just let her sit like that for a few minutes, giving myself time to calm down. I pick relentlessly at one of my cuticles until it bleeds, the pain only feels good.When I grow bored of that, I walk back into her bedroom with a towel and what little bleach I have under the bathroom sink.

I scrub the floor, refusing to breathe through my nose. My knees are drenched in the bodily fluid, now lukewarm and likely cultivating bacteria exponentially. I curse under my breath, holding the now contaminated towel out and away from me as I walk. I conjure up the courage to clench it with my index and thumb, feeling the wetness touch me. I flinch and my face scrunches up until I look like a little old man.

"Holy fuck this is nasty," I whisper, covering my mouth with my left hand as I step down the staircase and to the kitchen.

I step on the lever of the kitchen trashcan, watching the lid rise open until I can discard the vile piece of cloth. Yes, I threw away a very expensive, fluffy, warm towel, but there was no way in hell I was ever going to let that thing touch me. Nope, no amount of bleach could save that towel. I shudder when the wet mass slams against the bag inside the can and I quickly pull my foot away until the lid can trap the monstrosity.