New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Three

1976 — Silver Bay, New York

   Day after day, for exactly two weeks, Damon Salvatore returned to The Ground in hopes to meet Freya Beauchene by the bar. Day after day, for exactly two weeks, she would serve him drinks and exchange long conversations about anything that ran past their minds. Neither of them knew if it meant that they were in a relationship or if they were just casual kissing buddies in the dirty restroom of The Ground. Damon, although wanted to believe that his humanity was still off, wanted to push his relationship with the dreamy green-eyed bartender further than just kissing at the restroom.

   On a late Wednesday afternoon, Damon picked up Freya in her townhouse. It was a big townhouse between 47th and Ninth Street, on the highly coveted Gold Coast of Greenwich Village. From the outside, it looked big and lavish, especially with the numerous expensive cars parked along the streets. At first, he couldn't believe that a bartender would live in such a lavish and expensive place. But, he recalled her telling him about how Great-Aunt Annunziata Fevero left the home for her mother on her will, but her mother didn't want to leave her home in Provincetown. 

   The white door opened and revealed the green-eyed bartender with a big smile around her lips. She leaned against the door and stared at him, a small smirk appearing on her rogue coloured lips. "What are you doing here, Cool Cat?"

   Cool Cat, he repeated in his head. Cat's hunt small preys, I do the same.

   "I'm sure I called at two," Damon said, allowing his lips to spread into a small smirk. "I said I was going to pick you up, right? So, here I am."

   "I thought you were kidding," Freya said, tilting her head to the side. "Bad boy wanting to go out on date? What is it you want? Free drinks?"

   "You already give me that," he teasingly said. "What I want is for you to come with me, Freya."

   "Ooh, pushy," she laughed. "Do I have to?"

   "Yes, Freya, you do have to come." He decided to lean against the door and look at her, keeping the same smirk around his lips. "It's going to be fun. I have a bottle of champagne and a few pilsners in a cooler in the trunk of my car."

   She stood there for a few seconds, staring at him with her lips slightly pursed. It was as if it were running through her mind whether she should go with him or not, whether she should stay in the comfort of her home or allow this man to take her out. Finally, with a reappearing smile and a nod, she agreed. "Fine," she said. "I'll go with you."

   Damon nodded and took careful steps back, giving her his signature smirk. It was the smirk that had appeared on his lips many times, almost as if it was his signature stance. And it was, he had given that smirk to so many people, so many girls, that he didn't know whether he did it because he wanted to show that he no longer cared or because it was an unusual thing to do. A smirk. 

   Normally, a smirk would mean irritation, smugness, an arrogant facial expression. It was the only facial expression Damon could give to show that he didn't care about anything, about anyone. The facial expression that hid his true feelings. That smirk, to him, was like a mask. It hid everything. But, the bartender, even though he had known her for such little time, was breaking down the walls he had largely built for so long. They began when he was a child, and they slowly built up through the years, and it built higher after he turned. When the fifties came, that was when the walls were tripled in size.

   "Where are we going?" Freya asked an hour into the drive. She munched on chips they had  gotten at the gas station at the beginning of their drive. "You haven't told me yet."

   "Upstate," he responded.

   "What's in upstate New York?" she asked, lowering her finger from her lips.