Find Me

Chapter Five

There was a mountain of clean laundry on the couch in front of Persia. She was folding towels into neat piles when Elena walked up to the open living room window.

"Knock, knock." Persia looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Elena," she said, "come on in." The door opened and before she knew it, a hand closed painfully over her throat. Her feet were several inches off the floor as she was slammed against the wall.

"Big mistake. I'm not Elena." She started squeezing and Persia was afraid she was going to pass out when a black blur shot out of nowhere and she was dropped heavily to the floor, coughing. She heard what could only be hissing before Damon was down on one knee at her side. He gently put a hand on her shoulder where she lay gasping on the floor.

"Persia, are you alright?" She coughed again and sat up. Damon lifted her chin, both hands framing her neck as he looked for signs of damage.

"Who the hell was that," she finally managed to croak.

"That was Katherine. We got lucky just now; she must not have been in the mood to fight because she's stronger than me and she knows it. She could have ended us both without even blinking." His fingers slid over the column of her throat, feeling for any sign she'd been hurt. He watched his fingers move over her skin; it really was as soft as he'd thought it would be... Persia's skin tingled where he'd touched her and she blushed, knowing he could hear her heart rate picking up. Damon searched her face, looking for signs of fear, but he was instead met with a look of pleasant surprise. Persia smiled shyly at him.

"You're sober," she said, her voice holding awe. Damon rolled his eyes.

"Statistically, it was bound to happen," he said as he helped her to her feet. "Are you sure you're okay? Nothing's broken, nothing hurts, nothing feels like it's in the wrong place?" Persia shook her head, the fact that his hands were still on her arms not escaping her notice.

"No, no, I'm fine. What about you," she asked, noticing that his shirt was torn over his abs, showing off his impressive physique. Damon made a face and waved a hand over the gash.

"I'm fine, see," he said, lifting his tattered shirt. Her eyes looked for a cut or mark, but the impressiveness of his abs weren't lost on her. Dropping the hem of the shirt, he sighed.

"I just bought this shirt, too." Persia giggled and he looked up at her, a smile on his face.

"What are you laughing at?" She shook her head.

"Elena told me that's your big issue with fighting; the damage to your wardrobe." Damon quirked his mouth up, almost like his usual smirk, but this was gentler.

"Well, if you're going to be a drunk, you might as well look good doing it," he replied.

"Thanks for saving me," she said, repeating her words from their first meeting.

"Who says you're safe," he replied, his voice soft. He stepped back from her then, feeling conflicted; on the one hand, he found himself really enjoying her company, but on the other, he felt guilty for enjoying her company when he was supposed to be mourning the loss of Elena... He felt strangely empty. Being around Persia numbed the pain to the point that he wasn't sure if he was still mourning that loss or not.

"I'm going to go now, if you're sure you're okay," he said, his eyes unsure. "I'll see you around, Persia." She watched him go, feeling more than confused. Everyone said she should be afraid of him, but all she could feel for him in that moment was gratitude. If he was supposed to be so evil, why did he keep saving her life?