New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Twelve

1976 — Manhattan, New York

   They had found it on 96th Street, two streets away from Central Park. It wasn't big, but it was spacious. The walls decorated with several paintings that were given to them by Ioanna. The furniture was simple, cheap, just what they could afford. The bedroom, which was painted white and bright and decorated with a few crystals Freya had brought from her home, was where they spent most of the time. The bed was big, just enough room for them to roll around in. The walls, which were a very pale grey, were decorated with two paintings Ioanna had given them and photographs they had taken with an old instant camera.

   It wasn't big, or extravagant, but it was home.

   Damon looked up at the woman that sat on top of him, the same woman that held a camera close to his face and pointed the lens down at him. "What are you doing?" he asked, his hand running up and down her waist. He wasn't bothered one bit, but he was tired.

   "Taking a picture," she responded, pushing down on the button. A flash came from the camera, blinding him for several seconds. The film slowly came from the bottom of the camera. She grabbed it, laid it on the bedside table, then fell to her side to lay next to him. "Take one with me."

   "Freya, you have wasted more than half of the films just taking pictures of the apartment," he said, turning to his side to look at her.

   "I have spent half of the films taking pictures of us," she corrected, turning her head to look at him with a smile. "These are memories, Damon, memories that we need to cherish for as long as we live. It's our first apartment together, just you and I, and this is a great memory."

   "A great memory," he softly repeated, nodding. "You know what's a great memory, too? Sleep."

   Freya laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sleep is great, but where's the fun in that?"

   "Just close your eyes and count sheep," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed gentle kisses on her shoulder, then let out a deep breath filled with calmness. "It's easy."

   Several seconds later, he heard the camera go off and saw the flash behind his lids. He opened one eye and looked at her, really looked at her. Bare-faced Freya was beautiful, with a few freckles decorating her cheeks, her watercolour green eyes illuminated by the Christmas lights they had hanging in the wall, and the simplicity of her bare lips when she kissed him. It was in those moments when he breathed I love you's against her lips.

   "Freya," he muttered, closing his eyes again. "Please, go to sleep."

   "Ugh," she groaned. "Fine."

   Hours later, Damon woke up to an empty bed and the police sirens blaring outside of his apartment. He sat up, looked around, and ran a hand through his hair. The clock on the bedside table told him that it was five in the afternoon, an hour after The Ground would open. He yawned, scratched his head, and stood from the bed to make his way to the kitchen. It wasn't big, but it was enough for just the two of them. Just like in her home in Provincetown, there were drying herbs hanging on the walls, creating a good scent to move around the kitchen. There were two large crystals, an green-pink Elestial Quartz and a Satyaloka Quartz that was given to her great-grandmother by a monk from the Satya Loka monastery in southern India. According to her, they were healing crystals, crystals that were supposed to bring energy into their apartment. He thought it was a silly superstition, but he was slightly wary do to the things that had occurred in his life time, one of them being that he was a vampire.

   He stopped moving when the thought ran through his head; he was a vampire. He was a creature of the night, one that spent most of its time preying on weak mortals just to get a drink of their blood. He was immortal, he would live forever, and Freya was human. Damon shook his head and finished his drink of water, deciding to ignore those thoughts for as long as he could.