New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Thirteen

1976 — Manhattan, New York

   He had began to hate the damn cat. It wasn't because he disliked cats general, it was because that specific cat didn't understand the meaning of life's most simplest word—no. Milo, as Freya had named the stupid mammal, had a knack of annoying Damon to the point where he was tempted to feed on the damn cat. It slept on Damon's head during the night, peed on his shoes, had scratched and bitten the vampire several times with nothing done to him, and seemed to have taken Freya from him. In other words, Damon Salvatore was jealous of a cat.

   He stared at the damn brown-haired tabby as it carelessly walked around the kitchen, between Freya's legs, and took a seat on the counter by the toaster.

   "I don't like him," Damon said, glancing down at his cereal.

   Freya chuckled, glancing at him with a soft smile. "You don't like cats in general."

   "True," he nodded. "But, I specifically don't like this cat."

   "Why?"

   "Freya, he took a shit in my shoes this morning," he stated, glaring at the cat. "How can I like the animal when it's litter box is my shoes?"

   Freya leaned down and picked up the cat, caressing it close to her face. "He is very sorry," she said, her tone high. "Aren't you, Milo? Tell Daddy you are very sorry."

   "Ha! No, no, no, no." Damon stood and put the bowl of soggy ceral in the sink, then turned to look at her with his arms crossed. "I am not the father of that thing, and I'll never be the father of that thing. Don't bring me into this, Freya. You're on your own with this one."

   "I thought we had a connection!" she teasingly insisted, following him to the bedroom. "You can't just leave me to be a single mother, Damon!"

   "Too late," he responded, smirking softly. 

   "Ugh, come on!" she groaned, throwing herself on the bed and watching him change. "You gotta start loving Milo."

   "Nope."

   "Please."

   "Nope."

   "Why not?"

   "I still have the bite, scratch marks, and shoes if you want to know why not," he explained, turning to her with his hands on his waist. He was in the middle of getting dressed for work, which he miraculously got. It was a simple form of compulsion, where he got to work at a scrap yard with a high pay and a high position. The scrap yard had made a lot of money in the past few weeks, mostly because it was him that ruined cars and had them come over.

   "Not all those marks are from the cat, you know," she teased, wiggling her brows at him.

   He raised a brow, his smirk widening. "Oh? Now you're just being a tease, Miss Beauchene."

   "When have I not?" she returned with a smile.

   "So." He turned and continued to put on his shirt, watching her from the mirror of the vanity. "Where are you leaving the damn thing when we go to Provincetown for Christmas?"

   "I was thinking of taking him with us," she responded, playing with her fingers.

   He turned and raised a brow. "Your dad hates cats, so I highly doubt he wants sweet Milo to come along."

   "Fine," she breathed, almost annoyed. "My friend, Jossie, can watch him for the two weeks we're gone. She likes cats, she has like six of them."

   "Perfect!" He pulled on the rest of his shirt and grabbed the leather jacket from the corner of the bedroom, where Freya had last thrown it in a time of passion, and pulled it on while watching her lay on the bed. Every day he woke up with her just inches away from him, and everyday he thought himself lucky for having a chance with this wonderful being. It was as if she was this radiant ray of sunshine in his dark, gloomy day, and he couldn't deny the simple pleasure of basking in it.