New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Fifteen

1976 - Manhattan, New York

   It was three in the morning when Damon Salvatore woke up. There wasn't any work, there wasn't anything to do, in fact it was because he wanted to do something half special. Freya didn't remember what he had asked during the night when she wore a blonde wig, she didn't even remember what she said. He asked her whether she did, and she stared at him with wide eyes and a scared look.

   "What did I say?" she asked. "Did I talk while I was sleeping?"

   Damon smiled, not wide, and nodded. He shrugged and waved a hand. "Nah, don't worry about it. I think it was just me hearing things."

   So, in the next few days, he slowly began to plan. It wasn't written on paper, but in his head. As he worked, as he ate, as he sat on the couch and watched TV with Freya. It was during the simple times, where his mind was clear and there was nothing to think about. He finally caught it after hearing Joseph talk about he and his boy. So, on a Tuesday night, he set the clock on the bedside table to three in the morning. When the ringing echoed around the room, he sat up with a start and glanced around. He pushed down on the clock and rubbed his eyes.

   "Freya," he yawned. "Freya, wake up."

   "Hmm," she moaned, turning her body to the other side.

   "Freeeeeyaaaa," he softly sang, turning to her. He wrapped his arms around her and laid a gentle kiss on her shoulder. "Freya, wake up."

   "Why?" she groaned, making a face. She was still asleep, her face scrunched up in annoyance. It made him chuckle.

   "We have to go," he told her, as he stood from the bed. He pulled on the boxers and pants that were on the floor, and stared at Freya as he buttoned his pants. "Come on, Freya."

   "I'm up, I'm up," she moaned, sitting up. Her eyes were still closed, her curly hair framed her face, and there was a bit of dry liner on the corner of her eye. "I'm up."

   He chuckled and picked up a shirt from the floor, and threw it at her face. "Get dressed, Freya."

   "You're not my dad," she muttered under her breath.

   "You know, you can call me daddy if you want," he smirked, pulling on a shirt.

   Freya pulled the shirt from his head and stared at him with a quizzical expression, slightly horrified at his words. She let out a soft scoff and shook her head, a small smile forming around her lips. "Oh, you wish."

   In less than twenty minutes, the couple were dressed for the cold New York early mornings. Damon pulled on his jacket and looked at his girlfriend as he walked backwards out of the apartment. She was pulling on a beanie hat, just low enough to cover her ears and reach her brows. He couldn't help but smile at the very sight of her, even when she sloppily dressed herself and had dark circles under her eyes. The mere image of Freya made him smile.

   "Where are we going?" she asked as they walked out to the cold streets. She reached for his hand and entwined their fingers inside his pocket. "It's almost four in the morning, Damon, why are we going out so early."

   "It's a surprise," he told her, glancing up at the sky. Instead of stars, he saw planes. They reminded him of shooting stars, like the ones he used to see when in Veritas Estate when it was late night and he decided to sneak to the stables. But, no, the sky wasn't as beautiful as then, and it would never be. Now, he could no longer see stars, no longer point out the ones his mother used to point for him and softly tell them what they were called. He blamed the blinding and beautiful New York for that.