Hurt and Heal

Chapter 13: Bonnie Bennett I

Darkness submerged everything and the air grew still and cold. The silence stretched among the small town like plague, chocking all and taking no prisoners. Then ... it broke. The small tuck! tuck! tuck! filled the otherwise empty space with noise, the sound of heels hitting concrete unmistakable even to his ears. He raised his head, swaying lightly in the cool breeze as the amount of alcohol took its toll, head spinning and vision swarming. He breathed in through his nose next, letting the sweet aroma of life force lull him into his safest haven, the pull of the predator strong yet controlled. He wanted to taste it, the ambrosia rushing through her veins, the delicacy he'd once managed to steal a taste of. He wanted the thick, warm blood bursting on his tongue and her heated skin, salty beneath his lips. He let his eyes darken, felt the tiny rise of the capillaries underneath his lower lashes and the familiar ache of his fangs growing. His gums burst alive and he had to bite down on his tongue hard to stop himself from drooling. It was her!

Another deep breath later, and several more mouthfuls of his own blood, and he was ready to face the bane of his existence, in all her caramel skinned, hazel-green eyed, petit and powerful, glory. He debated waiting for her in front of her childhood home, but then, what kind of creep did stuff like that? Maybe Stef Better not go there tonight, too drunk yet not drunk enough for that thought.

Damon stepped out of the shadows and directly in front of her as she rounded a corner. The undignified, frightened yelp she let out was music of the highest calibre and he was vaguely aware that he ... that they were not like that. They hated each other on their good days, didn't they? They used to at least.

"Damn it, Damon! You scared the hell out of me!" she screamed in his face, so close to him that he could feel the heat radiating off of her, he could count every lash and see every spec of green in her hazel eyes. He was really drunk, he decided then. He shouldn't be here. But somehow his legs would not budge, his body statue-still in the cold night air. And she had gathered up her arms to her chest, crossing them over her breasts.

"Whatever you say, Judgy. Just tell me if you find a way to kill Trotter." He managed to say out loud without any inappropriate thoughts showing through. A success! Now all he needed to do was get back home in one piece and, considering it is Mystic Falls, that may well be fast on becoming impossible. "Later, Willow!" he jokingly quips and then off he is, disappearing into the blackness and cold and once more letting the monster lead the way. He needs another drink. He turns towards the Grill.

Bonnie is left alone, feet away from her house, her empty, desolate house which she can't bring herself to call home any more. She wonders briefly if it's a mean thing to do, suddenly deciding her childhood home no longer fit the bill, that it wasn't her safe haven, her playground and her favourite workplace all wrapped into one. Maybe it is, but the brunette doesn't care one bit. Her father, the last family she had left, the main reason she had loved the house, had left and wasn't planning on returning any time soon. She wasn't an idiot, nor naïve, not anymore, she knew how the world worked and she realized, from the moment she'd heard that her dad wasn't there, that she was well and truly alone now. Well, unless you count her friends, in which case... pretty nice family you've got there Bennett. She did. Count them in, that is. How could she not, when for the last two years almost they've been her rock and her shoulder to cry on, she had told them all her secrets and they in turn theirs, she trusted them like no other. Because there was no other. Not any longer. The realization should have her crying in a ball on the floor, instead she just pats her jeans' pockets in search for the key. It wasn't as if her dad had ever been home much anyways. Sad thought, that.

She slips the key into the door, twist her wrist and with a soft popping sound she is pushing the door open and stepping inside. She closes it behind her, letting the darkness caress her, whisper to her. The house is, as she had guessed, cold and unwelcoming. It reeks of dust and staleness and she vaguely registers water dripping from the hole in the roof that she had promised her dad she would fix, but never got around to doing it before she, you know, went into a coma. She widens her eyes then squints, trying to make out anything in the black, but she can't yet. She takes a chance, making her way to the nearest window so she could draw open the drapes, but she stops to let out yell of surprise when glass shatters beneath her feet. Damn Mrs. Wilkes' children! If I catch one of those brats throwing stuff at my window, they'll gonna wish they'd never thought about it in the first place! She thinks, then she feels laughter bubble in her belly and she lets hysteria and fear and loneliness wash over her in the form of a long, tiring guffaw.