Chapter Eight
Written for the Secret Santa over at the Damon_Elena LJ Comm.
Elena's heart pounded nervously as she approached the Salvatore boarding house.
Damon, with his vampire hearing, probably already knew she was there, but she still knocked on the front door, her breath in her throat as she waited. The seconds seemed to tick by at an agonizingly slow pace as she stood there, her carefully rehearsed words running through her mind.
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. Thank you for being a good friend."
The door opened.
Damon leaned against the edge of the open door, his arm above his head as he eyed her with a smirk. "Hey there, drunky," he greeted impishly. "How's the head?"
It was so far from the reaction that she had been expecting—she'd been prepared for a sullen, hesitant, unsure Damon—that she was startled speechless.
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. Thank you for being a good friend."
"You know, we're going to have to get you some ratty clothes, a hat, and a dog if this keeps up," he warned. "Stick you on the corner by the Grill."
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. Thank you for being a good friend."
Damon's cavalier smile faded slightly. He straightened. "Elena?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. Thank you for being a good friend."
He eyed her suspiciously. "You're not trying to get me to take you back to that French place, are you? Because the answer is no. I don't care how good the crème Brule was. Do you know how long it took us to get there? Of course you don't—you were drunk the entire time. It was two hours, Elena. Two. Hours. Listening to you sing. Off-key, mind you. Both ways." He winced. "My ears will never forgive you."
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. Thank you for being a good friend."
His smile died completely, a serious look on his face. "Elena," he said quietly. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," she began, her voice shaking. "I was drunk. Thank you—"
He turned away abruptly. "I might be a pig, but I'm not desperate, Elena," he tossed back. "I don't need to take advantage of drunk girls." He winked devilishly at her. "I prefer them sober. Less chance of them throwing things at me in the morning." He pushed the door open wider, invitingly. "Want to watch a movie? I think that crappy romance you like is still here—"
He broke off.
Elena trembled as she watched his eyes trail down to her hand, locked firmly around his wrist, and then slowly back up to her. His blue eyes were carefully guarded, shielding the emotions she could see swirling beneath the surface. Pain. Anguish. Hurt.
Love.
"But I'm not now," she finished softly.
~End~