Hi guys! I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and happy holidays:) Thank you to those who reviewed on the last chapter! Feedback is very much appreciated!

Also, I forgot to thank my beta love of escapism! She is a HUGE help and if you haven't yet, you should check out her DE fic, Chalk and Cheese because it's so good!

Anyway, here's chapter 2 from Damon's POV as promised:) I hope you like it!

Chapter 2: The Monster Inside

Damon

I clutch my chest tightly as I hide in the dark shadow of a building, trying to keep my breathing silent as I hear the footsteps clashing down the alley. My panic constantly increases as the distant sounds become closer.

"Where did he go?" one of the boys growls at the others.

"Do I look like I know? Stop talking and look!" another demands in a cold voice.

I press my back into a dingy wall, barely concealing my body from the open, and close my eyes. I hope if I can't see them, they can't see me.

I should have known they'd come after me; they always do, and walking home alone was the worst idea I've had yet. Mason and his minions have been the ultimate bullies for the past year now, finding sickening pleasure in terrorizing kids like me; small and unimportant. That's the only way they can get away with it.

"Come out, come out, wittle Damon," one of the boys mocks, his voice nearing my wall. My stomach is doing flips, the urge to throw up my lunch is overwhelming as I picture all the terrible things these boys can do to me.

I have no escape and no better hiding spot. Why did I think an alley was a good idea?

"Oh boys…" Mason's menacing voice sounds from far too close, sending a chill throughout my body. "I think I found our favorite little 6th grader."

The second I open my eyes, a fist comes in contact with my cheek, causing me to lurch forward in pain. The boy's chuckle as they circle around, lining up as they wait for their turn to throw a hit or a kick my way.

I push back against the wall, steadying myself, knowing that if no one's going to protect me, I'm going to have to do it myself. I wipe away my fear, anxiety, and doubt before squaring up my fists.

"Well would you look at this," Mason snickers. "Salvatore wants a fight."

I gulp as the boys laugh raucously.

"C'mon Salvatore, hit me," Mason mocks, taking a step closer and presenting his cheek with a wave of the hand. I stare him down, my eyes sure to be displaying the resentment I feel bubbling all throughout my body. "I'm sure a tiny guy like you can beat me to a pulp," Mason states sarcastically.

"Shut up, Mason," I spit, lowering my fist in the slightest as he towers over me.

"He won't do it," Mason chuckles menacingly as he turns to the boys. "Like father like son, right boys?"

That does it.

As Mason's sharp smile turns my way, I throw my body at his, hitting, kicking, and scratching like a maniac before his friends eventually pull me off. In a matter of minutes, I'm bleeding and bruised in a crumpled ball on the cold ground.

"You're worthless, Damon Salvatore," he spits on me, "A mistake!"

Through my clouded vision, I can see trails of red trickling from Mason's face and a bruise forms under his left eye. I find the will to smile, knowing that this despicable boy is bleeding because of me.

"At least I'm not you," I shoot back, "You're father treats you awful."

That earns me a swift kick in the side.

"At least my father wants me," he hisses down at me before scurrying off to his friends, muttering under his breath.

I couldn't deny that one; my father hardly notices my presence and he doesn't take the time to try. But I can't hate him, not because he doesn't deserve it, but because he means as much to me as I mean to him; nothing. We have no relationship; he leaves that to my mother.

My mother who will be worried sick if I don't get home soon.

With that incentive, I manage to find my feet and limp the short distance home.

"Damon, what on earth are you doing home so late…" my mother's stern voice trails off as she sees me, black eyed, purple bruised, and dry teared, standing silently in the doorway. Before I know what's happening, she's holding me more tightly than she should and crying profusely.

"What happened, honey?" she gulps, caressing my blood-streaked cheek. "Was it those boys again?"

I stay silent, not wanting to talk or risk another beating from Mason's 8th grade gang. I feel numb as she studies me.

She stares at me confused, but doesn't ask anymore. She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom, where she starts to clean and bandage my wounds.

"Momma, what's wrong?" my little brother appears at the bathroom door, holding his blanket tight. "Is Damon okay?"

I look away, not able to meet his inquisitive green eyes, feeling ashamed to be seen like this. I don't want my brother thinking I'm weak.

"Everything's okay, baby," she soothes, kissing his forehead. "Just go back to sleep."

Stefan looks between us, a confused furrow to his brows, but follows our mother's orders and goes back to his room.

After eating some leftovers and icing my injuries, I find myself crawling into my father's empty spot in my parent's bed.

"Damon?" my mother asks from beside me, probably making sure I'm her son and not some deranged stranger breaking in.

"Do you think I'm… I'm a mistake, mom?" I ask quietly, needing to know the answer to the question that's been haunting me. I know I wasn't a planned child, the whole town knows it. I just wanted to know if I was an unwanted surprise, as Mason likes to point out.

She's silent a moment as she turns over in the dark to face me.

"No, honey." She brushes my slightly over grown hair out of my face. "I love you, very much."

"But I was an accident?" I question, trying to make sense of her words as she sighs heavily, clearly not liking the question I've asked.

"I never want you to think those words again, Damon," she whispers in the silence. "You were far from an accident. In other people's minds, they might see it that way, but I don't."

"Dad doesn't see it like that, and don't try to deny it, Mom. He's never been close with me, and I know why."

She doesn't say anything, and I know she won't deny my statement. I might not be a mistake in my mother's eyes, but I will always be in my fathers.

"Shh, shh, just close your eyes, Damon. Tomorrow's a new day," she says, wrapping an arm around my side. "Just give up on it, okay? Don't worry about him."

I respond by snuggling closely to her, relishing in the warmth that only a mother can provide.

"Just give up, Salvatore," Will snickers, as he throws another blow to my chin, which I would have undoubtedly dodged if my mind wasn't honing in on my mother's voice, repeating those same words from the past. Will takes advantage of the mental breakdown, kicking my feet out from beneath me, causing me to fall on my ass with a groan. I quickly wipe away the memories of the ten year old boy, falling to his fate in the alley, and remember that I'm not that boy anymore. I don't lose.

I rear my legs back, using them to send Will flying backwards. I quickly stand, despite the twinge of pain searing through my back, and throw my fists at the man while he's down. I focus on the task at hand, refusing to let my subconscious again take over, and use my pent up frustration to hit harder.

"Okay, okay!" Will coughs up blood, using his hands to shield his face. I hear his words but I ignore them, as numbness has taken over. I can't stop. I know I need to, the guy looks like he's about to pass out, but my brain and my body are not linked.

It's when someone grabs me from behind, using their full force to tear me away from the crippling guy in my hands. I clench my fists as I come back to myself, panting heavily as I see the blood staining my knuckles. God, it's so much blood.

"What the fuck, man?!" the guy who pulled me away from Will shouts, as he aids his friend. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Despite my mesmerized state, I know this is when I' m supposed to run; so I do. My feet push through the alley, as I distance myself from the scene.

As I run, my mind wonders; how could I have lost control like that? How could I be so stupid? Just because I can defend myself doesn't mean I should put myself in a provoking situation like that. I really lost it, and I could have put that douche in the hospital. How could I lose control?

You lost it because you're weak, a part of my mind responds, the part I try to ignore. But I can't now. I know it's true. I lost control because I am weak, and I'm weak because I can't let go of the past. I can't forget what should be erased. I'm weak because I've seen too much in my 18 years, and to this day, I can't cope the right way. Hell, my 15 year old brother has been through nearly the same shit as me and he's found his way. And that's the eternal difference between my brother and me; he can move on when I can't. Maybe it's because he was too young to have all the ties like I had, or maybe he's just a strong headed person, but he makes it in this crazy world just fine.

I can't, and I hate it.

"Is that you, Damon?" Stefan calls as I close the front door behind me. Does he ever leave? I think silently to myself.

I ignore Stefan, quickly walking upstairs to my bathroom, unable to tear my eyes away from the blood coating my hands; someone else's blood. I throw my palms down on either side of the sink, steadying myself, refusing to look up at my reflection.

"Damon?" I hear Stefan's voice as he walks in my bedroom.

Couldn't he hear my angry footsteps? Doesn't he know them well enough by now? Can't he take a hint?

"Damon is that you-" his sentence drops as he peers around the corner. "What the hell happened?"

I flex my fingers as I hear that damned concern in his voice. How could still worry about me? I think we're past that point.

"Did you really get into another fight?" he demands, inching closer to me. I can feel his curious eyes staring at mine in the reflection of the mirror. "What's your goal in all of this, Damon? Do you honestly get your kicks out of getting the shit beaten out of you? Why do you keep picking these fights?!" Stefan exclaims, working himself up.

The force of his words breaks me out of my trance.

"How do you know the guy didn't have it coming, huh?" I throw back, turning to face Stefan as I fume. I ignore how his eyes widen, fully taking in my face, which I'm sure is a bloody mess right now. For the slightest second, he wears the same face as he did when he caught me after my first fight; inquisitive and concerned. I do what I did all those years ago, I turn away. "And for your information, I'm the one who walked away," I add in, feeling the need to add my winning status.

"Oh, Yeah? And how do you feel now, Damon?" Stefan fumes, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "You're proud you hurt someone? Glad that another person's blood is on your hands? Happy that your entire family is starting to seriously worry about you; showing up to dinner half an hour late bruised or slightly drunk? Yeah, we're not idiots. We know what's going on. You should hear Miranda!"

I'll admit it, Stefan's words cut deep, just like he intends them to. I'm not proud or happy about doing the things I do. I hate that my family worries about me, and that's something I'll have to work better on. But I need to feel, and when you've felt such drastic lows, it's not an easy task.

"Stefan, I really don't want to do this right now, okay? I know I fucked up, I don't need you reminding me," I mutter, tired of this whole night and ready to be done with it. Not to mention, my jaw, which I can feel swelling, is starting to really hurt like a bitch.

But Stefan doesn't budge; he remains stagnant, his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed, the anger has faded from his eyes, leaving them… sad. I hate it when he looks at me like that.

"I just don't understand it, brother…" he trails off, keeping his green eyes on mine. "You haven't always been this way. Why can't you be content? You're leaving New York for college in just a couple months, you're going to be a lawyer and work for dad's firm, just like you always wanted, you're done with high school, and we have this house to ourselves for nearly a month. Why aren't you happy?"

I think about his words for a moment. Stefan's always been observant, but I've never noticed how much. He's right about several things; I haven't always been this way, as hard as that might be to believe. I wasn't always rebellious and reckless; I was the opposite. After our mother died from some weird blood disease, shortly after my eleventh birthday, I turned cold and detached. Losing the one person who always cared, I grew estranged from my friends and peers, and became independent and concealed. I hardly talked to Stefan, even though I knew he was going through the same things as I. But things changed when I started my freshman year in high school. I couldn't live the way I had for so long. I was too lonely, too disconnected from everyone and myself. I couldn't live with this throbbing hurt and sadness buried deep in my bones. It was becoming too much. In my darkest hours, I considered ending things permanently, but I knew I couldn't leave Stefan alone with our father. So I did the only thing I could think, and that was to feel again.

But going back to Stefan's speech, he was right when he said I have every reason to be happy. I'm obviously not. I've never really wanted to pursue a job as a lawyer, as my father has been pushing me towards for years now. Hell, I don't even know if I want to go to College. I don't know what I want, but I sure as hell don't want to live someone else's dream. I don't want to be who my father wants me to be.

"What makes you think I'm unhappy?" I challenge, raising my brow inquisitively.

"I know you, Damon," he states. "You're always stealing the heavy alcohol out of the cellar or messing with others when you're bored or annoyed; this is the second time this month I've found you fresh out of a fight. That's not normal, happy behavior."

"Is it such a bad thing to like the high life?" I make a feeble attempt to sway him different, but he's not budging from his 'Damon is sad' theory. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for a therapy session today, Stef."

"But Damon-"

"Stefan!" I raise my voice, earning a throb in my head as Stefan steps back slowly, taken aback by my raised voice."Just go."

He shakes his head, frustrated at my behavior, and storms out, leaving me in an uncanny silence.

I take a heavy sigh, knowing what comes next. I slowly turn, meeting my jumpy blue eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Now I understand why Stefan was so freaked out. My chin is plump, swelling dark purple, but that's not the most startling part. The worst is the cut in my lip, which isn't too big, but it produces a mass amount of blood. A layer a dry red coats my darkening jaw, and corner of my mouth, its metallic taste fresh on my tongue. I swiftly spit in the sink, hating the sickening tang. I grab the hand towel, dampen it, and hurriedly cleanse my hands and face of the disturbing scarlet liquid. I can't explain my fixation to be rid of the blood; I just know that I can't last another second with it clinging to my skin.

When I look back up, my eyes darken as memory surfaces, the same one that burdened me earlier. Seeing my face so brutalized reminds me of that time, many years ago, when I was in a similar condition. The only physical difference now is that I'm taller, broader, lost my baby fat and gained some definition. The bruises aren't as brutal as they were worn on a child, because I rightfully deserved them now, picking fights with people I shouldn't.

Then, my small, swollen face was caressed by my mother. Now it wasn't.

As that thought crosses my mind, something shifts in me. Before, I felt the same way I've been avoiding to feel over these pass four year, detached. Now an anger throbs in my veins; anger I can't explain. It's as if every fiber in my body ignited with a furious fire. I didn't know if the rage was directed at myself for what I've done, my emotions, or even the rousting of painful memories, but it demands me to act, with every aching bone in my body.

Before I can process what's happening, my fist jerks forward powerfully, busting into the mirror. The need to destroy hasn't been this dominating since… since her death.

I stumble backwards, not falling, but just slouching against myself. I lower my clenching, bleeding hand and stare at a shattered fragment of the mirror reflecting up at me from where they've scattered on the floor. In the cracked chip is a distorted version of my face; one half is slightly above the other, my blue eyes are not aligned.

I look as broken as the mirror.

"What has happened to you, brother?" I distantly hear Stefan in the background, his voice soft.

Too much, I think to myself, too much, brother.

My eyes widen in panic as I realize what I've done.

"I- I need to go," I stutter, taking a few steps backward, away from the broken glass before fully sprinting out of the room, ignoring Stefan's pleas for me to stay. I don't even bother with my car, knowing I'm far too out of it to be driving. I run and run and run, my lungs heaving painfully, but the adrenaline pushes my legs. At some point, I find myself slowing until I'm leaning against a tree in a very familiar park. I press my back into it as my feet slide in the grass. I just close my eyes, letting the afternoon heat swallow me whole.

As I come down from my adrenaline rush, I realize that I've just sprinted around 3 miles, and I probably look pretty messed up to anyone who sees me, bruised and frantic as I am.

Whatever, I brush it away, let them think what they want; their opinions can't be far from the truth.

The unyielding truth, the one that I've fucked up, and as much as I want to feel again, fights, alcohol, probably not even sex or drugs could help me. What I've been doing all these years have simply been distractions, because the truth is too damn hard to deal with.

The real question is: am I too fucked up to be repaired? Can I turn myself around someday?

Could I ever be someone worth it?

These thoughts haunt me as I slowly start to lose consciousness, probably due to my constant and unyielding heavy breathing, the smothering heat, and my choking emotions. I embrace the blackness with happy hands at first, but the radiant head of brown pacing towards my tree makes me wish I stayed just a little longer.

SO what do we think about Damon? He's had quite the struggle:/

Please review and let me know what you thought or ask any questions!

Next chapter is Elena's POV:)