A/N So aspects of this story have been playing on my mind for weeks now. I finally decided I needed to write a post 3.22 that appeals to what I want to see. And I really need to see Damon pissed-off, bitter and jaded. This is not a happy little tale filled with butterflies and unicorns, at least not right now. If you love Damon the way so many of us do and feel unusually over-protective toward the poor guy these days, than this may very well be the story for you.

Special thanks to morvamp, sauriemilia and Layla Reyne for their massive help with this chapter. Don't know what I would have done without you ladies.

*DISCLAIMER* I do NOT own Vampire Diaries or the characters associated with Vampire Diaries. No copyright infringement intended.

Bumps

Chapter 1

There aren't enough words to express how badly I want to put the town of Mystic Falls behind the glow of my taillights right now. I mean, seriously. I've had it up to here with the whole fucking lot of 'em.

I won't go over the whole sordid mess - I'm pretty sure you've heard it all before. Suffice it to say, I'm done. I'm through playing the part of everyone's whipping boy, doormat or, when their shitty little plans fail, fucking superhero. As soon as this whole little Vampire Council problem is behind us, I'm outta here. Permanently.

And I mean it this time.

I moved out of the boarding house a few weeks ago. Right around the time that my respect-her-agency-even-if-it-means-letting-her-di e brother brought Elena back from the hospital on what will probably go down forever as the worst night of my entire fucking life.

Packed up as much of my shit as I could and hightailed it straight to my car before they got there. Oh, I didn't leave-leave. Much as I'm sure Stefan cannot wait until I'm gone, I'm still around. Holed up here in the nicest foreclosure in town, of course. Big house: five bedrooms, four bathrooms. It's huge and empty and my footsteps echo off the high walls and vaulted ceilings. It's even got a goddamn swimming pool out back. What the fuck does a vampire need a swimming pool for anyway? Doesn't matter, I won't be here long. It's just a place to sleep and store my stuff for now. A place where they aren't. A place to escape to.

Unfortunately the psychotic uber-vamp version of my now-deceased best friend told the Council about the previously unknown vampires in town. They're now aware of all of us but Elena, which basically means we all have targets on our backs. As long as they don't find out about her, she'll be safe. But I can't leave knowing that risk, so the Council needs to be dealt with. Carol is no longer mayor, Liz has been suspended from her sheriff duties, and of course they know I'm a vampire so all my previously useful connections are shot. The town water supply has now also been spiked with vervain, so compelling is next to impossible.

I'm still working on a plan to fix this. The rest of them are, too. Occasionally they even include me in on their little discussions. Stefan knows where to find me, but he's the only one. I threatened to disembowel him if he disclosed my location to any of them. Especially Elena.

He never fucking listens to me, though. And he always gives in to her.

Which is why she is currently standing outside my front door.

Her familiar scent of honey and jasmine envelops me the moment I open it. If I'd been paying more attention I would've noticed it in advance and taken a rapid exit out the back. But I'm distracted. And now I'll have to pay for my oblivion.

I try to shut the door in her face, but she shoves her hand and foot in and prevents it from closing. Knowing her newfound speed-healing abilities, I ever-so-briefly consider forcing the issue and fracturing a few fingers to prove my point, but instead I just sigh and let her walk into the entranceway. Like I could ever purposely cause her bodily harm, love-sick fool that I am. Scratch that - that I was.

"I see my brother still can't say 'no' to you," I drawl as I back up a few steps. Not planning on invading her personal space today or any other day any more. Nope. Not in either of our best interests in any way, shape or form.

I haven't looked this girl in the eye since that moment in the hospital morgue when I watched through the window as the two of them embraced after she woke up in transition. She met my eyes over his shoulder that night and she looked…I don't even know. Honestly, I really don't know what emotion she was feeling. Happy? Sad? Angry? Hungry? Probably all of them simultaneously. It's an incredibly confusing time waking up that way, let me tell you. All I was sure of right then was that I was relieved as shit she was alive, even if she wasn't really, you know? Undead is better than dead-dead. I figured she'd eventually come to accept this. For all I know maybe she already has.

I think that was the last time I felt joy, and it only lasted for a second.

Then I walked away and you know the rest. Any places we've both been in at the same time since, I've kept my distance. It's better this way. It would be better yet if we never had to be in the same space as each other ever again. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

And now I force myself to look at her and I see a dozen different things on that beautiful face that haunts nearly every sleeping moment. She's annoyed-relieved-sad-pleased-sympathetic. I despise the last one. It makes it even easier for me to be pissed off, though.

"Why are you here, E-lay-na?" I ask with careful exasperation. "Wait, let me guess." I tap my finger against my temple. "I bet you've remembered some things, haven't you? Come to yell at me in private since you'd be too embarrassed to do it with other sensitive ears around? Let me save you the effort. I compelled you. You hate me for it. Have a nice rest of your existence."

I quickly move to re-open the door before she can start her tirade. I have every intention of pushing her through it before becoming intimately acquainted with the bottom of the largest bottle of booze in the living room.

She grabs my wrist to stop my hand on the doorknob. Her touch still burns my skin like flaming ice; that much hasn't changed. "I'm not here to yell at you, Damon. And I don't hate you."

My eyebrow flies toward the ceiling and I wrench my arm out of her grip. "No? Well, I'm really not interested in having a pity-party, either. None of it matters now anyway. It changes nothing. Just go back to forgetting again. I know you can do that. Pretending's what you do best."

Her eyes flare wide and she reels back as if I've slapped her. Good. Yet I hate that a part of me feels horrible about the hurt expression I see on her face. "I don't want to forget," she whispers.

My spine goes rigid again. "And I don't really give a fuck." I haul the door open and shove her onto the porch. Now she only looks sad, nothing left but sadness and it's there because of me. It's my fault this time.

No, fuck no! It's really, really not and I need to stop being so gutless with this girl. It is her fault. This is all on her. I refuse to feel sorry for her mopey face over all the shit she's put me through. I refuse to accept the sympathy she offers for my poor, sad, little broken heart. Fuck that.

What's done is done. There is no going backward. There is no going forward either, anymore. Not for us.

She opens her mouth to say something else but I don't wait for it. I am at my wits end and I can't hear another fucking word. "Don't come back." I snarl. I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame and it possibly cracks in a few places but I really don't care. I fly into the living room, fists clenched tightly. I can feel the blood welling up in my palms and I don't give a shit about that either.

I pick up the nearest bottle and drain it in three long draughts, then fling the empty so violently against the wall that it disintegrates into miniscule fragments that rain down on the carpet like a million snowflakes. They glint in the shaft of late afternoon sunlight from the front window. Pretty and deadly. Just like she is.

There's a new guy in town who's been making my spidey-senses tingle mightily. I've been stalking some of the less bright-and-shiny Council members and I notice he's already ingrained himself into their little club. Something about the guy seems vaguely familiar to me, but I can't quite place where or why. There's a foggy memory there that dances just out of reach. And he's giving me a Hunter vibe. Nothing about that can be good.

I'm following him through the cemetery at a discreet distance when I unexpectedly detect Elena's voice. She's talking quietly with the quarterback, Donovan, whom I incidentally also blame for her death. Not that it makes any sense to blame anyone any more - it's not like anything's fixable at this point. But it's just so easy to direct my impotent rage at all of them. For once I'm nearly the only person not responsible for that colossal fuck-up. I'm sure they've all still found reason to blame me, though. It's what they do best.

I hear my name and I suddenly forget all about the Hunter or why I'm in this copse of trees at midnight to begin with. I stand totally still and focus on the two of them. They're sitting on a park bench about fifty or sixty yards away, but now there's no-one around but the three of us and various woodland creatures. I can hear their conversation perfectly.

"He hates me now." Her voice is a monotone, resigned. My fickle heart clenches at the misconception. There's still a part of me in there somewhere that wants to correct her. But another, bigger part of me is agreeing, shouting you're right, I do. Because I want to so badly.

"I seriously doubt that," Donovan assures her. "He's just hurt and licking his wounds. I don't blame him. Give the guy some time, Elena. He'll come around." Like fuck I will. Also, licking my wounds? I'm a vampire, not a goddamn pussycat, for fuck's sake.

"You didn't see the look on his face the other day, Matt. He always has to lash out and destroy things. Like the night of the ball, when he shoved Kol off the balcony just because I hurt his feelings."

I freeze. Shut up, Donovan. Shut the fuck up right now. Don't say another goddamn word.

"Yeah, about that. Kol was the one who broke my hand that night. He might've killed me if Damon hadn't pushed him off the balcony to save my ass. Thought you already knew that?"

I swear to God I'm going to toss Matt Donovan off Wickery Bridge and drown him in the river myself.

She gasps. I can just picture the look on her face. She'll think she understands me more now or some other such bullshit. I can see the texts that will undoubtedly come in already.

Why didn't you tell me what really happened that night, Damon?

Why don't you ever let people see the good in you, Damon?

And then she'll invite me over for fucking tea or something to have a nice long girly chat and expect us to be BFFs again. Huh uh. No, thank you.

One thing she will not do, however, is apologize for what she said to me that night. She never has and I doubt she ever will. Why should she, really? It was entirely true. It's still true. All my love has ever been for her is a problem.

Problem now solved though. She can just continue believing I hate her. She can believe it for the rest of her potentially long, long life for all I care at this point.

Her voice is even softer now. "I didn't know. He saved you from Kol? Of course he did. Of course he did…" She trails off and I don't wait around to hear what they say next. I really don't need to hear another word.

I've lost the Hunter but I've also lost a little bit more. Why is she finding out this stuff now? It's way too late to make one single goddamn iota of difference. But it does, somehow. To her. I know it does and I hate it. I didn't think I could feel any more loss than I've already felt over the past few weeks, and yet here it is again, tearing away at me.

I'm so fucking sick of regrets. If I'd let them, they'd consume me whole.

I need a drink or twelve and I need them right now.

I was right, as I always am. She did text me about it. Called a few times, too. I know she knew I wouldn't respond and hell, I didn't want to disappoint her on that count. I was right about something else, too. Not one of the messages contained an apology. Because why would she apologize? Not for being pissy about my declaration of love the night of the ball, not for telling me that I 'need to get over it' the morning after, not for treating me like scum to scrape off her shoe every time she saw me after that, not for giving less than two shits about Rebekah torturing me, not for a week later taking advantage of my feelings for her and molesting me in Denver just to 'test the waters' and then turning it all back off thirty seconds later and certainly not, definitely not, for breaking my heart yet again and leaving me to die alone in that grimy self-storage unit. Nope, what could she possibly have to apologize for?

Am I bitter? Fuck yeah, I'm bitter. Mostly at myself for ever falling for her in the first place. You'd think I would have learned my lesson the first time around. I fucking knew better this time. But it seems I am a colossal, world-class sucker when it comes to Petrova doppelgangers. Obviously so is my brother, but at least his love is requited. As of right now, he has both of them willing to forgive any and all transgressions and take him in their arms. That's Saint Stefan for you. He could be drenched in the blood of a thousand newborns and neither of them would even flinch before loudly declaring their love for him to all and sunder.

I shudder violently and slam down the rest of my drink. I want so badly to hate them, I really do.

And a part of me does, a little bit.

But a bigger part of me, which I will never admit to out loud, just wants them both to be happy. And they are, with each other, so really it's all good. I'll be out of their hair soon enough and they can live happily ever after without me getting in their way.

I eventually doze off on the couch in my drunken stupor. Nightmarish images of Alaric dying in my arms terrorize me while I sleep. Not for the first time and surely not for the last. It's usually either that or Elena drowning while I'm paralyzed, watching and helpless to save her. Makes me dread sleeping. Sometimes, with the help of ridiculous amounts of alcohol, I can rest dreamless, but not for very long. And not very often.

I awaken abruptly to the creaking hinges of the door swinging open.

In the blink of an eye I'm in the front hallway and have her pressed by the throat against the back of the door. Big brown eyes regard me in surprise but the cold self-assurance below the surface of them and the smirk that curves those full lips tells me exactly who this is under my fingers.

"Katherine. What the fuck are you doing here?"

A/N2 Please leave me a review below and let me know. I'd really appreciate your thoughts! Your reviews totally make my day. Thank you so much for reading!