The Love I Lost

Chapter 5: Elevator Phobias

I felt undeniably stupid. I kept trying to make it better by twisting in impossible directions, giving me a headache. Greta and Isabelle would be by to pick me up any minute. Greta and I got our hair done exactly like they were in the magazine, only our hair was much darker than the model's had been.

I sighed, giving up any hope on looking remotely pretty. It just wasn't in my nature to look extravagant. I was just too damn plain it killed me. God wonders why I had even one boyfriend...that's a long and complicated story.

Then there was the fateful knock on my front door.

Reluctantly I stepped, carefully, down the stairs so I wouldn't trip over the damn dress. My dad had been on the phone all day, from what seemed like a heated discussion. Whatever it had been about, I think he had won. No one could refuse the principle.

"Okay, Dad, my ride's here!" I called.

Hard footsteps scampered across the hard wood floor and I could swear there was a tornado coming through. My father was soon by my side.

"Jesus, Dad, what the--"

He smiled brightly--the principle smiling? What was he up to?--interrupting me. "Have fun, sweetie!"

Before I could react, he literally ran back to his study. Shaking my head dazedly, I opened the door. "Sorry about the--" My eyes widened in fury. Okay, I'll have you know it's not a normal thing for me to do anything girly. But I screamed; a good, loud scream.

He smirked, enjoying my reaction. "Surprise."

I glared at him with pure hatred. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"Taking you to prom, obviously," he said simply, as though he was talking to a four year old.

I laughed, on the verge of insanity. "Oh, no you're not!"

He said irritably. "I went through a hell of a time with your friend. And I'll drag you out if I have to."

Somehow, I believed that. I folded my arms across my chest. "You're wearing a tux."

Not very well, I'll add. But, God don't tell on me for thinking this, he looked good in it. The pants were baggy and the shirt un-tucked with the top two buttons undone. His hair was the same. The way I describe it makes him seem sloppy, but it wasn't. It was actually a relief for me. Almost enough for me to get into his shiny Ferrari willingly. Remember, I did say almost.

"You're wearing a dress," he said with that stupid smirk, as he looked me up and down.

I glared at him. "Forget it. Tell Greta I'm sorry, I can't go--" I began shutting the door.

He put his foot in the door and it didn't take much to force it back open and snatch my arm. "Tell her yourself. I'm no one's messenger boy."

"Let--" I was about to demand he let go, but he had already yanked--and I mean that literally--me out of the house.

"I'll carry you to the car," he warned, having a glint in his black eyes that told me he might actually enjoy that.

I gave up, letting him tow me into his car. I crossed my arms and slouched in my seat begrudgingly.

He got in on the driver's seat, giving me that stupid predatory smirk, before driving off.

I can't believe I'm going to prom with Damon Salvatore, I moaned inwardly.

"So who put you up to this?" I muttered.

"Myself," Damon answered simply.

"Sure," I snorted.