1976 — Cranston, Rhode Island
Damon Salvatore didn't know why he agreed to go with the Beauchene's to their hometown for Thanksgiving. At first, he was reluctant and denied every moment Freya asked him, which was at least once a day. Three days before the Beauchene's left on their road-trip home, Freya asked him again, and this time, he said yes. He didn't know why, but he just agreed when she asked him. It could have been that he was drunk on her kisses, high on the pecks she laid on his neck.
During the five hour car ride, they had stopped every now and then at gas stations to grab some snacks and put fuel in the car. One of those stops was in Cranston, Rhode Island, at least two hours away from Provincetown. They stopped at a family-owned restaurant for lunch, which was full at three in the afternoon. Damon didn't know whether to eat a burger or drink from the waitress that kept flirting with him. Each time the waitress came, he would feel Freya inch closer to him. He couldn't help but smile when she finally wrapped her arm around his and continue to munch on the big bowl of french fries they had set in the middle of the table.
"So, Mom wants us to bring in the ingredients for her famous pumpkin pie," Frederick began, looking from Damon to his sister.
"Already in the car," Freya responded with a sigh, throwing an unfinished fry on her plate. "I'm gonna walk around. I'll be back soon." She stood from the table, pulled on her jacket, and walked away without another word.
Damon stared at her as she walked away, curious. He turned to her brother and arched a brow. "What's with her, huh?"
"You don't know?" Frederick looked at the vampire, a small smile around his lips. "It's called the Love Sickness."
"Did you seriously just call it Love Sickness?" Damon asked him, shaking his head. "I can't believe that I just heard you use those two words consecutively in one sentence."
"Fine, what would you prefer for me to use when I try to say that she likes-likes you?" Frederick leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, eyeing the vampire with amusement.
"Likes-likes me?" Damon scoffed and rolled his eyes, amused. "What are we? Twelve?"
"Twenty-three," Frederick corrected, drinking from his beer. "But, close enough to twelve." He put the bottle on the table and circled the opening with his finger, staring down. Minutes filled with silence passed, and the elder Beauchene twin decided to speak up. "Listen, Damon, are you and Freya getting serious?"
"W-what?" Damon suddenly sputtered, choking on the beer he had been drinking. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you and Freya getting serious?" Frederick repeated. "Like, looking into the future serious?"
Damon leaned back and ran his hand through his hair, surprised at Frederick's sudden words. He had looked into a future with Freya, but preferred to quickly get rid of them, because he preferred the now. To him, twenty years could pass in a blink of an eye, fast, like a hummingbirds heart. His time with Freya would be short, and he knew that, but he had pushed those thoughts far into the depths of his mind. Of course he had thought of turning her into a vampire and spend the rest of eternity with her, a selfish desire. But, he never had the heart to go through with his decision. It was one of the small things that made him realise that Freya brought his humanity back.
The vampire cleared his throat. "Where's all this coming from?" he smiled, swallowing hard.
"It's just big brother making sure his twin sister is not getting her heart broken by a guy she likes a lot," Frederick responded as he nodded. He looked down and let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this because I'm not the one with the feelings, but I'm worried about her."
"Is something wrong?" Damon suddenly asked, worried about the Beauchene woman that had made a hole in his heart.
Frederick shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing's wrong, man. Like I said, I'm worried about my sister getting her heart broken." He leaned back on the chair and stretched, cracking his fingers. "That's why I'm asking if you think about a future with her."
Damon looked down at his food, suddenly not finding it appetizing anymore. Did he think about a future with her? Of course he had. What man wouldn't think of a future with the beautiful Freya Beauchene? Every night, as she laid in his arms, asleep from the sex they had, the vampire wondered what would it be like if he had been born around the same time she was. Raised on ten hours of TV a day, he would be a hard-bitten realist from the "live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse" school; he would not live long enough to engage in phony nostalgia for the scruffiness of his youth. He would move to New York days fresh from high school, and he would have met her again, and just like the now, he would fall for her. He would take her out to every little nice place in Manhattan or Brooklyn, dates that would end up in laughter and big smiles.
Damon Salvatore had thought of a future with Freya Beauchene, and he could no longer deny it.
"Sometimes," he confessed. "But, I can't exactly be thinking of a future with her when I'm not in it." He knew that sooner or later, he would have to leave her. He was a vampire, she was human, and that just didn't go well.
"You're an idealist," Frederick said, rolling his eyes.
"No," Damon sighed. "I'm a realist." He leaned forward on the table and stared into the man's eyes. "Forget that we ever had this conversation," he compelled. "We talked about that bunny you had your eye on since Halloween."
Frederick monotonously repeated his compulsion, then shook his head and smiled widely. "She told me that she preferred me making her drinks..."
The pair finished with their meal, and before they left, they bagged Freya's unfinished meal. Frederick took some fries every now and then, saying that he would repay her with an extra piece of the bread rolls he made for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The boy continued to speak about how Thanksgiving at the Beauchene home was friendly, filled with laughter, snow, and a few necessary fights. To them, it was a pre-Christmas celebration.
Damon leaned back against the door of the 1971 Holden HQ, looking around. He could see the people walk around, smiles on their faces and laughs at their throat, but none of those were Freya Beauchene. She was nowhere in sight, and that began to worry the vampire. He allowed himself to listen closely to every voice around him, none turning out to be her. With annoyance, he swiped his ear with his pinky and continued to listen. He could hear women talking about shopping, about the latest Charlie's Angels episode, about how there would be a protest for the well-being of the Vietnam veterans. None of those voices belonged to Freya Beauchene.
Damon turned to Frederick, who was flirting with a girl with long, straight platinum blond hair. "Hey, man, you know where Freya went?"
The eldest twin turned to him, the conversation between him and the woman abruptly stopping. "Nah, man," he replied. "I was in there with you, remember?" He turned to the woman in front of him and gave her a flirtatious smile. "You've seen a girl about yay-high, green eyes, curled brown hair? She was wearing a black tank top with a brown jacket."
The woman turned to her friend. "Wasn't she at Peter's?"
"Peter's?" Damon interrupted, leaning against the hood of the car. "What's that?"
"It's a raunchy bar down the street," the friend answered. "A place where the punk rockers go to listen to music and drink themselves blind." She laughed with the blond as she pushed her hair out of her shoulder. "It"s owned by Peter."
"Yeah, I got that," Damon gave them a sarcastic smile, wanting to go over there and drink them dry for not giving him the answer he wanted. "When were you at the bar?"
"We just came from there," the blond responded. "Who's Freya?"
"My sister," Frederick responded. He pointed at Damon with his thumb. "His girlfriend."
"Hey!" Damon pointed at him, then swiftly moved his finger across his neck. "Keep talking."
Suddenly, he was reminded of his younger brother, Stefan. Frederick's smile, his mannerisms, the way he teased the vampire, it all reminded him of the brother he last saw preparing to leave for Egypt during World War II. He swallowed hard and looked down, wanting to forget about his sibling. It had been years since they last spoke, anything could have happened. All he needed to do was track him down, search for him over millions of peoples across the world. Even if he did find him, Stefan wouldn't want to speak to his brother.
The boy laughed and shook his head, turning to the girls he was flirting with. "Sorry, let me rephrase that. He's sleeping with my sister."
Damon rolled his eyes and looked at the girls with a tight smile. "Was she drinking?"
"A bit," the friend replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "She was singing Play That Funky Music on top of the bar."
Damon didn't wait for a other word to leave the girl's mouth. He pushed himself away from the car and marched right down the street. The closer he got to the bar, the louder the music became. Finally, he began to hear Freya's voice colliding with a small crowd of drunken slurs and laughter. She wasn't talking, in fact she was loudly singing to Cherry Bomb by The Runaways.
He entered the bar, the sickening smell of sticky alcohol and greasy foods making him stop for a moment. The stench was strong, but he wanted--no, needed to go through it in order to pull a singing Freya down from the bar. He stared at her, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at her. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the movements, and there was a half-drunk smile on her lips. If he didn't know better, he would have stayed in the bar and stared at her.
Freya's eyes collided with his, causing her to stop laughing and laugh. "Damon!" she yelled. "Look, everybody, it's Damon!"
"Damon!" the crowd yelled, raising their alcohol in the air.
Damon raised a hand to greet them, annoyed at the sudden attention. He moved to the bar as Freya came down from the bar. She moved to him, a wide smile on her lips. "Damon!" she called, widening her arms. "I've missed you!"
"Yeah, yeah," he replied, prying her hands away from around his neck. "Come on, Freya. Let's get you back to the car."
"Nooooooo!" she whined. "Let's stay here and drink!"
"No," Damon sternly said. "We've got to get to Provincetown by six, Freya. Come on."
"Hey, if she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to go," a new voice joined.
Damon turned to see a man staring at him, a bottle of beer in his hand. The man had shaggy brown hair, an oncoming beard, and the stench of weed coming from him. Damon immediately knew that he was one of those hippies, the ones that found peace in weed, music, and nature.
"And you are?" Damon asked him, annoyed.
"I stop man like you trying to take advantage of drunk girls," the man responded.
The vampire rolled his eyes. "Listen, buddy, you're doing a good thing here with the whole Avenger of Drunk Girls thing, but she's my girlfriend, her brother's outside waiting, and we have to make it to her hometown in four hours. So, if you don't mind."
As Damon began to pull Freya away, the man pulled his hand away and tried to punch him. Damon groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt. "I didn't want to do this the hard way, but you leave me no other option." The veins under his eyes darkened, his eyes became red, and fangs protruded from his gums. He glared at the high hippie, who now looked terrified at the vampire. Damon couldn't help but let out a small smirk, which immediately turned back to a small snare. "Leave," he hissed, pushing the man away. The man scurried off, running out of the bar without looking back.
Damon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his face becoming normal once again. He cracked his neck and turned, noticing that the bar had turned quiet and everyone was staring at him. "What are you looking at?" he spat at the closest man. The man raised his hands on defence and turned back to the table, the bar once again accommodating to loud music and talking.
Damon sighed and turned back to Freya, who was staring back at him with half-glazed eyes and red cheeks. He took her hand and pulled her out of the bar. The fresh hair made him take a deep breath, almost as if he had been holding his nose inside the bar. He turned to Freya, and sighed. "Why the hell did you go to a bar at two in the afternoon?" he asked. "What the hell, Freya?"
"I think I'm a little drunk," she responded, leaning against the wall of a building.
"I'm well aware of that," he sighed. "I noticed the moment you began to sing Rock And Roll All Night."
"It's a good song," she defended, smiling.
"Okay, yeah," he sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. "Now, would you mind telling me why the hell were you getting drunk at two in the afternoon?"
"Because you were flirting with that waitress," she confessed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. "No, you were flirting with every waitress. You flirt with girls everywhere we go; the bar, the cinema, the beach, the gas station, even walking down the street. Ugh, it's frustrating knowing that I love you while you don't like me enough."
For the first time in a long time, Damon Salvatore was shocked. He didn't know how to respond to her, especially after it was about her revealing that she did in fact have feelings for him. How was he supposed to respond, though? Was he supposed to push her aside, maybe compel her emotions about him away. Was he supposed to tell her that he also liked her, allow himself to actually feel and be happy.
He swallowed, scratched the back of his head and nodded, finally deciding on what to do. With a sigh, he laid his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Freya," he began. "You never confessed that you loved me." That was the first time he had ever used compulsion on Freya Beauchene, and he didn't know how to feel about it.
Damon knew that he didn't deserve happiness, especially the happiness she brought to him. Out of all the things he had done since his existence—falling in love and losing Katherine Pierce, turning into a vampire, feeding on hundreds of people, losing his brother more than once, losing friends—it was by far the most bad he had felt. And, he shouldn't be feeling that way, unless... No, it couldn't be. Damon could not be falling in love with Freya, he just couldn't. He didn't deserve falling in love, being happy, and kissing her.
"I never confessed that I love you," she monotonously repeated. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them back up. With furrowed brows, she looked around. "Shit. We should be getting back to Frederick."
"Yeah," Damon nodded, giving her a small smile. "We should."
He followed her through the small crowds, her hand holding tightly to his. To his cold skin, they felt warm. He wanted nothing more but to keep holding her hand, to keep admiring the simple act of holding hands. Vampire and human, Damon and Freya, how opposite they were in everything except feelings.