"I'm home," Damon called, loudly closing the front door.
"Great," I mumbled, finishing Gone With The Wind for the third time since this morning. Yes, that's right. Gone With The Wind. I'd had nothing better to do. Stefan, Elena, Bonnie and Jeremy had stayed downstairs, ignoring me - especially once Caroline had turned up. Alaric Saltzman arrived, too, but he politely came upstairs to check if I was okay. Heck, I didn't even know that he knew I was still alive! Well, as alive as a vampire can be, if you get what I mean.
However, being by yourself for over twelve hours has it's benefits.
I had finally found a chance to thoroughly think things over - something I hadn't been able to do in a while. I mean, odd thoughts and questions had ran through my mind, like If blood still flows through Damon's veins then why can't he have an erection? but those weren't thing's that I'd not considered before. Google could probably give me most of those answers, thanks to the vampire franchise.
So, now I realise that maybe the thoughts I'd contemplated weren't exactly pleasant, but they were still small things that I'd either managed to figure out or glue onto that tiny ball of cells that doctors still managed to classify as a brain to ensure that I figured them out eventually.
"Lizzie?" Damon's voice made me shiver as it began to delve right into my flesh, resting in my muscles and making me stiff. "You up there?"
"Yes," I said, putting on a pleasant voice. "I'm up here. Come and find me."
"Oh," Damon growled, casually leaning against the door frame. "It would be my pleasure."
I thought it best that I just continued to flick through the pages of the book, but Damon didn't like this plan. He whistled at me, and kept making weird grunting noises as if I didn't know that he was there. Finally, I gave in. I glanced over at Damon, my eyes wide. His black shirt was unbuttoned and his jeans were low cut. He had a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand.
"I told you to sober up," I spat, clicking my tongue. "Look at you. You're a wreck. It's pathetic. If you seriously have nothing better to do with your time, then why don't you just take a sharpened stake and drive it through your heart. I'm sure it would be much more entertaining. Please - go and get a life."
Damon rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You know, I love that little English accent of yours. It's so...sassy."
I sighed impatiently, throwing the already battered copy of Gone With The Wind across the room and jumping up from the bed. My legs moved faster than normal as I ran over to Damon. I looked straight at him - we were of a similar height. His ice blue eyes glared into my emerald green ones, and they stayed like that for some time. I wanted to become lost in his narrowing glare, but I couldn't let myself slip into another trance and loose focus. This was supposed to be punishment for him; not pleasure.
"How much have you had to drink?" I asked in a barely audible whisper.
"Enough to get me drunk," he smirked, his hot breath washing over my face. It smelt of whiskey - of course - and beer. What a fucked up guy Damon must be. Once again, I began to feel sorry for him, but I didn't want the pity to take over, so I pushed it away, using a lot of the energy that must be leaking from both internal and external holes.
He chose to be like this, I told myself. Nobody ever asked him to be this way. This is what he wants his life to be like. I shouldn't be feeling any guilt, or remorse. Damon's issues are irrelevant.
"You really need to stop drinking," I said with disgust. "It's making you look like some lonely old man who has nothing better to do but wonder through the New Forest until he locates the nearest tavern. Then he'll drink one too many glasses of brandy, and his daughter will be called to take him home. That's how he spends every single evening, and the nights on your agenda don't seem much different."
"I didn't understand a word what you just said," Damon hissed, his breath now bludgeoning my lips aggressively. I pressed them tight together. "
I let out a sharp breath, folding my arms over my chest and turning on my heel. Right now, sleep seemed appealing, though I wasn't at all tired. How peculiar. I was usually completely whacked by this time of night. Why the sudden change? Right now I envied those small children who could simply rest their head onto a pillow and be dragged off into a peaceful slumber.
"Aren't you talking to me?" Damon teased. I clenched my fists with anxiety.
"You can't blame me for not wanting to talk to you," I said through gritted teeth. I could feel Damon's eyes on my back. The fact that I knew that he was even looking at me was agitating. I hated every second of it. Why tonight? Why me? Why Damon? Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why can't I have a normal boyfriend who doesn't go out binge drinking or give me drugs or walk around with machines containing compressed air and wooden stakes? Why couldn't I be back in England?
"Is everything alright?" Stefan inquired hesitantly, tapping my shoulder and making me jump. "I'm sorry to intrude, but Damon's just come downstairs and he's in quite a bit of a state. Do you know what's up with him."
"He's pissed," I replied, spinning back around to face Stefan, thankful that Damon was downstairs, though probably drinking more alcohol. I suppose that the best thing to do was just let him get on with it.
"Again," Stefan sighed, his green eyes - the same colour as mine - showing a sudden mass of frustration.
"Stefan, what's wrong?" I breathed.
"Oh, er," he frowned. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"What happened to that problem you were on about?"
"It's best to tell you all once Damon's sober."
"Are you sure you can keep it in that long?" I smiled, and Stefan sweetly returned that smile, though his faded immediately.
"I need to. Damon deserves to know as much as the rest of you do."
"Okay. Speaking of, I better go and get him sobered up - well, as sober as he can get right now."
"Thanks, Lizzie. I'll leave you to go and sort him out. He needs saving from himself. He needs help; help that only you can give him right now."
As I pushed past Stefan his shoulder brushed against mine. His skin was fairly warm under his flannel shirt, and the heat radiating from his body was unmistakable apprehension. Poor guy was in a worse state than Damon was, and that's saying a lot.
"Are you sure that there's nothing I can do?" I tried again, hoping that Stefan would finally give in to my insistence. If I couldn't be close to him, then I would at least like to know that he could trust me.
"Don't worry about it," Stefan said, laughing without humour. "Just go and get my brother sorted out. He needs you. You seem to understand him like nobody else does. Please, try and knock some sense into him. He might listen to you."
"I seriously doubt that," I scoffed, shaking my head. So, perhaps Stefan couldn't trust me. Or maybe he could, but he cared more for his brother than he did whatever issue he's got banging around in his head. Whatever. I'm letting myself get distracted. I couldn't afford for my mind to be elsewhere; Damon was in need of someone to snap him out of his alcoholic phase.
I obeyed Stefan's request, allowing my legs moving as fast as possible to get me downstairs. I found Damon in the study, drinking from yet another glass of crappy alcohol. Ugh. Disgusting stuff.
I realised that compromising with Damon was inevitably out of the question. He wouldn't listen. Unless you're doing as Damon says then you might as well be dead. Hopefully the girlfriend title would get me out of a sudden death.
"Put that down," I said bluntly, clasping my hands together.
Damon cocked an eyebrow at me with disbelief. "Who are you? My mother?"
"I might as well be," I said smartly. "At least then you might be a bit more lenient. I'm not willing to talk this through, Damon. You need to stop drinking. It isn't going to help solve anything. Stefan's worried about you. Elena's worried about you. I'm worried about you."
"It doesn't seem like anyone cares."
"Well, you're obviously shit at judging opinions. If you can't pick out the people who care for you then I think that you're in need of visual aid."
Something inside of me was screaming to give in to Damon. To let him keep drinking and drinking and drinking and drinking until the alcohol overdose knocked him out, stone cold. The thought of having to fight against him night after night was apalling, but at least, by doing so, I would be standing up against him and nobody could blame me for sitting back and watching Damon almost kill himself.
"I'm leaving," I decided, picking up my phone from the coffee table. "Call me when you're sober."
"Where are you going?" Damon called after me as I began to walk out of the door.
"As far away from you as possible."
"You have nowhere to go. This is your home now. Accept that. This is who I am, Lizzie. You've got to learn to face the facts. Taking the easy route is never the right option, no matter how much you have on your plate."
"There are plenty of places for me to go," I lied, not daring to turn around and face the distraught man behind me. "As long as I'm away from your drunken state, then I'll find a way to survive."
Before Damon could protest, I used my heightened speed and exited the Salvatore Boarding House. I had planned in advance on running as far as I could without having to care about where I was going. There was a part of me that hoped Damon would call soon, as another night alone wasn't something I wanted to experience.
However, just as I reached the outskirts of the forest, I sensed something behind me. Correction; someone. I turned around to confront the unknown presence, and before me stood a tall figure clothed in a black cloak.
"Can I help you?" I mumbled, aware that there was no way I would be able to identify this person in this light.
His hand came up, and, before I could run away, a sharpened stake was stabbed painstakingly into my right shoulder.