1976 — Manhattan, New York
He had began to hate the damn cat. It wasn't because he disliked cats general, it was because that specific cat didn't understand the meaning of life's most simplest word—no. Milo, as Freya had named the stupid mammal, had a knack of annoying Damon to the point where he was tempted to feed on the damn cat. It slept on Damon's head during the night, peed on his shoes, had scratched and bitten the vampire several times with nothing done to him, and seemed to have taken Freya from him. In other words, Damon Salvatore was jealous of a cat.
He stared at the damn brown-haired tabby as it carelessly walked around the kitchen, between Freya's legs, and took a seat on the counter by the toaster.
"I don't like him," Damon said, glancing down at his cereal.
Freya chuckled, glancing at him with a soft smile. "You don't like cats in general."
"True," he nodded. "But, I specifically don't like this cat."
"Why?"
"Freya, he took a shit in my shoes this morning," he stated, glaring at the cat. "How can I like the animal when it's litter box is my shoes?"
Freya leaned down and picked up the cat, caressing it close to her face. "He is very sorry," she said, her tone high. "Aren't you, Milo? Tell Daddy you are very sorry."
"Ha! No, no, no, no." Damon stood and put the bowl of soggy ceral in the sink, then turned to look at her with his arms crossed. "I am not the father of that thing, and I'll never be the father of that thing. Don't bring me into this, Freya. You're on your own with this one."
"I thought we had a connection!" she teasingly insisted, following him to the bedroom. "You can't just leave me to be a single mother, Damon!"
"Too late," he responded, smirking softly.
"Ugh, come on!" she groaned, throwing herself on the bed and watching him change. "You gotta start loving Milo."
"Nope."
"Please."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"I still have the bite, scratch marks, and shoes if you want to know why not," he explained, turning to her with his hands on his waist. He was in the middle of getting dressed for work, which he miraculously got. It was a simple form of compulsion, where he got to work at a scrap yard with a high pay and a high position. The scrap yard had made a lot of money in the past few weeks, mostly because it was him that ruined cars and had them come over.
"Not all those marks are from the cat, you know," she teased, wiggling her brows at him.
He raised a brow, his smirk widening. "Oh? Now you're just being a tease, Miss Beauchene."
"When have I not?" she returned with a smile.
"So." He turned and continued to put on his shirt, watching her from the mirror of the vanity. "Where are you leaving the damn thing when we go to Provincetown for Christmas?"
"I was thinking of taking him with us," she responded, playing with her fingers.
He turned and raised a brow. "Your dad hates cats, so I highly doubt he wants sweet Milo to come along."
"Fine," she breathed, almost annoyed. "My friend, Jossie, can watch him for the two weeks we're gone. She likes cats, she has like six of them."
"Perfect!" He pulled on the rest of his shirt and grabbed the leather jacket from the corner of the bedroom, where Freya had last thrown it in a time of passion, and pulled it on while watching her lay on the bed. Every day he woke up with her just inches away from him, and everyday he thought himself lucky for having a chance with this wonderful being. It was as if she was this radiant ray of sunshine in his dark, gloomy day, and he couldn't deny the simple pleasure of basking in it.
"I love you," Damon said, a small smile on his lips. He had told her those three words several times a day, sometimes once every hour, because he couldn't believe his own feelings. He loved her. He loved her. Goddamn it, he loved her.
Freya's eyes glanced away from her fingers and to him, a small smile slowly spreading around her lips. "I love you," she returned, sitting up. She walked over to him, laid her hands on his cheeks, and pulled him to her so she could lay a gentle kiss on his lips. It was a simple peck, just barely a touch on the lips, but it made electricity run through him like an electrical charge.
"I'll come home early," he said, the words tasting like apple pie on his tongue. "I'll rent a movie and come home early."
"You don't have to," Freya said, her cheeks reddening.
"I want to," he smiled. "How about Monty Python and the Holy Grail?" He pushed her hair put of her face, cupping her cheeks with both of his hands. "Or maybe Young Frankenstein."
"It's late," she chuckled, pushing him out the bedroom and through the hallway. "You should get to work, Damon."
He allowed her to push him, allowed her to think of him a normal human being. There was a smile around his lips, one full of life and happiness, which was something strange. Happiness had eaten at him as soon he met the young woman, and he couldn't deny that it felt good. For him, happiness felt like eating a mint chocolate chip ice cream on a hot summers day—sweet and tempting.
"I don't want to go," Damon whined, slightly surprising himself. He knew that Freya brought out sides of him that he really didn't know existed, and it didn't bother him that much. In fact, he embraced them, but only when she was around.
"Don't lie," Freya laughed, still pushing him to the front door. "You need to go."
"I can stay home," he groaned, stopping himself at the front door. "We can have some fun." He wiggled his brows, making her laugh.
"You insisted on getting a job, Damon," she said, pushing him again. "Now, go! I'll be here when you come back."
He opened the door, but stopped and turned. "I'll order some Chinese," he told her, smiling. "Food, movies, cuddling on the sofa: perfect date, don't you think?"
"Fine," she smiled. She stood on her toes and pecked his lips. "Chinese and movies and cuddling—perfect. Now, go!"
Freya pushed him out the door, laughing. Damon was about to turn, but the woman closed the door right on his nose. He chuckled and touched the tip of his nose, groaning. "Thanks, Freya!" he called out.
"You're welcome!" she called from the other side of the door.
He smiled, chuckled, and turned to walk out. Each front door of the apartment was the same, white with silver numbers under the peephole. Each door held a story behind them, all in which he could hear. He could hear the man from 48B cry, the woman in 35A whistle as she cooked some eggs, the dog in 40A drink water, the older Polish couple in 32B quietly talk about the husband's hospital bill from his stroke. Damon could hear everything, and even though he felt bad, there was nothing he could do. Freya had brought out the good in him, and every now and then he would leave $200 in the old couples' mailbox. It slowly helped them, and he was glad, because the older woman was gentle, and she reminded him a lot of his mother.
For the first time, Damon wondered whether his mother would have been as gentle as Mrs. Anka Zientek from 32B. She was already gentle when he was a boy, but he wondered whether ageing would have caused her heart to be more tender. He then wondered whether his father would have been gentle with age. Giuseppe was already old when he met his mother, old when he had Damon, and even older when Stefan was born. He was rude ever since he was a boy, hated the dark-haired child that wanted nothing more but to hold on to his mother as the man had him pulled away. Damon wondered what would had happen if his father was kind; would he have married the Forbes girl he had a crush on since he was a child and have children?
Belcher Auto Self Service Salvage Yard consisted of several acres covered in stacked, wrecked cars. Trees and a wooden fence ringed the area. It was owned by Robert Belcher, an old man who was always covered in oil and a smile. The man's office was his house, which he had lived in ever since he was a child. It had a ground floor, upper floor, and a basement. The main entrance opened into a short entrance hall that lead to the ground floor living room, and Robert's office. The living room was filled with bookcases containing a library of different topics, including a Chinese book about war-tactics. More books were stacked on the floor, and the man's excuse was that he used to be a History teacher and loved nothing more than to learn.
The dark red patterned wallpaper was decorated with a few landscape paintings, papers pinned to the walls between the large, curtained windows. Robert's desk occupied a position in front of the living room fireplace, a magnifying swing arm lamp attached to it. The house had detailed mouldings and rich woodwork. It had a wonderful fireplace and great furniture, but no one could really see it because of the clutter.
"Damon!" the old man greeted with a pat to the back. "It's a great day to work!"
"Yeah, Robert, yeah," he mused at the man, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
"Come on, boy!" the man laughed. "It's cold, sunny, and a great day!"
Damon wiped his hands on a towel the was hanging from the pocket of his jeans and stared at the old man, seeing the wide grin on his face. It wasn't unusual to see the old man grinning, since it seemed his lips were always pulled upwards. But, this specific grin was wide, different.
"What's so special about today, Robert?" Damon asked, leaning his hip against the car.
Robert looked around, then leaned in over the car. "I got a date," he revealed, grinning. "A beautiful bunny; met her at the post office on Monday. We're going out for coffee at four."
The vampire feigned impression at the old man by laying a hand on his cheek and widening his lips into a small O. He gave Robert a smile when the old man gave him an annoyed glance. "Well, look at that. Robert's going on a date." He turned and looked at his co-workers. "Hey, guys! Robert's got a da-ah-te!"
The guys whistled, teasing the old man with laughter and dirty towels. At that moment, Damon noticed how he enjoyed his job. It wasn't harsh, it wasn't boring, and he was around some fun people that enjoyed to joke just as much, if not more, than him. He had known them for little than two weeks, and it surprised him how much he had come to enjoy the company of the five assholes he worked with.
There was Jack Dawson, a nineteen year-old boy who enjoyed nothing more than a good beer, cigarette between the lip, and the grease of cars covering him head to toe. The boy enjoyed to flirt with the costumers, have it be woman or man. No one said anything, though, since he did look like a young movie star.
There was Reginaldo Lauro, an Italian boy who wanted to be close to Damon because he was a Salvatore, part Italian. The boy had a rough accent, thick, and mixed Italian with his English. He would bring home-made food, giving each a spoonful of his mother's cooking. When complimented, he would grin and say in a rough accent, "My mamma was the best cook in all of Sicily."
Joseph Young was a man from Baltimore who wanted a different life, and so far he was loving his new life in New York. He divorced his wife, brought his young boy with him to his new life, and had recently met a cute bunny who loved his son as much as a mother loved a child. Joseph spoke about how he would marry her, making everyone sick and tired of hearing about Lucille Courtney.
Armando Rodriguez was a Puerto Rican man who loved to whistle, hum along to salsa music, and dance while working. If there wasn't any music in the salvage yard, Armando wasn't around. He was the life of the party, with a rough accent combined in his Spanglish.
And finally, there was Akil Hamm, a Texan who came to New York because, just like a lot of those who went to New York, wanted to be a Broadway actor. He was a good actor and performer, from the little stage numbers he would perform during breaks and out of nowhere. The boy would sing songs while working, his voice resonating between the cars and attracting the women who came by.
Damon was comfortable with everyone, and it surprised him. Normally, he would hate being around people, especially the kind of men that were his co-workers. He thought that maybe being in love changed him, and not for the worse. He noticed it, and maybe so did those that knew him before Freya, before he found the light.
"So, what are you doing after work?" Joseph asked him, wiping his dirty hands on a towel.
"I'm going home," Damon responded, glancing up at him. "I happen to also have a date."
"Who's la bambina?" Reginaldo asked, almost smirking.
"Fool, it's the one he's been seeing!" Armando snapped, hitting the Italian in the back of the head. He turned to the vampire and nodded once. "What 'ya doin'?"
"Watching a film," Damon explained, cracking his knuckles. "Getting food. It's simple."
"Why not take her out to a nice dinner?" Joseph asked.
"She doesn't like going out," Damon chuckled, remembering how she whined that one time he took her to Le Pavillon in Ithaca. "She prefers staying in instead."
"Classy," Akil commented with a nod. "Wish I found a girl that prefers movies and take-out instead of fancy French restaurants and jewellery."
"Not all girls are the same, Akil," the vampire commented with a nod. "Each and every one of them are different."
"Ah!" The Italian suddenly spoke up, clapping once as if he had remembered something out of the sudden. "My mamma wants to cook for all of you. She wants to bring a meal tomorrow."
"Why does your mom want to cook for us?" Jack asked, surprised.
"She, uh..." The man snapped his fingers, confused with his words.
"Italian mothers love to cook for others," Damon spoke, giving a nod to the man. "It's a stereotype, but it is sometimes true."
"Yes!" Reginaldo nodded, smiling.
"Free food?" Akil smiled. "Good food? I'm in! Tell your mother to bring as much as she want!"
It was decided that Mrs. Lauro would bring a meal the next day. Robert agreed, but only if he was allowed to keep the leftovers. Reginaldo, anxious with a smile on his face, agreed. It was confusing to Damon how comfortable he felt around the men that were his co-workers, how he thought of them as friends.
First, there was confusion. Why was he thinking of these people as friends?
Second, there was a sense of anger in him that rose from the pit of his belly to the tip of his fingers. He was a vampire, a predator, and he became friends with his prey.
Third, there was sadness. He was a vampire, a predator, and he had fallen in love with a prey. It had been months since he met her, months since they, officially, became a couple. So, he thought nothing could go wrong. He fed before returning home, ignored her blood as if it were chewed gum on the floor, and acted as if nothing was bothering him. He didn't mind, of course not, he was in love and he preferred to be bothered instead of drinking from her.
"Damon!" Robert called as the vampire was about to leave. He stopped, silently groaned, and turned to the old man with a smile.
"Yeah?"
"Good job, son," said the old man. He laid a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. "You're doing a good job out here."
Damon was surprised at his words, and he couldn't help but the smile be erased from his lips as he stared at the old man. No one had ever told him that he was doing a good job, not when he was human or a vampire.
Robert laughed and nodded, patting the vampire on the shoulder. "I was wary of you when I hired you," he continued. "You looked like a bad seed, and I thought that you may be one of those kids that did crimes for fun. You see, I take in the bad seeds and turn them into good seeds, let them sprout in good soil. It's what I've doing since I couldn't do it with my son." He stopped, took a good look at Damon, and smiled. "You remind me a lot of him."
"Who?"
"My son," the old man said, a tone of sadness resonating in his voice. "You remind me a lot of my son, Damon."
"Where is he?"
Robert sighed. "Dead," he revealed. "Armed robbery gone wrong. Got caught by the cops, you see, so he decided to get out by shooting. In this part of town, I'm known as a thief's father. Ever since then, I've taken upon myself to take in every bad seed, every foul-mouthed kid and turn them into proper adults..." He quieted down and turned, beginning to walk away. "So they don't end up like my son." It was quiet, as if the man didn't want anyone to hear him speak. But, Damon did, and he almost felt bad.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Robert," he called, watching the old man retrieve to his home. The old man raised a hand and waved it in the air, not bothering to turn around. Damon sighed, got in his car, and drove back to the city.
He didn't forget to pick up the few films he promised Freya he would bring, or order Chinese before he left work. The passenger's side of his car had two bags, one from the movie rent shop and the other from Zhang's Palace. His car was covered with the scent of Chinese food, which to him was just as good—but a bit less—as blood. It bothered him that the smell would linger on the seats for days, but he knew that was just temporary. His happiness, not so much.
The ride up the elevator caused him to stop and think. He was doing human things, such as having a job, an apartment, a girlfriend that he couldn't believe was his girlfriend, and friends. It surprised him, but he had friends. Never had he had friends, just occasional people that passed by his life in the blink of an eye. Ever since he died, he hadn't had someone close to him, not after he left his brother. He had gone from place to place, like a wandering soul, and now, finally, after so long, he had a home.
The elevator dinged, signalling that he had arrived at his floor. With a deep breath a small smile spread around his lips, he walked out. Just like he left in the morning, he heard everything and nothing. He head laughter, cries, whispers, and conversations that was were supposed to be kept between the small four walls of their apartment. And then, he heard the soft singing voice of the woman he had been craving to hear ever since he left the apartment. It was soft, off-tune, but it made him smile.
Damon took the key from his pocket and opened the door, the soft creaking sound echoing around the apartment. He heard Freya's singing louder this time, still soft and off-tune, still lovely to him.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called, the words tasting strange on his tongue. The singing stopped, and he heard the soft pattering of feet against the floor. From the kitchen, Freya Beauchene arrived. She looked the same way as when he left; hair pulled up in a pony tail, a long-sleeved shirt, and black sweatpants. Her feet were covered in black socks, and it seemed like the only difference about her were the colour of her nails. They were maroon instead of navy blue.
"Welcome back!" she smiled, walking up to him. She laid her hands on his cheeks, pulled him to her, and laid a peck on his lips. "How was work?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Not so busy," he replied. "Like always. Oh, I brought what I told you I'd bring." He held up the two bags. "The Godfather, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Jaws, MASH, and I may have gotten Rocky Horror Picture Show."
"You got Rocky Horror?" she asked, raising a brow with a small smile spreading around her lips.
"I guess we're watching that first?"
"You guessed right."
Damon Salvatore sat in a black coloured sofa with Freya Beauchene leaning against his side. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, right next to the numerous boxes of take-out, the TV remote, and the TV guide. His mind, although he was slightly paying attention to the TV, was on the girl that had her head against his shoulder. He was in love, and he enjoyed that thought. For the first time in his life, he felt wanted, assured that he was needed. He didn't think himself as a vampire, but a human, and for once, he didn't mind that he was playing human. It bothered him, but he didn't mind, and he should have.