Damon turned around at her first words, slowly stepping back inside her room. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty about being mad. You have every fucking right on this entire planet to be angry with me. When you left me— because of that low life fucker, I didn’t know what to do with my life. Lacie, I thought you were dead. He made me believe you were dead and I destroyed my life trying to mourn for the loss of someone who was alive. No it’s not your fault. It’s mine,” He took another step into the room, his breathing erratic and out of control as he spoke. “I build walls around myself because I get hurt and I do stupid stuff and I regret it when I wake up in the morning! I’m a stupid asshole who deserves to be locked up somewhere, but you know something?” He strode over to her and pointed at her chest, “This thing right here,” his index finger touched her heart, “is my life. You are my life and I can’t stand to hurt you any more than I already have!” He groaned, “I’m not making you feel guilty! I’m telling you the fucking truth!”
Damon’s next move was irrational and not guided by any sort of thought process. He lunged for her frame, his hands cradling her face like like it was the most precious item on the world to him— because it was. His lips collided with hers and a thousand fireworks went off behind his eyes lids. He was rough, fueled by anger and passion, his lips demanding and unwavering against hers. His hands moved around to her back, pulling her body flush against his own as their lips moved in unison. Drawing back, he pulled her bottom lip with him, the only sound to be heard was his labored breathing and the sound of his fluttering heart inside his chest, begging to be set free.
“I was just trying to protect you when that happened,” Lacie said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I thought he would kill me anyways…what he did…I didn’t expect him…and you…” She closed her eyes, not expecting him to explode the way he did and march back into her room. The electricity was flitting around the room, making her feel her heart beat erratically. “You don’t deserve to be locked up, Damon…I just…” Her eyes looked away from him, trying to focus on what she was doing. She was about to say three little words that she’d meant to say a very long time ago, when his hands gripped her face and pulled her to him, crashing his lips down on hers.
Lacie couldn’t think. Lacie couldn’t breathe, for that matter. The electricity between them was burning and shooting around the room, through her nerves, in her veins, and she felt every rough, possessive, protective, feiry, angry, passionate move he made, every emotion he felt, by the way he was kissing her. He was kissing her as if it wasn’t her choice to stop him— He would kiss her whether she would kiss him back or whether she would make him leave forever after it. He tugged her tight against him, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth, almost giving her an opportunity to push him away, but she didn’t. She brought her hands up into his hair and yanked him back to her, pushing her lips against his and kissing him with as much emotion as she’d kept locked inside of herself for so long. Her teeth pulled at his bottom lip, her tongue brushed against his, her hands pulled in his hair, and she never wanted it to stop.
Totally dumbfounded by her reaction, Damon pulled back and shook his head, pacing the length of her room, “Lacie, I don’t give a flying fuck about who turned you,” He seethed, rubbing his unshaven jaw roughly, his thoughts a rambling mess as he tried to piece together everything that had happened over the past year to best explain to her what had happened. He only had one problem, it was clear she didn’t want him anymore. She’d moved on. She had found someone else to spend her life with and that person had turned her.
Damon moved towards her doorway and stood in the frame, the walls around his heart building up with each second that ticked by, “I went to New Orleans for my mother. She’s buried there. I went down there to replace the flowers on her grave for her birthday,” He confessed, his eyes trained on the floor. “When I went to get back in my car, I left my phone on the tire, thus resulting in no telephone.” He raked his fingers through his hair, “I stopped by a bar to grab a drink before I headed home and I caught wind of the whole ‘Klaus baby, King Marcel’ mishap and I wanted to see what the talk was.” His posture slumped, “I was mislead by a witch to an old tomb and she sealed me in there. I was only supposed to be in there until the baby was born and the spell would unhinge, but I fucked up and ended up in there a lot longer than I should have been. When I got out, I stayed in Louisiana for a few weeks trying to think of some way to apologize for leaving without inviting you.”
Damon reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a red velvet box with her initials on the top of it. “It’s a lapis lazuli ring, encrusted with diamonds. It’s a daylight ring.” He shrugged and tossed it on her bed, “I was going to change you whenever you were ready,” He said quietly, his emotions now completely buried behind his facade. “Keep it.” He turned to head down the stairs, “Oh, and I’m sorry Lacie. I really am.”
Lacie let out an audible sigh when he moved away from her, and closed her eyes, trying to fight back tears. He just kept talking about things that made her feel worse. His mom, thinking about her, whoever turned her…and she just…she couldn’t do it. Her head leaned back against the wall, still trying to fight back tears. “Stop it,” Lacie managed to get out, her eyes flashing up to his.
Her eyes looked over to the box which held the ring. “Stop making me feel terrible about all of this! Stop…making me feel like I did something wrong by being mad at you! I have every right to be mad at you, Damon! You left me. Just like everyone else always does.” Her chest was heaving with deep breaths, and the tears in her eyes finally spilled over. “Don’t say goodbye just as you’re about to give me some beautiful ring that you’d wanted to give me as an apology. Don’t apologize just as you’re going to leave again. Don’t.” Her hazel eyes were full of fire as she watched him. “I can see it, Damon. I can see the way you build walls around yourself, and block me out and that isn’t fair!“ She sucked in another breath, “I’m the one who should be blocking you out, Damon! But I can’t, because I trust you too fucking much, and that’s my mistake, I guess. Just…just stop making me feel so damn guilty!“
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose and took another step towards her, closing her in between the wall behind them and his firm body. Every nerve in his being stood on high wire, just waiting to be set free. “Listen to me, right now,” He seethed, anger the first bit of emotion to flicker in his eyes, “I spent my last year sealed off in some tomb in the middle of New Orleans by some witches who refused to let me leave until the stupid baby Klaus was born. I was trapped.” He pulled a broken phone out of his pocket. “I ran over it when I left for Louisiana. I was only planning to be gone for the day,” He explained, his voice hushed with anger, “but I got stuck. I fucking got stuck.”
He took another step, the electric charged air pulsating through his veins. “I would have changed you the moment you asked for it. Forever, Lacie. That was the plan. My plan,” Damon looked at the floor before meeting her endless hazel eyes, “Do you want me to leave?” He asked seriously, releasing a soft breath, “If you want me to leave I will get in my car and never come back,” He placed his hands on the wall on both sides of her head, his signature smirk pulling on the corners of his lips, “But you wouldn’t want that would you?” He whispered, “You missed the fuck out of me and I did the same to you and if you try to deny it, I’ll take you against the wall and make you remember every little touch,” he brushed his fingers across her cheek, “every kiss,” his lips mimicked his fingers as they barely touched her skin, “every whispered love…” he trailed off, leaning back to look into her eyes. “Tell me to leave and I’m gone.”
Lacie, though her heart was surely breaking, and she could feel it, and she could not ignore it, prevailed from trying as hard as she could. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, and she wanted so badly to believe him, but how could she? What would witches want with him? Why did it take a year for them to let him go? Why did he go to fucking Louisiana in the first place?
”Your plan, Damon. You are pissed off about someone else turning me, aren’t you? You want me to tell you so you can have someone to be angry at.” She shook her head, but knew she could avoid the important subject for long. She was trapped against the wall, and she knew she couldn’t push him away; she couldn’t touch him or the effects could be dangerous.
”Stop it.” Her heartbeat was frantic and she could feel it getting harder and harder to breathe with ever word, every touch, and every smoldering look. Yes, she missed him. “I didn’t miss you, Damon.” She missed him more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t tell him that, could she? Her eyes teared up in frustration, threatening to spill over. He leaned closer to her, and her eyes flickered from his to his lips, then back to his eyes before she felt terribly afraid, and terribly trapped, “Get away from me,” she almost growled, not really angry at him at all, moreso at herself, but trying to appear as though her anger was directed at him. “Go.”
Damon shook his head and looked out the large window adjacent to his position on the bed, his hands laced in his lap. “Look, I know that I left without a note or a word or a call or a text, but please— just please let me explain myself,” He stood and walked over towards her, his eyes pleading, “If you kick me out and decide you want to kill me, so be it, but,” he paused and exhaled slowly, “please just give me a chance to redeem myself before you cut me off.”
Furrowing his brow, Damon looked her once over before locking on her eyes, “I’m not going to go on some jealous rampage because some guy got around to the dirty work before I did. I was going to do it, but I— I had to leave,” He confessed, starting to reach for her hand, but thinking better of it, and moving away before he was tempted to do something a lot less innocent that touching her hand. “All I’m asking for is an hour. One hour to tell you everything. Please just give me one hour, Lacie.” He begged, his tone dropping with heavy guilt.
“Why should I let you explain yourself? You’ve had a year to do that. You had three endless months of me looking for you, to find you so you could do that? Now? Now, a year later, you decide you’re going to come back and explain yourself?” Lacie glared at him, taking a cautious step back when he came towards her, making her narrow her eyes at him, her stance tense. Not defiant as it used to be with him, but uncomfortable.
His eyes ran over her, causing her blood to go hot again. “You’ve never been one to be rational. Don’t lie to me, Damon. You were not going to turn me, and you know it.” Her eyes flickered to his hand, almost daring him to touch her before she met his eyes. “One hour? You couldn’t spare me a minute’s phone call and you want an hour?” She pushed her hair roughly out of her face, shaking her head, “You’re insane.”
Damon held his hands up in surrender— his promise not to do anything irrational; for the time being, that is. He took a slow step inside her bedroom, noting how not a single thing bad been changed since he’d been forced to leave. “It looks exactly the same in here,” He muttered to himself, walking around the room, his fingers trailing across the foot of her bed before he sat down, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t think this is okay, Lacie. I don’t. So, let’s not blame me, yet. Don’t blame me yet.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and raked his lanky fingers through his silky black hair, pushing it off his forehead.
“I see you’ve become immortal,” he noted, his tone light and conversational. “Stefan, I assume,” Damon added, looking up and meeting her hazel green eyes that he always seemed to lose himself in. “Can we just talk—? Please,” He pleaded, wringing his hands together in his lap, preparing himself for the harshest of harsh rejections. “Or— I can go home and when you’re ready to talk, you can call me or something…” He trailed off, not sure how to react to her quite yet.
<pLacie’s eyebrows pulled together, watching him in confusion as he sat on her bed. Her arms tightened across her chest and she took another step away from him. “Don’t blame you? For leaving? For not seeing me in a year without a word? For- Ugh,” She glared at him before looking away.
Her eyes flickered to him, looking away from his eyes as she shook her head, “I’m not going to tell you who turned me just so you can go off on some dumb rampage over me dying, Damon.” Her breaths came heavily, and she adjusted her stance, as if at any moment he might reach out and burn her. “Talk? About what?” There was something different, however. There was something less passionate- less whole, about Damon. There wasn’t a cocky glint in his eyes, nor was there a confident smirk on his lips. His eyes were dull, and his lips were solemn, and she didn’t like it. She wanted the no-nonsense, I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer Damon. This was not him.
Damon, expecting her reaction, allowed her to slam the door in his face, his eyes shooting up to the roof over the porch before falling back on the door handle. He’d been invited in and all he had to do was simply open the door and enter her home, but, for some odd reason, he felt alienated. His feet were grounded in place, unable to move. Rubbing his temples, a roll of thunder thudding overhead and, against his better judgement, he flung open the door, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Lacie Berns,” He scolded, stopping in the foyer, listening to her erratic heartbeat fluttering from her room upstairs, “Hear me out.”
Pulling his arms out of his leather jacket, he hung it on the coat rack and made his way into the kitchen, pulling out a glass tumbler and filling it halfway with an ancient bottle of bourbon sitting on the counter. Downing the contents in one gulp, he set the glass into the sink and flashed up the stairs, thrusting her door open and standing in the doorway. “Hi,” He said quietly, his eyes falling on her own hazel ones, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Lacie heard the door open, but, to her surprise, it was not immediate. She’d expected him to yank the door open and chase her, or yell at her, or leave, but not to simply walk into her house and sound actually rational for fuck’s sake! Her name on his tongue sent her heard sputtering wildly as her back rested against the door, closing her eyes for a moment before walking away from it, thinking he might just go away, or, rather, thinking she might just wake up and it would all be over.
Her ears were trained on him. He took a drink of something, probably the bourbon she hadn’t touched since he vanish, and a silent sob racked though her chest before she walked away from the door, and only a moment later did her door come flying open, and she turned to face him. He greeted her, and her heart went flying into a fit of rage. “Excuse me?” She said, her voice much calmer than she thought she could manage. Her arms crossed against her chest, and she met his eyes, taking a step back. “Damon Salvatore, don’t you dare think this is okay.”