llamafordrama | texts from your ex

No, I used to hate you. [She's still looking down at his ring, as if memorizing every detail of it to heart.] Big difference there.

[She should probably go, or pretend that Jeremy's calling her or - or something, because she hadn't meant for it to slip out so easily. But she's frozen there, daring to finally make eye contact and try (really try) to look like it didn't terrify her to admit it.]

[He can tell that the admission terrifies her, the way a predator can always sense weakness. The thought of inching closer to her and taking advantage of this expressed sentiment is beyond tempting.]

You should go back to hating me. It's the smart thing to do. [Because god, it is taking all of his willpower to put some distance between them. He's drunk, she's beautiful and vulnerable; the situation practically begs for him to make a move on her. If it had been any other night, or if he had been drunk for any other reason, he might not have been able to resist.

More or less fortunately, tonight is different.]

You should go home.

[Just like that, the fear's gone. She cares for him - all of him, not this angst-y, wallowing kind of pity. Elena might've reveled in it. (Elena always did go for dark, brooding boys, especially in her fiction.) She wasn't Elena, though, because she rises to her feet and holds out a palm like she's about to give him one of those infamous aneurysms...

It never manifests, because she's got more control over herself than she thinks, even with the bourbon.] No way. I didn't drive myself all the way out here for you to send me back home like some sorority girl.

[She snaps her fingers, summoning herself a glass of ice water. Which she sips with relish as she looks at him with her usual Disapproving Stare.]

So you're going to tell me what Elena said - or did - this time, and I'm going to listen to every single word.

[He lets out a sharp, bitter bark of laughter.]

This has nothing to do with Elena. [For once. And what a sad commentary on his life that is.

He's determined to let the subject die right there, but Bonnie is clearly having none of it — that Disapproving Stare of hers is in full force.]

I'm serious. This has absolutely nothing to do with Elena. There is nothing you need to worry about.

[And still she's Disapproving Stare-ing him. He wonders if it's some kind of witch-y power, the ability to get under his skin like that, because she's 17 and he's 150 years old, he should be stronger than this. (Then again, the same thing could be said about Elena. Maybe he really is just a loser.)]

FINE! [He throws his hands up in surrender.] You wanna know what's wrong? I found some old letters my father wrote me. Reading them made me a little ... emotional. [He says it sarcastically, like he doesn't really mean it, the letters didn't really effect them, except the truth is too obvious to hide.]

[Under normal circumstances, she would've relished in the truth. Normal circumstances also meant Elena-shaped trouble (or worse, Katherine-shaped trouble).

She can handle Elena Moods: she can tease him or say something that might put the pressure off for another week. But when he mentions his father, her heart runs cold. Papa Salvatore had chosen to kill his sons, rather than have children who sympathized with vampires. Whatever in those letters couldn't have been worthwhile. No wonder he's in such a Mood.]

He was your father. You're allowed to feel emotional.

Oh, well, thank you for the permission to have feelings. You are too kind.

[He takes a drink, planning on letting that scathing comment be the end of the conversation. Except she's radiating compassion and he can't stand it. He doesn't deserve her compassion, not after everything he's done. He needs to nip that emotion in the bud.

He rolls off the couch and goes over to the desk, where he had tossed the letters.] Let's see ... Dear Damon, I heard you fought bravely at the Battle of Something or Another. You have served the Confederacy well. I'm proud of you, son.

He never actually sent any of these. I'm surprised he didn't burn them after I left the army. I guess he wanted to rub it in my face.

[Taking another swig of his drink, he hurls the letters into the fireplace ... then drunkenly realizes there's no fire going. Damn it. A good dramatic moment ruined. This night sucks.]

He probably didn't want to. [Maybe he was proud of Damon, if only for a brief moment. Bonnie's face falls at those implications - that Papa Salvatore was proud of the Confederacy and those slavery rights - but she sobers up fast and rises to her feet.

Clasping her hands together, she murmurs,] No use dwelling on that, right? Phasmatos Incendia.

[The first letter catches on fire. It hovers there, rather than moving from letter to letter, and it soon becomes obvious why - Bonnie's holding her full power back with an outstretched hand. She may not care for its contents, but if he wants to keep them? She'll pull back, no questions asked.]

[No use dwelling —] What are you doing?!

[No, it's not Bonnie burning those letters that upsets Damon; it's her nonchalance.] Did you miss the part where I admitted to serving in the Confederate army? You know, the people fighting to keep slavery?

[That was the whole point of him bringing up the ugly letters. It's not like he wanted to. He tries to think about his time in the war as little as he possibly can. Hell, he's spent the past 100+ years trying to forget about the 1800's entirely, except for the parts involving Katherine. It's an ugly, ugly part of his history that he wishes he could erase. He brought it up to remind her that he's about as far from a good person as you get. He's been the bad guy his entire life.]

You should be storming off in disgust.

[Other people might've, sure. Other people also hadn't seen that glimmer of hope in him, Bonnie thinks as she folds her arms and turns to look at him.]

You also left that same army. [Whole reason Katherine was able to sink her nails (and teeth) into Damon and Stefan at the same time. Bonnie's shrug is smaller than usual, and she's tempted to pull her gaze back towards that (slowly growing) fire.] Damon, if you really believed in slavery... or anything the Confederacy believed in, really... you wouldn't have given Emily the time of day.

But she trusted you enough to protect my family, and that means something.

[No use dwelling on the past, she thinks, because it's clearly bringing him nothing but grief. If he did value those ideals, or what his father thought of him, then he wouldn't have tried to burn them. Right?]

Don't be naive. I used Emily to get what I wanted. The fact that she trusted me is a statement about her character, not mine.

I wasn't an abolitionist. I left the Confederate army because I didn't feel like dying so my dad and his friends could keep their slaves. And then I came home, and I was waited on hand and foot by my father's slaves. I went out to see friends, and our dinners were served by their slaves.

And I. Didn't. Care.

[It's a lie. Slavery made him vaguely uncomfortable, but not enough to do anything. Intellectually, he disagreed with it ... But it was easier to shrug and go "the world sucks" and preoccupy himself with his pleasures.]

You know, I've always wondered why my father hated vampires so much when really, what could be more Confederate than a vampire? Old as dirt, obsessed with manners, viewing people as things to use as you please ... He would've fit in perfectly.

Maybe I wasn't such a shitty Confederate after all.

[If that little speech doesn't send her running, then there is no hope for her.]

[Except she stands there, rather than packing her things and getting out of Dodge. He wouldn't bluster about how much he didn't care if it wasn't bothering him, and some small part of her knows that. She waits until the very end to say something, but there's something about the thought of a shitty Confederate that amuses her. Bonnie ducks her head, trying to hide that expression far far away from him.

Because yeah, she should be upset. She knows racism better than anyone in this town. Junior cotillion mysteriously lost her invitation, and so did Miss Mystic Falls. She's only a member of a Founding Family when it suits the town's need for diversity. Hell, she wasn't even part of Founders' Day beyond photographing the whole hideous charade. Town hasn't changed much in 150 years.]

Maybe, or maybe you're just like the rest of this town, dealing with a status quo because it was easier than not dealing. [see: Elena, Jeremy, Matt, even Tyler and Caroline. Which is really, when it all boils down to it, why she can't fully be mad at him for being a product of his time (or so he claims). Her own friends can't even notice casual racism when it's staring them in the face.]

You fought for the Confederates then. What're you fighting for now?

Edited 2016-03-31 06:17 (UTC)

[She's not running. Why isn't she running?]

Right now I'm fighting to make you see reason. Christ, I thought Elena had compassion problems, but she's got nothing on you.

[He uses his vampire speed and strength to abruptly pin her against the wall.]

I'm a bad guy, Bonnie. You need to remember that.

[He knows he's already undercut his own case by grabbing her shoulders instead of her throat. Anyone else, he would have done that, no question — even Elena. But it's stupidly hard to bring himself to threaten Bonnie Bennet, even when it's for her own damn good.]

Only because you want to be!

[She huffs at him, narrowing her eyes and taking in short, shallow breaths like she's trying to hold in something (tears? frustration beyond words? both??) - and she can't. She's on the verge of breaking down, but it's not because of his compliance with a racist world. It's how often he insists he's this big bad creature that goes bump in the night, without once stopping to consider that maybe he has a choice in the matter.]

You have a choice, and at this point, I don't care what you do with it. [Lies. Huge, blatant lies betrayed only by the tears wallowing in her eyes.] I just don't think you should be punishing yourself for something that happened over a century ago.

[Oh fuck she's crying. Damon doesn't back off, but he does loosen his grip reflexively.]

Yes. I choose to be the bad guy. So save your compassion for someone else.

[With that, he lets go of her and steps back.]

Take care of the people who matter.

[She blinks back surprise. Bonnie had fully expected some kind of backlash, or yelling, or - or anything that wasn't him walking away.]

I'm trying to. [Because that list of people who matter? Who she'd die for? It includes him now. He's doing a dumb thing again, trying to chase her off - but she did drive all the way here.

So she takes a deep breath and does the one thing she wouldn't do under normal circumstances: she levitates the letters she hadn't burned, returning them to their place on the desk - along with a box of matches she'd brought with her. (Hey, sometimes her magic fails her.)]

So here. You can burn them and forget... or keep them as a reminder of what happened. It's all on you.

[He doesn't understand her. He really doesn't. How can she still be so invested in helping him after everything he's told her today — hell, after everything he's done to her?]

Go home, Bonnie.

[He needs some time and space to process all this. But he's actually going to process it now, without liquor.]

[She nods, taking that at face value and slipping out the door without another word.

God, she messed that one up big time. Worst part was, she was actually trying.]

texts from your ex

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time for a new thread, i think

sounds good!