Well... [Damon rolls over quickly, and rises even quicker, making his way toward the door. He could sense a talk coming on, possibly one with serious undertones, and the only thing he was certain of was the fact that he needed to get out of there. It was different this time. Somehow, despite all of their intimate sexual encounters, this one felt intimate. While it was quite possibly all in his head, he wasn't willing to risk it.]
[Her head is heart is still pounding, mind reeling from some serious mind-blowing sex. Of course, it didn't just feel good on a physical level, she'd sensed the deeper, underlying emotion that had come with it. So, of course, she's not exactly thrilled when he just rolls off of her and gets out of the bed with so much as a word.
And for some reason, it really, really stings.] ...Where are you going? [She sits up, tugging the sheets with her, for some reason feeling like she's in the wrong, even though she's not exactly happy with him either.]
Ice-- [He pauses, tilting his head back toward her but failing to turn around entirely. It should have been expected that she'd question him, but somehow he was hoping she would roll over and disregard his exit entirely.] we need more ice.
[The excuse is completely lame. It's like a-bad-movie-lame. And that stinging feeling? It's getting worse. She's not sure why he wants to get away from her but she's going to question him again because she's not the type to be okay with the whole love 'em and leave 'em thing.] Ice? Right now?
[Somehow, despite possessing the ability to think quickly on his feet, it was all that came to mind. He knew it wasn't believable, he knew she would see right through it. But somehow he couldn't keep it from slipping out. It was indescribably difficult to try and make sense of the things that occurred between them, and the only thing he feared more than not being able to define it was being able to.] I would like a drink and I require ice. I fail to see the issue here.
[His words a little harsh, at least in her mind, they are. And for some reason the fact that he needs a drink after that makes her feel pretty crappy about herself thanks to her raging self-esteem issues that seem to crop up at inconvenient times. She doesn't say anything to his words, she literally bites down on her lip to keep from saying anything more. She wants to point out that the 'issue' is he's just getting up and leaving her right after getting his kicks and that's pretty much a jerk move. Instead, she just lays back down, rolling over to face the opposite direction, clutching the sheets to her bare chest, trying not to feel... icky.]
[This dance they were doing was becoming all too tiring, and he was well aware that he was the cause. Things between them had developed too quickly. Feelings - whatever the hell those were - had developed too quickly. He couldn't care for her; he didn't want to. It was supposed to be a distraction for both of them, it was supposed to be easy. He wasn't supposed to feel as guilty as he did each time he somehow let her down. These thoughts consumed him as he threw on his close and traveled down the hall to the ice machine. He was a liar, that much was undeniable, but the least he could do was follow through with somethingHe's unsure what to expect when he re-enters the room some twenty minutes later. Clearly he had spent more time than was needed to retrieve ice, but they both knew that was never his intention in the first place. When he found her in the same position as she had been in when he left her, his guilt managed to shoot into overdrive. Placing the ice bucket on the bedside table, he took a seat on the edge of the bed,
( ... )
[Twenty minutes is a long time when you're alone with only your thoughts to keep you company. At first, she'd tried to sleep, tried to just fall asleep and maybe he'd be out of whatever mood he was in when she woke up. But her mind was racing too much with both positive and negative thoughts alike. Time passed slowly and clearly he wasn't just getting ice if he was getting it at all. He probably just left if the fact that he put his clothes on was any indication, probably went to the hotel bar or out
( ... )
[While at this point in Damon's life, he feared very little, the one fear that was incomparable to all others was vulnerability. Each time he let her in, each time he felt, each sickeningly sweet moment he allowed to take place; he was vulnerable. For all he knew, her only hurt came from the rejection she felt each time he pulled away, from the worry that he was just like all the others. There were no guarantees between them, and to an extent this pleased him, but to another it made him weary.
He'd hoped that she would be asleep when he returned, but her heartbeat told him otherwise. Laying down beside her, he stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling just as lost as ever.] I don't know what to do here... [Or say. Or think.]
[Her hurt did come from all those things, the way he seemed to cut himself up when she was just an open book. Sure, she wasn't exactly one to hide her emotions, she didn't do the mysterious thing well. But he was impossible to read even when she got the nerve to ask him what he was thinking. It felt like he was slipping through her fingers over and over, like she'd never be able to get a grip on him like she wanted, like she needed. She just wanted, for once, for someone to stick around and just want to be with her, not a fake her, not some vague idea of her, just her.
She felt the bed shift more as he laid down next to her and spoke. She shifted her head on her pillow, still facing away from him as she hesitated to answer, afraid her voice would betray how much she was hurting, but luckily when she spoke, it didn't.] What do you mean? [She hadn't asked him anything, she hadn't done anything drastically different so she couldn't understand what he meant.]
[Damon shut his eyes and tried, really tried, to come up with the words that would suffice in this situation. Maybe if he could make her understand this wouldn't be so difficult. Maybe if he didn't feel like he was fighting a losing battle he could make this work. But first, he needed to define just what this was. Specifics never were his strong suit, however. Vague suited him just fine, even if it suited no one else.] I don't know-- [It was possible that this was false. It was entirely possible that he did know, he was just incapable of explaining it, try as he might.] I'm not good at this.
[Caroline felt impatient with his answers, frustrated but it was almost the same situation with Matt, how he couldn't express how he was feeling. So Caroline, as frustrated as she was, still wanted to help him along.] At talking? About feelings? [Her voice wasn't, for once, accusatory, no hint of sarcasm or annoyance] Or it because this isn't just a one-night-stand thing?
[He suddenly notices the lump in his throat, words he is tempted to utter choked back as he attempts to swallow. She was right. Talking certainly wasn't an issue, but when discussing these so called feelings, it was damn near impossible. But that's not what throws him off. No, it's the fact that she managed to hit the nail right on the head with her last question. It renders him speechless. In fact, it takes some time before he's able to manage a single syllable.] Yes. [He clears his throat, attempting to focus on breathing, on not walking out once again.] To all of it. I'm bad at all of it. I can't handle any of it. [And now, as he admits this, one of his biggest fears becomes a reality. He is vulnerable.]
[She wants to turn to face him, to look at him. But she's afraid to move, afraid that he'll lose his never and walk away again if she does anything to change their positions right now. She stares at the wall for a long moment because she has to grasp what he's saying, that he's having feelings beyond... whatever someone felt about a one nightstand. And as much as he's struggling, it feels good to know she isn't just being used... again. She wants to point out to him that of course he's bad at it, the one woman he loved fucked him over so badly that even the most well-adjusted person would be damaged goods. Though, she doesn't see him as that.
She considers her words carefully, quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say.] You're not bad at it. You just never have to do it. [She exhales, deciding to be honest, hoping to whoever that this won't ruin things] And you can handle it. Just saying what you did... That's a big deal. [To her and for him.]
[Somehow her words make him feel worse rather than better. It was a big deal; it was a huge deal. It was the first time he dared attempt to admit anything he was actually feeling since-- well, since he had told Elena of his affections for her. He had made her forget because it was what she deserved. She deserved to be with Stefan and to be happy, to live a life free of him and his numerous complications. But as time continued on he became more and more transparent, his every word echoing his love for her. Maybe she had meant what she said; maybe she did like him as he was now. But the fact still remained that she didn't love him as he was now. She didn't love him at all.
He laces his fingers together and rests them on his stomach, the control he finally regained over his breathing providing him with little comfort.] But what does it even mean?
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And for some reason, it really, really stings.] ...Where are you going? [She sits up, tugging the sheets with her, for some reason feeling like she's in the wrong, even though she's not exactly happy with him either.]
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He'd hoped that she would be asleep when he returned, but her heartbeat told him otherwise. Laying down beside her, he stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling just as lost as ever.] I don't know what to do here... [Or say. Or think.]
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She felt the bed shift more as he laid down next to her and spoke. She shifted her head on her pillow, still facing away from him as she hesitated to answer, afraid her voice would betray how much she was hurting, but luckily when she spoke, it didn't.] What do you mean? [She hadn't asked him anything, she hadn't done anything drastically different so she couldn't understand what he meant.]
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She considers her words carefully, quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say.] You're not bad at it. You just never have to do it. [She exhales, deciding to be honest, hoping to whoever that this won't ruin things] And you can handle it. Just saying what you did... That's a big deal. [To her and for him.]
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He laces his fingers together and rests them on his stomach, the control he finally regained over his breathing providing him with little comfort.] But what does it even mean?
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