Title: Dear Narcissus Boy
Disclaimer: TVD belongs to Smith.
Spoilers: General S1 Spoilers, starting specifically with ‘You’re Undead to Me’.
Summary: She will fight, claw, scratch, and (now) bite to be free of him . . .
Notes: Response to the “What if Damon turned Caroline instead of Vicki?” question floating around LJ.
Notes2: Title from Alanis Morisette’s “Narcissus” from her album Under Rug Swept.
~*~*~*~Dear narcissus boy I know you've never really apologized for anything
I know you've never really taken responsibility
I know you've never really listened to a woman
Chapter One: Jagged Pieces
She thinks she remembers a time when she’s the one that boys want and it’s only ever a problem when Elena is around. There is no one else around who can compare to Caroline Forbes, and hell if every girl around didn’t want to be her. She’s Queen Bee material, even if she spends a lot of time competing with her best friend for the title. And though her race against Elena is one-sided (and she’s still losing), at least she knows that the vast majority of people want to be her or be with her.
Things have changed this year, and maybe it’s karma because although she felt bad for Elena when her parents died, a secret part of her was thrilled when Elena fell off the social scene. She knows it’s terrible, she knows that makes her this self-obsessed, vapid airhead who only cares about popularity. But she can’t help it because she’s Caroline Forbes and popularity is important to her. In her more sour moments she thinks she deserves the popularity because Elena’s got everyone’s love and that only leaves notoriety for her (and it will be the positive kind of notoriety, thank you very much).
But this thing with Elena is always going to get her in the end because losing is no longer an option. She has to win at something, has to beat Elena in just one thing. She knows the captaincy of the squad has passed to her only because Elena is in no condition to keep being co-captain. She knows most of the girls flutter to her side because Elena has been so absent these past months. She’s finally winning, but it’s by default and that isn’t good enough for her. She wants to beat her at something, and it’s stupid because Elena really is a good friend and this obsessive need to best her is petty. Bonnie is of the same opinion, though she’s too sweet to say it flat out.
And so Stefan comes rolling into town and Caroline thinks . . . well, take a look at him and guess what she thinks. It’s criminal for a guy to be so blatantly hot that the sight of him actually makes her mouth water. And she wants him, not just because everyone else wants him, but because she just really wants him. But he doesn’t want her; he doesn’t want anyone but Elena. It stings more than it should (because they’ve been friends for years and she should be used to this, right?) and she tries her hand at dulling the pain with beer.
Bonnie holds her hand as she whines and tries to cheer her up by reminding Caroline of all the good things about her. But it doesn’t work because Caroline feels pathetic, and it’s appropriate because she’s acting pathetic and all she really wants to do is go home and pretend like nothing happened (she’s gotten good at that over the years). Bonnie disappears to get her some caffeinated fortification because if her mother sees her like this she will be in so much trouble.
That’s the first time she sees him and she remembers it clearly even though she’s drunk at the time. He’s sitting a few tables over and he gives her this smile that makes her feel all tingly. It’s just what she needs after Stefan’s rejection and even in her drunken haze she notices that he’s obscenely gorgeous and is obviously new to town because this kind of gorgeous is the kind that is chatted about in breathless whispers and semi-swoons. She’s very tempted to go over to him right then and there but some scraps of dignity remain and she flirts from afar for five minutes before Bonnie returns.
She remembers that night obsessively. Everything from the clothes they both wore to the way he tilted his head ever so slightly-she remembers all of it. She has to, because the rest of their time together is blurred and disjointed and she wonders if she ever had a good time because she doesn’t remember ever enjoying it. She supposes they broke up at the Founders’ Ball, but that’s only because Elena finds her passed out and pale-faced on the Lockwood’s property with Damon nowhere in sight.
Days pass and she hears nothing from him. A small part of her is depressed that she doesn’t rate a face-to-face brush off, but a larger part of her is relieved. It becomes easier to remember things after that night, but some of it is kind of scary so she avoids thinking about it to spare some of her sanity. Stefan is oddly interested in her for a day or two, asking her how she’s feeling and whether his brother has called her. Something about the way he asks annoys her and she tells him repeatedly that she is fine, and that he needs to stop asking.
But she is not fine and maybe that’s why, even after he stops asking her to her face, Stefan watches her closely to make sure. She feels like throwing a tantrum, stomping her feet and demanding that he just stop it already. It won’t make anything better, but she’s tired of feeling like she’s under a microscope. So she puts on a show and throws herself back into things like nothing remotely traumatic happened (and it really can’t be that traumatic if she doesn’t remember it, right?). She holds court over the car wash fundraiser, reasserting herself as Queen Bee and ordering everyone about. Her friends smile in fondly exasperated tolerance and Stefan only arches an eyebrow at her. Her chin juts out, her head stays up, and Caroline damn near convinces everyone that everything has gone back to normal.
But he holds sway over her even now. When she hears his voice calling to her, she’s worried that maybe she’s gone crazy because he wasn’t around and she’s hallucinating him in the middle of that dark hallway. He calls her, begs her to come to him, and she wants to say that she doesn’t know where he is and that she wouldn’t come even if she did. But she can’t say it because he’s not really there and she’s already on her way to him.
She’s seen the Salvatore house before, but she’s never been inside. But she knows exactly which window is open and which hallway leads to the basement. The basement itself reminds her of something out of a horror movie and her instincts scream at her to not go down those stairs. But her legs aren’t listening and she goes down into the basement whilst knowing it’s the stupidest thing she’s done to date.
The Salvatore’s have a weird prison cell thing in their basement and she’s really not surprised at this point. She can hear Damon calling to her from inside the cell and against her better judgement, she steps up the door. She leans into the barred window and searches the room until she finds him. He looks bad, like he’s been sick. He starts saying things to her and she can’t really concentrate because the mere sight of him has made some of those disjointed memories line up for a brief second.
“You bit me,” she accuses, breaking into his pleas for emancipation. He stops and seems aggravated that she’s brought this topic up. She watches as he drags himself closer to the window, noting that he’s in a lot of pain and even paler than he usually is.
“You liked it, remember?” He says this in a raspy sort of voice. And as soon as he says it, the memories break apart and she can’t bring them back together. The indignation she has summoned for her earlier accusation floats away with her recollection.
“Why do I keep remembering the same things . . . but in different ways?”
He is obviously irritated with her now, but explains anyway. “You remember what I want you to remember. And now that the vervain has passed out of your system, you won’t remember what you’re about to do.”
She really wants to know what vervain is, but the deadly promise in his last words make it impossible for her to ask anything other than: “What am I about to do?”
“You’re gonna open the door,” he tells her in a gentle voice that quickly gives way to deathly rage. “You’re gonna open the door!”
Caroline is terrified; the door is the only thing between her and a furious Damon. The last thing she wants to do is open that door. But she can’t help herself. There’s nothing she can do to refuse, so her hands fall to the latch and she’s undoing it all the while wishing she was anywhere but here.
The shout comes from somewhere behind, and it comes too late. She’s knocked out of the way even while Damon is pushing against the door. Someone screams at her to “RUN!” and there is nothing but grunts, growls, and shouts in that basement, so she listens. She’s barely to the stairs when she hears the cell door smash open, doesn’t want to contemplate the loud crunching noise from behind her. She needs to get out of here; she needs to be far away from Damon.
She scrambles up the stairs in barely contained panic. Damon is behind her, thundering up the stairs after her. She hears him growling, feels him swiping at her ankles, and when he gets a hold of her, she screams in pure, unadulterated fear. She uses her free leg to kick at him repeatedly until he lets go and then continues her race up the stairs. She can’t rest, can’t second guess herself. She knows she needs to be outside to be safe, because Damon has murder on his mind.
She explodes out of the stairwell, the front door in her sights. She runs as fast as she can, and she thinks (hopes, prays, begs) that she can get there in time. She’s within arm’s reach of the door when he tackles her from behind. Her heart falls to the bottom of her stomach as she goes tumbling to the floor. But the need to get away (to survive) is strong and she tries wriggling, kicking, scratching, bucking her way to freedom. But the second after his hands disappear from around her calves she feels him climb on top of her back. His weight forces her down and she screams as she tries to jostle him off. But he is too strong, too quick, and the pain comes quickly.
Before he said that she liked it when he bit her, but despite the holes in her memory she now knows he’s lying. There’s no way to enjoy this. The pain is blinding and his teeth are not gentle as they rip and tear into her throat. Her screams increase in frequency, but her strength is leaving her. The pull of blood from her veins burns her from the inside out and soon she feels herself starting to shut down. Her heart, that had been beating so vigorously before, was slowing down. She starts feeling cold, right down to the tips of her fingers, and the pain fades into the background as she loses her hold on reality.
It’s only when her face smashes back down onto the floor does she realize that he’s let her go. The weight of his body leaves her back and soon his hands are everywhere. She can’t imagine what he wants now, when she’s more than halfway to dead, and then she feels his hand disappear into her jacket pocket. He’s pulling her cell phone out of her pocket as she’s dying on his floor and if she had the strength, she would snidely suggest that he pick her wallet while he’s at it.
But it seems he has everything he needs because she hears his footsteps leading away from her. The knowledge that he is some distance away from her gives her back some life. The need to get away comes back full force and she doesn’t know why, but she knows that she has to get outside if she wants to survive. She can’t make herself get up, half her body will not listen to the commands her brain issues. But her hands still work, the fingers still flex at her command, and the arms still had some strength. Slowly, sluggishly, pathetically-she reaches out with her right hand, fingers digging into the hard wooden floor as she tries to pull her body closer to the door. The effort is exhausting, but she can’t give up-won’t give up-because she is Caroline Forbes and she does not want to die here today.
She barely moves, but any forward movement reinforces her resolve. She barely has the ability to lift her head, but she does and forces her eyes to focus. Her vision is hazy, but she can make out the outline of the front door, just mere inches away from her fingers. She draws in a shaky breath, tries to force energy that she doesn’t have back into her limbs and then crawls forward slowly. It seems like she’s been at this for hours and she has little to show for it. But she won’t give up, starts to feel hope for an escape as her fingers brush the bottom ledge of the door.
Two black shoes appear right next to her head before she can get a good grip on the door. The sob falls from her lips before she can stop it (because she knows who it is). The need to get away increases, even though she knows that it’s beyond useless at this point.
“Well, well, well,” his voice sounds faint and far away, even though he’s right next to her. She tries to block it out, because she doesn’t want to hear him, she just wants to be outside. But there’s nothing she can do to shut him up, nothing she can do to stop him when he wedges a foot under her ribs and flips her over onto her back.
His face appears, hovering above her. She notes that he hasn’t even wiped her blood from his lips and that any ounce of gorgeous is gone because there is nothing but monster in his face. He looks like the Devil as he grins down at her and she’s disgusted because the blood is just so messy. It occurs to her that she must look just as bad and it’s like adding insult to injury-he’s killed her and ruined her outfit.
“Someone doesn’t want to die,” he continues on, not noticing (or probably not caring) that she’s glaring venomously at him. She thinks this is an odd time to gloat and doesn’t know what he will get from the experience. She just knows that she doesn’t want to indulge him. She’s barely conscious at this point, but her brain still screams for her body to get away from him. Her legs are the only limbs to respond and they try pitifully to kick her away to freedom.
Her actions seem to amuse him because she can make out the faint sounds of chuckling. It pisses her off, but she doesn’t have enough left in her to her outrage. She thinks that this is it, that she’s going to die, bleeding on Damon Salvatore’s front hall while the jerk laughs at her. It’s a pathetic end to a life that she isn’t willing to let go of just yet, but Damon’s taken that choice from her.
“You know, I never realized you had this kind of spunk,” Damon has not tired of the sound of his own voice, but she doesn’t want to listen anymore. She shuts her eyes and tries to turn her face away. But he reaches out suddenly and grabs her chin, forcing her face back towards his. “Don’t be so stubborn, Caroline,” he chides her. “I’m trying to express some appreciation for you. Isn’t that what you’ve been angling for, all this time?”
She can’t muster the strength to say it, but she glares at him with eyes that scream ‘fuck off!’ He’s amused by her defiance, actually laughs again (the jerk!) and then releases her chin. His hand goes to stroke her cheek gently, something akin to fondness flickering over his face for a brief second. It’s gone quickly, and another calculating look enters his eyes.
“This stunning display of guts and fortitude deserves a reward,” he tells her, wagging a finger in her face as her eyelids began to droop dangerously low. “Stay with me Caroline. It’s in your best interests.”
But Caroline hasn’t the wherewithal to stay with anyone at this point. Death was slow in coming, and though she’s fought him off so far, there’s nothing to be done now. The sound of Damon’s voice becomes even fainter and a frightening darkness starts to blanket all her senses. She barely feels it when Damon lifts her head and pries apart her teeth. She is fading quickly into the icy cold clutches of death, well past the point of caring what Damon’s going to do to her now (but it better not be some sort of mutilation-she hates the idea of leaving a disfigured corpse behind her).
Caroline’s settling down into the idea of dying and just sleeping for the rest of eternity when suddenly strength courses through her body with the painful scorch of a lightning strike. All too suddenly, she’s back into awareness, back to life, and her mouth is full of some awful metallic liquid (she knows what it is, but thinking it might make her throw up).
Her eyelids snap open and she’s looking up into Damon’s face. He flashes her a predatory smirk and then pushes his wrist harder against her teeth. Her mind picks up on what is happening and she starts to gag. But he squeezes her neck painfully and orders her to “DRINK!” And she does, though her stomach is roiling in nauseous protest.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he pulls his wrist back and lets her go. Her head thumps back and she’s expecting it to contact with the hard wood floor of the front hall. But instead the back of her head hits something incredibly soft and it takes her a few seconds of wild glancing about to realize he’s moved her to a couch.
Damon is standing over her, looking entirely too proud with himself, and she’s struggling to understand what happened. She’s dying (he had bitten her again!) and then she’s alive, and somehow Damon’s saved her by feeding her his own blood. Her entire body feels like it’s charged with barely contained energy and even though she has questions, all she wants to do is run.
Whatever he has done to save her has weakened him, because there’s no other reason for why she’s able to surprise him so thoroughly. She bolts from the couch without a word, shoving at him with all her strength and then racing for the front door again. And it’s just like before, where she’s inches away from freedom when suddenly Damon stops her.
She already knows he’s not normal, but he reinforces her suspicions by appearing before the front door with inhuman speed. There’s a smirk on his face, but his eyes are icy, blue orbs that promise pain. And he delivers. She tries to skid to a stop and change directions as soon as he appears in her pathway. But he steps forward and backhands her with such force that she’s tossed against the far wall.
The pain is shocking and Caroline is gasping for air when suddenly he’s got his hands in her hair and she’s being yanked up to her feet. “That wasn’t nice,” he tells her quietly, fingers flexing and pulling painfully at her hair.
The fear is back and overwhelming in its intensity. She can’t help the shrill shriek that erupts from her lips when he pushes her back against the wall. Her head snaps backwards, colliding with a picture frame. Glass shatters and she feels sharp pain as a shard rips open a wound in the back of her head. She’s bleeding again, and her body’s battered like never before. Damon let go of her hair when he shoved her backwards and now his hands are tightly gripping the sides of her face.
She’s crying, bleeding, and slightly delirious. The room won’t stop spinning. The only thing that remains still is Damon, but she is loathed to look at him. He seems to know what she’s thinking, because his hands tighten around her face to the point where she gasping in pain. He smirks at her discomfort and keeps the pressure up for a few minutes before loosening his grip just a bit. She collapses in relief, her body kept upright only because of his hold on her face. She’s exhausted, pained, and unable to stand it anymore.
“I hate you,” she whispers to him, voice ragged but full of resolve.
He nods once and then smirks again. “It’s a fine line,” he tells her, moving closer until their faces are merely inches apart. “But that’s okay. You’re going to have a lot of time to flip-flop between the two.”
Then his right hand moves to her chin and she knows what is coming. Her hands come up in a vain attempt to stop him, but he’s too strong for her.
He snaps her neck, and Caroline dies.
A/N: I’m kind of flip-flopping myself-Caroline/Damon, Caroline/Stefan, or Caroline/non-Salvatore Vampire? What do you guys think?