New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Twenty-Two

1977 — Manhattan, New York

   Damon paced back and forth, feigning that he was searching for a shirt instead of being a bit scared of sitting next to Freya. She sat by the bed, her hands pressed together and her green eyes following him everywhere. Damon, finally, stopped pacing and looked at her. He didn't look at her because he stopped, but because he wanted to memorise every feature of her face. The colour and shape of her eyes, her nose, the perfect bow on her top lip, the small freckle on the corner of her lip. He just wanted to remember her, because he decided that it would be best to make her forget about him. 

   "I'm sorry," Freya said, breaking the silence. "I should have told you before."

   He shook his head. "You didn't have to tell me anything, Freya," he said. "I'm just a bit surprised, no more. I never expected for you to be a witch."

   "I was going to tell you," she said, standing from the bed and walking over to him. "Really, I was. I just didn't know how." She sighed and pushed her hands in her pocket. "How the hell was I supposed to tell you that I'm a witch?"

   "Easy," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, Damon, I'm a witch."

   She let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. "I don't think it would have been that easy."

   "I know," he sighed, nodding. "But, it could have been a start."

   She nodded, taking a step back. Slowly, she looked up at him. "Do you still love me?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Or do you hate me?"

   Damon looked at her, inhaling everything. He walked over to her and laid his hands on her cheeks, making her look up at him. "The moment I met you was the moment I realised that I want you in my life for as long as possible; eternity, if you give me the chance." He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss, soft, as if he were trying to remember the form and taste of her lips against his. "Freya, there's not a thing in this world that would make me hate you. Unless, you decide to break my heart, then I will absolutely despise you."

   She gave him a small laugh, hitting him in the chest gently, but there was still a sense of sadness around her. Even though a smile decorated her lips, she still looked sad. She reached up to him, laying her hand on his cheek. "I'll never break your heart," she said. "I'm unable to break your heart because I love you so much."

   Damon stared into her eyes, the watercolour green with a few specks of summer green and gold. He knew there was a specific name for the colour, but why would he waste time searching for it when he could get so ridiculously lost in them? Yes, he preferred to memorise the exact colour, the exact shape, how they stared at him with love and gentleness. He loved the colour, the stare she gave him. His favourite colour; his favourite glance; his favourite person.

   He closed the distance between them, placed a hand at her waist and another at her neck, and drew her against him. He pressed his lips against her, gently at first, as if he wanted to make sure that she was real. Freya's fingers threaded through his hair, working up another fit of nerves. Tongue and spit, teeth charging together under heavy breaths.

   Damon's fingers traced down from her neck, over her shoulder, and to her waist. His nails pressed gently against her skin, racking up and down and making her shiver against him. It was one thing he came to love, the feeling of her skin against him.

   It was gentle at first, soft, as if both were unsure. In less than a second, the kiss began to get heated. Freya pushed him on the bed, straddling him and kissing him as if she were afraid to stop. Damon leaned up and pressed his fingers on her waist, allowing himself to get lost in the kiss. Freya pulled away and pulled off her shirt, smiling down at him before she leaned back down and kissed again. Once again, the vampire racked his nails gently up and down her back, pulling her closer to him.