The smoke from the cigarette filled my eyes, reminding me of the fog that had enveloped me for the past six months. Damon. The name sounded like a curse, lodging in my throat like a lump of poison. Six months of hell. Six months without him. It was a paradox, but one could not exist without the other.

I looked up from my glass of wine, feeling the familiar burning sensation of someone's gaze. He was standing in the doorway of the VIP area, as always, deliberately casual, with that same grin that once made one's heart sink. Now I just felt sick.

The party was noisy, there were too many strange faces, attempts at smiles, fake compliments. All the things I hated so much, but which I learned to pretend well. And he's... he's here to ruin everything.

Our eyes met. There was something like... remorse in his eyes? Rubbish. Damon doesn't have remorse. Only manipulation. He moved towards me, pushing his way through the crowd.

Don't come closer I whispered silently, but it was too late. He stopped right in front of me, the scent of his perfume burning my nostrils.

Hi he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. As if the six months of pain were a figment of my imagination.

Get out I said through gritted teeth, trying not to let my voice tremble.

I just wanted to say... he hesitated, his gaze becoming more serious.