(What more can I say - Notations)

Damon looked at you with that mocking smirk that only served to fuel the rage already burning in your chest. You didn’t know if it was the poison in your veins or the accumulation of all the times he had manipulated you, but you hated him… you hated him so much.

“Always the same…” his voice was dry, as if nothing he said could ever matter “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

Your hand closed around the knife before you even thought about it. It wasn’t an impulse it was a discharge. The metal glinted for a second before he reacted, grabbing your wrist tightly. You struggled, his fingers digging into your skin as he tried to rip the weapon from your hand.

Then you saw it… in the corner of the table, hidden under a pile of papers and empty bottles: his gun. You didn’t know why he had it, or when it had gotten there, but in that instant it was the only thing that existed in your head.

You dropped the knife and lunged for it. Damon noticed. He shoved you against the wall, growling something you didn’t hear because your heart was pounding too hard. His hands tried to pin you down, yours fought for the weapon, slipping over sweat and the trembling of both your bodies.