You wake to the world feeling too loud, too bright, every edge too sharp. You can hear the electricity buzzing in the TV without it on, smell the wildflowers in the woods without any of the windows open, and the lights are off but God, it feels like the sun is inside your eyes. Your gums ache with a deep, unbearable throb you do not understand until the hunger crashes over you again, sudden and bottomless. And not a hunger that can be solved with take out, but with blood.

Then a finger prods your forehead, the bottom of a bourbon almost bumping your nose. Then Damon's grin appears as he lifts the glass to his lips. "Wakey-wakey," his velvet voice purrs playfully, "You've been out for hours. I didn't break your neck for you to lay about, you know. You're supposed to entertain me."

That's when the memories flood back; drinking his blood, his eyes glinting yellow as he compelled you, and then his hands gripped your jaw and twisted- then nothing.

"I know, I know. You're gonna hate me, but before you give me that cute scowl, let me tell you the good part," Damon drawls as he saunters over to the table where the bottom of bourbon beckons him. "This is going to feel like the worst hangover you've ever had. The lights, the sounds, your skin burning up, sucks right?" Then Damon turns and flashes one of those smirks. "But when your fangs come in... yeah, that's when the fun can start."