A/N: This has been written for my dear friend Lala (broken-melody), who requested angry Damon. I sincerely hope you won't see it as character hate of any kind.

Warning: You encounter a really, really angry and hurt Damon here. Read at your own risk. There isn't going to be any abuse or non-con in the fic, though.

Timeline: in the near future (post-5x07, let's say), but written after 5x05, so not all events after that point are going to be canon-compliant.

Beta: Creeping Muse. She is awesome. Go read her Sleepy Hollow fic. And go watch Sleepy Hollow.

I open the door unceremoniously and slam it closed. I turn the lock, and it breaks – clearly, I kinda miscalculated my strength. Oh well, fuck it. I'll have it replaced tomorrow if I don't break the fucking door on my way out.

Fucking enough.

I don't even know what I'm doing here. Ric would say some annoying shit right now. You're overreacting, Damon. Or, you didn't even stay to hear her out, Damon. Then I'd punch him, he'd punch me back and we'd get gloriously drunk together.

Now I'm back to drinking alone, because the next drinking buddy candidate is underage and I'd feel bad for punching him. Don't screw it up. I still hear Ric's voice in my head and God, I need another drink.

"Shut up," I mutter.

I'm talking to a ghost. Again. Awesome.

I feel zero pangs of conscience as I open the liquor cabinet and grab a bottle and two glasses. It's a whole lot easier to pretend like he's there, just doesn't say anything (and wouldn't that be great?), if I can clink the glasses.

"'You got the girl'? The fuck I did," I tell him, downing the contents of my glass. "What's the point in 'getting the girl' – your words, not mine," I remind him, "if I was always gonna lose her? I was a delusional idiot if I ever thought she'd actually go through with what she said and stay with me. No thanks to you, by the way. The most real thing she had ever felt. Yeah right."

I drink the whiskey in his glass, too, because he doesn't get any.

"You wanna know what happened, Ric?" I don't even want to talk about this, but I still do, because I'm a masochist. "I'm fucking tired of this. I walk in on them hugging. 'Damon, you should understand it's overwhelming to have your memories come back, and Stefan's memories are so horrible.' Like it's my fucking fault they're awful. I walk in on Elena asking him not to give up on her. What the fuck was that? 'Damon, that's not what I meant. He was telling me he had no reason to be good, that maybe it was easier to flip the switch, and you know how he is when he flips the switch. I had to talk him out of it.' And then he tells me Elena almost kissed him? And when I hit him, because fuck yes I did, she goes to check on him and tells me off? She was trying to bring back his memories? Next time he loses his memories, maybe she'll just fuck him so he remembers how good they had it?"

There goes the third drink. Or the fourth. I forgot to count "'Damon, you should understand'? Fuck no. I shouldn't. I don't have to. If he's her destiny, or epic love, or soulmate, or some other shit, she should just go for it. Just let me off the fucking leash first, because I'm not her lap dog."

I can almost imagine Ric sighing heavily and shaking his head. I have no idea what advice he would give, though, and I'm not sure it'd be smart to take any advice from a guy with such a miserable relationship history.

I need to get out of here. I ditched my phone on the way, not sure where, because I knew she was gonna call, and I can't even hear her voice right now. But she fucking 'cares,' so she'll try to find me. Which means I should leave. This is the first place she's gonna check after the Grill. Well, and after making sure my immortal brother didn't die from a punch.

Speaking of, maybe I still have some time. Maybe she'll kiss him to make it better. Or something.


Well, that wasn't Ric.

I raise my head from where it was propped on my hand and take her in. Her eyes are apologetic, hands at her hips, and she's not smiling. Which means two things: a) I'm drunk enough, since I didn't even hear her enter, and b) she doesn't know what strategy to use, but she still believes she can beg me or talk to me or yell at me, and everything's gonna magically be all right.

I smile my best predatory smile, and she flinches. Maybe she's starting to understand.

She's just made a big mistake.