Chapter 31: Dance Decision
The next few days pass in a haze of self-imposed isolation and internal torment. Damon moves through the halls of Raven's Wood High School like a ghost, carefully calculating his routes to avoid any chance encounters with Lily. He memorizes her schedule, knows exactly which hallways she frequents and at what times, all so he can take different paths. The effort is exhausting, but the alternative – facing her and risking another loss of control – seems far worse.
His mind is a battlefield where two opposing forces wage endless war. On one side stands his love for Lily, raw and consuming, demanding that he stop this foolish avoidance and fight for what they have. On the other side lurks his vampire nature, unpredictable and dangerous, threatening to destroy everything he holds dear. The memory of his fangs extending in the hallway, of the hunger that nearly consumed him, plays on repeat in his thoughts like a broken record.
He throws himself into his schoolwork with an intensity that surprises even him, using academic focus as a shield against the emotional chaos. Math equations become mantras, historical dates become anchors to reality, anything to keep his mind occupied and away from thoughts of auburn hair and green eyes that seem to see straight through his carefully constructed facade.
But even in his self-imposed exile, he can't escape the constant, gnawing awareness of her presence. His supernatural senses betray him at every turn, picking up the sound of her laughter from three classrooms away, catching her scent lingering in the air long after she's passed through a hallway. It's torture of the most exquisite kind, and he wonders if this is what hell feels like for creatures like him.
The announcement of the school's annual dance arrives like a storm cloud on an already dark horizon. Posters appear overnight on every available surface, advertising the event with cheerful colors and promises of a magical evening. Students buzz with excitement, discussing outfits and dates and plans for the night that seems to consume everyone's attention.
Everyone except Damon, who views the approaching dance with something approaching dread. He knows Lily will be there, knows she'll be beautiful and radiant and everything he can't allow himself to have. The thought of watching her dance with someone else makes his chest tight with an emotion he doesn't want to name.
It's during this period of careful avoidance that he begins to notice Jaxon's presence everywhere he goes. At first, he dismisses it as coincidence – after all, they attend the same school and share several classes. But as the days pass, the pattern becomes too obvious to ignore. Jaxon seems to materialize wherever Damon happens to be, lurking at the edges of his vision with an intensity that sets his supernatural instincts on high alert.
The cafeteria, the library, the parking lot – Jaxon is always there, watching with those calculating eyes that seem to catalog every movement, every expression. It's subtle enough that a human might not notice, but Damon's predatory awareness picks up on the surveillance immediately. The question is why. What could Jaxon possibly want with him?
The confrontation comes on a Tuesday afternoon, when Damon finally reaches his breaking point. He's just left his last class of the day when he spots Jaxon leaning against the lockers, pretending to read a textbook while his eyes track Damon's every movement. The pretense is laughable, and Damon's patience finally snaps.
"Alright, enough," Damon says, striding over with purposeful steps. His voice is low but carries an edge of authority that makes several nearby students instinctively step back. "What's your game, Jaxon? Why are you following me?"
Jaxon looks up with practiced innocence, his expression a masterpiece of confused bewilderment. "Following you? I think you're being a little paranoid, don't you think?" He closes the textbook with deliberate casualness, but Damon catches the slight tremor in his hands. "We go to the same school, Damon. It's not exactly shocking that we'd cross paths."
"Cross paths, sure. But you've been in my peripheral vision for three days straight. That's not coincidence, that's surveillance." Damon steps closer, letting just a hint of his predatory nature seep into his posture. "So I'll ask again – what do you want?"
For a moment, something flickers in Jaxon's eyes – a calculation, a weighing of options. But then the mask of innocence slides back into place, and he shrugs with affected nonchalance. "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should lay off the caffeine, man. It's making you paranoid."
The dismissal is so smoothly delivered that Damon almost admires the performance. Almost. But he can smell the lie on Jaxon's skin, can hear the slight acceleration of his heartbeat that betrays his calm facade. Still, without concrete proof, there's little he can do except file the information away and remain vigilant.
"Right," Damon says, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Just remember, Jaxon – I don't like games. And I really don't like being watched."
Jaxon's smile is all teeth and no warmth. "Good thing I'm not doing either of those things then, isn't it?"
The standoff stretches for several heartbeats before Damon finally steps back, recognizing that he won't get answers through direct confrontation. But the encounter leaves him even more unsettled than before, adding another layer of complexity to an already impossible situation.
As the dance approaches – now only two days away – Damon finds his carefully maintained routine disrupted by the buzz of excitement that permeates the school. Students who normally wouldn't give him a second glance now seem to notice his solitary state, and he overhears more than one conversation speculating about whether he'll attend the dance and, more importantly, who he might ask to be his partner.
The question torments him because he knows the answer. If he were anyone else, if he were normal, there would be no question. He would ask Lily in a heartbeat, would consider himself the luckiest man alive if she said yes. But he's not normal, and the very thought of being in such close proximity to her for an entire evening, of holding her in his arms while trying to maintain his composure, seems like an exercise in exquisite torture.
He's walking back to class from his locker, lost in these dark thoughts, when she appears in his path like a vision conjured from his deepest desires and fears. Lily stands directly in front of him, her chin raised with determination and her green eyes blazing with an emotion that makes his unnecessary heart skip a beat.
"Don't you dare try to walk away from me again," she says, her voice carrying a strength that stops him in his tracks. "I've had enough of this ridiculous avoidance game you've been playing."
Damon freezes, his hand still on his locker door, every instinct screaming at him to flee. But something in her tone, in the way she plants herself firmly in his path, tells him that running isn't an option this time. She's made her decision, and she's not backing down.
"Lily, I—" he starts, but she cuts him off with a sharp gesture.
"No. You don't get to 'Lily' me and then disappear for four days like I don't exist." Her voice wavers slightly, betraying the hurt beneath her anger. "Do you have any idea what it's been like? Wondering if I did something wrong, if I said something that upset you? I've been replaying every conversation we've had, trying to figure out what I could have done to make you suddenly act like I don't matter."
The pain in her voice hits him like a physical blow, and he has to grip the locker door harder to keep from reaching for her. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "This isn't about you, it's about me. I'm dealing with some things, and I thought it would be better if I—"
"If you what? If you just shut me out without any explanation?" She steps closer, and he can smell her perfume, can hear the rapid beating of her heart. "That's not how this works, Damon. You don't get to decide what's best for me without even talking to me about it."
He wants to tell her everything, wants to explain about the hunger and the loss of control and the constant fear that he might hurt her. But the words stick in his throat, trapped behind decades of secrecy and self-preservation. How does he begin to explain that he's a monster? That the man she cares about is a predator who could drain her dry without breaking a sweat?
"You wouldn't understand," he says finally, hating how weak the words sound even to his own ears.
"Try me." Her voice is softer now, but no less determined. "Whatever it is, whatever you're dealing with, I'm not as fragile as you seem to think. I noticed something that day, Damon. The day you ran away."
His blood turns to ice in his veins. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes," she says, studying his face with an intensity that makes him want to look away. "They changed. I've never seen anything like it before. They went from blue to... something else. Something darker."
The admission hits him like a sledgehammer, and he can feel his carefully constructed world beginning to crumble around him. She saw it. She actually saw the change, witnessed the moment when his vampire nature had almost broken through completely. His heart pounds so hard he's sure she must be able to hear it.
"You're imagining things," he says, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to him. "It was probably just the lighting in the hallway, or maybe you were—"
"Don't." The single word cuts through his denial like a blade. "Don't insult my intelligence by lying to me. I know what I saw, Damon. And I know you're scared to tell me what it means."
He stares at her, this beautiful, fierce woman who refuses to back down even when faced with the impossible. Part of him wants to tell her everything, to trust that maybe, just maybe, she could accept the truth about what he is. But the rational part of his mind knows better. Humans don't react well to discovering that vampires are real, that the monsters from their nightmares walk among them wearing human faces.
"You saw wrong," he insists, taking a step back. "It was just the sun, or a trick of the light, or—"
"Stop." She moves with him, maintaining the distance between them. "I don't like the way you're avoiding me, Damon. Whatever you are, whatever you're hiding from me, I'm not scared. Just tell me the truth."
The words hang in the air between them, a challenge and a plea all at once. For a moment, he teeters on the edge of confession, the weight of his secret pressing down on him like a physical force. But then sanity reasserts itself, and he shakes his head.
"It's nothing," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was just... the effect of the sun or something. You're reading too much into it."
Lily's expression doesn't change, but he can see the disappointment flickering in her eyes. She doesn't believe him – how could she? – but she seems to recognize that pushing further won't get her the answers she's looking for.
"Fine," she says, but her tone suggests that this conversation is far from over. "Have it your way. But I'm not going to let you keep avoiding me."
She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice carries a different kind of determination. "I want you to be my partner for the dance."
The words hit him like a lightning bolt, sending a surge of joy and terror through his system in equal measure. From somewhere behind them, he hears a sharp intake of breath and turns to see Jaxon watching from across the hallway, his expression darkening with what looks suspiciously like anger. But Damon barely registers the other boy's presence, too focused on the woman in front of him who has just turned his world upside down.
"Lily, I don't think that's a good idea," he starts, but she's already shaking her head.
"I don't care what you think," she says, her voice carrying an edge of finality. "I don't care what you're trying to avoid or what you're scared of. I'm asking you to be my partner, and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Before he can respond, before he can try to explain why being in such close proximity to her for an entire evening would be torture of the most exquisite kind, she turns and walks away. Her footsteps echo in the hallway, each one driving home the reality of what she's just asked of him.
Damon stands frozen by his locker, watching her retreating figure and feeling like the ground has shifted beneath his feet. She wants him to be her partner. Despite everything – the avoidance, the lies, the obvious signs that something is wrong – she still chooses him. The knowledge fills him with a warmth that has nothing to do with blood or hunger and everything to do with the simple, impossible fact that she cares about him.
But beneath the joy lurks a deeper terror. How is he supposed to spend an entire evening with her, holding her in his arms, breathing in her scent, without losing control? The past few days have proven that even brief encounters with her can send his carefully maintained composure spiraling into chaos. An entire night of dancing, of being close enough to hear her heartbeat, to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin barrier of fabric – it seems like an impossible test of his self-control.
That night, he paces his room like a caged animal, his mind racing through every possible scenario. He could skip the dance entirely, could come up with some excuse about being sick or having family obligations. But the thought of disappointing her, of giving her yet another reason to doubt his feelings, makes his chest tight with guilt.
He could attend but maintain his distance, could dance with her once or twice and then retreat to the safety of the sidelines. But he knows himself well enough to recognize the futility of that plan. If he's in the same room with her, if she's looking at him with those green eyes that seem to see straight through his defenses, he won't be able to stay away.
The only option left is the most dangerous one: to attend the dance, to be her partner, and to trust that somehow, someway, he can maintain enough control to make it through the evening without revealing his true nature. It's a gamble with impossibly high stakes, but the alternative – a lifetime of watching her from afar – seems far worse.
The night of the dance arrives with all the pomp and circumstance that high school events are famous for. The gymnasium has been transformed into something resembling a ballroom, with twinkling lights strung across the ceiling and tables draped in elegant linens. The air buzzes with excitement and nervous energy as students filter in wearing their finest clothes, their faces bright with anticipation.
Damon stands at the entrance, adjusting his tie for the hundredth time and trying to calm his racing thoughts. He's chosen a simple black suit that fits him perfectly, understanding instinctively that sometimes the most effective disguise is the one that draws the least attention. But even dressed like any other teenage boy attending his school dance, he can feel the predator lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to emerge.
He scans the room with supernatural precision, cataloging every face, every heartbeat, every potential threat or complication. The music is loud enough to provide cover for whispered conversations, the lighting dim enough to hide the subtle changes that might give away his true nature. If he can just maintain his focus, if he can remember to breathe when he doesn't need to and to blink at regular intervals, he might be able to pull this off.
And then he sees her.
Lily emerges from the crowd like a vision, and for a moment, Damon forgets how to think. She's wearing a deep blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes, the fabric flowing around her like water as she moves. Her hair is swept up in an elegant style that exposes the graceful line of her neck, and the sight of that vulnerable expanse of skin makes his fangs ache with longing.
She's beautiful beyond words, beyond description, beyond anything his immortal life has prepared him for. And she's walking toward him with that smile that never fails to make his dead heart feel like it might actually beat again.
"You look incredible," she says when she reaches him, her voice warm with genuine appreciation. "I was worried you might not show up."
"You look beautiful," he manages, his voice rougher than he intends. The inadequacy of the words frustrates him – how do you describe perfection? How do you capture the way someone can make you feel both completely alive and utterly terrified at the same time?
God, she is so beautiful. The thought circles through his mind like a prayer, and he can practically feel his control wavering just from being this close to her. Her scent surrounds him, sweet and warm and uniquely hers, making his mouth water and his hands shake with the effort of keeping them at his sides.
"Thank you," she says, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I wasn't sure about the dress, but selena convinced me it was perfect."
"Selena was right," he says, and means it. She could be wearing a garbage bag and she'd still be the most beautiful woman in the room. The most beautiful woman he's seen in decades, if he's being honest with himself.
The music shifts to something slower, more intimate, and Lily tilts her head toward the dance floor. "Ready to show me those moves you've been hiding?"
Before he can respond, before he can think of another excuse or reason to delay the inevitable, she takes his hand and leads him onto the dance floor. Her fingers are warm against his unnaturally cool skin, and he has to concentrate on not gripping too tightly, on remembering that human strength has limits.
They find a spot among the other dancing couples, and Lily turns to face him with expectant eyes. Damon places one hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress, and takes her other hand in his. The position is intimate without being inappropriate, but for someone with his enhanced senses, it's overwhelming in its intensity.
They begin to move together, swaying to the rhythm of the music, and Damon finds himself lost in the moment. All his carefully constructed defenses, all his fears and doubts and self-imposed restrictions, seem to melt away as they dance. There's only this: the music, the soft lighting, and the girl in his arms who has somehow become his entire world.
He guides her through the steps with an ease that speaks of decades of practice, though he's careful to keep his movements human-normal. She follows his lead perfectly, as if they've been dancing together for years, and he can't help but marvel at how right this feels, how perfectly she fits in his arms.
"You're an amazing dancer," she says, her voice barely audible over the music. "Where did you learn to move like this?"
The question catches him off guard, and for a moment, he's transported back to ballrooms from another century, to elegant parties where he wore period costumes and danced with women whose names he can barely remember. Back when he was young and human and had no idea what darkness awaited him.
"I've always loved to dance," he says, which isn't technically a lie. "There's something about the music, the movement... it's like everything else disappears."
She smiles at that, and he feels something warm and dangerous unfurling in his chest. Being this close to her, seeing the way her eyes light up when she looks at him, feeling the trust in the way she lets him guide her through the steps – it's intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the simple, miraculous fact that she cares about him.
The song shifts to something even slower, more romantic, and they move closer together. Damon can feel her breath against his neck, can hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, can smell the subtle perfume she wears mixed with her own unique scent. His fangs throb with the need to taste her, to claim her, to make her his in the most fundamental way possible.
The thought terrifies him with its intensity, and he has to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady, on maintaining the careful facade of humanity. But it's becoming harder and harder to remember why he needs to stay away from her, why loving her is dangerous. All he can think about is how perfectly she fits in his arms, how right this feels, how much he wants to spend eternity dancing with her like this.
"I've missed you," she whispers against his ear, and the words send a shiver down his spine. "These past few days... I was starting to think I'd lost you."
The vulnerability in her voice breaks something inside him, and he pulls her closer without thinking about the consequences. "You could never lose me," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm yours, Lily. I've been yours since the moment I saw you."
She pulls back to look at him, her green eyes searching his face for something he's not sure he can give her. "Then why do you keep running from me? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"
The questions hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths and impossible confessions. Damon knows he should deflect, should change the subject or make some excuse to leave the dance floor. But looking into her eyes, seeing the genuine care and concern reflected there, he finds himself wanting to tell her everything.
"Because you're the most beautiful thing I've seen in a hundred years," he whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "And I don't want to lose you."
The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows he's made a mistake. Lily's expression changes, confusion flickering across her features as she processes what he's just said. Her steps falter, and she pulls back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies his face.
"What did you say?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean, a hundred years?"
Damon's world tilts on its axis as he realizes what he's just revealed. The confession hangs between them like a loaded gun, and he can see the questions forming in her eyes, the pieces of the puzzle starting to click into place. His mind races, searching for some way to explain away the slip, some lie that might cover the truth. But looking into her eyes, seeing the intelligence and determination there, he knows that the time for lies is rapidly running out.
The dance continues around them, other couples swaying to the music in blissful ignorance of the drama unfolding in their midst. But for Damon and Lily, frozen in this moment of terrible revelation, the rest of the world might as well not exist. There's only the question hanging between them, heavy with the weight of secrets that can no longer be contained.
"What do you mean by a hundred years?" she asks again, her voice stronger now, more demanding. Her green eyes bore into his with an intensity that makes him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he hasn't experienced in decades.
And in that moment, dancing in the middle of a high school gymnasium with the woman he loves more than his own existence, Damon realizes that his carefully constructed world of secrets and lies is about to come crashing down around him.