"Have you met my husband?"

The question startled Bonnie, not because she did not know Elena was married, but because she did not think it was essential to meet her spouse. After all, what business did she have with it?

"No, I don't think I have."

"Oh, you have to come to dinner. He's got these horrible opinions about small entrepreneurs. You'll be able to put him in his place."

Bonnie ran her finger against the rim of her coffee mug. The last thing she wanted to do was defend her line of work. She didn't want to talk about herself. She didn't want to come to dinner. She hadn't seen Elena since high-school. They had only kept in touch through email. They'd run into each other by accident. It did not warrant an invitation to her house.

But she was too polite to decline.

"Sure thing."

Once upon a time, they used to be best friends. They used to have sleepovers and paint their nails. They used to take Teen Girl quizzes together.

Then, they met other people and their interests diverged. Elena took Caroline as a confidant and became a cheerleader, and Bonnie became obsessed with the occult and the supernatural. She spent all her time on forums, debating ghost apparitions and the possibility of turning metal into gold with zit-faced boys. She dressed in faux-Victorian gossamer and wore black gloves. She owned three cats and laughingly said she is a "witch".

Elena found this all very amusing and strange. She laughed uneasily when Bonnie brewed her "special tea" or when she tried to give her a card reading.

They never grew close again, though at graduation, they hugged with tears in their eyes.

Now Bonnie stood awkwardly on Elena's doorstep, holding a bottle of wine by the throat, like a dead chicken. She used to talk about animal sacrifice with her and Elena would always wrinkle her nose. No matter how many times Bonnie had explained that there was a proper, dignified way to do it in order to honor the spirit of animals, Elena would tease, "so, you'd sacrifice cute puppies too?"

Bonnie felt stupid for remembering that now. Elena kissed her cheek loudly. "I'm so glad you came!"

"Wouldn't miss it," she mumbled awkwardly, patting her back.

"Come in, come in. Damon's adding the finishing touches."

Her husband was in the kitchen, sprinkling something over a simmering pot. She only saw the back of him - a large, rippling back, uneasily coaxed into a white shirt and tie - before she was dragged towards the dining room.

Bonnie couldn't remember the last time she was in a house with so many rooms. Her flat was a model of efficiency, with the kitchen, the living room and the hallway crammed in one modest space.

"We're not eating in there, don't worry, I'm only giving you the tour," Elena assured her, upon seeing her face.

Bonnie did her best to master her features. Something funny was happening to her face, like she was about to burst into laughter. Though nothing was actually funny.

Elena showed her the treasures amassed in her marriage; souvenirs, photos, shared bed-linen, personalized furniture. Bonnie made the appropriate "ooohs" and "aaahs". There was no picture frame in her apartment, she realized.

When they came back into the kitchen, Damon was setting the plates.

He was ruggedly handsome: chiseled jaw, sinewy arms, flippant blue eyes, the whole package. Exactly the kind of man Elena usually adored and Bonnie ignored. She had only ever dated broken artsy types who hated the gym.

"Did she bore you enough or do you require a tour of the garden too?" he drawled as he caught sight of them.

Bonnie blinked at being addressed. "Um, you have a lovely house."

Damon laughed heartily. "Haven't heard that one before."

"Sweetheart, behave," Elena admonished him fondly and kissed his cheek.

Bonnie soon found out he had a "wicked" sense of humor, meaning that he liked to twist people's words and act like a contrarian. He had a sardonic quip for everything earnest. In a biopic of his life, he would have been played by a young John Cusack. His words.

Bonnie sank her fork into her pasta puttanesca. They were delicious. "Mm, John Cusack usually made fun of guys like you."

It had slipped out without her meaning to. Damon glanced up at her. His eyes were like the surface of a lake at noon. "Oh?"

She shrugged helplessly, reaching for her wine. "You know, successful moneyed CEOs?"

"Oh, I told you she was going to disagree with you!" Elena clapped delightedly. "I told him you are very proud of your small business and you hate the growing corporate monopoly."

"Is that so?" Damon put down his fork and steepled his fingers, staring at her emphatically. It was a friendly, polite look, but Bonnie felt hot under the collar. "You know, it's moneyed people like us that pay more taxes and keep you guys afloat?"

Bonnie sank her nails in the inside of her palm. "I would be happy if you guys actually paid more taxes."

Damon smiled a very cold smile. He raised his glass. "To paying one's taxes."

An hour later she was sitting in the living room, nursing another glass of wine, and Damon was fiddling with the CD-player while Elena flipped through a thick photo album. She showed her sepia-toned snapshots from high-school. She would tap her nail whenever she identified Bonnie among the girls.

"Look, there's you! You were so cute with your black veil."

Damon settled for Jefferson Airplane and came over to peek at the photos.

He bent across Bonnie's shoulder and his breath stirred the strands of hair on her collarbone. "Wow, you were quite the little goth."

"Witch," Bonnie mumbled, feeling embarrassed, "I was a witch."

Elena nodded sagely. "Oh yeah, I remember you used to recite spells."

"Do you still wear this stuff?" Damon asked, tracing the photo with his thumb.

"When I'm in the mood," Bonnie replied defensively.

The subject was dropped soon afterwards when the happy couple started talking about themselves. Bonnie asked how they'd met.

"This pompous ass walks into my hospital one night," Elena mouthed, rolling her eyes. "Telling me I don't know how to do my job because his brother's stitches have come off. Of course, it's his brother who shouldn't have got out of bed in the first place. But he made such a big ruckus, threatening to get me fired!"

"Come on, you liked my cocky sense of entitlement," Damon purred, slipping his arms around her waist. His eyes met Bonnie's and in that moment Bonnie felt she really disliked him. She disliked him intensely, almost close to loathing.

She wondered how Elena could have possibly fallen in love with someone like that.

Bonnie wrote Elena a few days later, thanking her for dinner and congratulating her on her life. That was supposed to be the end of it.

Elena pinged her immediately on Facebook, asking her if she'd like to join her for Damon's office party.

Please, please, I'm tired of being stuck with the corporate wives. They're so bitter and gossipy. Please come with, so we can mock them together. XO

Elena told her she could wear whatever she wanted, so Bonnie took her at her word. A fancy shirt and her best pair of jeans should be good enough for them.

When the elevator doors slid open, she could see this was an evident mistake. The venue was embarrassingly formal: it looked like a small wedding, with creamy ribbons on the back of chairs, twinkling chandeliers, flutes of champagne floating on trays and a live orchestra in a corner.

Bonnie's leather boots scuffed on the gleaming parquet. She raised her chin high and walked forward, swinging her feathery purse over her shoulder.

Elena broke away from a group of serious-looking investors. She was wearing a gorgeous caramel gown that glimmered like water as she turned. Every woman in the room was dressed in a variation of this.

Bonnie complimented her effusively.

"You look so beautiful."

Elena blushed. "You look lovely too...definitely original."

When Damon spotted her from across the room, his confident grin froze on his lips and he deposited the flute of champagne on a tray. He strutted forward in an impeccable black suit that seemed to reject all sources of light around him. Like a black hole. He looked hollow and empty and devastating.

"Bonnie, so good to have you," he drawled. "Hope you didn't dress up on my account."

Bonnie pulled a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, no. Rest assured. I don't dress up for anyone."

"Clearly," he replied humorlessly, and his eyes seemed to slap her hard over the face. "May I get you some champagne?"

Hours later, all these posh assholes were drunk. The orchestra had been replaced with a DJ. They were all dancing and slobbering on each other. Fancy couture shoes had been dropped between chairs. The air was thick with perfume and smoke and sweat.

Elena was dancing with some guy called Saltzman whose hand kept creeping downwards as his leer got wider. Her friend was clearly uncomfortable.

Bonnie threw him a dark look. She muttered a few words under her breath and the man's hand suddenly felt too warm for contact. He pulled away with a grimace, flexing his fingers.

Bonnie felt a rush of adrenaline every time she got a spell right. It didn't happen often. In fact, her connection with magic was tenuous at best. No one would have believed her if she told them. But whenever the universe cooperated, she felt like a newborn, she felt special.

Her face was getting too warm. She left the room in search of a bathroom.

"Hey there, witchy witch."

Bonnie looked up from her phone.

Damon pulled the office door shut behind him. He was evidently drunk but unlike the others, he was steady on his feet. Alcohol had not dampened his clean-cut aura. It must've felt good to wake up next to him every morning, just to marvel at his body.

"That's what you said you were, right? A witch?" he teased with a lazy, angry smile.

Bonnie swung her legs against the copy machine. She had chosen this spot to sit because she couldn't stand those high backed chairs with wheels. But she wondered if she should get down.

Too late.

Damon advanced on her, loosening his tie. He stopped when he was standing next to her legs - almost between them.

Bonnie pretended to arrange her colorful bracelets. They clinked against each other like bells.

"Is that Animal Collective on your shirt?" he asked, and the question felt so inappropriate and strange that she had to look up.

"Yes."

"I like'em."

"You do?"

"I don't like them on you," he clarified and he grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it an inch. His too warm hand grazed her stomach.

Bonnie leaned forward. She wanted to remove his hand, but she ended up gripping his tie. He kissed her on the mouth without preamble. None of that soft nipping at the corners, lips meeting lips in an adolescent experiment. He kissed her in one gulp. It was like a stamp, searing and brutal and already in the middle of it. Their tongues almost ignored each other, they fought with their teeth. His tie kept winding around her fingers. His hands were on her hips, pulling her forward. The clothes on their back were just a distraction. They wanted to get at skin.

But she stopped before his mouth kissed the arch of her throat.

"We shouldn't."

There was a beat. Damon breathed loudly against her neck. He raised his head.

"Yeah, you're right. Not here anyway."

He texted her an address a few days later. He'd got her number from Elena. He said Elena wanted her to come to dinner again. He ended the message with, wear that black veil.

When he fucked her, he was not thinking of anyone. He didn't have a wife anymore, he wasn't vying for a position on Forbes Top 100.

He was no one. His beautiful face was empty, as it was meant to be.

You were meant to be passive. You were meant to be immobile. You were meant to be admired on a marble pedestal, she thought as she caressed his steel jaw.

He closed his eyes briefly. She was on top of him, the black widow's veil trailing down her bare back.

She believed in magic and ghosts and she even believed you could turn metal to gold. But she didn't believe she could ever be happy with him.

It was ideal this way, to enter him without having to stay. To have him spend on her thigh. To lick his cum while laughing. To not really take him seriously. She'd never have to be his wife, his darling.

Damon was spurned on by her spurning. He ground into her, stroking her clit with two fingers in time with his thrusts, wrapping his other hand around her throat, pressing her into the mattress. He stared at her, begged her to react.

Took her breath away.

And still she smiled, because she was free. She never had to play house with him. She never had to roll up his socks or watch him cook.

He groaned angrily, desperately, dropped his head on her chest and she came with a soft sigh, running her fingers through his hair. Her arousal was conditioned by his despair.

Bonnie recited strange words in his ear. A jumble of vulgar Latin.

He grasped her flesh, he sank his teeth there. He drew blood. He was a vampire for her.

He fucked her in the morning before work, but in the late afternoon, he would itch for her. His palms would sweat. He'd rage at his personal assistant. He'd slam doors, he'd make glass rattle. He'd call his wife, telling her he'd be late.

He would drive to her small shop and press her into the boxes in the back, he'd coat her with semen and dust and she would still not be as hungry as he was.

Witch, witch, witch... a cliche, but the bare truth in his case.

She had put him under a spell.

Elena thought it was a "cute idea" to fix her up with Damon's brother. The idea came to her over dinner one evening, as the three of them feasted on his excellent cooking again.

Bonnie was still sore from their last session. He had fingered her in the car, whispering about what a dirty girl she was, and she still had bruises on her thighs.

Now he rubbed at his wrist, remembering how fast his hand had gone to make her come. How much he wanted to make her come again.

Bonnie squirmed in her seat. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Stefan's so great. He's more laid back than Damon, definitely your type. He's a photographer," Elena pressed on, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Damon stared at her over his glass of wine.

Bonnie licked her lips. "Sure, I'd like to meet him."

This was what happened in the following six months: Damon sold half his shares and bought a house in the countryside. He and Elena wanted to try for kids. This was the front.

What had actually transpired: he had been forced to give up half his shares because he'd been caught fucking a young woman in the conference room. She was splayed out on the big mahogany table and his head was between her thighs. They'd keep quiet about the affair if he removed himself from the office for a while.

Stefan wasn't speaking to him anymore. Their recent fight resulted in a broken jaw and a bruised eye.

And Bonnie, the witch?

She still greeted costumers to her curiosity shop. She had done renovations, had spruced up the place. Damon's secret sponsorship.

Elena still emailed her from the countryside, telling her how excited she was to have a baby. Bonnie felt happy for her, even ached for her a little bit. If there was anyone she truly missed, it was her.

Damon texted her at midnight. He missed her, he needed her, he could get a car to drive her to a small village nearby and they could - he could - oh God, he wanted her so much to be there. He wanted it more than children and life.

And please, would she wear that black veil for him?

"Have you met my husband?"

The question did not startle her that much this time. It just gave her fleeting goosebumps. Maybe this was her purpose in life. To dissect and desiccate bored men. To teach them a lesson in power.

Caroline Mikaelson shoved the phone in her face. "Isn't he handsome?"

Bonnie stared at his leonine profile, his close-cropped hair, his intense, moody scowl. He was chopping wood. She smiled. She recognized his kind. A prisoner.

Very soon, he would think she could set him free.

But there was only room for her on this wide terrain. As with most things in life, only the deviant were truly free.

The mistress, the witch, Bonnie.