1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   The owner of the Mystic Grills was a nice old man that allowed Florence to bring in an outside drink, but only if she bought something from him. It was how she ended sitting in a booth with a large strawberry slushie, and a large order of cheesy bacon fries from the Grill. Cher sat in front of her, a big SAT practice book open in the maths section. Florence, on the other hand, had her book open on the writing and language section, focusing more on the easiest parts. 

   "You should seriously be practising for maths," Cher said as she tapped both sides of her pencil on the book. "You're terrible at it."

   "Who isn't?" she mumbled as she scratched the side of her head. "For twelve, what answer did you get? I got D, and to be honest, I think that's wrong."

   Cher shrugged her shoulders. "I'm still in the maths section, Florence," she said in an annoyed tone. "Which you should be, too. But, no, you want to be on your own part! It's why you're going to fail the SAT's."

   "They're in August," Florence reminded her with a laugh. "Cher, I have enough time to practice maths. Now, I want to focus on my language skills."

   "They're horrible, too."

   "Wow, thanks."

   "I'm here to only tell you the truth." Cher gave her a grin and shrugged her shoulders, her blond hair falling gracefully framing her face. The tip of her pen was at her lips, but then she pointed it at her best friend. "Like, right now, there's a cute guy staring at you."

   Florence arched a brow. "I swear, if it's Stefan—"

   "No." Cher shook her head and pointed with her pen again. "Personally, he's cuter than Stefan."

   "Aren't you dating that girl with the curly hair?" she said, leaning back on her seat with her arms crossed. "You know, the one I saw you with at the restroom at that venue in Lynchburg?"

   Cher grinned. "She has a name, y'know—Hannah. She's coming over to watch the play, maybe then you two can officially meet." She leaned back on her seat and crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her arm. "Okay, but seriously, cute guy staring at you from the bar. Look discretely, Florence."

   Florence did the opposite. She turned her head all the way around and stared straight at the bar, where her eyes collided with the familiar deep blue eyes. A groan escaped her mouth as she rolled her eyes and turned to look back at her best friend. "Ew, no."

   "When I meant discretely, I meant that you shouldn't turn your head all the way around and look straight at him." There was amusement in her voice. "And what do you mean ew? That guy is a hunk!"

   "That's Stefan's brother, Damon." Florence said his name with a hint of disgust, the coldness of his name causing a shiver to rise on her back. 

   Cher let out a scoff. "Wait—Stefan has a hot brother?"

   "He has an annoying brother," she corrected, making a face. Her eyes were cast down on the big book in front of her, her writing and the doodles, the words that jumbled together in front of her. The feeling of being watched made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, that terrible feeling building up from the depths of her stomach. It was the feeling she got the two times Damon had stood close to her, first at the venue in Lynchburg and then at the boarding house.

   "I just had to come by because I felt that someone was talking about me." It was the the voice she had heard twice, the voice that had caused more shivers. She turned her head to see the man with blue eyes standing by their booth, a crooked grin on his lips and a glass full of alcohol in one hand. He was staring at Florence with amusement, then turned to Cher. "I believe we haven't met. I'm Damon, and you are?"

   "Cher," she smiled. 

   "Like the artist," he nodded. "It's a beautiful name."

   "I hear you're Stefan's brother." Cher quickly glanced at her friend before turning back to him, a grin appearing on her lips. "We didn't know."

   Damon shrugged his shoulders. "He doesn't like to brag." With the hand he was holding the drink, he pointed at the empty seat besides Florence. "Mind if I sit?"

   "Yes," Florence said. At the same time, Cher said, "No."

   Damon smiled triumphiantly and stared down at Florence. In defense, she took her bag and laid it besides her, where Damon wanted to sit. At that, she smiled triumphiantly. He grabbed her bag, laid it on the floor, and took his seat besides her, smiling triumphiantly once again.

   "Wow, the in-laws already disliking each other," Cher chuckled. "It's like a bad family comedy."

   "I decided to get to know my future sister-in-law," Damon smiled. He shook his hand gently to mix the drink in his hand, a knowing crooked smile on his lips.

   Cher shook her head and hand, letting her pen fall on her notebook. "Oh, they're not even together," she said. "They flirt, a lot, but they're not together."

   Florence pressed her hands to the sides of her head and let out a groan. "I'm here," she said, glaring at her friend and the man besides her. "Can we not talk about me like I'm not here?"

   "We're not!" Cher laughed. "Flo, we're just stating that you and Stefan flirt a lot, but neither of you do anything to move the relationship forward." She grabbed a fry from the tray and leaned back. "It's easy, Flo. Boy, girl, sex!"

   Florence made a face. "I feel insulted," she mumbled. She glanced at Damon, a hint of disgust and fright in her voice. "Can we not talk about this with him here?"

   Damon laid his hand over his chest, a look of pure sarcasm covering his features. "Now I feel insulted." His voice sounded like a serpents', slithering with a hint of poison and vindictiveness.

   When Florence was twelve, she went hiking at Shenandoah National Park with her family and Cher's. While on the trail, a few feet behind, she came up to a snake that was almost black, and it differentiated a lot from the green ground. Its head was triangular, sort of like its eyes, and had a second nostril close to its mouth. Florence, being a curious child, moved closer to look at it. The snake was coiling its body around a small animal, a rabbit, and she noticed how the rabbit screamed and its small voice mingled with the strong wind. 

    Florence felt like that rabbit, and Damon was the snake. He hadn't done anything to her, but the way he spoke and walked made him feel like a snake, like a pit viper. She wondered when would he strike. 

  At those thoughts that ran through her head, she shivered and grabbed the slushie from the table. She could hear Cher and Damon talk about her and Stefan, about the SAT practice books in front of them, the uncertain future that was just out of their grasp. Each word that left their mouths caused shivers to run down her spine, her fingers to open and close around the plastic cup that held the cold beverage, her heart to quicken its pace and then slow back to normal.

   "There's a party tonight," she heard Cher say. "You should come."

   Florence quickly looked up at her. "I don't think an adult would want to come to a party thrown by a high school student."

   "I don't know," Damon breathed, the smile widening to one side. "I think I'll drop by."

   "You shouldn't," Florence said between her teeth. "It's a high school party: drunk people here and there, a few sober ones helping out, couple of people puking here and there, a few other passed out, everyone toasting to everything, lots of crap music and noise, the occasional guy trying to be a DJ, loud beer pong, someone trying to start a fight. Oh, and angry parents."

   "My sister-in-law is wild at parties, it seems," Damon chuckled. 

   "You should see her play beer pong," Cher grinned.

   "You know, I don't think I'm able to go to this party," Florence said as she pushed her things into her bags. She stood and glared at Damon, then pushed him with her hip. "Move."

   He raised his hands in defence and stood. "I feel disliked."

   "Look at that," Cher breathed. "The two of you are already acting like in-laws."

   "I don't know," Florence said, glaring at Damon before looking back at her friend. "I have a sister-in-law and it's not like this, at all."

   "See, there are some in-laws that you like and other that you don't," Damon smiled. "I tend not to be liked."

   "Shocking," Florence breathed, sarcasm laced in her tone. "Anyway, big dinner plans with the family tonight. Can't come."

   "I'll be waiting for you at the corner of the street," Cher grinned. "Ten thirty, just like always."

   The thing about Florence Gilbert was that she did whatever Cher told her to do, just because she felt strange if she didn't. At 10:25, she climbed down her bedroom window and jogged towards the corner of her street, where Cher's red jeep was waiting. 

   At 10:40, they arrived at Charles Fells' house, where the music was loud and it seemed that every person their held a cup full of alcohol. A rich kid whose parents were out of town, a house full of alcohol, a town full of kids that wanted to have fun. The house was the epitome of fun, of drunken summer nights, of loud music and loud screams, of unforgettable events. There were a few kids that were already drunk for so early in the night, some of them puking in the bushes and others downing back drink after drink.

   Florence had a cup of alcohol in one hand, laughter at her tongue, and eyes darting around the room. She was searching for two people, related—the Salvatore brothers. For one, she wanted to see Stefan. They hadn't really spoken since he tried to teach her how to drive and she had an anxiety attack, but she just wanted to see him. For the other, she just didn't want to see Damon. She didn't want to look at the corner and see the raven haired boy that seemed to wear more black than the Addams Family.

   "Look who's here," Cher sang. She poised herself in front of the table, a small plastic ping pong ball in one hand. "Your friend with benefits." She pointed to the front with her chin, but her eyes were on the six cups in front of her. 

   Florence's eyes followed where she pointed, her eyes meeting the green ones of the youngest Salvatore brother. He was looking back at her with a smile, his shoulders relaxed and his hands in his pockets. When she had her anxiety attack in his car, she had memorised the way he breathed. At that moment, she could see the way his chest moved slowly, as if he were taking his time breathing. Somehow, it caused her heartbeat to accelerate. 

   She moved away from Cher and ambled towards him, her lips spreading into a smile. "You came," she breathed. "I thought Charles was lying when he said you would be coming."

   "He managed to convince me," he said, nodding. "And, I wanted to see you, so there wasn't that much convincing in his part."

   Her smile spread into a wider grin. "I, uh, wanted to see you, too." She pushed her hair back and glanced at the floor, wiggling her toes inside of her sneakers. "Stefan, I want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened in your car... You didn't know that it happened to me."

   "It's my fault," he said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "I shouldn't have pushed you into driving when you told me no many times."

   "You didn't know," she smiled. "At least you comforted me after it happened." She wanted to tell him that it was the second time someone had ever comforted her after she had an attack, but she was embarrassed of it. No one really understood anxiety unless they had it, and if they did, it was different for each person. For Florence Gilbert it was hornets, cars, her father, snakes, and Stefan Salvatore.

   Laughter at their tongues, music at their ears, fun in their bodies. They had danced, they had moved all over the house for drinks and junk food, and they had been pushed in the pool by Bob and Charles. Stefan got out first and pushed his hands in her direction to help her. Florence clutched his hand tightly, half drunk on endorphin and cheap alcohol, and tried to pull herself up. It ended up with Stefan falling back in the pool, bringing her under the water again.

   Stefan laughed, a boisterous laugh that mixed with the atmosphere of the party. "Look at that," he grinned, "I'm already falling for you."

   Florence stared at him, the smile on her lips feeling as if it were eternally glued there. "You're so lame," she mumbled. Her heart was at her throat, her stomach was doing flips, and she felt as if that was happiness at its very finest.

   "Yeah, Stefan, you're really lame," another voice joined. Damon stood at the edge of the pool, hands inside his leather jacket and lips in a straight line. 

   "Damon." Stefan's tone wasn't filled with friendliness, instead there was something else that she couldn't quite place. "What are you doing here?"

   "I was invited," he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "Florence's friend invited me. What was her name again?"

   "Cher," Florence said, glaring at him.

   "Cher, right," Damon laughed and nodded. "You can say I'm a bit drunk."

   Stefan got out of the pool first. "What are you doing here, Damon?"

   "Didn't I tell you? I was invited." He took a step towards his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you remember what I told you a long time ago, brother? An eternity of misery, and I'm continuing that." His smirk widened a bit and his eyes landed on Florence. She stood behind Stefan, playing with the ends of her wet clothes. 

   Stefan took a protective stance in front of Florence. "Damon, no."

   "No?" He took a step forward and raised his brows. "Your words don't matter when I promised you misery, brother." 

   In a blink of an eye, Stefan and Damon were fighting. Florence covered her mouth in shock, her eyes darting from brother to brother. They moved fast, fists against faces. In another blink of an eye, Damon had Stefan in a chokehold.

   "Florence, run!" he groaned.

   "What?" She glanced from brother to brother, her heart pounding.

   "Run!" 

   Florence stared at Stefan for several seconds, her mind racing over every single outcome that could happen. Then, her eyes met Damon's. It was like the moment she saw the snake trying to eat the rabbit. The snake was coiling itself around Stefan, it's teeth ready to sink into the skin. 

   "Didn't you hear him, Florence?" Damon's mouth widened into a smirk. "Run."

   Her feet moved faster than her mind, so she ran to the woods. Heart pounding, her panicked breathed were like thunder in her ear, thighs burning, lungs on fire, praying not to trip. Adrenaline almost bursting through her skin, eyes wide with fear, a scream locked in her throat. Florence kept running as fast as she could, until she tripped over a branch. She landed with a thud against the ground, leaves and mud stuck to her wet clothes, a rock digging into the skin of her leg. 

   It began slow, just like it always did. Her knuckles were white as she wrapped her hands tightly around a stick. The ringing in her ears was loud, combining itself with the wind that moved swiftly between the leaves. The nausea was rising from the bottom of her stomach, threatening to spill everything she had eaten. Her lungs tightened more than before, her airway closed, her vision began to spin. She wanted to remind herself to breathe, but it was as if someone were choking her. Her heart was racing and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait. 

   A choked cry forced its way up her throat, and she felt a drop run down her cheek. The night was cool, but her blood was icy and her muscles were tensed.

   "Florence!" She had heard it between the ringing in her ears, the soothing voice she had come to memorise. "Florence, hey. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe with me." Warmth covered the cold on her cheeks, two soothing hands that appeared out of nowhere. Stefan stood in front of her, eyes filled with worry, mouth moving but nothing coming out, blood on his shirt. 

   "What happened?" she asked between heavy breaths.

   Stefan shook his head. "Breathe with me," he repeated. "Florence, look at me. Breathe with me."

   It was like being in the car all over again. Her eyes were focused on him, just him. She focused on the way his mouth opened and closed, the way he inhaled and exhaled, the way he breathed. Florence copied his breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She focused on the cool metal around her neck, the necklace Stefan had given her. She focused on the feeling of his hands against her cheeks, the way his eyes stayed on hers, the sound of his breathing. 

   "Are you okay?" he asked, brows furrowed.

   Florence shook her head. "Your brother," she began. "What happened, Stefan? Why did Damon do that?" She looked at the blood on his shirt. "Oh my god, you're bleeding. Stefan, you're bleeding!"

   "I'm fine," he told her.

   "No, you're bleeding!" She lifted up his shirt, then stopped. There wasn't any wound, just blood. "Your shirt has a hole, though... How..."

   "You're bleeding," he noted. His eyes were focused on her leg, the gash from her knee to the middle of her calf. He immediately turned around.

   "Stefan?" She laid her hand on his arm. "Stefan, are you okay?" He stood rigid, his breathing hard. She shook him gently. "Hey, look at me." When he didn't move, she pulled on his arm until he turned around. A gasp left her mouth and she took a step back. "What are you?"