“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”
She let him see her flinch at his abrupt appearance in front of her. “Are you angry because you remember the pain, or because I empathize? I would not have been shocked if you attacked me, either.” She drew in a deep breath, holding his gaze, and said, “If there is nothing good about you, why is your brother still alive?”
Damon kept his eyes narrowed, staring at her and shaking his head slowly. “Three reasons. One, I owe him an eternity of pain for making me like this in the first place. Two, the Salvatores ended with us. He’s the only family I have and he’s much more useful if he’s not dead. And three… They love him. And I love them. And I may be second choice, but neither would ever forgive me if I killed Stefan,” he said, searching her eyes. “Vampires have an increased capacity for emotions. There is no anger. There’s rage. There’s no sadness. There’s utter despair. You may think you know how I feel, but you don’t. Your body will never be able to hold that much emotion, because it would kill you, and last time I heard, you’re incredibly mortal.”
Anger, finally, burned behind her green eyes. “Don’t tell me what I can do. You don’t know what I can do. Shall I take it in? Your rage, your despair, your grief … your love? Shall I show you why I survive it, every day, surrounded by people who, if not individually, then collectively feel as strongly as you?” She unfolded her arms, lifting a hand between them, fingers spread wide and cupped around the palm. “Shall I suck it out of you the way you draw blood from your prey and show you the difference between lack of humanity and lack of feeling?”
Sparks, controlled but brilliant, lifted from each fingertip. “Don’t tell me what I can do. What I can sense. You think someone who survived 9/11 can’t survive /you/?”