Can’t Let Go

 

Disclaimer ~ If they were mine do you really think Buffy and Angel would be in separate cities on separate TV shows?

Timeline ~ After Buffy’s senior prom (well, duh).

Notes ~ Ah, yet another fic inspired by Trixie Firecracker – will I ever stop stealing her excellent ideas? Also apologies to Molly for the extreme non-fluffiness of this piece – I really do have a serious angst addiction for which counselling must be sought. 

 

~~~

 

                The dance floor is virtually empty now, just a few diehard couples remain, holding tightly onto one another as they sway in time to the final song playing. It’s sort of appropriate really: the last dance.

 

                A lump forms in my throat as I think the words. Our last dance. The last time his arms will encircle me like this. The last time I’ll rest my head upon his broad chest and feel absolute peace with myself. And I don’t want it to end. I want time to stop, so I can stay like this forever, so the evening never has to be over and we don’t have to say goodbye.

 

                The song fades out with a soft guitar chord and the main lights are switched on again, destroying the magical atmosphere of the prom and replacing it with that of a gym decorated with paper streamers. The floor is littered with debris and the decimated remains of what was once a buffet are suddenly illuminated. I blink my eyes groggily, trying to adjust to the change in brightness and drag myself from the fantasy world of Angel’s arms back into the reality of my life.

 

                “Hey, Buffy,” some guy I barely know comes bounding up to me. “There’s an after-prom party at Todd’s house. You wanna come?”

 

                I shake my head, staying firmly glued to Angel’s side. “Rain-check, okay?”

 

                The guy shrugs. “Whatever, but if you change your mind we’ll be there all night. Todd’s elder sister promised to buy us beer.”

 

                He rushes away to apprehend another set of stragglers and Angel speaks softly to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

 

                I raise my eyebrows at him. “Because the idea of staying out all night in a house packed full of drunken teenage boys is such an attractive one.”

 

                “I just don’t want you to miss out on anything,” Angel replies.

 

                “Oh yes, I remember, my perfect prom evening,” I shoot back at him, my voice catching on the lump in my throat. “Well, battling those Hellhounds earlier on already kind of killed that dream.”

 

                “I’m sorry,” he whispers and I know it’s not the Hellhounds he’s apologising for.

 

                “You should be,” I pull away from him, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

 

                “Hey, you two!” Principal Snyder approaches us in his typical angry waddle. “Prom’s over. Go home. Teenagers today are a mystery to me. Never show up for school when they should then they hang around for all hours when you want rid of them. Go on, get out Miss Summers – I can still stop you from graduating, you know.”

 

                Angel and I hurry out of the gym into the cool night air. I shiver involuntarily and, ever the gentleman, he gives me his jacket, draping it carefully over my shoulders.

 

                “So, now what?” I ask shakily, feeling utterly horrible. How can we be doing this? How can we have held each other like always, as if nothing is wrong, as if he didn’t just tear our entire relationship apart? How can I be standing here having a normal conversation with him when I’m slowly dying inside?

 

                “I don’t know,” he replies. “I’ve never been to a high school prom before.”

 

                I force myself to smile slightly, the expression coming across crooked and a little crazed. “Guess they didn’t have them in your day, huh?”

 

                Angel shakes his head, a small smile gracing his own lips. God, he’s so beautiful, his features so smooth and defined, like they’re carved out of marble, like he’s some sculptor’s work of art that comes alive when I touch him. I love the way I breathe life into him when I kiss him, the sight of his face flushed from my heat when we are too close for comfort. Or rather I used to love those things, because now I’ll never have them again.

 

                “I think now we just walk home,” I suggest flatly.

 

                He nods and we start to walk, our strides deliberately slow, the route a meandering one through the cemetery. I hope we don’t meet any vamps tonight, I’m not sure if I could handle my last few moments with Angel tainted with violence and death. Somewhere along the way I take Angel’s hand, or he takes mine, but it just seems the most natural thing in the world to do and my heart breaks for the thousandth time this evening. How can something that feels so utterly right possibly be so wrong? How can it be over when his touch still sends shivers down my spine?

 

                I lean against his shoulder, dreading every step that takes me closer towards my front door. Finally, at the edge of the graveyard, with my house merely a hundred yards away, he stops.

 

                “What’s the matter?” I turn to face him, to try and see into his expression and fathom out his secrets.

 

                “Maybe we…we should,” he stutters, one of the few times I have seen him lose his trademark Angel cool.

 

                “No,” I reply firmly. “We’re not home yet. It’s too soon, I’m not ready.”

 

                “I’ll never be ready,” he says in an agonised tone, then he pulls me close to his chest. “Buffy,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you so much.”

 

                “Don’t do this then,” I return desperately. “Don’t say goodbye.” 

 

                He sighs. “We’ve been through this already – I have to.”

 

                “Why?” My eyes fill with tears, the salty liquid brimming over my eyelids and down my cheeks. “I don’t understand.”

 

                “Because we have no future together,” he strokes my face softly, gazing at me intently as if he is trying to memorise every detail of my appearance.

 

                “I don’t care about the future. There is no future without you.”

 

                His eyes are shining with tears of his own. “Please don’t make this any harder for me Buffy.”

 

                “Why not? You think I want to make it easy for you to leave me?”

 

                “I think I have to go now,” he forces the words out in a measured tone. “I have to walk away before we destroy each other completely.”

 

                I tighten my arms around his waist, a last ditch attempt to keep him with me. “It’s going to have to be you than walks away then,” I tell him resolutely. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I won’t give up on us like this.”

 

                “Buffy,” he places his hands on my shoulders, trying to prise me away from him. “You have to let go now.”

 

                “I can’t,” I drop my head on to his chest, weeping freely, “I can’t let go.” And I am telling the truth. My hands seem locked together independently of my mind, controlled solely by my heart. I am afraid now that if I step away from him, if I move backwards even a tiny bit then I’ll never touch him again. I’ll never feel Angel pressed up close to me, I’ll never be able to tip my chin up ever so slightly in order to bring his lips into contact with mine. I’ll never cover his mouth hungrily with mine, tracing his teeth with my tongue, gasping for breath in between frantic kisses.

 

                “Buffy,” he pulls away abruptly. “We can’t do this.”

 

                “One last time,” I beg. “Just one more.”

 

                He doesn’t take much persuading and soon we are kissing again, wildly, madly, passionately, hands desperately groping at one another. I’ve never wanted him so much or so badly as at this moment. I long to wrap my body around his, take him deep, deep inside me and have him pound the last 24 hours out of my memory. I need for him to make me his again, like he did on the night of my seventeenth birthday. I need that mark on my soul back; the one not even Angelus, or Hell or the First could erase, but that began to fade as soon as he told me he was leaving me.

 

                I fall to the ground, my legs unable to support me anymore, having just given up under the weight of the despair that crushes my body. I drag Angel down with me, his heavy body toppling like a felled tree to land on top of me, our lips still locked together. My beautiful silk dress is ruined, stained with grass and mud and ripped open at the bodice, but I am glad, because now it matches rest of me – battered and torn, a wreck of who I once was.

 

                Angel detaches himself from me, looking down with frightened, feral eyes. “We can’t go any further, Buffy – or I won’t be able to stop.”

 

                “Don’t then.” I pull his lips back on to mine and let hot hands wonder across his smooth skin. I want to touch all of him, taste him, feel everything there is to feel, so that I can cement it all in my memory during the long, lonely nights to come.

 

                His fingers slide up my thigh, finding the tops of my stockings and peeling them downwards. I fumble at the fly of his dress pants, feeling him there ready for me. “God,” he gasps between kisses as I arch my breasts into his chest. “We mustn’t – the curse.”

 

                But the protests are just words, we could utter a thousand denials, tell each other over and over that this is wrong, but there’s no stopping now. The point of no return has not only been passed, but it’s become a speck in the far distance. It’s like being sucked down into a whirlpool of feeling – the world is spinning and you can’t stop it, you’re just dragged deeper and deeper down until only the passion and the darkness are left surrounding you.

 

                “Do you really think this will make either of us happy?” I ask, the tears streaming down both of our faces testament to the truth of my words.

 

                He doesn’t offer an answer, just silences me with his lips and tongue. Then he hitches my dress around my waist and plunges into me so hard that I see stars. Pain and pleasure mix and I gasp out aloud.

 

                “I love you…”

 

                We move together in a jolting, jarring rhythm, down in the grass amongst the graves. And it’s good, because it’s Angel and he’s holding me and filling me up to the brim with pure emotion. I love him so much, but I hate him, because I need him. I’m addicted to his touch, his kiss, his rich voice, the way he looks at me. I’m like a junkie desperately needing her fix. Only now I’m overdosing and I don’t care what the consequences are going to be. I couldn’t give a damn about tomorrow – there is no tomorrow without him. There’s only this instant and this ecstasy of our bodies fused tightly together. There’s only the scream that issues from my lips as it’s over, half in agony, half in unrestrained bliss. There’s only the salty taste of our combined tears when we lie together afterwards, afraid to move, to breathe even, lest we disrupt the fragile fabric of this moment.

 

                Angel buries his head in my hair and I sense his body shudder as he sobs silently.

 

                “Shush, it’s all right,” I comfort him gently, softly stroking the downy hair on the nape of his neck. I love that part of him the most – it’s so tender and vulnerable, unlike the rest of his hard, muscular body. It’s like a physical manifestation of everything inside him – a sensitive, loving man, hidden by the tough façade he chooses to project.

 

                “I love you,” he murmurs into my throat. “No matter how hard I try – I can’t stop…”

 

                “Don’t go,” I whisper to him, a last desperate plea.

 

                He lifts his head and looks up at me with ancient, tired eyes. He shakes his head. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

 

Fin

 

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