WHY 2

Because…

 

(Song lyrics are from Love Song for a Vampire (unoriginal, moi?), which was the theme to the film Bram Stoker’s Dracula.)

 

One of the classes I took this year at college was English. Classical literature. I left my choices late (again) and it was either that or sophomore level Quantum Mechanics. Kind of a no brainer really. But I actually ended up quite enjoying it. We read Madame Bovary and I cried when I got to the end of the novel. It was just so sad. So horribly, terribly sad.

 

                You see it’s about this girl, Emma, who’s literally addicted to love. All she wants out of life is a little passion, a little romance. And she finds this nice guy, Charles, and they get married and everything’s fine for a while, until she realises that it’s not enough for her. Because Charles, although he loves her, is a bit, shall we say, boring. He wants her to stay at home and have his babies and learn embroidery and whatever else it was proper for a lady to do in that time. But Emma doesn’t want that. She wants to go dancing in Paris. She wants to be worshipped and revered. She wants to be complimented on her beauty not her crotchet work.

 

                She doesn’t want to be a lady; she wants to be a woman.

 

                She tries to stick at her marriage, she really does. But it’s destroying her inside. It’s killing every little bit of fire she ever felt in her heart. So, she takes a lover. They have forbidden trysts and passionate sex. He regales her with words of love and adoration

 

(“You walked down the steps and I loved you… Because I could see your heart.”).

 

She is the happiest she’s ever been. This is what she’s always wanted. To be the centre of someone’s universe. To burst into flame every time he touched her. To count the hours, the minutes, the seconds, until their next meeting.

 

                However, there’s still the little problem of her husband. But nothing is ever complicated to a woman in love. She will leave Charles and go and live with her lover in Paris. They will take a small apartment. Pretend to be man and wife. Make love all day then go out to balls in the evenings. The logistics don’t matter - money, scandal – as long as they have each other then they have everything.

 

                (“I look into the future and all I see is you. All I want is you.”)

 

                But her lover lets her down. He will not run away with her. His words were never sincere. He had been seeing other women as well as her. Emma is devastated. Her one true love was never true at all. It was all one big charade. She has other affairs but they all end disastrously too. She begins to doubt real passion exists at all and she runs back to the shelter of her unhappy marriage. Things do not end there, however. Her quest for romance has left her life in tatters and soon she reached the point where she cannot face it anymore.

 

                Her husband is weak and pathetic, his every action governed by his overbearing mother. Emma’s every hope of a brighter future is dashed. She sees nothing left for herself except a life of duty. Honour and obey your husband. Love and protect your daughter. Be polite and respectful to your mother-in-law. Always behave in the proper manner. She used to run through meadows of wild flowers. She used to meet lovers for sex on the forest floor. She used to laugh. Now she only cried.

 

                She committed suicide.

 

                I felt a lot like Emma. My life used to be so colourful. Everything wild and exciting. I would meet Angel in the cemetery and we would spend hours just kissing. His lips on mine were the whole world (“When you kiss me I wanna die…”). Then I would head off with a spring in my step and a light in my heart and do some slaying. I had so much fire then, so much spirit and strength. Everyday was a whirlwind of emotions. Some were bad and some were good, but all of them were bright and vibrant. I used to shine with the passion I felt and I used to feel I would nearly burst with all the energy and love contained within me.

 

                Then something happened. I can’t place what exactly. Maybe it was Angel losing his soul or maybe it was me sending him to Hell. But if I had to guess I would say that it was when Angel left me. Before, all our problems had been out of our control. We hadn’t foreseen the return of Angelus and I had been forced to kill him in order to save the world. We were just stuck dealing with the fallout of decisions that hadn’t been ours to make. But when Angel left me, when he gave up on us of his own free will, it was like saying that love wasn’t enough anymore. That there was no point fighting because we would never win.

 

                Something inside me died that day. I think it was Hope.

 

                Then there was Parker. I felt the first thrill of a new relationship again. I thought that I would have a second chance; that there was still some passion left in my life. But he crushed me horribly. I gave myself to him and he threw me away. So, I found Riley. Nice, kind, safe, mundane Riley. He looked after me and he loved me, but there was no heat, no romance there. The brightness of my life began to fade. I became jaded. I saw Angel again and all the pain, the emotions came rushing back. I locked them away again. They were easier to live without.

 

                I started to go through the motions. Always doing what was expected of me. Having sex with Riley (three times a week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays – military men have to keep to their routine, you know), trading quips with Xander, watching mushy movies with Tara and Willow, training, slaying, studying, taking care of my Mom and my sister… I practiced being the perfect college girl/Chosen One. I even started doing research into past slayers. I was like auto-Buffy, press a button and you produced a conditioned response. But there was no feeling behind it anymore.

 

                When my Mom died and later when I lost Dawn, it all finally became too much for me. Those two traumas drained what little emotional reserves I had remaining. I was finally left empty. It was like all the colour had been bleached out of my life and there were only shades of grey left. Imagine it – no more love, no more passion, no more enthusiasm, no more anger, no more laughter, no more jealousy, no more tears. Just a dull, throbbing ache where my heart used to be.

 

                Like Emma my life was in ruins. Everything I had imagined for my future had vanished in the winds. I had even thrown away the only normal, stable relationship I had ever had. Riley, my Charles, had left me because only he saw the truth that everyone else had been so studiously ignoring. I didn’t love him. I couldn’t love him. All the love within me had been taken away already. I lost even the temporary shelter from myself Riley had provided. I reached the end. All my hope had been lost. I saw nothing left for myself but misery and pain. I followed Emma’s example.

 

                But here ends the parallels. Emma died in agony, her husband standing by her helplessly. He could never have saved her because he was never what she wanted or needed. For me though, it was different. My lover finally came through for me. He made good on his word and he showed me that perhaps the future was not so desperate as it seemed. He rekindled the flame in my heart. It is not yet the roaring fire it once was, but at least a few glowing embers provide more warmth than an empty grate.

 

                Now I have a fresh dilemma, one that Emma never faced. What happens now? I had thrown away my future and now I must find it again, dust it off and try to live it. Can I survive without passion in my life? Clearly not. But can I reopen my heart to all these emotions and deal with the ensuing pain that they bring? Can I cast aside this shell of numbness that I have spent so long erecting around myself? Can I cope with the raw hurt that exorcising the ghosts of my past will bring? This I don’t know.

 

                I wish I could turn to Flaubert for guidance. I wish I could ask Emma what she would do. But I can’t. The novel ended there. Tragically. However, my story goes on and I am alone in its telling. From now on the decisions and the mistakes I make will be solely my own. It is time to take responsibility for my life.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                Sometime this afternoon Angel and I had decided that we couldn’t stay wrapped in the safety of each other’s embrace forever. It was time to get up, face the world. Out there a reality exists that I can deny only for the shortest periods of time. I have a destiny, a calling, friends, school, duties and a life that I really should be getting on with. But as much as I would like it to be that simple – just get on with life, deal, as the old Buffy would say – it’s not. So, baby steps.

 

                This is how I find myself now wandering from shop to shop in some random mall in LA. I have never been here before, and neither has Angel, judging by how lost he looks in the early evening crowds. We must both look lost. I borrowed some of Cordelia’s stuff to go out in, as I have no clothes of my own here, and let’s just say that she and I don’t really share the same fashion sense. She may scoff at my sensible jeans and sweaters, but I’d like to see her try and slay in a strapless top.

 

                I smile to myself slightly. Was it only two days since I took a dagger to my wrists? It seems like a lifetime ago. Angel grips my hand ever tighter, his brow furrowed as he tries to decide where to take me next. Shopping isn’t exactly his favourite activity, so my heart swells with gratitude that he would bring me here. He waits patiently in each store as I quickly gather up items, not really caring what they look like or how much they cost. Angel is paying for it all. It is a strange feeling, standing by the counter as he hands over a credit card. I feel utterly dependent upon him, so weak and pathetic, and yet totally loved and cared for.

 

                As I pick out several pairs of jeans (why not get a whole new wardrobe here, what the hell…) a shop girl asks me if my husband would like to visit the menswear department while he waits. I don’t even bother to correct her mistake. Somehow, sometime last night Angel and I abandoned all that star crossed lover crap we’d been spouting for the past two years. He forgot to say his ‘I don’t deserve you, Buffy’ line. He didn’t tell me to have a normal life or to find someone to walk in the light with. I think he knows now that my life will never be normal and that I belong only to the darkness.

 

                I think when I tried to kill myself I scared him into realising that I’m just a girl. I’m not Super Buffy, that all-American heroine who diverts the apocalypse on a weekly basis then goes home to bake cookies for deprived children. I am weak and I am pathetic and I do have a breaking point. But most of all I need him. He looked at my emaciated body (did I mention Cordy’s clothes swim on me?) and my shattered spirit and he realised that maybe I couldn’t handle everything the world had throw at me. And maybe the risk he took of hurting me with his presence was far outweighed by the risk of killing me with his absence.

 

                (“Are you mad at me because I’m around too much, or not enough?”)

 

                I can’t hold his hand any longer - he is carrying too many bags. So, I link my arm in his and I rest my head against his shoulder. He is my strength, my rock, my spirit, my champion, my lover, my passion, my world, my future…Everything he once was he is again, and I wonder how I ever lived without this for so long. Stupid question really – I didn’t.

 

                (“I want my life to be with you.”)

 

                We get take-away pizza and bring it back to the hotel, because I couldn’t bear to be amongst the crowds anymore. In every face I saw disapproval. All the eyes were judging me. You failed Buffy. You gave up. You abandoned your Calling. You left people to die. Giles, Willow, Xander, they counted on you and you let them down. You killed your own sister!

 

                I want the voices to stop, but they won’t because they’re coming from inside my own head. At least I’m not so far gone that I don’t realise that. Thank goodness for small mercies, eh? I cling closer to Angel. It is only in his expression that I see love and acceptance and understanding. How bizarre is it that this experience has given me an insight into my lover’s pain. We are the same now. We have become equal. Two fallen angels, desperately trying to pick each other up. I’m not sure if my life is a romance or a tragedy. Sometimes I think it’s a comedy, and I’m just missing the joke. 

 

                After I’ve eaten and changed into my new clothes (never underestimate the restorative powers of good food and clean underwear), Angel sits opposite me and hands me something. Four envelopes, each addressed in my own looping hand. The letters I wrote, my goodbyes. I just stare at him like he’s insane. Why would he give these back to me? Why would he think I’d ever want to see them again? We just spent three hours buying me a whole new wardrobe because I can’t bear to go back to that house and get my old clothes. So why would I want to see such an acute reminder of what went before?

 

                Because I can get new clothes but I can’t get a new life. Right.

 

                “Don’t you want to read yours?” I ask Angel. I’d want to know if our positions were reversed. If Angel were dying, I’d want to know that his last thoughts were of me and if he still loved me. I’d want that honesty which comes with never having to face the consequences of your words.

 

                “No,” he tells me. “I want you to read it to me.”

 

                “Oh.” I say and then we don’t speak for a long time. I’m not sure if I can do this, if I can look him in the eye whilst I spill out my heart and soul to him. I turn to him with plaintive eyes. Don’t make me, please. But still he says nothing, just returns my gaze stoically. I start to understand what he means about reconciling his soul with his demon. The Old Angel would have given in straight away to my request, but then the Old Buffy never would have asked in the first place. She would have fought or dealt. Buckled down and coped with it or gone off in a screaming fit. You can’t make me do this! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do!

 

                But I don’t have the strength to yell at him. A part of me wants to, though, which I take as a good sign. Instead I drop my eyes and tear open the envelope. It almost pains me to do so, like I’m reading somebody else’s private mail. In a sense I am. I wrote it and yet I didn’t. Doing this to myself (look at me, euphemism-girl – attempting suicide) changed me. I am not the same Buffy who took laid down to die at her own hand, yet I am neither the Buffy I was before this melancholy overtook me. I am someone new, different and I don’t know what to make of myself yet. Maybe getting an insight in what I used to think will help.

 

                I withdraw the letter. The handwriting is a messy scrawl and the ink is smudged by my tears. I am glad I know what it says; otherwise I don’t think I could have made out a single word. “Angel,” I begin in a shaky voice. “I blame you…”

 

                A flash of pain crosses his handsome features, and his jaw twitches briefly before returning to its determined set. My heart seems to collapse in on itself, yet I continue. Tears flow once again as I read. When I reach the ‘Always Yours’ at the end of the letter I lose all control of my voice and it cracks into a wrenching sob. He pulls me into his arms and he rocks me gently. Like a baby. Suddenly I know that all he is to me I am to him. We are father and daughter, mother and child, husband and wife, brother and sister, lovers, mortal enemies, demon and slayer, darkness and light, black and white, the question and the answer, the first and the last, soulmates…

 

                (“I love you. I try not to, but I can’t stop.”)

 

                It never, ever stops.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

               

We are driving again. I am in his car, wrapped in his coat and we speed along the highway. Another time I might have enjoyed it – the wind whipping through my long hair, sending it flying behind me like a bolt of golden silk. I try to imagine that the wind is blowing away my cares - that it is cleansing me - but I can’t. It will take more than the wind’s cool caress to wash away the blight upon my soul. And with every mile nearer we draw to Sunnydale, the sense of dread within me mounts. I think this may be similar to what demons feel when the approach the Hellmouth. The reverberations that the place gives off collect in the base of my stomach and I feel sick with nerves.

 

What if I can’t face them? What if they don’t want to know me anymore? What if they judge me?

 

I was safe in LA, with Angel. It wasn’t my world. The problems that have haunted me for so long didn’t exist there. I had no memories to cause me pain at every corner. It was a new beginning, a new me. No expectations or past failures. I could cope. Now, though, we are returning to Sunnydale and I have to deal with everything that went before. Everything that brought me up to the moment when I decided to end it all.

 

And I’m not sure if I can do this. I want to vomit. I want to make Angel pull over so I can puke up on the side of the road. Then I want to tell him not tonight, I’m ill, I’m not ready, I need more time.

 

(“It’s not enough time…”)

 

But part of me knows the longer I put it off the less able I will be to face them. It saddens me to realise the spectre I have become of my former self. My best friends I now think of as my greatest enemies, I would rather battle a whole lair of vampires than have to look into their hurt expressions.

 

I failed them.

 

I was supposed to be the strong one. The one they all leant on. But look what happened. I turned out to be too weak to even ask for their help. I couldn’t even admit to my difficulties. I had to keep pretending that nothing was wrong, that I was dealing, I was happy. That I wasn’t quietly dying inside. I kept going to classes and to the Bronze and I kept up my slaying. I lived my ‘normal’ life and I smiled through my tears.

 

(“Oh, be that Buffy.”)

 

And I’m angry with them too. Angry that they never noticed anything was wrong. That my false cheerfulness always fooled them. That they only ever asked once if I was all right and when I said yes they believed me. That they could see me lying in a hospital bed, all the spirit drained from me, and they still didn’t realise. They were supposed to be my friends! How could they know me so little?

 

(“I need you…”)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I see the sign that reads ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ and my stomach lurches. Suddenly I’m consumed with a primal terror that has nothing to do with facing my friends or my failures. It is this town; it destroyed me. For years now it has been gradually dragging my spirit down into its Hellmouth, until it swallowed me completely. I feel myself starting to panic. My heart races and my breathing becomes ragged. I feel claustrophobic, darkness surrounds me, cloying, clinging, its bony hands reaching for my neck. My lungs are burning and I can’t breath. God, I can’t breathe. Help me please. My vision turns scarlet. I begin to hallucinate - there is blood everywhere. It runs through the streets and covers my body, thick and sticky. Get it off me!

 

“No!” I yelp out and Angel pulls over the car. He wraps me in his strong arms and whispers nonsense syllables in a soothing voice. I feel my breathing begin to slow again and my frantic gasps turn to sobs. Soon I am calm enough for even these to fade and I simply quiver in his embrace. What is wrong with me? Where is the strong confident woman I once was? Did she even exist in the first place?

 

When my shaking has stopped Angel sits me upright again and pulls away. I look into his eyes pleadingly. “Can we go back?” I ask, like a child beginning its mother for sweets. Please, I’ll be good.

 

I imagine I see a flash of sadness and regret in his eyes before a shutter comes down over his emotions. “No,” he shakes his head. “You have to do this, Buffy.”

 

“Oh.” I say in reply. I don’t even argue with him. I don’t even scream at him that I am too weak to deal with this, that I’m not the Buffy he used to know, I don’t have her strength, or the courage of her convictions, or her will to survive. But then what more compelling evidence than my silence is needed to convince him of this.

 

We arrive in the centre of town and he parks the car. Then he takes my hand and speaks more softly.

 

“You have to chase away the ghosts, Buffy, or they’ll haunt you forever.” And I understand that he is right.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                We walk around the streets of Sunnydale, hand in hand. Like any other young couple, except one of us is a 250-year-old vampire and the other of us is in the midst of some kind of breakdown. That’s what I’ve decided it is. A breakdown. Maybe defining it is a positive step. Like admitting you’re an alcoholic. My name is Buffy Summers and I can’t cope anymore.

 

                But admitting it to yourself is only the beginning. Next you have to admit it to everybody else. I try not to think about that part. One step at time, right? One foot in front of the other. And right now I have something else to consider. This is my hometown I am walking in. These streets I used to patrol with my head held high, confidence radiating from my tiny form. Now I creep meekly alongside my protector. And I wonder what I am so frightened of. I know it is not the things that hide in the night, because I am one of them. My lover is one of them. I belong in the night. It is the day that scares me so much.

 

                When I am on the hunt I am the Slayer. My primal instincts guide me and I have them well honed. I have no need for emotions or personality. There is no Buffy there is just the stake and the kill. But then all the demons are dead. Then the sun rises and I am expected to suddenly snap out of this mode and have a latte with Will or joke with Xander, or snuggle up with my honey. No wonder I am falling apart at the seams, because I am constantly being torn in two directions. It’s like there are two halves of me. Buffy and the Slayer. For the past few months (maybe even years) the Slayer has been winning. I’ve let Buffy quietly whither away. The more people who left me Angel, Riley, Dawn, my Mom, then the more I let Buffy slip away with them. What was left was only a predator’s guise. A false smile and a faked hug.

 

                But when I took that knife to my wrists I succeeding in killing something within me. When I awoke in hospital I had lost the Slayer’s ruthlessness. I cried and I cried and it was all I could do not to breakdown completely in front of Xander, Willow and Giles. Suddenly the false smile hurt my heart to keep up. And suddenly I was just a frightened little girl again, left to pick up the pieces of her personality. Who was I now? What was I doing here?

 

                Angel has led me to in front of the old, burnt out high school. It is still here even after all this time. It holds so many memories. Here I have lived and laughed and loved and cried and killed. Here I destroyed the mayor. Here I dove straight into the mouth of Hell in order to save the world. Here I stood and watched Angel walk out of my life, taking my heart with him as he went. Here I vanquished Glory and felt Dawn evaporate slowly from my life as I did so. I searched for her for days afterwards. Calling in the streets. Eventually not even being able to remember much else about her other than her name. Dawn. She was here. I know she was.

 

                Angel walks me through the corridors of the abandoned building. I turn each corner expecting to see blood, expecting to see my enemies resurrected ready to battle me. But I saw nothing except smoke blackened walls and piles of rubbish. I stood over the spot that Riley had once made his home, when he was on the run from the Initiative. But no evidence of his presence even remained in the ruined classroom. It was just a shell. Just bricks and mortar. It couldn’t threaten me and it couldn’t suffocate me. The town was not what was hurting me. Memories were not held by streets or buildings but by minds and people. I could never solve my problems by running away from them, because I carried them with me wherever I went. There was no solace to be found in LA or even in the arms of the man I loved, and this is what Angel brought me here to prove.

 

                “I’m ready now.” I told him and he nodded, knowing what I meant.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                I raise my hand to knock on Giles’ door then lower it again. I said I was ready, but now I’m not sure. Everything about me is uncertainty now. I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing here and I don’t even trust my own judgement anymore. Angel touches my shoulder lightly - an unspoken prompt - and I raise my hand again. Although I am shaking badly I still manage three firm raps on the door’s wooden surface. A triumph of Slayer co-ordination over nerves. Giles opens the door, a look of sombre concern upon his face. I refuse to meet his eyes, but instead look past him, into the room. Willow and Xander are seated on the couch, flanked by Tara and Anya.

 

                Great, the whole gang, my shattered heart thinks. Why not just eviscerate me publicly and have done with it?  The only person missing seems to be Spike. And Mom, and Dad, and Dawn, and Riley, and Oz, and Kendra, and Ms Calendar, and all the others who have touched my heart and then left…

 

                “What’s he doing here?” Xander asks belligerently, gesturing towards Angel. I shrink back physically from his words, leaning into the protective shelter of my lover. God, this is going to be even harder than I imagined – and I imagined it to be impossible.

 

                “Xander…” I begin weakly, but he has risen up off the sofa in a confrontational manner. All the new assertiveness and manliness he has gained show in him now. He is no longer prepared to hide behind jokes and cruel barbs. He will speak his mind openly and directly. And completely inappropriately.

 

                “Why Buffy?” He asks. “After everything he’s done to you. After all the hurt he’s caused. He just shows up in your life again and that’s it. You jump straight back into his arms.”

 

                “Please, don’t do this…” I whisper, but nobody seems to hear me.

 

                “I’m starting to think that maybe Riley was right.” Xander rages and his words cut straight through me. “And maybe there is something wrong with you. After all, you did throw away the only decent relationship you’ve ever had. Maybe you do have some twisted little obsession with vampires.”

 

                “I wasn’t the one who…” I choke out in a sob and I try to reach for Angel but he’s moved away and I stagger.

 

                “Buffy?” Willow calls out concernedly.

 

                “Xander, that’s enough.” Giles admonishes him, but their voices seem to come from far away. Like listening to a conversation with your head held underwater.

 

                “Why don’t we just call Spike over here and the three of you can have some serious fun, after all you’ve been leading him on for long enough now.” Xander continues cruelly.

 

                I feel hot tears burning my cheeks and the room starts to spin around me as I struggle to breath once more. This was it this was what I hadn’t wanted to face. This is what haunted me for so long. The tattered shreds of my personal life. Deeply held resentments, as I’d let down each and every person I held dear to me. I let my mother die. I stopped worrying about her; I thought she was OK! I was never there for her when she was well and after she’d got better I forgot about her again. Busy little Buffy, couldn’t even take the time to check on her own mother. Busy out trying to attract the boys. Set another one up to knock down, why don’t you? If I’d been there when she collapsed then maybe…

               

                Remember Riley? A good, corn-fed Iowa man. Kind, loving, giving. Polite, upstanding, sure of himself. Working on his psych degree and cultivating a career in the military. Then he met me. 12 months in a relationship with Buffy Summers and he’s a wreck. He’s miserable and he’s resentful and he’s become a walking vampire snack bar. I ruined him. Yet another life destroyed because of me.

 

                And look at my friends. Look what kind of a life I’ve dragged them into. They face mortal danger on an almost weekly basis because of me, because they care enough to help me in my duty. I took away their innocence and their youth. Now they know what goes bump in the night and they will never sleep peacefully in their beds again. I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve been hurt because of me and they’ve seen things nobody should have to. Blood, death, carnage, creatures spewed straight from the mouth of Hell. They say they don’t mind, that they’re glad to help, but I know. I know these visions plague their dreams, as they plague mine.

 

                Plus, I killed Dawnie – my own sister. It was me. My fault she died. Mea culpa. And now I can’t even remember her pretty face. Soft hair, I used to brush, but what colour was it? Think Buffy, think! She must have been blonde, like me. But, no, that doesn’t seem right. Nothing seems right, anymore.

 

                Except this. Except strong arms, which I now fall into. Angel picking me up, carrying me across the room. Laying me, crying and insensible, in a chair. Brushing away my tears and speaking my name in a soft tone. I blink a couple of times and my vision regains its focus. Six pairs of worried eyes gaze at me.

 

                “What’s wrong with her?” Anya asks bluntly. “Why is she crying? Buffy never cries.”

 

                “Buff, are you OK?” Xander asks, reaching his hand out to touch my arm. “I didn’t mean…”

 

                I gulp out another soft sob and I hear Angel growl softly. “Shut up, boy. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

 

                I feel Willow squeeze my hand tightly. “God, Buffy, what happened?”

 

                My life happened. That’s what.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                I finish crying and Giles brings me some tea. I taste a good measure of brandy in it and offer him a weak smile. He barely returns it. He looks shaken, like the foundations of his world have shifted. But then what do you expect? In the Watcher job description it speaks of helping train the Slayer or giving her advice on battle stratagem. It does not, however, warn of having to deal with the Slayer collapsing in an emotional heap on your living room carpet, for no immediately apparent reason. For one who has always found me to be so strong, so independent and so resilient, to see me like this must be a huge shock. It is a shock to them all.

 

                Tara and Anya have been excused. They were never fully part of the group, anyway, and it must have felt only awkward for them to be here. Willow sits stroking my hand, reassuringly, not quite knowing what to say. Xander has retreated to the corner of the room, looking guilty and blaming his own outburst for my collapse. I want to tell him not to be stupid, that I was like this long before he spoke, but the words just took too much energy to form. Angel sits quietly and calmly watching it all. There if I needed him, but refusing to add to the emotional confusion of the room.

 

                “Is she alright?” Willow addresses Angel when the silence of the room becomes too much to bear.

 

                I take offence at this. She is talking like I’m not in the room, or worse still like I’m too far-gone to understand or be able to respond to her simple question. But part of me understands how difficult it must be for Willow. The person she sees before her now is not the Buffy she is used to dealing with. We have the same blonde hair and the same hazel eyes, but out personalities are complete polar opposites. And Willow is just having trouble dealing with that. She no longer knows how to relate to me, or what to say. But that’s not a problem, because I don’t know what to say either.

 

                “It’s still me, Will.” I tell her in a small voice. “I’m still here.” The words mean nothing really, they’re not even a sensible answer to her question, but she seems to accept them and smiles worriedly.

 

                “Did something happen, Buffy?”

 

                I laugh at this. A harsh, hollow sound that catches in my dry throat. “What apart from my Mom dying and my imaginary sister suddenly ceasing to exist, you mean?” I ask. I regret the words as soon as I say them, as soon as Willow pulls back her hand and looks away from me guiltily.

 

                “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t realise.” She stutters.

 

                “Willow…” I say, reaching for her hand again. I hadn’t realised until it was lost to me, what a comfort that little bit of human contact had been.

 

                She lets me take her hand and I smile at her softly. Her eyes light up at this gesture, a tiny sign that perhaps the real Buffy is lurking behind this empty façade, and she grins broadly.

 

“You should have said that it was bothering you so much.” Giles interrupts. “We could have helped you. You can’t just run away from your problems like this, Buffy.”

 

The ‘again’ went unspoken, but I heard it anyway. They think I ran to Angel to escape dealing with the things that had hurt me in Sunnydale, like I ran away to LA to avoid dealing with the consequences of sending my lover to Hell. Then I thought if I could become a different person, if I could actually be Anne, then Buffy’s problems wouldn’t follow me. That had been the foolish assumption of a child. I was older now, wiser. I hadn’t wanted to out run my problems I just needed somebody who would help me cope with them. I needed somebody to pick me up and hold me in his arms. I needed what had been missing from my life for the past two years, but I couldn’t explain that to them now.

 

“There’s something you need to know.” I start, unsure of how I’m going to break this to them, but knowing I had to somehow. All eyes turn to me, expectantly. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. To say this now would to be to admit my failures. It would be a final affirmation of exactly how far I have fallen. And yet to keep it from them is never to wipe the slate clean. Keeping up the pretence this long nearly killed me and if I want to make a new start then I have to bare my soul of everything. I turn to Angel and he reads my confusion perfectly. I want them to know and yet I can’t bring myself to tell them.

 

“When Buffy was injured the other night.” Angel began. “It wasn’t because of a vampire attack.” He pauses and looks over at me. “Show them, Buffy.” He says abruptly. “They need to see to understand.”

 

I shake my head. Surely there are better ways to let them find out. Surely I should break the news in a heartfelt speech in about ten years time, when I am happy and I’ve moved on from this despair I’m feeling now. I should just slip it into the conversation someday, ‘Oh by the way, I tried to kill myself when we were in college. Would you like another cup of coffee?’. But I know that if I don’t get this sorted now then I won’t be around in ten years time and even if I do make it that long then I certainly won’t be happy. So, I roll up my sleeves and I expose the fresh scars on my wrists. My slayer strength has helped them heal quickly, but they are still obvious. Long, purple welts that stand out starkly against my pale white skin.

 

Willow gasps and Giles mutters something under his breath. Xander just looks bewildered. They suddenly all appear younger, as if all traces of their self-assurance have been removed from them. All the barriers between us have been ripped away. There will be no more false sentiment, no more pretence. All that exists now is honesty and damn its consequences. At the risk of sounding like a self-help book, if your friends can’t deal with who you actually are and what you truly feel, then they aren’t really your friends.

 

So, here is my turning point. My judgement day. Here is where I reveal everything that I am and every little insecurity I’ve ever felt about myself. Here the truth is laid bare and I will learn how to deal with it. Everything is new to be from this point on. I’ve thrown away the old charade and with it go my former life and personality. I cannot go back now, only forwards.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                There was a long silence after the full meaning of the scars on my wrists had sunk in. Then Xander walked out. He just upped and left, without even saying a word. In retrospect I knew that this would hit him the hardest. I was always his heroine, some untouchable idol. To see me now at my lowest ebb, every one of my faults harshly revealed, it must have hit him hard. And Xander has never been one to let his emotions show. Despite all his bluster he is a very sensitive and a very private person. I appreciate that he needs time to deal with this in his own way, but it still hurts.

 

                Willow took me in her arms and squeezed me tightly. Words failed her. They failed all of us. Eventually she whispered ‘I love you’ and I squeezed her back. It helped know that she cares and that she is there for me. Giles murmured something about always being here if I need him then Angel and I left. There didn’t seem anything more for us to say at that moment. I will return tomorrow, though, I am sure of that now. I must finish what I started. I must end one part of my life before I can go on with the next.

 

                Angel and I found a hotel and I lie on the bed now, whilst he strokes my hair gently. I reach my hand upwards to trace the contours of his jaw and he ceases his movements to turn my body so it faces him.

 

                “What are you thinking about?” He asks me.

 

                “Everything. Nothing.” I answer distractedly. “What are you thinking about?” 

 

                “You.” He replies.

 

                “What about me?”

 

                “I worry.” He tells me, his gaze revealing genuine concern behind his light tone of voice.

 

                “You don’t have to. I’m not going to do anything stupid again.” Back to the euphemisms.

 

                “That not what worries me.” He twists a strand of my hair between two of his fingers. “I’m afraid that you won’t come back to me.”

 

                “What do you mean?” I ask. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

                He shakes his head. “Your body’s here, but not your spirit. Your light has gone.”

 

                “Oh.” I say and I look away from him, staring up at the ceiling. I know he’s right, but what can I say in response. How can I tell him that I’ll be better soon, when I don’t even know for sure myself? “I’m trying.” I reply.

 

                “I know. And I want you to take all the time you need.” I risk a glance back at him and he smiles slightly. “I love you.”

 

                “You love who I used to be.” I correct him. “You love the old Buffy.”

 

                “No.” He forces me to look at him properly now. “I love who you are now and who you’ll ever be. I just miss the old Buffy.”

 

                “I miss her too.” I say in a voice barely above a whisper and I realise it’s true. I want her back. I want to be strong again and laugh and leap to the defence of my friends. I miss her energy and her vibrancy and the love she used to bestow so generously. I want to find the old hope and passion I used to feel so fervently and I want to do it with Angel by my side.

 

                “You’re not going to leave me again, are you?” I ask him, almost frightened to hear the answer. “You’re not going to make sure I’m OK, then just disappear off again?”

 

                (“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me!”)

 

                He finds my hand and squeezes it tightly. “No, I couldn’t now, even if I tried.”

 

                “Why not? You did before.” I tell him accusingly. I don’t want to have this conversation now; I’ve already had enough difficult confrontations this evening. Now I just want to lie in the safety of his arms and ignore what’s going on around me. But…I can’t help it. My heart is screaming all these things and I have to listen to it. After all, it’s been silent for so long now that any noise, even a desperate whimper, is welcomed.

 

                “You said you loved me. You said forever and I believed you.” My voice is bitter, as are the tears that well in my eyes. “You gave up on us.”

 

                “And you gave up on everything.” He returns.

 

I gasp in shock and pain at the low blow. “How dare you even say that? You have no idea what it was like for me. All the pain, the loneliness, living without you -”

 

He silences me quickly and abruptly by taking my lips in a forceful kiss. When he pulls away I am left breathless. “What…?”

 

“Maybe there’s a little more of the old Buffy left than you think.” He smiles at me.

 

“You didn’t answer my question.” I tell him, my heart racing with love and desire. I want to finish that kiss. I want Angel to keep doing this to me – to keep drawing out my former self from the remains of my shattered personality. I want him to make me feel again. But there’s something I have to know first.

 

“What question?”

 

“How do I know you won’t leave me again? What exactly has changed?”

 

Angel thinks for a moment. “Us. We’ve changed. You’re not the same person you were in high school, Buffy, and I’m not the same either.” He sighs. “I spent one hundred years trying to deny my past, hating myself for the demon inside me. But I can’t do that anymore. I can’t take back any of the things I’ve done. I am who I am because of them. The past is gone, it’s decided already, but the future…that I can alter.

 

“Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Angel continued. “But I could manage it because I convinced myself that you couldn’t possibly love me.”

 

                I opened my mouth to speak but Angel silenced me with a finger to my lips. I let my eyes do the talking instead. How could he even doubt my feelings for him? How could he not know that I loved him after my every thought and word screamed it for two whole years?

 

                “I was stupid.” Angel says. “I didn’t think myself deserving of anyone’s love, let alone that of the most special, beautiful woman I have ever met.”

 

                God, what can I say to that? What can I even think to that, other than I love you, I love you, I love you… which is the mantra now playing inside my head. Suddenly I’ve forgotten the two years we’ve been apart and the pain and the hell that is my life right now. Suddenly I’m crying and they’re good tears. Tears of love and the promise of happiness on the horizon.

 

                “And now?” I ask. “Now do you believe you deserve me?”

 

                He smiles his wry little half smile and I feel my heart break over and over again with how much I love him. “I haven’t made that much progress, Buffy.” He laughs then continues more seriously. “Now, I realise that it’s your choice. If you love me – and I understand now that you do – then that’s your choice. And if you want to be with me then that should be your choice as well. And I did you a huge disservice to even think I could make those decisions for you.”

 

                “You’re right.” I say more soberly. “It is my decision. It’s my life and any mistakes are mine to make. And if I can’t even stop myself loving you, then don’t try to presume that you can.”

 

                He smiles again. “I won’t ever again. And that’s a promise.”

 

                “Thank you.” I whisper.

 

                I snuggle closer to him and we lie together for a while. Absentmindedly I begin to run my fingers up and down his chest. His muscles are so smooth and strong. He is the only person I have ever met who can make me feel totally safe and protected. I know that if a gang of vampires or demons broke into the room at this very moment, I wouldn’t have to move a muscle. I could just lie here and he wouldn’t let a single one of them even touch me. It is a strangely liberating feeling, like the responsibility of my slayer duties has been lifted from me.

 

                He catches my fingers in his grasp and lifts them up to his mouth. I smile as he kisses each one softly then lowers his face down to mine and begins to kiss me there. I marvel at his contradictions, so strong and so powerful and yet so gentle. He traces my nose, my cheeks, my eyes, my chin, my neck and his lips are like feathers brushing my skin. Lastly he reaches my mouth and his touch becomes firmer, more insistent. I part my lips automatically, allowing access to his questing tongue, and I taste him. Fresh like the rain and musky like the earth. How I have missed this.

 

                His hands, God his hands, they seem to be everywhere. They slide my clothes from me with a practised ease, while I fumble desperately at his. Now his fingers are on my bare skin and they are icy cold. It was always this temperature difference I used to crave with Riley. It allows me to feel every detail of every single touch. It sends shivers down my spine and brings my flesh out in goose pimples. I tingle all over where Angel’s cool body contacts with mine.

 

                It lasts forever, this simple exploration of each other’s bodies. Nothing more, nothing less, just hands and lips touching flesh. Memorising every curve, every hard angle. I want to know every inch of his skin. I want to claim it as my own with my fingers and my mouth. He is mine and he will never leave me again. There will be many more nights like this, but I want this one never to end. I want to stop time and crawl inside this moment, where there is just us and nothing else. No interruptions, no worries. No thoughts, just these pure feelings of utter belonging.

 

                It is infuriatingly, deliciously slow. He brings my body to fever pitch then calms me with his coolness. He pushes me to the edge then pulls me back before I can topple over into oblivion. He tickles my ears with whispered endearments in languages I could never even hope to understand; yet each one speaks to my soul. His kisses linger on the scar he once left on my throat and I feel my pulse thundering beneath his lips.

 

                “Come into these arms again, and lay your body down.

                Rhythm of this trembling heart is beating like a drum.

                It beats for you, it bleeds for you, it knows not how it sounds.

                For it is the drum of drums, it is the song of songs.

 

                “Once I had the rarest rose that ever came to bloom.

                Cruel winter chilled the blood and stole my flower too soon.

                Oh loneliness, oh hopelessness, to search the ends of time.

                For there is in all the world no greater love than mine.

 

                “Let me the only one to keep you from the cold.

                Now the floor of heaven’s laid, with stones of brightest gold.

                They shine for you, they shine for you, they burn for all to see.

                Come into these arms again, and set your spirit free.”

 

                When he finally enters me he does so whilst gazing into my eyes. I seem to melt into him, my body melding with his, my soul falling deep into dark chocolate orbs. There is no I anymore and there is no him. There is only us. Us moving united in perfect synchrony. Us climbing together to the peak of our pleasure. I see stars and I know he does too, because everything I see, he sees. Everything I feel, he feels. We are one, heart, body, mind and soul. And there is nothing else like it in the world.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

                I am awoken by someone knocking on the door. The hotel room is pitch black and for a second I panic, the feelings of safety and security from last night ripped suddenly away from me. I have no idea of where I am or what time it is. Then strong hands firmly grasp my shoulders and a light snaps on. I look into Angel’s face gratefully as my heart rate slows back down to normal.

 

                “You all right?” He asks and I nod slowly, not trusting my voice.

 

                He waits for me to don a robe then goes and answers the door. To my surprise Xander is standing there, brandishing a bunch of flowers. Angel shoots him an angry look, which I know is more out of protection for me than any real malice. Xander looks nervously over to me, anyway.

 

                “Uh, Giles said you were staying here…” Xander starts to speak.

 

                “It’s OK, Angel.” I say and he heads into the bathroom, ostensibly for a shower, but really to give Xander and me some privacy.

 

                Xander awkwardly offers me the flowers and I accept them, muttering my thanks. We sit down together on the bed and he begins to study his hands intently. I wait; I have nothing more to say after last night. I will not excuse or apologise for my actions – they were the only ones I was able of at the time.

 

                “How are you feeling?” Xander finally says.

 

                “Better.” I reply honestly. I actually am feeling much better than I have in months. It is amazing the perspective a suicide attempt can give you. And last night, when I finally came clean to all my friends about how much I have been suffering recently, it was like a weight had been lifted from me. I felt freer somehow. Rid of all the lying and the pretending and the fake laughter. I could finally be honest about my emotions. There were no expectations to try and live up to anymore. There was just me, Buffy, doing the best I can under the circumstances.       

 

                “Good.” Xander answers. There is another long silence, followed by a deep sigh from Xander. “I’m sorry for the things I said. They were out of order. I-I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”

 

                “You didn’t upset me, Xand.” I tell him.

 

                “Really? Because from where I was sitting you looked pretty bummed.” He tries to joke.

 

                “I was upset already.” I say. “This has been coming for a long time. I just couldn’t pretend to be happy-go-lucky Buffy anymore.”

 

                “Is that why you…?” He gestures towards my wrists.

 

                “Among other reasons.”

 

                “Oh.” He replies. “Can I ask you a question? Because I don’t really understand any of this and I want to be able to, because you’re my friend and I want to be there for you… We are still friends, right?”

 

                “I hope so,” I answer with a weak smile. “And yes, you can ask whatever you want to know.”

 

                “Did you really want to die?”

 

                I have to think about this one. Did I? Was I serious about killing myself, or was it just the proverbial ‘cry for help’? What was going on in my head at the time? “I don’t know.” I respond honestly. “I wanted it to end?”

 

                “Wanted what to end?”

 

                Everything. The nothingness, the emptiness, the loneliness, the acute sense of failure I felt every time I looked in the mirror, the fuzzy grey cloud that shrouded my emotions and followed my around wherever I went. But I couldn’t possibly expect Xander to understand any of this. I barely understood it myself; I just experienced it.

 

                “The pain.” I answer simply and he seems to accept this.

 

                “W-was part of that pain missing Angel?” He asks.

 

                Yes! My whole body screams. Yes, I missed him. Yes, I used to wake up in the night crying after I’d dreamt of him. Yes, I felt an empty hole where my heart used to be after he’d left.

 

                (“Don’t.” “Don’t what? Don’t love you? I didn’t think I got a choice in that.”)

 

                I nod.

 

                “Then I’m glad you guys are back together.” Xander says graciously and I smile. “You know I don’t like him, but if you need him, then…”

 

                “Thank you.” I pull Xander close in a hug. He squeezes me tightly back.

 

                “I love ya, you know.” He mutters almost too quietly to be heard.

 

                “I love you too.”

 

                “One final question.” He pauses for a second. “Was there anything we could have done? Anything to stop you, you know, doing what you did?”

 

                I pull away from him for a second. Maybe if someone had noticed earlier then I wouldn’t have broken down this far. Maybe if they hadn’t been so quick to believe that I was fine and dandy so soon after my mother’s death, then I could have worked through these issues long before now, without having them destroy me. But the past couldn’t be changed and only the future was in our power.

 

                “No.” I tell him firmly. “You never could have known what was going on inside my head. You did everything right.”

 

                He nods and grins slightly at this. At least now he will not carry any guilt around with him. I have saved him that much. I know what guilt is, you see. It cripples you and I will not pass that burden onto anyone else.

 

                Xander stands up and surveys the room. He takes in the double bed with its tangled sheets and the clothes strewn all over the floor. “Um, are you and Angel sleeping together? In the non-restful sense of the word, that is.”

 

                “You asked your last question, already.” I give a typical avoidance reply. I thought super-sensitive Xander must be too good to be true.

 

                “But I think I get an extra bonus enquiry.” He quips back at me and I almost manage a genuine smile. I have dropped my bombshell and it hasn’t changed the way my friends feel about me. Xander is still annoyingly overprotective and far too concerned about my sex life. He casts an apprehensive glance in the direction of the bathroom. “Like why we both still have our throats intact.”

 

                I shrug in an attempt at nonchalance. “We found a way to get around the curse.”

 

                Xander fakes a melodramatic shiver, which makes me laugh slightly. “Brr, I don’t think I even want to know how you managed that.”

 

                “I’ll tell you someday, anyhow.” I reply and give him a brief kiss on the cheek, as he leaves the room.

 

                I am still smiling after Xander leaves and Angel re-emerges from the bathroom, his hair wet and tousled, wearing nothing but a tiny towel and a concerned expression. I feel a bolt of intense desire stab through me as Angel’s presence works its familiar magic. When he is near I really do forget everything else. I sashay towards him, intent on removing both the expression and the towel.

 

Maybe things are turning out OK, after all. 

 

THE END

 

Chapter Three