Some fuckin� skank just came up to me, told me the weights were fuckin� well hers. I told her like hell they were. She wouldn�t have none of it. What is up with half the fucking people here? Thinkin� territories all theirs. They can push anyone around.
Anyway.
So there�s me, and I�m liftin� like twenty-fives or whatever (not the point�actually�). So this soddin� bitch comes up to me and asks me what the fuck I�m doin� and I state the obvious, and tell her I�m training. She tells me to back up now or that there�d be some trouble. So there�s me, thinking, �Since when did these metal, shiny, soon-to-be-making-contact-with-your-face objects have your name plastered across them?� And she�s waiting for me to get up (I forgot to mention this chick�s like ten foot bigger than me), so I just carry on, and she starts yelling abuse, asking me if I�m deaf or dumb or somethin�. So I look up at her, making it priority to NOT say anything, and continue training. I wasn�t gonna move, why the fuck should I?
So she picks up a weight, and I thank fuck for my reflexes because without warning she swung the weight my way. So there�s me, still holding my twenty-fives, and I got this high-temper thing goin� on that I�ve pretty much had since I went �psycho-Slayer� so naturally I�m not givin� it a thought before I smack her in the chest, and then she�s gone flying backwards and I�m thinking, �Shit�� cos I don�t want people to know � like, super-Slayer-strength shit � so I drop the fucking weight, start walkin� away tryin� to believe it�s over.
Like hell it was. The fuckin� bitch has picked up my weights and come charging at me with �em, and I got smacked on my freaking angel bone with it. So I�m screamin� abuse back at her (and slightly worried that bones may have been cracked) and I turn and back hand her, which again sends her flying. I couldn�t fucking well believe what was happening. Usually when I got started on I would just leave it. But this bitch had a PROBLEM. By this time the guards had seen and come up to me and dragged me away, and I yelled cos he grabbed my bad angel bone, and he�s taking me back to my cell while I�m tryin� a tell him it wasn�t me who started shit.
He wouldn�t have none of it. Not �til we got back to my cell. I told him I thought it was broken. He said he�d arrange for me to go to the prison hospital to get it sorted, and then added, �If I were you, I�d keep away from her. She could do some serious damage if you give her reason enough to.� I was gonna chime in cursing with full steam when he added. �I KNOW it wasn�t your fault, Faith. But there are people in this system who don�t like you for reasons you can�t help. So best thing to do is keep away from them. Don�t get into trouble. I know you�re a good girl, Faith. But it�s times like these we see how dangerous you could be, if we let you.�
He just left. Said he�d be back soon when transport was ready. I can hear someone coming towards my cell. Looks like we�re goin�.
- - -
Turns out it�s fuckin� well cracked. Doc tried to plaster me up I said no fuckin� way. After a lot of aggro they told me not to use it and that they�d give me some painkillers.
It doesn�t matter how high the fucking dosage is, the pain doesn�t go away.
I�ve pretty much been in my cell ever since. Fucked. I got a fucking ruined angel bone and pain that�s penetrating my whole body.
It was supposed to be visitor�s day today. I don�t get many visits from Angel cos he�s so busy but he told me he�d try and come soon. I�m lucky he�s supporting me, here. I�ve screwed him up so much and screwed over so many people, who in their right mind would wanna trust me?
I remember a while ago when I tried to turn Angel again. He didn�t trust me from the beginning�he�s seen so much, he knows it all inside out, back to front. He was a smart for NOT trusting me.
Enough of the self-hate. He told me I had to believe in myself for anybody else to. Start doing things right and learning from everyday experience. I was about to let the mouth run miles but I stopped for a moment, just thinking about his words. Righting all my wrongs was something I could�ve tried but instead I further wronged my�wrongs. I tried to kill Buffy, stole her body, tortured Wesley, a guy that was gonna give me to the Council to be killed�of course I was pissed but�I deserved it.
No amount of apology would right the wrongs I�d done to all these people. The only people I knew. The only people that kept me from sanity. Above everything, the only people that I could potentially fall in love with.
I�ve never been in love. I don�t care what anyone says, love is something that clearly doesn�t associate itself with my heart. Or�lack of heart. I came close though. I don�t think it was that kind of love, though.
Buffy Anne Summers. I had a connection with her, we were sisters. Bonded together by a force that only we could understand. I tried to convince myself it wasn�t love. But no matter how much I tried I always ended up thinking that I did love her. She was my only sibling, the only family I had left. And look what I did-
I got dinner. Later.
- - -
I didn�t sleep last night. Mostly because every time I tried to lie down I was reminded of the broken bones in my fucking back. So I decided to write. Keep myself from insanity.
I was thinking about what the hell I�m gonna do to pass the time, now. I can�t do any work for a while, not til my back�s better. Can�t do weights. I tried doing some sit-ups but it made the pain kick back in.
You know what�s weird?
One time, Buffy said to me, �All this killing, and you�re afraid to die?� I�m actually not. I never realised that. When she asked me that all I could think of was how much I wanted to pound on her face until it was a brand new shape. But since here I�ve had nothing BUT reflection time. And I stumbled across when she said that to me.
Life never really meant much to me. Not like I had a proper one. No family, no home. I just floated around, slaying wherever help was needed. Doing what I was �chosen� to do. But who the hell would miss me if I was gone? Would anybody notice?
My watcher was killed�my mum, my dad, they were pathetic fucks, probably from day one. Then I gots to REALLY thinking. Is it in my genes? Am I turning out like my parents? Sad as fuck losers, because it�s heredity? Fuck. Perhaps my turning �psycho� wasn�t �turning.� It�s in my genes.
I never wanted to live a life where I was a pointless fuck that no one cared about. I told myself I�d rather die than end up a nobody. But becoming a Slayer made me a �somebody,� for me. Until I realised why I was slaying.
To get rid of the pain. To block out those visions of childhood that oh-so-often-ly popped into my head.
I had no REAL reason to slay. I just did it because of that pain. It blocked it out. It never occurred to me that people needed my help because I was the only one around to help, or because I was meant to help. I was just there, a Slayer in the midst of plentiful evil who would kick it�s ass six feet under and beyond, then go party, drink and fuck til the night was out.
People like Giles and Wesley and have actually studied to be Watchers and devote their lives to battling evil and guiding Slayers. But me. I didn�t ask for this, but it was given to me. And I didn�t say �thank you,� because I didn�t see it as a gift. I just saw it as a strength. Just a strength.
And it made me no more of a �somebody.� I was still that useless nobody that everyone forgot about, or even worse, tried to get rid of when she didn�t stick to her duties.
The thought of dying scares me, sure. But the thought of dying because you aren�t needed, strangely enough�doesn�t scare me.
I wonder why the fucking hell that is.
I�m not gonna be able to get my arm back into proper shape cos of this �accident� now. I�m fucked. If I use it too much it could break it all over again, cos I refused proper bandaging and physio.