Liberated
I walk through the graveyard, aware of but unimpressed by the looming darkness. Thoughts of vampires and other night-dwelling demons flee my mind as I walk. The majority of those are in hiding since the mayor's ascension. The adventurous few were picked off by Buffy and her Scooby Gang in the summer. I glance up at the moon. No chance of werewolves, either. Of course, where I'm going, I'm likely to encounter both.
A stake is buried somewhere in the confines of my leather jacket, but it will provide no help for me. I have no intention of slaying; at least in the physical sense. The only demons I'll tackle will be the emotional kind. And those will be done in plenty.
A sort of surreal feeling passes over me as I walk up to the newly renovated school. The rebuilt walls have a fresh, Renaissance look to them. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth as I pass through the large double doors marking the school's entrance.
Inside, I feel conflicted. A part of me is drawing me toward the library, toward the people that I know, deep down, care. Another part of me, the darker one, begs me to back out the doors I just entered. Either seems a viable option at this time. I know what I should do. I've known for weeks now. But I also know what is probably better for me.
I should run. I should turn around and hightail it. Better that than run the risk of rejection by Buffy and her friends. True, I'm here to apologize, but will they see it that way? Buffy can be unforgiving at best. Her friends are no better. The only one who has made even the slightest attempt to befriend me is Xander. And he was simply too naïve too know any better.
I can just see the expression on Xander's face when I enter the library. He'll smirk, he'll laugh. I'll tell him, tell all of them, the reason that I'm there, and how I want to apologize. Xander will laugh at me. They all will. Xander will make some crack about my obvious stupidity, and spill about some ingenious plan I concocted to trick them again. And I, being me, wouldn't even defend myself. I would let him tear me apart.
And I would leave. And run into more trouble.
It's the pattern of my life… one that I have come to know very well and at last accepted. I get myself into trouble, I finally manage to pull myself back out again, then I look for forgiveness. Sometimes I don't get it. That I can handle. So I deal. Not in the good way, but the bad. I look for more trouble, an escape from the problems of my reality. If I'm evil, I don't have to care what people think, right?
Wrong. Which is why I'm standing outside the library, still undecided about whether to go in. I can see them through the glass panels in the door. I'm amazed at the sight of them inside. Everything is so similar; the shelves are the same, the books are the same, and there they are… the same small group of students lounging among the sturdy brown chairs and tabletops. It's as if the fire didn't touch them at all. It's just… the same.
But I'm not. And they have to know. I realize that now, and push open the door to the library. I feel my heart tighten in my chest as I step inside.
Seven sets of eyes dart to me as the door swings shut behind me. They're all staring, just like I knew they would. A Slayer, a Watcher, a vampire, a werewolf, a computer nerd, a super bitch, and a geek. They're all looking at me with these shocked expressions. Like I'm the last person they expected to see here.
I saunter further into the room, switching my gaze from person to person. I notice their expressions change as I look each one over. Willow looks pissed. Big surprise there. The girl hates me. Giles is just surprised, and a little uneasy. I can see the slight fear in his eyes even as removes his glasses to rub them across the front of his tweed jacket. A sure sign that he is uncomfortable.
Oz, for once, bears some resemblance to a human. His expression is guarded, and a little angry. He sidles closer to Willow, brushing his arm against hers to let her know he is there beside her. To protect her. What a joke.
Cordelia doesn't seem to care. She watches me with mild fascination, clearly confused by my presence here. I realize that she bailed before my thing with Xander, and the events leading to my separation from the gang. She doesn't know about the heinous acts I committed, or the member of the group that I nearly murdered. She probably doesn't even know that her ex-boyfriend slept with me. For some reason that comforts me.
Buffy herself seems mildly annoyed to see me. Her eyes are darker than usual, and her mouth is set in a sort of disapproving frown. I wonder if she can forgive me, if she is even capable of such a thing, but I can't read anything from her expression. She isn't happy to see me. That I can tell. But whether that is a temporary or permanent feeling, I can't tell. She's a tough girl to read.
Angel's tougher. His expression is one of mild anger. He's the only one who really saw into me when I turned bad. Buffy might have thought she had, but she didn't. She never really understood me. Angel did. Still does, as a matter of fact. He knows all about the lust for the kill, the drive that takes over your body. even now, soul intact, he feels its forceful tug every once in a while. Something about having all of that power makes the urge a hard one to quell. It dominates your every thought and action.
At last I glance at Xander. Of all of the people in the room, he has the most reason to hate me. I took advantage of him, used him, stole away his virginity and then tossed him aside as if it had meant nothing. That isn't true, of course, it had meant something to me… one of the few times that made me feel anything, as a matter of fact. But that is a secret I will carry to my grave.
When I got in trouble, Xander really wanted to help me. He was the only one willing to put anything on the line to do it. So he did. And what did I do? I tricked him again. I lured him with sex and then nearly throttled him to death on the creaky bed in my cheap, run-down motel room. What a doll I am. He has every reason to jump up now and strangle me, give me a taste of my own medicine.
I can't help but cringe as he rises to his feet. I know this must be it. He's going to hit me, scream at me, something. Oddly, I find myself staring into his eyes. They're dark, full of emotion. Is it anger? Regret? Most likely the second. Naturally, he regrets the night he spent with me, the chunk of his soul that he dished out freely to me. The chunk that I pretended to refuse. I hate myself for that, even now. If I had just been honest with him, let him into my heart. Nah. Who am I kidding? I know I'm not capable of that. I've been hurt too many times.
Xander stops just short of me, the emotion still raw in his eyes. I close my eyes in anticipation of the slap, punch, or whatever form of physical pain he's preparing to inflict upon me. It's his right to hit me. He must have so much anger toward me, and he needs to vent it. I don't blame him for what he's about to do..
But no blow comes. I feel something soft brush against my hand, and my eyes fly open reflexively. Looking down, I see Xander's strong hand covering mine. Slowly, his fingers curl around mine and he guides me to a table, settling me down in a chair before taking a seat on the table just beside me. He says nothing at all, but casts a defiant glare around the room, daring anyone to protest my re-initiation. They stare back in silence. A message has been conveyed through Xander's actions. I know suddenly that I have been accepted back into the group.
We just sit there. No one knows quite what to say. I guess words aren't really needed for this sort of thing. Instead, we sit in silence. I feel different somehow, like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I feel at peace with myself. I feel the powerful victory I have achieved in conquering the evil. I feel, at last, liberated. And something else, too. I feel Xander's warm hand, clasping mine protectively. This is so sappy it makes me want to puke.