Another bedtime story. Yes, I know it's been done before, I just think
they're brilliant.
--
"Close up."
I smile, nod, and switch the light near the register off. I pull my apron dutifully off, and set it in the drawer, where, as luck would have it, someone would take it tomorrow. And I'd have to buy a new one. Again.
"Goodbye, Mark."
"Bye, Buffy. 8 am tomorrow. Before the workers get here. Don't forget, it's your paycheck, not mine."
"I know."
The door shuts behind me, and locks automatically. I walk home, pausing for a moment at the gates to the cemetary, with a gaze towards where I knew Spike would be. 'Back in his crypt. Where he belongs. Right?' Shaking the thought off, I continue home. A few couples were out, smiling at each other, and talking quietly, unaware that the big bad would be out soon.
The falling sun was letting off less and less light. The Double Meat Palace closed early tonight for remodeling. They called me back for a quick shift before I left for good. Then I won't have to buy a new apron, I remind myself. Good. My pace becomes faster as the dim light from the sun burns out. Have to get home, and talk to Dawnie about paying for the T.V. And about Mom.
She'll be pissed for even mentioning it. "Dawnie?" My call echoes through the main hall as I close the door, and walk into the kitchen. "You home?" I pause, looking expectantly at the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open, and for the young beauty, my sister, to bound in. Nothing. "Willow?" Nothing. "Home alone."
I make my way upstairs, carefully, and open the door to my bedroom. My new bedroom. The one that used to belong to Willow. And Tara. I cast my look towards the carpet, at where the stain used to be. Where Tara's body wasted away. Where she died. And I remember the couch, on that beautiful afternoon with the kids playing outside. Where I found my mom. Who this room belonged to, too A chill runs down my spine as I remember. I hate remembering these things. I'd forget if I could. But I can't, so I won't and I don't, but if I could, I would, but like I said, I can't.
I undress, and stare into the mirror, poring over every inch of my flesh, mine. Every scar, nick and bruise, most will be gone tomorrow. This gift has been given to me, you see, I was born to keep the worlds vampire populous from becoming too high. I'm a slayer. A killer. Death is my gift.
All I really want are my breasts to be more supple, someone to love me, someone to care, someone who'll let me lay my head on their shoulder and cry, and someone who know's it's worth it. Hanging around. Not being gone. Like I was. In that place. It was beautiful.
I tear my gaze from the mirror, and look at the digital clock by my bed. The clock ticks from 9:43 to 9:44. Curfew is in sixteen minutes, Dawnie better make it. Grabbing a towel out of my closet, I wrap it around my nude body, covering the cool flesh, making myself decent. I stand at my window for a moment. It's tiny, not like the one I'm accustomed to sneaking out of. Or was accustomed to. Until she knew, she died, and I started using the front door. Or sometimes the side door. Whatever worked.
Outside the cool breeze engulfs me, wafting through the windows, the sweet spring breeze taking me away. And I notice it. Right beneath the large tree in my front yard, a pile of cigarette butts, belonging to the man who I knew was different, and I knew I'd tell him. One day.
I wonder if Clem is still keeping his place. I wonder if he'll let Spike get his stuff and get out. I remember him sitting helplessly in that basement, and then in my living room, clutching the soft blanket like a child, feeling sorry. About what he did. To the people. To me.
I imagine him letting me cuddle against his cool skin, trying desperately to keep me warm, and I'll smile, wrap my blanket around us, and we'll sleep. The shadows slowly become larger and swallow the last bit of light, and I step away from the window, but I leave it open. Just in case.
The shower is hot, the tiles are cold. I unwrap the towel, and hang it on the rack hanging on the door. I spend twenty minutes in the shower, and I know it must be past ten by now. Dawnie. Where is she? I take a minute to get out of the shower, and watch my clock tick to 10:10. Every minute she's late, I'm grounding her a day. That's ten days. I lay on my bed, letting my towel fall open slightly, pull my comforter up in front of me, letting it's warmth take me.
I close my eyes, and drift off for a moment, before the door opens and shuts, and I hear Willow talking softly to Dawn. "Sorry, Dawnie."
"It's okay, she probably won't be too mad."
I stand, shut my door, and go to my closet. Black, white, purple, white, white, black, white, black, black, black, off white. I decide on black. A turtle neck black sweater, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. I smile at my reflection as I snap my bra on. In a moment of desperation, I snap it back off, letting my breasts hang for a moment, and lift them with my hands. They seem fuller, and I smile, and drape my bra straps back over my shoulders.
The turtleneck hangs loosely, but it's warm, and I guess that's all that matters. I find Dawnie at Willow's laptop, smiling at the page, and I lean over her, looking at it. She was scrolling down a profile.
DaWn SuMmErS--sUnNyDaLe CaLiFoRnIa--Go RaZoRbAcKs!--NuMbA 19!--i LoVe SmItH!
"Who's Smith?"
"No one," she answers, and desparately tries to scroll farther down, where an ad for a site called PORNDELITE was being advertised. I smiled, and she panicked, flicking the mouse to the side, and clicking the banner. The page began to load, and she closed her eyes, flinched and turned away.
"Wow." Willow. She's surprised. "How do they do that?" The cocks her head to the side, and looks impressed. "She must not have a spine, or something." I lift the mouse to close the page, clicking at the X at the left. The page flickers, but does not close. FREE PORN FOR LIFE!, the page boasts, and refuses to close.
"Dammit, Will, close this." Willow steps forward, and Dawn opens her eyes.
"Ohmigawd. How do they do that?!"
"It's amazing, isn't it?"
"Willow!"
"Sorry." Willow mumbles, and flicks the mouse once more, trying to close the page.
I make my way back to my room, without punishing Dawn. I stare at the window, and he's there. He's making his way up the drive, and he look's nervous. I don't know why, he knows I'll let him stay. "Spike," I say, barely audible, but he catches it. He turns to stare up at me from my window, and I don't know why I've called him. "H-hi," I stammer, nervously.
"Hi." His voice crackles, and I feel as if I'll fall into his eyes, their deep crystal blue, that sparkle, even from up here, where I can barely see them. I know when he comes inside, his eyes will dance, and sparkle, and he'll be happy one day. But he can't sleep in the nude like I know he like's too. And I know much more about him than I care to admit. Like I know he keep's a journal. And he still writes poetry. And I know his poetry is pretty good. Actually, it's really good.
I watch him as he stands nervously at my door, and I run down, opening it and staring up at him. "Hello."
"Buffy." I want to take his arms, tell him it's okay, and I want to wrap his arms around me. Please, please, please! But I don't. I invite him in, and take him upstairs, showing him the cot I set up on my floor for him.
"Sorry," I tell him, "It's the best I can do now."
"It's okay. It's just for me."
I want to tell him here, stay in my bed, but I can't.
And now, as I curl up in my blankets, I know he's watching me, and that he'll protect me. "I love you, Spike," I whisper.
"I know," he whispers back.
And I think tomorrow, I'll tell him he can lay up with me, in my bed.
"Close up."
I smile, nod, and switch the light near the register off. I pull my apron dutifully off, and set it in the drawer, where, as luck would have it, someone would take it tomorrow. And I'd have to buy a new one. Again.
"Goodbye, Mark."
"Bye, Buffy. 8 am tomorrow. Before the workers get here. Don't forget, it's your paycheck, not mine."
"I know."
The door shuts behind me, and locks automatically. I walk home, pausing for a moment at the gates to the cemetary, with a gaze towards where I knew Spike would be. 'Back in his crypt. Where he belongs. Right?' Shaking the thought off, I continue home. A few couples were out, smiling at each other, and talking quietly, unaware that the big bad would be out soon.
The falling sun was letting off less and less light. The Double Meat Palace closed early tonight for remodeling. They called me back for a quick shift before I left for good. Then I won't have to buy a new apron, I remind myself. Good. My pace becomes faster as the dim light from the sun burns out. Have to get home, and talk to Dawnie about paying for the T.V. And about Mom.
She'll be pissed for even mentioning it. "Dawnie?" My call echoes through the main hall as I close the door, and walk into the kitchen. "You home?" I pause, looking expectantly at the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open, and for the young beauty, my sister, to bound in. Nothing. "Willow?" Nothing. "Home alone."
I make my way upstairs, carefully, and open the door to my bedroom. My new bedroom. The one that used to belong to Willow. And Tara. I cast my look towards the carpet, at where the stain used to be. Where Tara's body wasted away. Where she died. And I remember the couch, on that beautiful afternoon with the kids playing outside. Where I found my mom. Who this room belonged to, too A chill runs down my spine as I remember. I hate remembering these things. I'd forget if I could. But I can't, so I won't and I don't, but if I could, I would, but like I said, I can't.
I undress, and stare into the mirror, poring over every inch of my flesh, mine. Every scar, nick and bruise, most will be gone tomorrow. This gift has been given to me, you see, I was born to keep the worlds vampire populous from becoming too high. I'm a slayer. A killer. Death is my gift.
All I really want are my breasts to be more supple, someone to love me, someone to care, someone who'll let me lay my head on their shoulder and cry, and someone who know's it's worth it. Hanging around. Not being gone. Like I was. In that place. It was beautiful.
I tear my gaze from the mirror, and look at the digital clock by my bed. The clock ticks from 9:43 to 9:44. Curfew is in sixteen minutes, Dawnie better make it. Grabbing a towel out of my closet, I wrap it around my nude body, covering the cool flesh, making myself decent. I stand at my window for a moment. It's tiny, not like the one I'm accustomed to sneaking out of. Or was accustomed to. Until she knew, she died, and I started using the front door. Or sometimes the side door. Whatever worked.
Outside the cool breeze engulfs me, wafting through the windows, the sweet spring breeze taking me away. And I notice it. Right beneath the large tree in my front yard, a pile of cigarette butts, belonging to the man who I knew was different, and I knew I'd tell him. One day.
I wonder if Clem is still keeping his place. I wonder if he'll let Spike get his stuff and get out. I remember him sitting helplessly in that basement, and then in my living room, clutching the soft blanket like a child, feeling sorry. About what he did. To the people. To me.
I imagine him letting me cuddle against his cool skin, trying desperately to keep me warm, and I'll smile, wrap my blanket around us, and we'll sleep. The shadows slowly become larger and swallow the last bit of light, and I step away from the window, but I leave it open. Just in case.
The shower is hot, the tiles are cold. I unwrap the towel, and hang it on the rack hanging on the door. I spend twenty minutes in the shower, and I know it must be past ten by now. Dawnie. Where is she? I take a minute to get out of the shower, and watch my clock tick to 10:10. Every minute she's late, I'm grounding her a day. That's ten days. I lay on my bed, letting my towel fall open slightly, pull my comforter up in front of me, letting it's warmth take me.
I close my eyes, and drift off for a moment, before the door opens and shuts, and I hear Willow talking softly to Dawn. "Sorry, Dawnie."
"It's okay, she probably won't be too mad."
I stand, shut my door, and go to my closet. Black, white, purple, white, white, black, white, black, black, black, off white. I decide on black. A turtle neck black sweater, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. I smile at my reflection as I snap my bra on. In a moment of desperation, I snap it back off, letting my breasts hang for a moment, and lift them with my hands. They seem fuller, and I smile, and drape my bra straps back over my shoulders.
The turtleneck hangs loosely, but it's warm, and I guess that's all that matters. I find Dawnie at Willow's laptop, smiling at the page, and I lean over her, looking at it. She was scrolling down a profile.
DaWn SuMmErS--sUnNyDaLe CaLiFoRnIa--Go RaZoRbAcKs!--NuMbA 19!--i LoVe SmItH!
"Who's Smith?"
"No one," she answers, and desparately tries to scroll farther down, where an ad for a site called PORNDELITE was being advertised. I smiled, and she panicked, flicking the mouse to the side, and clicking the banner. The page began to load, and she closed her eyes, flinched and turned away.
"Wow." Willow. She's surprised. "How do they do that?" The cocks her head to the side, and looks impressed. "She must not have a spine, or something." I lift the mouse to close the page, clicking at the X at the left. The page flickers, but does not close. FREE PORN FOR LIFE!, the page boasts, and refuses to close.
"Dammit, Will, close this." Willow steps forward, and Dawn opens her eyes.
"Ohmigawd. How do they do that?!"
"It's amazing, isn't it?"
"Willow!"
"Sorry." Willow mumbles, and flicks the mouse once more, trying to close the page.
I make my way back to my room, without punishing Dawn. I stare at the window, and he's there. He's making his way up the drive, and he look's nervous. I don't know why, he knows I'll let him stay. "Spike," I say, barely audible, but he catches it. He turns to stare up at me from my window, and I don't know why I've called him. "H-hi," I stammer, nervously.
"Hi." His voice crackles, and I feel as if I'll fall into his eyes, their deep crystal blue, that sparkle, even from up here, where I can barely see them. I know when he comes inside, his eyes will dance, and sparkle, and he'll be happy one day. But he can't sleep in the nude like I know he like's too. And I know much more about him than I care to admit. Like I know he keep's a journal. And he still writes poetry. And I know his poetry is pretty good. Actually, it's really good.
I watch him as he stands nervously at my door, and I run down, opening it and staring up at him. "Hello."
"Buffy." I want to take his arms, tell him it's okay, and I want to wrap his arms around me. Please, please, please! But I don't. I invite him in, and take him upstairs, showing him the cot I set up on my floor for him.
"Sorry," I tell him, "It's the best I can do now."
"It's okay. It's just for me."
I want to tell him here, stay in my bed, but I can't.
And now, as I curl up in my blankets, I know he's watching me, and that he'll protect me. "I love you, Spike," I whisper.
"I know," he whispers back.
And I think tomorrow, I'll tell him he can lay up with me, in my bed.