Author's Note: Hi, everyone! This is a story that I've been messing around with for a little bit now and I've decided to share it with you all. I know that I have others, but writer's block is a serious bitch. I'm still trying to fight it off, but until then this is what I got :)
There is some triggers in here, so tread carefully. Innuendos of sexual abuse and an anxiety disorder. So, if you're not into that, I would tread carefully or just skip this all together.
There is also angst, but it's fast past with Buffy and Angel's relationship.
Disclaimer: I OWN nothing. So if you recognize it, it's not mine :)
Please give me your feedback and enjoy the story!
I have the insane urge to laugh. I don't even know why. A memory that I've already forgotten again surfaced in my mind a moment ago; leaving behind this unexplainable need to just laugh. The problem was that I was in the middle of third period English class. Everyone was quietly reading a book and I was the loner chick who never talked. So, you see my predicament.
It also hurts. Holding in laughter. Makes your eyes water and blood to rush to your face, like a pressure, or a foot standing on your face from the inside. My grin couldn't be stopped. I covered my mouth with my fingers while resting my chin in the palm of my hand. After a few moments of excruciating embarrassing torment that no one, but myself took notice to. I calmed down and the urge to laugh disappeared with my grin.
I tried to go back to reading the play Romeo + Juliet, but I've already read it more times than I'd like to admit. Not to mention the section the class was currently one was boring as hell. Mercutio was describing dreams to Romeo and the poor man just rants on and on about superficial imaginations, and superstitions. Seriously, a simple, 'I do not believe in dreams, good Romeo.' Would have sufficed.
My perfectly French manicured nails with black polished tips tapped silently against the worn paper of the book. My sister, Dawn, had practically dragged me kicking and screaming all the way to the mall. And even when she got me to the nail salon, she had to practically bribe me with cake to get me to step foot inside.
I was antisocial, you see. In a bad anxiety disorder bearing kind of way. I got panic attacks about as often as the normal person blinked and social encounters weren't exactly my thing. Actually, they weren't my thing. Period. End of story. Dawn, head cheerleader and town sweetheart loved social gatherings. The bigger the better.
She was beautiful and kind. Her social group didn't prejudice against anyone except bullies. She was a fucking bleeding heart and a backwards cliché. I adored her. I also had her to thank for my bully-free high school years. Eighth grade without her was a bitch and I can still taste the laughter of those girls that day in the bathroom. I quickly shook those thoughts away and leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest.
"When I call your name come up and get your graded test." Ms. Peck says without looking up from her desk. The normal kids around me probably didn't think much of it. The shy ones were probably navigating and calculating each precise movement they would make in the journey to her desk and back. Me? I had stopped breathing. The only thing I could think about was the stares of those all around me. Leering at me as I walked the ten feet distance and then back again.
It seemed so long and endless. I gripped the sides of my desk and bit my tongue so hard that I tasted blood, but the pain it surely caused was numb. I couldn't get up to get my paper. I just fucking couldn't. It would kill me. I would trip or make a noise when I stood up. They would all think I was fat because of these creaky old desks.
Just as I was about ready to self-combust, a sheet of paper slid on my desk. I glanced up, only catching the back of the boy who set it in front of me. Angel O'Conner, star quarterback and town golden boy. Dawn's boyfriend. I wet my lips and looked down to see that the sheet of paper was my test. Relief flooded me so roughly that it brought tears to my eyes.
I looked up at the back of Angel's head; the back of the head of the boy I had been in love with since elementary school and tried not to sob. Because that would be overwhelmingly embarrassing. Those levels of humiliation would have stayed with me to my grave and whatever lay beyond. Angel glanced back at me and we locked eyes for a moment. That was all it took for the gratitude to be shared, then he looked away. Taking those gorgeously handsome features and startlingly green eyes away from my line of sight.
Angel and I had been friends since I was eight and he was nine. He found me crying at the bus stop one morning because I had missed the bus and was far too afraid to walk because of traffic. Yet, still too afraid to go back home and tell my mom – for fear that she would become upset. It was a stupid fear, but one that crippled me nonetheless. From that day on, Angel O'Conner walked me to school every morning. Until his first year in high school when he and Dawn started dating.
My sister never knew my infatuation with Angel. I wasn't saying this because I was naïve and only thought highly of my sister. I resented her relationship with Angel, but I am being honest when I say she doesn't know that I'm in love with him. I've never been anything other than supportive towards their relationship.
My father used to describe me as a chameleon. Because I was so very talented at hiding my own feelings it was as if I was gifted in the art of camouflage. Why do I do this, you ask? Well, because guys like Angel don't go for girls like me. Yes, roll your eyes at the cliché line, but it's true. He's the guy always in the spotlight. The one who likes going out on Friday nights. The one who likes hanging out with friends. The one who doesn't flinch at the mention of sexual intercourse.
He's the guy who falls in love with girls like Dawn. Cute, glitzy, and bubbly. And girls like me are reserved for sisterly roles. The best friends. One of the 'guys'. I had come to terms with this fact long ago, but it still never ceased to calm the ache in my chest or the tickle in my throat whenever I saw them together.
The bell rang jarring me from my depressing thoughts. I stood up slower than what was necessary and made a show of packing up my things, so that when I did go out into the hall I wasn't thrust into a sea of scurrying bodies. I got my bag over my shoulder and opened my mouth to say goodbye to Ms. Peck, but I stopped short at the sight of Angel leaning merely two feet away from me.
"Hey, Buffy." He says, smiling with those perfect white teeth and that perfect crooked smile, which always seemed to melt my brain into jelly.
"Hi." I say, quickly averting my eyes. Out of habit than anything else. Eye contact was a no. Physical contact was a no. Crowds were a no. God, I was just one big, fat no!
"Are you comin' to the party tonight?" He asks and I frowned.
"Uh, no." I say, meeting his gaze with a look that said I was questioning his sanity. He shrugged.
"Thought I'd ask, anyway." He murmurs, cracking his knuckles. He had large palms and long elegant fingers made for throwing a football. Or playing the piano or bringing a woman to climax. I'm sure he's done all three in his lifetime. I try not to think about the fact that the third activity would occur with my sister. I scowl. Sometimes, I think my own brain is against me.
"You should come." He says, after a beat and I shrug.
"Is Dawn going?" I ask. I wasn't asking because I wanted to be alone with him. I'd never do that to Dawn, ever. Even if he offered. I'd most likely slap him, or become a stuttering mess of vowel sounds before running away very fast in the opposite direction.
"Yeah." He chewed on his bottom lip and I nodded. I flashed him a smile solely reserved for three people on this planet – Dawn, my mom, and him – before walking around his massive frame, and out the door of the classroom.
"Buffy!" Angel called bringing his six foot five frame toward me. I should scream. I should feel something close to fear. The boy was huge. Far larger than any normal eighteen year old. God, he possessed muscles which should only exist on a fit man in his late twenties to early thirties. I wondered briefly if he ever took advantage of his appearance. Getting into overage clubs or buying alcoholic beverages.
I wasn't afraid of him, though. I didn't know if I could be.
"I'm not jokin', by the way. You should come. To the party, I mean. Get out there and social. Perhaps, date." He shrugs and I freeze mid-step. The image of me with my foot extended to catch my fall frozen in mid-air must have been extremely comical to any onlooker.
"D-date?" I squeak out in a stuttering whisper that will forever haunt me. He smiled, sheepishly. Or perhaps bitterly. I couldn't honestly tell. You know, it could have been a combination of the two emotions.
"Yeah. You're seventeen and I think Riley Beers likes you a lot." He admits, his eyes scanning any place in the hallway that wasn't me. If he really didn't want to talk to me that much, he could have just walked away. I wasn't one for conversation. And I was still trying to get my heart and soul untwined from his grasp. A grasp he didn't even know he held with all his might.
"I don't like Riley and I don't do parties. You know that." I remind him, finally putting both of my feet on the ground and turning to face him.
"C'mon, Buffy. You're beautiful. You shouldn't rob the world of seein' you. I'll pick you up." His voice was a bit muggy. I couldn't honestly hear the words his full mouth was making.
You're beautiful. You shouldn't rob the world of seein' you.
Did he actually say that or was I just imagining it? Because if I was just imagining it. I was going to take a hammer to my head, just to show my brain how much hurt it would have caused with a betrayal like that. "You think I'm beautiful?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I realized that I needed to get out of this conversation and get to gym class. But, I was rooted to my spot.
Angel froze mid-sentence and cast me a double take. He watched me for a moment, before swallowing. "Yeah, c'mon, Buffy. You know you are." He says, nudging me playfully. I didn't. My nose burned and my eyes became wet. He tensed and I turned, walking away and ignoring the call of my name.
No man or boy or anyone other than Dawn and my mom had ever called me beautiful. They were biased. I knew that Angel was Dawn's boyfriend, but he was already super nice to me. He didn't need to give me compliments like that.
You're beautiful.
His voice continued to reverberate around in my brain throughout the rest of the day. By the time lunch arrived I was emotionally exhausted. It was hard loving someone and knowing without a doubt that they would never love you back. The pain was excruciating. The rejection was deafening. Dawn and Angel sat together at their usual table surrounded by the friends they've both had since preschool.
I barely made it to the lunch line before Xander, my one and only real friend, appeared at my side. He was engrossed in the middle a Harry Potter book. I didn't bother seeing which one he was reading this week. He seemed to be constantly reading them. It was amusing and cute at the same time.
Xander was about five eleven and scrawny with long limbs that he hadn't grown into yet. His hair was a pale brown and his eyes were a strange shade of grey that I knew would one day become beautiful. He was antisocial. Not horribly shy like me, but not much better, either. His was just never medically diagnosed.
We'd been friends since birth and I couldn't remember a time when I didn't have Xander. He knew everything about me. From my father's abuse to my love for Angel. Life with Xander would be great. He was loyal as a puppy, quiet and cute. A silent kind of handsome that many took for granted. If my life continued on the course it was on, I'd probably end up marrying him.
Sure, it wouldn't be some passionate affair with fireworks and endless love. But it would be comfortable and quiet. Steady. That was what life was all about, right? Routine. God, I sounded boring to my own ears. Life with Xander was most likely my definite ending, but that didn't mean it wasn't also a personal hell.
