Thanks again, nerdrific79, for making me put the next chapter of Orphans on the back burner :P

This is the first of I don't know how many possible continuations of the 5.08 bed scene (yeah, I know it's not technically a bed scene, but a girl can dream, can't she). It's definitely not lighter though. Maybe the next one.

Also, trying something new here. First person storytelling is tricky, and I've only done it for my non-fanfic writing until now. Somehow, I thought it might work with this particular chapter. What say you?

I walk the streets alone, braving the cold. I starve myself, forgetting to eat for days. I drink myself dead until my mind goes numb and my body riots, and I end up retching on the floor, all bile and venom, hoping I'd die already. And being too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it.

Fucking charming, I tell myself.

Here's the thing. When you've been around for thousands of years, you tell yourself death would be a blessing. But that's a lie. You cling onto every breath, every sound and touch and thought with the brute strength of a tiger trying to escape a poacher's trap. When you've been around for thousands of years and died a hundred deaths, you want to go on forever. But you're too much of a coward to admit it. So you put on a brave face and act like you don't give a shit if you die tomorrow. Hoping that somewhere along the way you'd actually start believing it yourself.

I go around hurting myself anyway I can. Hoping I'd feel something. Hoping I'd feel once again how I did. Sometimes, as I sit at a random bar, drinking my tenth glass of vodka, I remember who I am. If only for a fleeting second, I get overwhelmed by the most terrible anger and I just want to get up and kill everyone in the room. Push so much doubt into their tiny, ignorant human heads until their brains pop. I imagine it in vivid detail, the screams of agonizing terror, the smell and taste of their fear filling my nostrils and mouth, taking me to new heights of exhilaration. I am a god.

And then it all comes back and I start laughing hysterically, all eyes in the bar turning to me. Accusing me, blaming me for ruining their perfect evening. The mad woman who is too young and too pretty and just too well dressed to be mad. I can practically hear them in my head, I read the pity on their faces. Poor thing, what a sad story she must have. And then they go back to their drinks and fuck buddies and forget I was even there. Or pretend to forget. Mad people should just be ignored and they'll go away. Even the hot ones. It's common knowledge.

I was a god. Revered. Feared. Worshipped. I could lay waste to entire armies with a flick of my wrist and in the blink of an eye. And would ya fuckin' look at me now?!

Ten glasses of vodka is way too much for my new biology and as I stumble out into the street, cursing and mumbling, I seriously doubt I'm ever getting used to this shit. How can you even stand it. Feeling downright exhausted as soon as I get out of bed, getting drunk faster than a fly sucking on a rotten grape, risking death at every fucking step.

I don't know where I'm going – but that's a lie. Actually I do know, I allow my feet to carry me to the only place I've found some kind of solace over the past few weeks. Ever since I woke up. Ever since I stopped being me.

I stumble in without even knocking – I know she never locks her door. I have a key in some pocket somewhere, in case she's out, but I hardly had to use it; maybe two or three times tops. Somehow, I don't know how she does it, but she's almost always there.

"Oh, Tamsin, you startled me," she says, left hand over her heart, in what I've come to understand was just one of those useless gestures humans do without even realizing. A reflex, meant to offer comfort. The only kind of comfort I cared about was sex. And alcohol. And maybe a good fight. Fine, I know how to count.

"Yeah, you're… easily startled… doc," I retort, trying to sound way sober than I actually am. But she knows. She can probably smell it on me. I'm reeking of alcohol and smoke and the sweat of dozens of people crammed into a small stinky pub. I sniff myself and shrug. I'm disgusting.

"Where have you been? What are you doing here?" she asks, as she does on all the nights I make my way into her home. I can see real concern in her eyes, which is only making me want to hurt her even more. Hurt everybody else more. I purse my lips and keep silent. It only takes two big steps to get right in front of her, and I wrap my arms around her slender frame, my face just an inch away from hers.

Personal space. I know this is wrong, okay?

We're breathing the same air now, and she tries to push me away but I'm having none of it. I press harder and I feel the pressure of her hands on my chest subsiding just a fraction, enough to allow me one final push to get my mouth on hers, my lips and tongue barely able to catch a taste of her sweetness. She smells of vanilla.

I tell myself I just want to rile her up, hurt her, make her angry for a change. She is calm and collected, as usual, and it's driving me insane.

I want to be hurt. I deserve it.

But she doesn't. Hurt me. Instead, she just pushes me gently away, not for good, but enough to allow herself some space to breathe. She keeps her hands on my chest and looks at me closely, so intensely that I have to look away. The pity is evident on her face.

I don't want it. I hate it. I need it. I need her to pity me because of what I was and no longer am. Because now I am just like her.

No, I am beneath her.

She doesn't even slap me this time. She doesn't remind me that she's with Bo. That the best woman won, the words still echo at the back of my head whenever I see the two of them together. And it hurts even more.

I'm human now, why won't you pick me?

I'm tired. I let go of her and take a step back.

"What do you want, Tamsin?" she asks softly.

"Make me Fae again," I whisper, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to burst out any second now. She closes the distance between us and pulls me into a tight hug. The tears start flowing and there's nothing I can do to stop.

"I can't. It's impossible," she whispers back, and I feel her hand in my hair, trying to soothe me.

It's my turn to try and push her back, but she won't let go.

"You're fucking useless, Lauren. What good are you if you can't help me, huh? What, are you afraid I'd steal your precious succubus if I'm back? Relax, she's not that great in bed anyway, you can keep her." Does it hurt yet? I know I've hit a nerve now, but she still won't let go of me. I feel her chest heaving and the wetness of her tears on my shoulder and the overwhelming feeling of guilt I'm experiencing hits me harder than all the remorse and regret I've been carrying with me for centuries.

I pull her closer, till our bodies are almost one, and we stay there, crying, for I don't know how long. When we finally stop she brings me a glass of water and an aspirin, and starts setting up my bed on her couch. Without a single word. I've been crashing on this couch more or less every night ever since I woke up from the coma. Some nights, I find some shabby motel and stay up in my room until 3 a.m., drinking and watching old movies. Other nights, I just pass out in my truck. But this is the only place I've been feeling safe lately. Bo wanted me to move back in with her. Dyson offered to find me an apartment. But no matter what I do, I always end up back here. This is the only place I want to be, really. And the thought scares me.

She stays with me, and makes sure I've taken my shoes off before I lie down. She always leaves a clean T-shirt and sweatpants by the couch for me, in case I ever decide to change into something more comfortable. I never do, afraid of what it might mean.

She only turns off the light after I'm all settled in and ready for bed. "Good night, Tamsin," she says as she heads to her room.

"G'night, doc," I grumble. "Listen, I'm so…"

"Forget about it. Go to sleep."

I nod stupidly in the darkness, although she can't see me, and I listen to her moving away, and the sound of her bedroom door closing quietly behind her.

I fall asleep almost instantly, thinking of her honey colored hair and beautiful dark eyes. I have no idea how I got here, but there's no other place I'd rather be.