TITLE: Easier to Run (formerly Forget Me Not)
RATING: R/NC-17
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. They belong to Joss Whedon et al. He lets me play with them to make up for the loss of the shows. Don't sue me. I'm just a poor, idle soul being hounded by plot bunnies.
SUMMARY: True love burns the brightest, but the brightest flames leave the deepest scars…Buffy Summers thought love was only true in the movies and silly fairy tales, so did Spike Kingsley—that was until they met each other. They try to fight their feelings but they soon get sucked in like moths to the flame. But when you play with fire you get burnt. Will they ever fully heal and find their way back to each other years later?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was formerly known as Forget Me Not but I have reworked it and now it's a darker piece than the original. This is my first foray into Spuffy angst so please bear with me.
PROLOGUE
"Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced—even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it."
-John Keats
When I first found out I was pregnant I thought a lot about killing myself. Nothing was going right in my whole life and I didn't think anything was going to, either. I didn't think about the baby much. I didn't really think about anything much. I was just numb. Maybe I wanted it to be that way.
I shut down and went on auto-pilot. I didn't want to think or feel because I hoped that not acknowledging it would make it unreal. But soon I had to face the music as my mom began to suspect that something wasn't quite right. The night that I told her will always haunt me…
AROUND THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
"What are you doing up?" Mom asked. She looked sleepy as she came into the kitchen.
"I make a lot of noise?"
"No, but I don't sleep that much," she said. She ran her fingers through her hair. The veins on the back of her hand looked like blue snakes under her skin.
I poured myself some hot chocolate and lifted the pot toward Mom. She nodded. I liked it when we did that. I didn't say anything and she didn't say anything. Mom liked it too. It was something we had started doing right after the whole fiasco with the IRS and Dad running away. After the IRS took everything, we were homeless and moved around a little bit until we ended up in New York. She used to sit and listen to the radio all the time. On her really bad days, she would look at the doorway, just sit there and stare at it while Patsy Cline crooned "Crazy" in the background.
She couldn't talk to me for the next few weeks or so without breaking down into tears. Things were real bad. Then I started signalling her. I'd hold something up and she'd nod or shake her head 'no'. She did the same to me, even though she knew I could talk to her. We were talking in a way, and it helped. Later, we talked more. We got closer, too.
"Buffy…is something bothering you? I know our whole situation is quite…bothering. But is…is there something…else?" she asked, a look of motherly concern in her face.
"Mom--"
"—I need to know, Buffy. You're my baby and I just want to make sure you're okay."
Baby…
"Mom…I…"
"You can tell me. I'll just listen, and I'll try not to judge. I just want to help you. You're all that I have," she said. She looked at me with watery eyes as she caressed my cheek with her thumb. She looked like she was about to fall to pieces if I didn't tell her.
Mothers sure know how to hit you where it hurts, don't they?
"I'm pregnant," I mumbled. I hung my head in shame and drew circles on the floor with toes.
She gasped and jerked her hand away from me as if I had branded her with hot coals.
"Buffy…baby? Oh…sweetie…" she cried. She covered her mouth as if to stifle the sobs, but I could practically feel the whole atmosphere vibrating with her sobs.
I looked into her tear-filled eyes and saw the disappointment and tinge of anger. I felt like a monster to cause my mother such hurt, adding to the crapload my asshole of a father had heaped on her. In that moment, when she looked at me, with the pain in her heart shining so vividly in her eyes, I wanted to undo my very birth so that she would never have had to feel the pain of my disappointment.
"I'm so sorry, Mom. I know you had plans…college…a job…God! I'm so sorry…so sorry, Mom." I could barely see her through the cascade of tears rushing down my cheeks.
"Oh, Buffy…c'mere baby…" she urged me. She held me in her arms and crooned comforting words of assurance as I cried my eyes out.
I cried until I was weak and breathless. Mom coaxed me into taking deep breaths and helped me to lie down on the sofa in the living room. After I finished my weeping, she wiped away my tears and kissed my forehead.
"I love you, baby."
"I love you too, Mom."
"Honey…I know all the biology, and I know in my head that it's possible. But I didn't think this would happen to you--"
"—I'm sorry. I didn't--"
"—But …now that it has, I'll help you as much as I can. That's all I can do. It's not the end of the world just because you're pregnant. But you have to own up to your responsibilities. You can lie down for a minute of sex, but a child…a child is here forever."
"I know, and I promise I'll do the best I can to take care of the baby."
"I'm guessing the father is that Spike guy from Sunnydale…"
I nodded.
"Buffy…" I could sense that a 'You were warned…' was at the tip of her tongue but she bit it back. "I'd like you to move into my room. Your room is big enough for me, and you and my grandbaby can have my room.
My grandbaby…Everything was going to be alright…
I took her hand and kissed it. She touched my cheek and smiled.
"Now let's go have that hot chocolate, huh?"
"Sounds good."
We drank the hot chocolate and talked about when she was pregnant with me and our plan for the baby, until it was nearly light outside.
Everything wasn't going to be alright. The doctor's found a brain tumour three days later. She died a month later from an aneurysm. I couldn't help but feel like I was the cause…we were the cause – my baby and I. If I hadn't been pregnant, she would have had less to worry about, we could've picked up on the tumour a little earlier, maybe she wouldn't have had a tumour…she would still be alive. It was all my fault. My mother died because of me. I killed her…
Sleep was a precious and rare commodity after that…especially a dreamless one.
I tumbled out of bed at ten that morning, haggard from my battle with my demons on the previous night. That's why I was late for my appointment at the Mullally Centre for Young Mothers. I registered at Mullally because a girl from school had gone there, and she had talked about it as if it was the Waldorf Astoria or something. Plus, Mom wanted to know that I would be taken care of if anything had happened to her.
After a record scramble to get dressed, I rushed out of the apartment and barely caught a bus to Mullally.
The way the place looked helped a lot. A multi-coloured, glittery banner with finger painting and hand prints that read, "Welcome to the Mullally Centre for Young Mothers!" hung outside a nice brownstone building with trees in front of it. Some girls and a few guys were on the steps. Some of the girls were pregnant and others held babies and there was even a toddler running around.
They were all laughing, talking, and occasionally fawning over the babies. They looked so…happy – as if being a teenage mother was the funnest thing ever! At the centre of it all was a brunette girl with a piercing gaze. She looked like one of those biker chicks who floss with girls like me. Her hands were resting on her large belly as she leaned back against the step and surveyed me with a 'Welcome to the other side…' gaze.
I was determined not to let her see how much she unnerved me. So I squared my shoulders and met her gaze with my own, 'You don't scare me honey…' look. She smirked and tipped her head to me as if to say, 'You've got balls—I like that…'
"I'm here …for Ms. Wood," I announced.
"Aren't we all? Come with me," Biker Babe ordered, slowly rising to her feet with the help of one of those guys.
"Right." I nodded and followed her.
The first floor was all offices and a little reception area in the front, with an examination room, a dining room and the kitchen in the back. The reception area had casual furniture that made it look friendly, more like a home than a place for the kinds of hard decisions the girls were making in it.
"Nurse McGhee – She's tough but she's an old softie at heart. We call her Maggie. Doc Wheeler – He's the shrink. We call him Whistler. Can't remember why though, we just do. Cowboy Hal- He's the handyman and his wife Marge is the cleaning lady. Mrs. Garcia is our cook. Don't be offended is she says, 'Dios mio! You so skeeny! You jus' bones! Come! I make you my Sheeckan Molay! Santa Maria! No sé que esas chicas no quieren comer!' " she informed me, as she pointed to different doors.
"What's that mean?"
"You're skinny. Why won't you eat. I'm going to stuff you with chicken with chocolate sauce. It tastes way better than it sounds, though," she roughly translated with a small grin.
"Oh."
"Two doctors come in on Wednesdays, and you can talk to them if you have a medical problem. We have rooms for the girls who get kicked out of their houses or just need a place to go on the second floor. It's two to a room, and there's a big ole communal bathroom. Cal, Marge and Maggie sleep on the third floor. That's also where the linen closet, study and lounge are. Anything I forgot you'll find out soon. Here endeth the tour," she concluded.
She gestured to the door marked "Nikki Wood."
I nodded and murmured a quick "thanks." I stood frozen in front of the door. It seemed dreadfully imposing. At that moment I felt like a very tiny Alice in front of the door leading to Wonderland.
"Relax. You'll be fine," she assured me.
I jumped in surprise. I thought she had gone.
"Breathe."
I inhaled deeply and allowed the calm to wash over me.
"Good. Now go in. You'll be fine. Nikki's cool," she encouraged me. She gave my shoulder a little squeeze and left.
I knocked on the door.
"Come in," invited the woman on the other side.
I slowly opened the door and entered the office.
Nikki Wood was the director of the Mullally Centre for Young Mothers and the one to help me decide my fate and that of my baby's. She looked to be in her mid –to-late forties. She had mahogany skin and her hair was in a neat afro. She had commanding brown eyes that said, 'Try me. I wasn't born yesterday, buster!'
She replaced the phone in its cradle and looked up from her desk.
"You must be….Buffy Summers," she said, looking up from the paper in front of her. She smiled at me.
"I'm sorry about being late. I overslept," I apologized.
"It's ok. I have to leave anyway. One of our old girls has an emergency," she explained. "I think she's pretty depressed. She tried hurting herself once."
"Oh."
"Look, you wouldn't want to come with me, would you?"
"Ok."
We took a bus uptown. Ms. Wood started talking about how the weather was changing, how hot it was getting, and things like that. She told me to call her Nikki because Ms. Wood made her feel like an old 'school marm' as she put it (whatever a marm is. I guess it's something stuffy I suppose). I thought she would be more formal, somehow.
"Do you have anyone special Buffy?" she asked as we stepped off the bus.
"Do you have anyone special…"
I thought I did, but all he did was leave me. Wham, bam! Thank you ma'am!
"No," I said. "But I don't…y'know…fool around a lot."
"I don't know why girls keep thinking that you have to have sex a lot to get pregnant," Nikki said. "Once is quite enough if you're lucky, or unlucky as the case might be. Just wanted to let me know that you're not a bad girl?"
"Something like that," I said. I smiled, and she smiled too. She was a pretty woman.
"Mullally isn't about being good or bad," she said. "Neither is your condition. It's just about being pregnant."
We knocked on the door and a black girl with braids answered. She looked tired and a little…unstable.
"How are you doing Kendra?" Nikki put her hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Parker's doing drugs again," Kendra said. "I found his works under the sink."
"Is he here?" Nikki lowered her voice.
She shook her head and gestured for us to come in. The apartment was small but there was warmth to it. Everything seemed smaller than it should be, but it was oddly…home-y.
"Did you call Welfare?"
"Yeah, but what I need, what I really need…"
She started to cry and her face turned ugly with it. She was pretty good looking when she wasn't crying. But when she did, it was like the pain did terrible things to her face. It filled the whole room up.
"Give us a few minutes will you?" Nikki turned to me and asked.
"Could you see if Ryan is wet?" Kendra asked. "There are diapers on the cabinet."
"Sure."
"Thanks." She pointed to a nearby room.
It was a bedroom. In one corner was a cabinet, there was a pack of diapers next to one of those electric thingies with two burners. I guess that was where Kendra did her cooking.
I had never been in a place like Kendra's before. I had never known anyone who used hard drugs or lived in old, beat-up buildings. My parents weren't exactly rich, but we had always done fairly well. We had a nice house, nice cars, nice clothes and enough money not to have to worry about buying things.
I heard Kendra and Nikki talking in the next room. I heard Kendra's voice rising, rising, saying she just couldn't take it any more. Then there were sobs and words of comfort.
The baby was in the middle of the bed. I looked at him. He was so cute. He was chubby with café au lait skin, curly black hair, and a double chin. He was asleep, and I didn't know if I should wake him or not. I touched his diaper to see if it was wet. It was soaked.
I had never changed a diaper before. It couldn't be a big deal, I figured. I got a diaper and went back to the bed.
"Hope you don't mind this," I said. "But it's my first time. I promise I'll be gentle. At least it's in your bed at home and not in the backseat of some car."
I giggled at what I was alluding to. I felt a little crazy because it was exactly that kind of thing that had got me knocked up in the first place.
I unfastened his diaper, and he woke up. He looked at me. He had brown, clear eyes that stared straight into mine. I just looked at him for a while, and then he made a small noise and his lower lip quivered. He was going to cry.
"No no no…I-I'm a friend of your mom." I said quickly.
His lips stopped quivering. He was giving me a chance. I took the old diaper off and saw that his skin was wet. I took a cloth from the nearby dresser, hoping that it was the right one to use and dried him off with it. I felt great. I put the new diaper on him. It was easy. I balled up the old one and threw it in the garbage.
I hoped Ryan would cry again. I hoped he would, because then I would have picked him up. I would have held him. He didn't cry, so I lay next to him on the bed.
I remember telling Mom about how much I looked forward to having a baby to lavish with love.
"Babies are great when you have someone else to love," she said. "But babies don't love back the way you need them to. They don't say nice things to you or hold you. They just need."
Ryan stirred. I picked him up. I didn't think Kendra would mind. He looked so adorable. His frog-shaped tummy rose and fell with each breath he took. His thumb bobbed in and out of his tiny mouth as he made sucking noises.
…don't love back the way you need them to…
I closed my eyes and tears seared the back of my eyelids as memories clawed their way to the surface. Memories of Sunnydale, of Spike, of how he used me and tossed me aside, of how stupid I was to love him when he clearly didn't return the sentiment…of how he didn't even return…
Stupid Buffy…
Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonely
I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so blue
I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday you'd leave me for somebody new
Worry, why do I let myself worry?
Wond'ring what in the world did I do?
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you.
-"Crazy" by Patsy Cline