What was he supposed to do now? The thing he kept thinking in his head was 'Why her? Why someone like her? Why not me?" All sorts of 'why' questions popped up. Holding Anya in his arms he couldn't help but realize how much he loved her. Everything about her. And it made him feel guilty. Like somehow the happiness he'd found drained hers somehow. Gods only knew that he was miserable for the longest time while she was drowned in happiness. Then when things started going right in his life, everything in hers turned to crap. Like bad karma or something.
The funeral was hell. He wore black. He knew that she hated it when he wore black. It wasn't him at all. He actually wore the same outfit that he wore to Joyce's funeral. It was almost like a cycle. He felt like he'd be donning this suit over and over his entire life. Like some weird twisted tornado that caught him up and wouldn't let him go. He's taken Anya home after it. He had to be alone.
He went to the beach and stuck his feet in the sand. He remembered coming to this beach and complaining about how it was cold. He remembered Willow and him walking down on the last day of freshman year because her curfew had been taken back to 11. He never really had a curfew. I guess you could call him lucky. They'd hung out, splashed around, and enjoyed being carefree teenagers. Then had looked up at the stars and talked about how different their lives were going to be sophomore year. Boy were they right. That's the year Buffy had transferred to their school with her golden hair, green eyes, and all her secrets. And Xander wanted to be a part of her life so bad it hurt. Literally.
He stood from the sand and brushed it off the pack of his pants. He stood there for a minute looking at the waves break on the shore. The moon glinted off the water. Slowly he made his way to the car and drove back to his apartment. He slipped off his clothes and slid into his sheets. He stared up at his ceiling, one of his arms tucked under his head, and thought himself lucky. He was alive and it was because of one the most wonderful girls in the world. He fell asleep knowing that nothing would ever be the same.
The funeral was hell. He wore black. He knew that she hated it when he wore black. It wasn't him at all. He actually wore the same outfit that he wore to Joyce's funeral. It was almost like a cycle. He felt like he'd be donning this suit over and over his entire life. Like some weird twisted tornado that caught him up and wouldn't let him go. He's taken Anya home after it. He had to be alone.
He went to the beach and stuck his feet in the sand. He remembered coming to this beach and complaining about how it was cold. He remembered Willow and him walking down on the last day of freshman year because her curfew had been taken back to 11. He never really had a curfew. I guess you could call him lucky. They'd hung out, splashed around, and enjoyed being carefree teenagers. Then had looked up at the stars and talked about how different their lives were going to be sophomore year. Boy were they right. That's the year Buffy had transferred to their school with her golden hair, green eyes, and all her secrets. And Xander wanted to be a part of her life so bad it hurt. Literally.
He stood from the sand and brushed it off the pack of his pants. He stood there for a minute looking at the waves break on the shore. The moon glinted off the water. Slowly he made his way to the car and drove back to his apartment. He slipped off his clothes and slid into his sheets. He stared up at his ceiling, one of his arms tucked under his head, and thought himself lucky. He was alive and it was because of one the most wonderful girls in the world. He fell asleep knowing that nothing would ever be the same.