My Journal
By Nicola
Disclaimer: Faith, Buffy, Angel and the rest belong to people who have more money than I do. I think I have...£27.16 in my wallet. Ooh! I have 20p in my pocket! Yay for me! And BtVS/Angel belongs to Americans so there's no point in trying to sue me for dollars and cents.
Rating: R (this is Faith's mind).
Spoilers: Pretty much everything she's ever featured in. So if you've never heard of Faith, don't read.
Season: 4.
Teaser: Faith has started a diary in jail. This is just one entry cos I can't be bothered to write any more.
Author's note: I'm usually a B/A person, with a bit of W/O thrown in for good measure sometimes. But my brain has clogged up and every idea I have sucks :(. So I'm trying something new. Hope you like!
So where do I start? My psychiatrist says I should keep a journal of my emotions. Normally I wouldn't even bother but this is jail, there's not a lot to do around here. Course, my psychiatrist isn't gonna know this book exists if I can help it. I mean, what would he think if he read what I'm gonna put in here? My thoughts in their purest form, not changed by logic, what little I have. I know I'm not the smartest person in the world. I'm not the greatest Slayer that ever lived. That title goes to Buffy, undoubtedly.
And suddenly I realise that this must have been how she stayed sane. Many a time I wandered into her bedroom to find her scrawling in her diary. She must have put in there her deepest thoughts, her most intense emotions, and loads of junk about Angel.
I still dream about her. Sometimes I dream of killing her, getting the knife she stabbed me with and sliding it across her throat. Hearing the soft gurgling of air pushing from her lungs against the onslaught of drowning in her own rich blood. Other times I dream of slaying with her, in the old times before the Mayor had screwed with my head. And then I dream of fucking her senseless and all she can scream is my name. Sometimes all I can think about is her small, lean body, taught muscles and hot mouth. God, how I want her sometimes.
I'm sorry for what I did. I wish I could turn back time before I began fucking up her life. She didn't deserve it. Neither did Angel. All either one did was try to be my friend, and I spat their efforts back at them like venom from a snake. True, the Mayor did care for me like a daughter, but Buffy and Angel were there for me in a different way. They were my friends. My only friends. I needed friends. Anyone who's been alone can tell you that it can trash your life something wicked.
Angel knew what I was going through. I guess he's been there before, trying to deny yourself and then prove yourself and getting so fucked up in the mind you don't know what planet you're on.
But I was right when I said Buffy was a control freak on the roof. She didn't know what it was like to cross the line between good and evil, to get so confused that you didn't know who was with you and whom you were fighting. It threw me so out that being in a coma didn't affect me that much.
I felt better when I gave myself up and confessed to every crime I'd committed against the law. I'd committed a thousand more against the world, but I'd make up for them in my own sweet time. Angel allowed himself to get arrested for me, to be threatened with sunlight for me. And he didn't say a word. One day I hope to be as noble as him. That's the right word to use, yeah? He's always the one to do the right thing, even if it meant pretending to be Angelus and hurting his girlfriend to uncover my plot. He was very convincing at the time.
But I'm sorry the most for fucking up Buffy's life. Even though her boyfriend-Riley? -wasn't that great a screw, it hurt her. Though I think Angel would've known if it were really Buffy in her body. Even her closest friends didn't get it. I'm sorry for her, and I'm sorry for me, and I'm just sorry. That's all I can be.
I don't know how Angel does it. He's got a century of guilt in him, even if it wasn't actually him that committed those crimes. I have the equivalent of less than a year of guilt, but that was me. That was truly my soul, my mind, me. I relished the screams of pain and anguish, the thought that I could end someone's life just like that. It was like...I was God. Or a Goddess, considering I'm a woman.
I hope Wesley's okay now. I did give him a pretty tough time with the whole torture thing. He was a stubborn victim. Most don't survive the first two torture methods. I got him to number four. Though he didn't deserve the torture, it was partly his fault that I am as I am. If he hadn't broken into the mansion when Angel was talking some sense into me, I would've been okay. I was listening to the voice of experience and wisdom. He knew what I was going through, what I still go through.
Will I ever find redemption? Angel's making amends and he's doing pretty well. Of course, higher powers want him to restore good, that's why Cordy gets those visions.
Which brings me full circle back to Buffy. Surprisingly we still share dreams. We're never angry at each other, but there's always something there reminding us of our twisted path together. The dagger sticking out of my gut while we're making her bed. I always stain the pure white sheets. My blood a stain on her plain covers. I'm a stain in her life. Other times I'll be watching her in bed with Riley, and suddenly he asks who's who as a joke. I never crack a smile. Being so connected to her scares me. The only thing we share is our duty.
It's funny, how everything revolves around Buffy. The universe centres on her, everything leads back to her. My jealousy that she had a greater life than I did. That she was still alive, and I wasn't a unique Slayer in the world. That she had so much more courage and experience than I did. But now I've been taken out of the racing world, I've had time to think. I've opened my eyes, and I can see for the first time that her life isn't simple. Throughout her past lie open wounds and huge issues. Neither of us have ever been five by five, and we probably never will.
I hope she recovers. She's Buffy, of course she'll recover. Angel will too, because he has to. He's been around for two and a half centuries; he's had practise in recovering from major problems.
As I sit on my bed in this dingy cell, I silently beg any God, Goddess or higher power that'll listen to give me some kind of redemption. Whether it's fighting to restore the balance between good and evil as Angel does, or a simple end to my life I don't care.
I look over what I've written. My current thoughts that are running through my head today. And it's helped. I've cleared some space in my twisted mind for different wonders and fantasies, and I'll write again tomorrow. I hope that it'll be just as healing, cos I know I fucking well need it.
The End!
By Nicola
Disclaimer: Faith, Buffy, Angel and the rest belong to people who have more money than I do. I think I have...£27.16 in my wallet. Ooh! I have 20p in my pocket! Yay for me! And BtVS/Angel belongs to Americans so there's no point in trying to sue me for dollars and cents.
Rating: R (this is Faith's mind).
Spoilers: Pretty much everything she's ever featured in. So if you've never heard of Faith, don't read.
Season: 4.
Teaser: Faith has started a diary in jail. This is just one entry cos I can't be bothered to write any more.
Author's note: I'm usually a B/A person, with a bit of W/O thrown in for good measure sometimes. But my brain has clogged up and every idea I have sucks :(. So I'm trying something new. Hope you like!
So where do I start? My psychiatrist says I should keep a journal of my emotions. Normally I wouldn't even bother but this is jail, there's not a lot to do around here. Course, my psychiatrist isn't gonna know this book exists if I can help it. I mean, what would he think if he read what I'm gonna put in here? My thoughts in their purest form, not changed by logic, what little I have. I know I'm not the smartest person in the world. I'm not the greatest Slayer that ever lived. That title goes to Buffy, undoubtedly.
And suddenly I realise that this must have been how she stayed sane. Many a time I wandered into her bedroom to find her scrawling in her diary. She must have put in there her deepest thoughts, her most intense emotions, and loads of junk about Angel.
I still dream about her. Sometimes I dream of killing her, getting the knife she stabbed me with and sliding it across her throat. Hearing the soft gurgling of air pushing from her lungs against the onslaught of drowning in her own rich blood. Other times I dream of slaying with her, in the old times before the Mayor had screwed with my head. And then I dream of fucking her senseless and all she can scream is my name. Sometimes all I can think about is her small, lean body, taught muscles and hot mouth. God, how I want her sometimes.
I'm sorry for what I did. I wish I could turn back time before I began fucking up her life. She didn't deserve it. Neither did Angel. All either one did was try to be my friend, and I spat their efforts back at them like venom from a snake. True, the Mayor did care for me like a daughter, but Buffy and Angel were there for me in a different way. They were my friends. My only friends. I needed friends. Anyone who's been alone can tell you that it can trash your life something wicked.
Angel knew what I was going through. I guess he's been there before, trying to deny yourself and then prove yourself and getting so fucked up in the mind you don't know what planet you're on.
But I was right when I said Buffy was a control freak on the roof. She didn't know what it was like to cross the line between good and evil, to get so confused that you didn't know who was with you and whom you were fighting. It threw me so out that being in a coma didn't affect me that much.
I felt better when I gave myself up and confessed to every crime I'd committed against the law. I'd committed a thousand more against the world, but I'd make up for them in my own sweet time. Angel allowed himself to get arrested for me, to be threatened with sunlight for me. And he didn't say a word. One day I hope to be as noble as him. That's the right word to use, yeah? He's always the one to do the right thing, even if it meant pretending to be Angelus and hurting his girlfriend to uncover my plot. He was very convincing at the time.
But I'm sorry the most for fucking up Buffy's life. Even though her boyfriend-Riley? -wasn't that great a screw, it hurt her. Though I think Angel would've known if it were really Buffy in her body. Even her closest friends didn't get it. I'm sorry for her, and I'm sorry for me, and I'm just sorry. That's all I can be.
I don't know how Angel does it. He's got a century of guilt in him, even if it wasn't actually him that committed those crimes. I have the equivalent of less than a year of guilt, but that was me. That was truly my soul, my mind, me. I relished the screams of pain and anguish, the thought that I could end someone's life just like that. It was like...I was God. Or a Goddess, considering I'm a woman.
I hope Wesley's okay now. I did give him a pretty tough time with the whole torture thing. He was a stubborn victim. Most don't survive the first two torture methods. I got him to number four. Though he didn't deserve the torture, it was partly his fault that I am as I am. If he hadn't broken into the mansion when Angel was talking some sense into me, I would've been okay. I was listening to the voice of experience and wisdom. He knew what I was going through, what I still go through.
Will I ever find redemption? Angel's making amends and he's doing pretty well. Of course, higher powers want him to restore good, that's why Cordy gets those visions.
Which brings me full circle back to Buffy. Surprisingly we still share dreams. We're never angry at each other, but there's always something there reminding us of our twisted path together. The dagger sticking out of my gut while we're making her bed. I always stain the pure white sheets. My blood a stain on her plain covers. I'm a stain in her life. Other times I'll be watching her in bed with Riley, and suddenly he asks who's who as a joke. I never crack a smile. Being so connected to her scares me. The only thing we share is our duty.
It's funny, how everything revolves around Buffy. The universe centres on her, everything leads back to her. My jealousy that she had a greater life than I did. That she was still alive, and I wasn't a unique Slayer in the world. That she had so much more courage and experience than I did. But now I've been taken out of the racing world, I've had time to think. I've opened my eyes, and I can see for the first time that her life isn't simple. Throughout her past lie open wounds and huge issues. Neither of us have ever been five by five, and we probably never will.
I hope she recovers. She's Buffy, of course she'll recover. Angel will too, because he has to. He's been around for two and a half centuries; he's had practise in recovering from major problems.
As I sit on my bed in this dingy cell, I silently beg any God, Goddess or higher power that'll listen to give me some kind of redemption. Whether it's fighting to restore the balance between good and evil as Angel does, or a simple end to my life I don't care.
I look over what I've written. My current thoughts that are running through my head today. And it's helped. I've cleared some space in my twisted mind for different wonders and fantasies, and I'll write again tomorrow. I hope that it'll be just as healing, cos I know I fucking well need it.
The End!