I'm glad I'm the first, though. The first to die, I mean. This letter is supposed to be my last hurrah, I guess. So I'm writing you, because I owe it to you. I think, even though you don't know it, I screwed your life up. A lot. Maybe.
I remember right before you showed up in Sunnydale, it was all about Me, and Willow, and Jesse. And every Saturday we hung out in Wills' back yard and played cops and robbers, cause it felt so good to be the good guys bringin' the bad guys down. Or, if you were like me and got stuck playing Willow's accomplise while Jesse was the cop most of the time, you got to be bad for the day. The thing is, I never really was bad, not in the biggest, baddest sense. But I screwed up, big time. And what I did to you, what I caused, is about as bad as I get.
I thought I was in love with you, you see. Even while I was dating Cordelia, I had this constant need to moon over you. After a while, I did figure out that it was my own tawdry teenage lust kicking in, and I got over it. But not soon enough. That day, which was arguable the most importantly pivotal day of all of our lives, I did what i never thought I would stoop low enough to do, and I lied.
Kick His Ass.
Only Willow never said that, did she? I knew what she was really doing in her hospital room, and that if I told you, you wouldn't kill Angel. So I lied, and I didn't tell you that he just may be returned to you in his original soul-filled package. And you had to send him to Hell and it was too late. I am really so sorry, Buffy.
And yeah, by writing this, you probably hate me now but that's OK, because I'm dead, so.
I know it hurt you for a long time after. It still does, I'm sure. And hey, maybe it's *not* my fault, maybe if I had told you, Acathla still would've...
I'm still sorry, Buffy. I hope you can forgive me but I don't expect it.
I still can't believe I got hit by a car. A CAR!
Love,
Xander