A/N: The awesome song inserted here is "Breathe No More" by Evanescence.

Deep Thoughts

Lately I've been asking myself the same question every day: Why me? Why am I the Slayer? Why did I have to get ripped out of Heaven? Why do I feel so numb inside? Why am I broke?

And I can't find an answer. Nope, try as I might, my brain can't seem to pop out a reasonable answer to any of those questions. Luck is not on my side.

Walking into my house after a night of routine patrol, I slightly wonder why it's so quiet. All the lights are out and there is no sound coming from any part of the house. I shrug and enter the kitchen, taking my jacket off and placing it on a stool. Since I'm so starving that I could very possibly eat 10 horses, I immediately head towards the fridge. I spot a note attached to it and pick it up.

'Hey Buffy,

I'm spending the night at Janice's and Will said she would be at the library for a while. Hope you had a good patrol. Kill anything interesting?

Dawn'

I shake my head and sigh. Another boring night alone. No, luck is definitely not on my side. In fact, it's on another planet. Whatever.

My muscles are starting to ache and I can smell the odor of dust and grease coming off of me and I grimace. Scrunching my nose up, I take the stairs two at a time and walk quickly to the bathroom. I have got to take a shower.

"Stupid job," I mutter, turning the shower on. Why did I even take that job?

Oh, right. I'm broke.

A wave of self-pity goes through me and I fight back tears as I undress. I know I shouldn't be feeling so sorry for myself but – wait, no. Why shouldn't I? I have a right to don't I? I mean, I was torn out of heaven. And by who? Oh yeah, my best friends. Pft, what friends they are. They didn't even ask me. Just "lad de da, let's bring Buffy back without her permission. Oh, and yeah, why don't we leave her in her coffin." Gosh. Did they even have their brains with them at the time? I mean, who in their right mind resurrects someone without even taking them out of their coffin? Do I see anyone with their hands raised? No.

Selfish idiots.

Maybe I'm being a little hard on them, but I can't help it. Every time I see Willow I just want to go up to her, shake her and yell "Stupid witch!" God, it's so hard just being around all my friends. Pretending to be happy. Pretending to be perfect.

I'm far from perfect.

If only they knew.

They keep looking up to me, leaning on me and expecting me to be this great leader. Sometimes it seems like they forget…forget that I'm just a girl. I'm just as vulnerable as any of them. Sure, I'm the Slayer, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings. That I'm perfect. They all expect me to be.

Except for Spike.

Letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles, I think about Spike and our relationship since I've come back. Everything is so different between us now. We've been spending so much time together that I've actually come to consider him as a friend. And that's a long way for me. Hell, just last year I considered him dirt beneath my shoes. But now that I've gotten to know him a little bit more…I've seen a different side to him. A sensitive side. He's been the only person I can run to lately, and every time I come to him, there's this love and adoration in his eyes that burns me. A lot of times, I've come to him in tears, and he'll get this concerned look on his face and he'll just hold me. Won't even ask any questions. I've seen so many emotions play across his face since I've been back, ranging from love and joy when he found me alive to pain and misery when he was giving me that "Every night I save you" speech.

It's easier when I'm around him, but my life is still a living hell. I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate being the slayer, I hate having to pretend to be happy around my friends, I hate being broke, I hate having to work in that craphole of a place, I hate that I was torn out of heaven, I hate just BEING here. Everyday is just another 24 hours of torture.

Now letting the tears fall, I stand under the hot shower spray sobbing. My shoulders shake with the intensity of my tears, and my chest tightens with every wheeze. I bring my hands to my face, unable to tell the difference between my tears and the water splashing over my face. But I don't pay attention to it. All of my focus is on my pain and I continue to sob like I've lost everything.

And I have. I've lost all the happiness and peace I had in heaven.

I've lost myself.

After 40 minutes of gut-wrenching sobbing, I'm finally able to stumble out of the shower. I rub at my swollen, puffy eyes and half-heartedly dry myself off. Standing in front of the mirror once I'm dried off, I look over my body. I haven't eaten much lately except when I've had a rough night of slaying and it's starting to take a toll on my body. I'm disgustingly skinny and my ribs are barely visible. My skin is a deathly pale color, and there are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep.

I don't even recognize this person. This isn't me. It can't be. Sometimes I wonder if…if my soul was left behind in Heaven. And that's the reason I feel so empty inside, so numb, so emotionless. I've lost my soul. That would make sense, right?

'I've been looking in the mirror for so long

That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side'

My reflection starts to get blurry and it's then I realize that I'm crying again. Feeling pathetic and miserable, I wipe violently at my eyes and take another look at myself. Feeling suddenly disgusted at my reflection, I leap forward and smash the mirror, starting to cry again.

'All the little pieces falling, shatter

Shards of me,

Too small to put back together,

Too small to matter,

But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces'

"It's not me!" I yell. "It's not me! I don't look like that!"

After smashing the mirror into a million pieces, I look at my hands, which are now bleeding badly. I stare at them, watching the blood seep through my fingers and trickle down my hand and arm. I'm transfixed by this, feeling oddly comforted by the pain I feel.

'If I try to touch her,

And I bleed,

I bleed'

Tears are still rolling down my cheeks and they fall onto my arms, mingling with my blood. I frown and my gaze travels to the broken pieces of glass all over the counter and floor. Picking up a big, sharp piece I turn it over in my hand, studying it. My gaze flickers briefly towards my wrist and then back towards the piece of glass.

A voice in the back of my head is yelling at me, "What are you doing?!?!?!" But I ignore it, because it's such a tiny voice. Nothing feels right to me anymore. Everything is wrong. I just want it to end.

"It's not me," I whisper.

Staring at the shard of glass in my quivering hand, I think to myself…

'Is life even worth it?'

'And I breathe,

I breathe no more'