She thinks they're separate, the soul and the demon.
She thinks that when the soul is gone, when I decide to call myself 'Angelus' and wear leather pants and try to end the world, that the man she knows as 'Angel' is gone, completely dead, and that a demon is simply possessing my body, wearing my face.
She thinks a soul actually matters.
If only she knew.
The soul and the demon are one and the same.
When I died and was reanimated as a vampire, nothing changed. The core things that made me who I was stayed the same. I simply had a propensity for evil, and no conscience whatsoever. A demon inhabited my body, true, by my human consciousness was still very much alive within me.
In truth, it shaped the vampire I became more than anything else. It wasn't the demon that craved the sadism, and the torture and the rape, the delicious and exhilarating sounds of screams - it was the man. Drunken, whoring Liam, with no ambition or purpose in life, was deep down a needlessly cruel animal.
As it turned out, I didn't need a demon. Maybe that natural darkness was part of why Darla decided to turn me, though I doubt she saw much beyond my physical appearance. Not that it matters, in the end. I'm forever grateful to her, even if she was an ice cold bitch. She gave me eternal life, after all.
When the soul came, the gypsies thought they were cursing me to an immortal life of never ending torment. They thought I would be so overwhelmed with grief and guilt and remorse at my actions that I would weep and weep and cower in dark alleys obsessing over my horrible, horrible crimes.
And I did, at first, when the shock of it was brand new and my freshly-returned Irish Catholic conscience was screaming in horror.
But then, after a few hours of deep reflection, as the chaotic rush of emotions slowly tapered away, I realized something.
I didn't care.
She thinks they're separate, the soul and the demon.
She thinks that when I'm evil, its not actually me doing all of those horrible things.
She thinks that having sex with her one time was enough to give me a moment of perfect happiness.
She thinks that my soul is gone.
Dream on, Little Buffy.
Author's Note: This is something I thought up after reading a story where Angelus never got his soul back in Romania. I just wondered what it would be like if Angel didn't care about his past crimes.
So, here it is! Hope you liked it.
-snarryvader81 (aka Anna)