My boy
Sire, he calls me sometimes, my boy. Lover, darling, love, he's used them all. All he calls me now is: 'Darla'. It sounds so harsh from his mouth. So harsh that it makes me never want to hear it again. It's just a name, of course, but not when he says it . Not then. Then it's much more.
Has he forgotten that 150 years we were together? We were a legend. All throughout the world we've caused massacres, torture, fear. He got off on it, each time again. But now? Now he wants to save the world, he wants to make up everything he did. The funny thing is, he can't. He doesn't know that yet, but I do. What he did, is done. It's history, cannot be changed. Of course, he wants to change it, who doesn't? But he can't, my boy..
He doesn't know yet, but he starts to realise it. He starts to realise the past is the past and the present is the present. It upsets him, my darling boy. It upsets him that he doesn't know how to live if he can't make up what he did. I try to explain that he doesn't have to make it up, because he can still be what he once was. What we once were. But he doesn't listen, my boy.
He calls me Darla now. Why? Because that shows he wants to let go of the past. He wants to let go of me, and of him. Of us. Angelus has died a long time ago but Angel can bring him back to me. If only he would listen to me. But he doesn't, my boy. Instead he says: 'Darla, get out!'. And I listen. I never used to listen when he said: 'Darling, lover, love, sire..'. That didn't mean anything. It was just a habit. But this, hearing him say my name with so much emotion. That hurts.
It hurts to understand that he was right, my boy. He has been right all the time. It was me who didn't listen. I didn't listen to his cries to help him let go of his past, to let him live. Do I want my boy to live? I don't know.. I want my boy with me, but that's not a possibility anymore, because my boy, he's gone. Some filthy soul knocked him out of his own senses, replacing him by some do-gooder. It makes me sick. But it's my boy, still. I can see it through that deep brown eyes of him, that he knows what we've been . He knows what we once were. My boy knows.
Even though we were together for a 150 years, we always led our own ways. But always, we returned to each other, sooner or later. Not because we loved each other. Because we were made for each other. Me and my boy, we were Ying & Yang, day & night, flowers & water. We need each other.
But now I know my boy won't return to me anymore. He's trapped by that filthy soul forever. I could easily stake him, but I don't. Why not? Because, together or not, he's still my boy. And I want my boy to be happy. I wonder why. When I was turned, the ability to love has died together with my heartbeat and soul. Or hasn't it? I don't know.. I never did, and never will. But I do know, that what we have, is closer to love then anyone will ever get, because.. love? True love doesn't exist. It's a pretty fairytail created by people who couldn't stand to be lonely.
Me and my boy, if that soul hadn't been there, would last longer then eternity. But we won't. I accept him the way he is now. Why? Because he'll always be my boy.