AN: This is just a short drabble cuz I'm sitting here, literally bored out of my mind. So I hopped into Buffy's for a bit. There're some other stories I'm going to attempt finishing, but it might not happen - my mind is bouncing all over the place today and I can't seem to focus on anything. Sorry it's taken me so long to get something new to you guys.

Buffy frowned, looking out of her window. How could so little time have passed? It felt as though decades had washed over her, leaving her old and decrepit. She felt as though she'd fall apart at the wind's slightest blow, as if her ashes would swirl amongst the leaves twirling about the ground outside. However, according to the insistance of a calender hanging on the wall beside her bed, it had really only been four days. Four days since he'd walked into the night, four days since she had been torn apart.

She would never recover. Every day, Willow and Xander dropped by. She could see it; the remorse, the contrition, and still hope in their eyes. She assumed that they hoped she would magically be better one day when they came to see her. However, no matter how hard Willow prayed or how many jokes Xander made, she simply wouldn't be fixed. A part of her was gone. Four days since her heart was taken, four days since her world had spun out of control.

Mom couldn't figure out why she wouldn't leave her room at all. She felt bad on some level, but it was a deep level, buried far beneath Buffy's will to act. She'd barely moved from her spot on the bed. She ate tiny bites of her favorite meals that mom brought up to her every night, one's she would normally devour voraciously. Even now, there was a plate of cold chocolate-chip waffles sitting on her bedside table, two bites taken out of the side of the syrup-soaked, peanut butter-topped food sent from God. Four days since her energy had been sapped, four days since she'd had the capacity to care for anything.

She didn't patrol. From what Will kept telling her, that didn't really matter. The evil things that go bump in the Sunnydale streets seemed to have been exhausted from the Graduation fiasco. Nothing was happening that would make their quaint little town different from any other - at least, not this week. Xander kept worrying, saying she was more monotone and less vocal than even Oz - which proved true one day when he came with them to visit her. She felt like a sick old lady whom everyone expected to pass away any moment - furthuring her feeling of time passage. Four days since she'd been herself, four days since she'd grown ancient.

Nobody spoke of him, at least not around her. She knew it was for the best, but there was the occasional odd moment when she would be struck with the wish that everyone would act their age and stop acting like not talking about the issue made it go away. She wished that she could long for the days past, but she had trouble remembering them. The moments she did remember confused her, the girl she remembered being was so carefree, didn't have a care in the world. Buffy didn't understand her; it was like watching a movie where the predominant culture was different from your own - the characters seemed off, when you really just didn't know that was how they were supposed to act. Four days since she'd been young, four days since she knew who she was.

Her mother told her Giles was worried, but he was busy trying to find places to store all of his books. He couldn't find time to come over and see her, to try to talk her out of her funk. She was at least partly grateful for this - it was easier for her to mourn the loss of herself than it would be to attempt rebuilding herself. There was so much pain, she thought she would be driven insane if she had to endure more than she already was. She couldn't find joy in anything, she felt there was nothing that could pull her together again, even for a short amount of time. Four days since she'd known joy, four days since she cared for herself.

There was no doubt that all was lost. She wondered if another slayer would come along - if it was the physical death that brought them out, or the mental death. She didn't practice, train, or even act interested in ridding the world of evil. She barely thought of herself - she hadn't showered since that night. She'd barely gotten dressed, let alone put on makeup or do her hair. She resembled a blob, and she didn't care about it either. She felt there was no reason for her to attempt beauty if she wasn't going to leave her room and didn't care to impress anybody who happened to stop by. Four days since she'd been the slayer, four days since she'd been a woman.

Many of her days and nights were spent staring at the glinting silver Claddagh ring. She couldn't seem to let go of it, Willow was worried that it never left contact with her bare skin. She didn't care if they thought it was cursed. She could feel him when it was touching her - she didn't care if he was a block across Sunnydale or in Europe now. It was a slow burn in her, generating heat to keep her alive and swirling her blood to keep her breathing. She would never let it go, and there would never be a time when she touched anything else in her darkest hours. Four days that told her she'd always be his, four days telling her that the distance didn't matter.

Review please! Thanks for reading, you guys!