Eighteen

She stood for eighteen seconds after watching Angel walk away through the smoke. She counted, you see, stood there and counted in the hopes that she wouldn't break down.

Funny really, she thought, that something that huge could be over in just eighteen seconds. She knew that it was over that awful night in the sewer. But somehow it wasn't, because he still showed up to her Prom, gave her that one perfect High School moment she craved, he was still always there. Wherever she turned, she knew he was there, knew he was following her when she patrolled.

But now it was over. It was official.

He walked away and he wasn't ever coming back.

And all it took was eighteen seconds for her life to change forever.

Eighteen hours after Graduation, Buffy was going to the mall with Willow. She was aware that she called it Graduation. She was finding it hard to think "Last night, Angel and I finished for good."

So instead, last night was just Graduation and today was just the first day for the rest of her life.

Today was college shopping day. Her mother had rolled her eyes when Buffy said she was going college shopping. Too early, her mother said. Not for clothes, Buffy had answered.

It's not too early for anything that doesn't involve thinking. Buffy doesn't want to think. Buffy wants to shop, eat popcorn, watch movies, drink coffee. Buffy wants to be a teenager. She doesn't want to be some kind of Juliet. If she has to be Juliet in some stupid Shakespearean tragedy, then she damn well wants to die to complete the tragic conventions.

"Hey, Buffy, you ready?" Willow gives Buffy her best perky smile that wavers when Buffy turns from the mirror to face her.

"Hey, Will," she says, turning back to the mirror to apply her lip-gloss.

She sees Willow's look of concern in the mirror and wonders if Willow realises she can see her.

"Are you all right?" Willow asks softly.

"I'm fine," she replies, putting her lip gloss to one side and standing up. "What?"

"Are you though? Fine, I mean?" Willow's nervous, Buffy can tell by the way she's pushing her hair behind her ears every few seconds. "Last night… Angel kinda… left?"

"I know, Willow, I was there," Buffy answers softly. "But we were over before the Prom, remember?"

Willow wasn't convinced, Buffy could tell.

But it had been eighteen hours since Angel left and Buffy decided it was time to shop, not think.

Eighteen days after Graduation, Buffy was curled on Giles' couch beside Xander, pretending to research the latest threat to humanity while Giles was frowned over a pile of books. Willow was settled in the chair opposite her, with Oz on the arm, fingers twisting through stray strands of red hair.

Buffy watched for a while, saw Willow turn a slight shade of pink as her eyes glanced up and then away from Oz. She saw how her friend tilted her cheek into Oz's hand, until finally, he bent his head and kissed her forehead.

There was no startled glance in Buffy's direction as there so often was. For the past couple of weeks, they hadn't been their normal "couple-y" selves and Xander always shut his mouth and mumbled "Forget it," half way through a melancholy speech about missing Cordelia.

They had tip-toed around her for days and days, but suddenly that was over, they were moving on with their lives.

It only took them eighteen days to forget, to think she had moved on.

She wished it was that easy.

Buffy sighed as Professor Walsh passed out the questionnaires and explained what they were going to do. Fill it in, minus names and then swap to see if others could guess who was who based on answers alone. Buffy missed the point of it, she was thinking about Riley. She was doing that a lot these days; Willow called it the Honeymoon period.

Buffy looked down at the first question.

Age?

She was about to write 18 when she stopped herself. Buffy was the type of person who took the whole of January to remember the new year. She was also the type of person that took forever to get into the habit of writing her new age after her birthday.

She stared at the blank space for a moment. She had been 19 for one week. An entire week yet she still thought of herself as eighteen. She thought for a moment.

Eighteen. Last year of High School. Cruciamentum. Scott Hope.

Angel.

A lifetime away and yet everything that still lives in her now.

But as she stared down at the sheet of paper and deliberately wrote 19, she realised.

She wasn't eighteen anymore.

The End.