3:00 am. Just got back to the room. I reckon another day'll see me in LA. Depends on the drivers that pass this motel tomorrow morning, and how many of them're pervy old men who won't pass up the opportunity to ogle a poor, defenceless hitchhiking girl in the rear-view mirror for a coupla' hundred miles.
Well, none of them'll be doing it tomorrow. I might be poor, but I'm not defenceless. Four vamps found that out tonight – just doing my bit for society, Land of the Free, that whole bit. There was this one kid who tried his luck out in the parking lot who found it out too, but, hell, I reckon the vamps balance out the odd concussion here and there. Who knows? I kill enough creepy crawlies, I might just find that redemption thing all the cool kids're talkin' about.
At least, that's what I'll say if B ever comes to look me in the face again. Yeah, I'll do the whole injured innocence thing for as long as I can hold it up. Maybe three, four minutes tops, depending on how sanctimonious her pasty, pouty face gets. But she'll never see me again, and even if she does, she won't look at my face. You sit on too high a horse, all us peasants get cricks in our necks trying to meet your eyes, you know?
What? Oh, yeah. Sanctimonious. Cool little word. Three, four in the morning, just back from saving a grimy little slice of world; you take what the TV gives you. Word of the day, cartoons, shopping channels… sometimes you wonder how many other people're out there. People who can't sleep, people who work nights, vamps, even, all sitting there in front of the same programmes and thinking, all at once, "What is this shit?" Gives you a lovely warm glowy feeling, that does.
B and the Justice Gang watch these things. I know, 'cause they invited me along one time, out of the goodness and charity of their hearts, after a lovely team patrol where I did all the killing and they stood by the side and did the commentary (par for the course, I guess. That's one of the Mayor's sayings, in case you were dying to know.) It got a little awkward, anyway. Didn't feel right in that nice, clean bedroom, and I don't think they appreciated my comments. Maybe I was a little off-colour for them. Na, I prefer rooms like this. Minimalist, B would probably call it, which means white and flaky in human terms. I mean, what? God, would it kill her to be human herself once in a while? I tell you, I've wanted to shake her for the last six months. Wakeup call! Stop pretending you're some divine being! You're a slayer, girl! You're primal. We're primal.
Well, I've wanted to shake her for the last six months a year ago. I've been in a coma, remember? Not that I'll ever forget. Won't let her forget, either. Can't let her forget what she did to me. Can't let her pretend any more that that year never happened, that the girl with the knife on the rooftop wasn't her. Can't let her pretend she isn't just like me. I'll probably fit in better in LA. Least people accept what they are there. Anyway, I've got to fit in somewhere. Anywhere. Well, god, let's have a little… hope.
