Thank you for your kind reviews, they make me smile … on the inside. :P And thanks to my girlfriend for kicking the ass of my writer's block. :D Three cheers!
I stood there a few seconds, struggling to steady my breathing and regain control of my thoughts, before realizing that I was trembling an appalling amount and was in desperate need of a nicotine fix.
'Fucker got me all wound up.' I thought as I made my way down the stairs and out the front door so I could indulge in my latest bad habit.
Being in prison gave me time to do many things … like pick up smoking. Although I'm sure it's a habit that I could've lived without starting, it's much better than the habits I used to have. Another thing prison gave me was a chance to establish my affection for Buffy, or at least come to terms with it. I suppose it would be unfair of me to blame her for my downward spiral, but she is the only reason I can come up with for how drastically I changed in my first few months in Sunnyhell. I guess it was mostly I couldn't handle the fact that I had feelings that would never be returned. Whatever, ya know? Yeah, I still love Buffy, probably always will, but I've accepted that it'll never go farther than that and, with the way things are now, I've got my work cut out for me just trying to get her to like me again … or finally.
As I finished my third cigarette, I realized that I was terrible at thought-control and should probably go back inside to get some shut-eye because seven o' clock would roll around a lot faster than I wished it would. However, I seemed to be having trouble leaving my spot on the railing. I guess part of me was hoping that Buffy would show up out of the blue, part was wishing she wouldn't have left in the first place, most of me was wishing I never would've came back here and the rest of me was just tired – tired of being angry, of being sad, of regretting, and just physically drained. See? Terrible thought-control skills.
After another fifteen minutes of seriously unnecessary thinking, I slowly trudged up the stairs, each one getting me one step closer to the inviting bed that belonged to Buffy Summers. It felt almost wrong to me – walking up her stairs, going into her room, leading her Scoobies.
'Buffy should be here.' I thought involuntarily.
Once I reached the top of the stairs, I become conscious of how tired I really was. It had been an eventful day to say the least and it seemed as though they were going to get even more action-packed the longer I was here.
'This place is gonna kill me.' I thought almost sardonically.
I'd like to say that I didn't press my face against the pillow and inhale as much Buffy scented fabric as my lungs would hold as soon as I'd stripped off my jeans and practically collapsed into bed, but that would go against this new honesty thing I've got going.
I hate that even her scent can still affect me.
I hate even more that it put me almost immediately to sleep.
As soon as I'd closed my eyes I knew the dream would come, the same one I'd had just about every night for almost three years.
The dream where I'm at the Bronze, flirting with the bartender, (trying to score some free drinks) and I turn around to find that a crowd has gathered. I walk almost cautiously up to the onslaught of horny onlookers, being careful not to draw too much attention from the spectacle I'm sure to find. Then suddenly, the crowd parts and I see her; Buffy Anne Summers, who's sexy dancing could compete with even me. She motions with her right index finger for me to come join her, to become a part of the writhing mass on the dance floor – and I do not disappoint. I saunter over in my classic Faith-like manner and press myself flush against her body, completely invading her personal space. She doesn't seem to mind as we begin a steady rhythm that quickly becomes us grinding against each other to the rapid beat. We stare intently into each other's eyes for what seems like forever – song after song – as I try to decipher the look she's been giving me. The grinding doesn't slow and neither does the beat of each song, and I can feel her breath hit my face as it seems to be getting harder for her to breathe. With every breath that hits my face, one more drop of my self-control trickles away and soon I find my eyes moving slowly from her beautiful green ones, to her pouty lips and back up again, catching hers doing the same thing. And every night it's the same, by the time I move in to kiss her and meet no resistance … I wake up.
This time, when I wake up, it's to the sound of the window opening.
My eyes fly open and I leap out of bed, ready to attack the fuck out of whatever has decided to invade when sleep was so imperative, but once my eyes adjust and my brain fully registers that I am now awake, I find myself staring into the same eyes that bore into mine only moments ago – in my dreams.
