March 24, 2002

I got to bring Buffy outside today.

Well, I would have, if I didn't pay off Chris to do it for me. I'm sure it confused the hell out of him because just a few days ago I'd asked him to pick up that paint for her, and now here I am bribing the guy to take my shifts so I don't have to see her.

But she doesn't need me anymore, so why should I get stuck babysitting her all day? It's a bum wrap I tell ya, having to watch her crazy ass. I should be a ghost in that clinic. No one should know my name or my business, and I shouldn't give a shit about them either.

That's how this job is supposed to work. I empty bedpans and make up clean beds. That's it. And when I clock out, I'm supposed to get my life back until I check-in for work the next day. Don't need a fancy education to do this job. And I don't need to bring my job home and have it take a dump all over my personal life.

Sure it sucked to see Chris wheeling her around outside, knowing that it should have been me. After all, I only saved that chick's ass from being a vegetable the rest of her life. But I don't care how amazing she looked with the morning sun beaming off her corn-silk hair, or how her smile looked more brilliant than I've ever seen it. Good for her.

Not that I watched them from the atrium for very long.

Whatever. I'm not looking for a medal or some shit. I'm just here for the paycheck.

End of story.

In fact, I'm gonna talk to Dr. P. first thing tomorrow morning about getting re-assigned. I've played by that doctor's rules for long enough.

March 25, 2002

Today wasn't great. Worst day ever, you might even say. I really just want to crawl into bed right now but I need to get this out first.

So I visited Dr. P this morning. I went in with my speech all prepared: Yes, the clinic was paying me extra money to only look after one patient, but I'd never taken on this job in the first place to be turned into a glorified babysitter.

I mean, Buffy sees me more often than she sees her own doctors. She never has to go to group therapy anymore either. Was anyone even still following up on her delusions of being a demon hunter? Was she suddenly cured now so that she no longer needed treatment? And if so, what was she doing here still? What kind of asylum were these people running? A mental hospital or a summer camp?

But rehearsal and the actual performance are two different animals.

I asked Dr. Primrose to reassign me, and she said no. It wasn't quite that open and shut, but it might as well have been. She asked me to be patient with Buffy. She tried to inflate my ego or something by pointing out how much Buffy had improved under my watch. I couldn't really argue with that. But then again, anything was better than that zombie-fied girl she'd been before.

I tried asking her about the kid – about Dawn. The math wasn't making any sense to me – how could Buffy have been here for so many years, yet have a kid that old? Plus, she had had no idea she was a Mom.

How does something like that escape someone, no matter how out of it they may be?

Dr. P told me not to worry about details like that. Even though I'm Buffy's primary caregiver here at the clinic, apparently I'm not privy to that kind of personal information. That part stung. I was totally offended, which in hindsight, probably explains my behavior later.

Buffy was cheerful enough when I tracked her down. She'd already had her breakfast and was dressed for the day when I found her sitting in the TV room, reading a magazine. I grabbed that day's newspaper and sat down at the table with her and started doing a crossword puzzle.

She smiled broadly at me when she saw me and asked how my day off had been. It took me a second to figure out what she was talking about, but then I remembered I'd traded with Chris for the day. He must've punked out and told her it was my day off instead of telling her I was sick of hanging out with her.

I curtly told her my day had been fine, and then went back to my crossword. I could tell she was trying hard to strike up some kind of conversation with me, but I only grunted short responses and pretended to be more interested in my puzzle than her. I've never been good at word puzzles, but it gave me a reason to ignore her at least.

I know it was a childish thing to do, but I was steaming mad. I don't know who or what I was mad at…probably Dr. Primrose, but I just know I was seriously pissed off.

She kept talking and talking. I don't even know what about. And I just kept getting more and more inexplicably angry. The printed words on the newspaper seemed to blur together after staring at them for so long.

Finally, I felt her poking at me playfully, asking me if I was okay. And I lost it. I snapped at her and told her to leave me alone. I'm sure I said some pretty harsh and unearned things, but I can't really remember what I said exactly. I just know that it was mean and it hurt her feelings.

She jumped out of her chair and glared at me. She swore at me and called me "Faith" again, balling up her fists at her sides. "Why do you have to act like this?" she demanded.

I jumped out of my chair as well, not really caring about the scene we were causing in front of everyone. "That's not my name!" I yelled back.

She always seems to slip back into this behavior whenever she gets angry at me… mistaking me for that girl. I guess this "Faith" chick always found a way to piss her off, or something.

Her eyes narrowed at me and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't have to take this," she huffed.

And then she did it. I can't believe it, but she actually chose to become the Zombie again, right in front of me.

My stomach lurched when I saw her eyeballs rattle around inside their sockets. And then her body collapsed onto the floor in a heap, like a big sack of potatoes. It was like she'd completely abandoned not only her mind, but her body as well.

I've never seen anything like it. It wasn't like she'd fallen or fainted. I've seen people do that plenty of times. This was a whole different kind of animal.

Instead of stalking away like a normal person, she just totally turned herself off. It was like someone flipped a switch or a light bulb inside her head had been switched off. All of the light, all the life just suddenly left her body.

I quickly called for some nurses to help me with her; her body was totally loose like she had no muscle or skeleton holding her together.

Luckily, her vitals all checked out. She hadn't physically hurt herself, but her eyes failed to register when one of the nurses shined a penlight into her hazel-green eyes. It was one of the creepiest things I've ever witnessed…her pupils didn't react at all.

With the help of some of the nurses, I got her back to her room and got her settled into her bed. I paced around the room for a few minutes, not sure what to do next. Should I get Dr. P? Should I just hang out with her and try to get her to snap out of it with the sound of my voice?

Well, as it turned out, I didn't have to make any kind of decision on my own. Instead, I heard my name being called over the P.A. system to report to Dr. Primrose's office. Dude, it totally felt like I was getting called to the Principal's office.

I sat down in one of the chairs facing Dr. Primrose's desk, and before I could even open my mouth, I was suddenly being verbally attacked by the doctor: What did I think I was doing? Didn't I know how fragile Buffy's mental stability was? How dare I act like this…acting like Buffy had somehow wronged me and then sulking around like a wounded puppy.

I opened my mouth and closed it like a feeding fish. What the hell? What had I done to deserve this?

Then Dr. Primrose laid into me, calling me out because I'd pawned Buffy on Chris the other day. Why, she wanted to know, had I rallied so hard to get Buffy outdoor privileges only to later abandon her?

Excuse me? Abandon her?

I wanted to point out that Buffy was the one who'd left this reality, not me. But I didn't, cause I sensed I was this close to getting axed.

She reminded me that she had warned me about Buffy. Not to get too close. Not to become emotionally attached. That I'd just end up getting hurt.

I'd never seen the doctor so cold and curt with me. She was seriously pissed and told me my job was in jeopardy. She ordered me to take a few days off, without pay. And if I fucked up again, she told me, she'd blackball me – make sure I never worked in the healthcare profession again.

I walked out of her office after she icily dismissed me. I felt numb and shocked. Sure all actions have consequences, but I never expected this. All I'd done was raise my voice a little at Buffy. It's not like I'd physically hurt her or anything.

I walked to the employee locker room like a zombie myself, not looking up or acknowledging anyone. I changed out of my scrubs, checked out, and drove the short distance back to my apartment.

Now I guess I have the next few days to sit around and 'think about what I've done.' Fuck if I'm gonna do that.

March 27, 2002

Didn't bother writing yesterday. Just didn't have the motivation, and really nothing happened. I woke up late yesterday afternoon cause I didn't bother setting an alarm. And I did the same thing today, too. No real reason to get out of bed when you don't have a job to go to, after all.

Last night I made myself an oven pizza and fell asleep watching college basketball. I woke up on the couch around 3am with some informercial blasting on the TV. I didn't bother dragging myself to bed though. Just turned off the television and went back to sleep on the couch.

Today I didn't do much of anything. Didn't go outside at all. Didn't change out of my pajamas. Didn't bother to shower.

I know there's things I could be doing to take up my time. I should start running again or at least eat a little healthier, but I just don't have the energy lately. I just keep dragging my ass around, counting the hours until I get to go back to work. That's fucked up, right?

I know that may make me sound like a pathetic emo kid when I read this again in a few months, but I can't help it. I'm just stuck in some kinda job-induced funk.

I haven't called Jarrod to tell him what happened at work. He'd probably just want to come over and try to cheer me up. And I don't want to be cheered up. I'm kind of a masochist that way. I fucked up, so I deserve to be in a little pain now.

March 28, 2002

Just woke up from a fucked up dream. I'm still a little out of it, because it was so fucking weird.

I dreamt that I was hanging out with Buffy at the 24-hour diner where I used to spend time with all my friends in high school. Everything was as I remembered it – from the surly waitresses to the faux jukeboxes on the tables.

It was just the two of us, sitting at a booth across from each other. I ordered the blueberry pancakes and she ordered a burger. I remember wanting to hold her hands across the table, but was too afraid someone I knew might see us. So I just settled for the innocent way her feet would bump against mine under the tabletop.

When our waitress brought us our food, I dove into mine, immediately pouring a ton of syrup on my breakfast food, even though in real life I don't like the stuff. Buffy laughed at my enthusiasm, not maliciously or anything…it was the kind of laugh-and-shake-your-head kinda thing like, oh you…you're so silly, but I love that about you.

I told her to dig into her food, but she made a face after she bit into her burger. When I asked her what was wrong, she dropped the sandwich back on the plate and the meat fell out of the bun. It was completely uncooked. Just raw ground beef jammed between a sesame seed bun.

When I looked back up at her, blood started dripping out of her mouth. I panicked, worried she was hurt, but she told me not to worry about her and to keep eating. I looked back down at my food, but the syrup had turned to blood. I looked up again to say something to Buffy, but the words wouldn't come out when I saw that her eyes were completely blacked out.

She smiled vacantly at me and her teeth were yellowed and not all there. Then she leaned across the table and tried to kiss me. I jumped up away from her, and she stared at me, sticking her lower lip out in a pout that would have, in other circumstances, been cute.

My skin felt like it was crawling when I looked at her. Like every fiber of my being was telling me to get away from this girl.

She gazed up at me, her hazel-green eyes now replaced with black marbles, and noted sadly, "I thought you liked me."

I tried to talk again, but it was like my tongue just wouldn't work. Then, if all of that wasn't fucked up and scary enough, all this thick, dark red liquid started pouring out of her mouth. She continued to just sit there at the booth while all this blood gushed out of her mouth like her face had suddenly turned into a waterfall.

The room quickly filled up with the liquid and I tried to swim out the front doors. I've never been that good of a swimmer even though I grew up near the Atlantic Ocean. Was too afraid as a kid to go in there because I was convinced some bad-ass jelly fish would sting the bottom of my foot and I wouldn't be able to use my legs and I'd sink like a rock and drown.

So I'm trying to doggie paddle through this thick red stuff, but it's like trying to move in quicksand or something. I just keep getting stuck. And worst of all, it keeps trying to pull me back towards Buffy.

She somehow was able to float on top of all that thick, sticky liquid. She had her arms wide open like she wanted to hug me. Her bottom jaw was kind of slacked to one side like she'd broken her jawbone and she just kept saying, "But I thought you liked me," in one of the saddest, most pathetic voices I've ever heard.

When I finally woke up, I was drenched in sweat, my sheets tangled around my limbs.

I'm not someone who puts a lot of stock into dreams, but that shit was seriously fucked up. Obviously my subconscious is trying to tell me that Buffy's no good for me.

Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe my brain is telling me that she'd be better off without me in her grill all the time. Either way, tomorrow I go back to work. Maybe I should tell Dr. Primrose about my dream, but I'm kind of afraid of her right now.

I know I'm gonna have to swallow my pride and apologize to Buffy.

I'm still not exactly sure why I exploded at her like that. Haven't really sat down to think about it, even though I've had all this 'off' time lately. I've always had a hard time self-analyzing the reasons for my actions or dwelling on the past.

March 29, 2002

So today was my first day back after being temporarily suspended. And it was yet another horrible day. Surprise, surprise.

I don't know if she was lucid while I was gone or not, but either way, Buffy still won't wake up for me. She won't snap out of her coma. I think I…broke her.

It's not like a normal coma, because she doesn't look like she's sleeping. If I let myself think about it, it's actually really disturbing. Her eyes are completely open. She's flat on her back, her eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. They've got her hooked up to a bunch of monitors and IVs too. She looks like a patient for the first time. Like, she's truly sick.

She'll blink a few times, or her eyes will shift around sometimes like she's checking things out, but one of the nurses told me that doesn't mean anything in regards to her state of mind. The Zombie could walk and open and shut her eyes, too, she reminded me. Buffy's not even doing that now though. Her body has no movement, no rigidity. If you raise one of her arms and drop it, it just falls straight back down. I know because I tried it.

I spent a good portion of the day just sitting by her bed, talking to her. The sound of my voice has always gotten some kind of reaction from her before, but for whatever reason, it wasn't working this time. I tried reading to her, but after a while, my voice got really raw and achy, so I had to stop.

When I knew none of the guards or nurses would be doing their rounds in the hallway where her room is situated, I'd sit on the edge of her mattress and just stroke my fingers through her hair.

I don't know how to snap her out of it. Everything that's worked in the past isn't working now. Mainly, me.

I fucked up. I know that now. I shouldn't have freaked out just because it upset me to know that she has a kid. We all make mistakes, so why was I punishing her for something that happened so many years ago? And why would that even upset me in the first place?

And I know now that I really wasn't angry at her, per say. I was angry at myself. Angry that I'd let myself get so emotionally dependent on this girl, and angry at this hospital because she wasn't really getting any better.

Sure she wasn't the Zombie all the time anymore, but normal people just didn't do this kind of thing. You can't just decide you don't like the situation you're in and totally, mentally and bodily, check out. Fuck, I wish that were the case, but it's not.

I just wish she'd stop living inside her head long enough so I could apologize.

TBC