She opened her eyes lazily; the rays of the sun peaking through the curtains of a nearby window had awoken her, reminding her of a brand new day. It was almost as if she was seventeen again, happily greeting the morning because she knew that later in the day she would get to see her Angel. Opening her eyes fully, she inhaled sharply, the familiarity of the bedroom hitting her like a ton of bricks.

This was not their bedroom.

With a cry, she tried to jump from the bed, but found that her hands, as they usually were, had been bound to the headboard. Panicking, she began to flail on the bed; desperately trying to free herself from what she was sure would be her death bed.

She remembered this; this feeling of dread and absolute horror. Hot tears poured down her cheeks, her chest heaving with each sob. He was there, he was angry, and he would have her. She felt his hands on her body, suddenly realizing she was bare and naked to him. All of her fears came to a head as she looked up into his dark eyes, black like nothingness.

He smiled down at her frightened, shaking form as his hands gently caressed her. He did not care that she was crying, that she was unwilling and afraid. As a matter of fact, those attributes of hers turned him on greatly, giving him a heady power rush that he couldn't feel any other way. All the scars he gave her, all the screams he elicited from her raw throat, all of her sleepless nights filled with tears, blood and only his pleasure gave him something to look forward to.

She watched as he climbed on top of her, grabbing her throat as he positioned himself at the juncture of her abused thighs. She pleaded with him softly as to not anger him, but he ignored her as if she had never spoken. She averted her gray eyes as he grabbed her by the hip with his free hand, entering her with one swift thrust. He squeezed his hand around her throat with each pound of his pelvis against hers, smiling as she gasped and coughed for air.

She felt him all over her; inside of her body, inside of her mind, crawling inside her skin. She couldn't stop feeling him, even after he let go of her neck and got off of her. What was he doing? Oh, toys; his toys. She shook her head, fighting, always fighting.

Pain. Burning. His name carved into the skin on the inside of her thigh. His bite mark on her breast. Bruises from the handcuffs that kept her on his bed. Blood covered sheets. A disgusting, marred body tainted by a sick fuck and all of his insane ways.

He raised his hand and smacked her across the face, always her face. Hands at her throat, feet kicked at her ribs, a knife he threatened to fuck her with – always violence, pain, rape.

She felt his lips at her ear, whispering words of hate and malice.

It's what you deserve, you whore.
You're better off dead.
You know you like it, Buffy.
Oh, Buffy, my sweet, dead whore.

She gasped as she felt the cool blade against her thigh. This would be the day that he finally killed her. This would all end now.

"Not quite, sweetness."

She screamed as he began stabbing her between her thighs, her body thrashing and flailing in pain.

"Buffy!" Angel screamed as he shook her, desperately trying to wake her from her obvious nightmare.

Finally, she opened her eyes, gasping for breath as she began to understand what was going on and where she was. He let go of her as she tried to sit up, figuring she would still need a few moments to wake up. She slid out from under the blankets, her sticky with sweat body uncomfortable underneath the heavy comforter. She sat up against the headboard of the bed and pushed the hair out of her face. Taking a deep breath, she finally looked up at him, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping away a few stray tears that fell down her cheeks. "I didn't … I don't know what happened."

"Buffy, it's okay," he sighed softly, helplessly watching as she tried to stop herself from crying. "It's alright, sweetheart."

She flinched when he called to her and wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to regulate her breathing. It was just a dream. It was all just a bad dream.

"Do you …" he started to speak, but she shook her head quickly.

"I'm, um …" she sniffled as she got up from their bed in a hurry, almost out the door by time she finished her sentence. "I think I'm just gonna … take a shower."

As she turned her back on him he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It was the third time this week that she had woken up screaming bloody murder. Once again, she refused to open up to him, so he was left helpless, completely unable to help her against her past and her demons.

He thought for a moment, trying to figure out why now, all of a sudden, her dreams had started to come back and had gotten progressively worse. Quite frankly, he had absolutely no idea. She had been getting better, or so it had seemed. She had been eating, talking, and hell, even hinting at wanting to go visit Faith and Spike at their new apartment. He just couldn't figure out what could be causing such a sudden and hard hitting setback.

All he knew now was that he had to talk to her. He had to get her to tell him what was bringing this all on again. Did the date mean something? Had he said or done something to trigger some kind of memory that keeps replaying in her subconscious? He didn't know, but what he did know was that if he didn't find out, he wouldn't have a snowballs chance in hell of helping her.

AN: Another small update for you all. So, Buffy's having nightmares again and Angel's TLC won't help. What now?