Part 9

Well, as impossible as I believed it to be, here we are. Spike drops the last box of my things onto the floor in what's to be my room in our new apartment. Our new apartment…it's still weird to me. I mean…my roommate is a vampire…he drinks blood…I'm going to open up the refrigerator and there's gonna be blood bags in there.

I look over at him to find him staring back at me with that look that I haven't yet allowed myself to name. Over the past few weeks I've seen it dozens- maybe hundreds of times- and at the oddest moments, too. When I'm yelling at the TV or stuffing my face with onion rings or yelling at him cause he used all of my black fingernail polish.

We haven't talked about that night and that almost-kiss since it happened. But it's always there, I know, in his mind and my own. I find myself tense around him- scared he's going to try it again. But so far, nothing's happened. And I'm glad. Really.

"Thanks for helping me with this stuff. Unlike some people, I lack superstrength and those boxes were wicked heavy."

He merely chuckles and nods as he surveys my room. It's pretty bare except for the stacks of boxes and the rickety bed that came with the place. But I'll fix it up like I like it soon enough.

The silence in the room is tense, as usual and suddenly I'm aware that I can't take it anymore. Spike's my friend and now my roommate. I can't have this tugging at me for the rest of my life. I have no idea what to say but I know I have to say it now.

"Spike?"

"Hmm?"

OK, in the movies this is where the heroine delivers her long speech about loving and not loving and the hardships that they've endured together and comes out sounding incredibly witty and intelligent. That'll be happening any time now…any time…or not. He's staring at me expectantly and all I seem to be able to do is stare back. Tension…lots of tension…

Finally I turn away and run a hand through my hair anxiously. "Things between us have been…"

"Yeah."

"I don't like it."

"Neither do I."

"So what do we do?"

He shrugs. "Ignore it and maybe it'll go away?"

"Yes, because that's worked oh-so-well so far." I sigh. Time for bluntness. Time to ask the question that's been bugging me for weeks, ever since that night. "Why didn't you fuck me on that bench?"

For a moment he's silent and then he looks at me seriously. "I like you too much." My mouth's hanging open and I'm pretty sure that I resemble some sort of fish right now. He smirks at me and elaborates. "If I'd have shagged you that night, things between us would've never been the same. They probably would've been over." He runs his hand through my hair and cups my chin. "No…I'll shag you one day, pet. But you're not ready. You weren't then, you aren't now, but you will be soon. When I do, you're going to want it as much as I do. When I do, I'm going to be with you- the real you, not this…front…this…mask you wear." With that and a smirk he turns and leaves and I'm alone in my room, staring dumbstruck at the place he'd just been standing.

*****

What's the matter Mary Jane, you had a hard day

As you place the don't disturb sign on the door

You lost your place in line again, what a pity

You never seem to want to dance anymore

It's a long way down

On this roller coaster

The last chance streetcar

Went off the track

And you're on it

I hear you're counting sheep again Mary Jane

What's the point of trying to dream anymore?

I hear you're losing weight again Mary Jane

Do you ever wonder who you're losing it for?

Well it's full speed baby

In the wrong direction

There's a few more bruises if that's the way

You insist on heading

Please be honest Mary Jane

Are you happy?

Please don't censor your tears

You're the sweet crusader

And you're on your way

You're the last great innocent

And that's why I love you

So take this moment Mary Jane and be selfish

Worry not about the cars that go by

All that matters Mary Jane is your freedom

Keep warm my dear, keep dry

Tell me

Tell me

What's the matter Mary Jane…

Tonight was just another Friday night. Went to a bar…had a few beers…a few guys…then I came home. Nothing special or earth-shattering enough to bring on this sudden epiphany. But I'm sitting now at my vanity and I realize…I don't recognize the face in the mirror before me. That girl isn't me. It can't be me. But I know it is. I stare at the familiar face. It used to be appealing to me. But suddenly it's very harsh and frightening to look at. This isn't me. Opening the drawer of my vanity, I pull out the photograph. It's wrinkled and worn with time but still clear.

A little girl stares up at me from the lap of her mother. Her blonde hair is pulled into messy pigtails and there's a bit of peanut butter smeared on her pink overalls. She likes to play with Barbies and cook on her Fisher Price stove. She likes try on her mother's high heels and lipstick and sing to Aretha Franklin. Her father is absent from her life. She's never met him. It's just her and her mother in a little apartment outside Seattle. There's not always food on the table and her mother's sick but the smile on her face is bright and sincere. When's the last time I smiled like that?

I lay the picture down and look evenly at my reflection. Then, emphatically, I begin to wipe at the make-up on my face with a damp cloth. The dark red lipstick disappears first, smearing across the white cloth to reveal soft, lightly pink lips, swollen from the vigorous rubbing. Then I attack my eyes. The mascara and liner rub off leaving dark smudges, which I work at until they're barely visible.

I wipe at my cheeks, watching as the dark blush and foundation wash away. I'm finally done and I stare at the unfamiliar reflection. The girl in the mirror is a pretty, innocent looking, young woman. Her skin is fresh and pale but reddened in the cheeks from harsh scrubbing. Her lips are thin and delicately pink, formed in a line- not smiling nor frowning. And her eyes, now bare and exposed shimmer with unshed tears. This stranger is me.

I free my hair from its numerous pins. It falls awkwardly to my shoulders, crimped and curled from its restraints and stiff with hair spray. As I slowly begin to brush out the blonde strands, the tears spill from my eyes leaving ugly wet tracks down my cheeks. The hairbrush falls from my hands and I don't even hear it hit the floor as loud sobs escape from my throat.

I choke and gasp on my cries and taste the salty streams of tears running down my face. And suddenly there're two strong arms wrapped around me. Vaguely I hear a voice whispering comfortingly to me. But he doesn't ask why I'm crying. He doesn't ask what's wrong, what's happened. He just knows. He knows I've let go.

I turn in my chair- he's knelt in front of me, his face even with my own. There's understanding written on his features. Understanding…compassion…love. Gently, he presses his lips to my cheek, tasting my tears. His fingers entwine themselves in my hair and pull me to him in a strong, safe embrace. And I cry, clinging tightly to him, I just cry.

The End

**Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is the end. It's shorter than I expected it to be and I'm sure you expected it to be. But that's just how it came out. I originally had some fluffy scenes in there that made it longer but they were kind of pointless and I'm pretty sure would've offended the good people at McDonald's so I took them out. As of now, there're no sequel plans. School will be starting again soon and I don't want to get another story started that I won't have time to finish. (Although I may change my mind. You never know.) But if any of you have some ideas about a sequel or just really, really want one- write one yourself. Seriously. I'm interested to see what people would do with it. You can e-mail me for help anytime. Thanks for your reviews I hope you enjoyed it and please check out my other stories which are on the site too!**