Tyler is standing at the end of the driveway when I pull up. His arms are folded across his chest, a cigarette in his mouth and a huge grin on his face. He's got this strange look in his eyes. Like he knows something I don't. I take out my bag and walk up to him. He blows a few smoke rings and keeps smiling at me. I ask him again if it's all right that I stay here.

"Sure," he says.

I tell him thank you and he puts his hand on my chest.

"Just one thing," he says.

I ask him what.

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

What?

"Hit me as hard as you can."

Why?

"Why? I don't know why. Why is the sky blue? Come on, hit me."

I stare at him for a few seconds, not having the slightest clue of why he's asking me to do this.

"Never been in a fight?" Tyler asks.

A few.

"Then come on, what are you waiting for? Hit me."

I drop my bag and ball my fists. I ask him if he's sure about this.

"Sure as I'll ever be," he says.

I pull my arm back and send my knuckles flying. Years of fighting vampires and other creepy-crawly things of the night had given me somewhat minimal skills of combat. My army training memories were almost shot, but I did remember a few things. I don't think Tyler was expecting such a well placed punch when my fist smashed into his cheek. He stumbled back a few feet, a small hint of shock on his face.

Sorry, I tell him. I didn't mean to.

Tyler smiles again, and laughs as he rubs his cheek.

"Good one," he says. "Come on; let's go inside."

The mansion floors are this brown/gray marble looking material. There's no furniture anywhere but Tyler said he didn't need it. He jumps in the air and does a few kicks, shouting like Bruce Lee. Why have furniture when you can run wild he tells me. I ask him what about when he wants to sit.

"You think the greatest warriors in the world had Laz-E-Boys?" Tyler says.

He takes me up the stairs to a room with small twin mattress on the floor. I look at it for a moment. When my parents would fight I'd take my sleeping bag outside and play camp out. This was one step up from that.

Great, I say. Thanks.

"I'm over there," he says pointing to a door across the hall. "Bathroom's right here," he points at another.

I say thanks again, throw my bag on the ground and plop on the mattress. I remember falling asleep to the sounds of Tyler screaming and jumping around again.

The next morning I get up and head for the bathroom to take a shower. I glance in the door that was Tyler's room and see him asleep on a mattress similar to mine. The bathroom was covered in dust and the shower reeked of mildew. The water came out about five minutes after turning the knob on, and when it did come out I had to wait another ten for it to turn from brown to clear.

I dressed with the leftover clothes in my bag, hopped in my boss's car and went to work. I handed him the money and the papers I went all that way to fetch, and he simply said thanks. I gave him his car keys, picked up my hard hat and tool belt and went to work. My boss didn't ask about the black eye. He tried not to look at me funny when he saw my bruised and scraped knuckles as I handed him his stuff.

My arms ache as I raise my level to check a beam I just set is straight. I woke up around three a.m. to go to the bathroom and I saw Tyler standing there in his room. I asked him what he was doing and asked me to hit him again. I did, and this time he hit me back. We danced for hours on the second floor of that ritzy abandoned mansion, beating the crap out of each other. My cheeks getting pounded like pizza dough, my teeth rattling like dominoes. I haven't felt this good in my life. When you're in a fight, nothing about yourself seems real. Nothing about yourself is the same. You can have a best friend you've known all your life, and in a fight, to them you'd be a total stranger.

When we're done Tyler tells me not to tell anyone how I got all the cuts and bruises.

"Say you fell," He says. "Say your door was stuck and you accidentally knocked yourself in the face."

I want to ask why. I want to know what's so bad about telling other people I got into a fight. Instead I say sure. One thing I learned about myself while Tyler and I were throwing punches and knees, headlocks and body slams.

I realized I could fight.

I realized that I liked to fight.

At lunchtime my hands started to bleed all over my 'off the truck' sandwich. I didn't have a napkin or anything so I let them bleed. A few of the guys walk by and stare at my swollen black eye and bleeding knuckles. They mumble to themselves about me getting my ass kicked. I laugh because I know Tyler looks the same way as I do right about now. My eyes followed every one of them until they broke eye contact with me first. I grinned as I sat there eating my sandwich and sizing all of my co-workers up. I felt big all of a sudden. I felt strong.

After work a bunch of the guys were talking about going to the bar. Benny, this one really nice guy asked me to go along. I didn't have anything else to do. I hadn't told any of my friends I was back from my trip and I was still too sore to go home and fight with Tyler again. I said sure.

When we got there a bunch of the patrons kept staring at me like I was a leper or something. You'd be surprised how fascinating people find blood when they see it up close and personal. The people staring wouldn't meet my eyes, or if they did it was only for a second. The guys from work all gathered in a booth and I stood at the bar. The bar tender scowled at me when I started to bleed on the wood. I didn't say sorry. I silently dared him to make me apologize. He didn't. He just gave me the once over and wiped it up.

After a beer or two, I started to feel restless. I was thinking of heading home when I saw her. The dim light reflecting off of hair I'd once had between my fingers. Lips I'd once tasted and a body I'd once had at my disposal. I stood there blinking for a minute, making sure I wasn't seeing things.

Faith.

Sitting on the other side of the bar, scamming drinks out of hard working perverts. Smiling and promising them the world for just a few minutes of their time. I know this because I'd once been on the receiving end of those promises.

Faith is the type of girl you bring home to mother if mother is the type that watches Jerry Springer all day. Eating bon-bon's and yelling at you that you're a mistake. That her life was on the fast track before you're stupid father came along and wouldn't wear a rubber. He's gone now so she blames it on you. Faith is the type of girl that mother would approve of.

I try to walk out without her seeing me, but covert I am not. She looks up as I pass her and jumps from her seat.

"Xander," she says. "Where the hell have you been?"

Around, I tell her. A lot of people have been around.

"Tell me about it," she says. "So what's up? How's tricks?"

I tell her she's the trick expert.

"Funny guy," she says smirking at me. A smirk I'd once fell for. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I thought you were playing with me tonight baby," the guy sitting next to her says.

I look down to him and Faith tells him to fuck off. He gets pissed like most guys who think they're going to score do when they find out they're not. He calls her a bitch and starts to stand up when I shove him back onto the stool. He tries to get back up, but one look at my bloody hands and black eye and he stays put.

"My hero," Faith says trying to cuddle up on me.

I tell her not to get used to it.

"We could go back to your place," she says. "Catch up on old times."

What she means by old times is that I met Faith in a support group for kids of alcoholic families. We were the only two kids that never said anything, but that was okay with everyone else. They were all too wrapped up in their own little soap operas or future talk show subjects to worry about our problems. We all sat in our Samsonite circle pretending to care about each other. I think Faith and I were the only realists there. We both knew things would never get better, but we kept going anyway. I caught her eyeing me a few times but never thought anything of it.

One day by the coffee machine she snuck up behind me before it was time to hug and promise each other to be strong. She wrapped her arms around my waist and whispered in my ear all the things she would do to me. The promise that it'd be something I'd never forget. Then it was time to hug and she ran her hands to my ass and shoved her tongue down my throat. We were a thing for months until she got bored with me and chased after someone else. I didn't really care then, and I don't really care now. I knew the score. I don't want to play her game again.

That's okay, I tell her. I should really get going.

"You don't what you'd be missing," she shouts as I walk away.

Yes I do.

Out in the parking lot I see Tyler walking up and I say hey. He wants to know if I feel like having a few drinks and I tell him I just did. I'm tired and I'm going to head back home. He says okay, he'll catch me later. I get in my car and drive back to the mansion.

I sleep and I have the weirdest dream. All night long I dreamed I was screwing Faith on the cold marble floor of the mansion. Tyler was standing at the top of the stairs the whole time. Smoking a cigarette, that knowing grin. Faith bucks and screams underneath me and my knees are banging against the marble but I don't stop. I hear her shout a name.

I wake up to go to the bathroom, my knees feeling sore as I walk. The door to Tyler's room is closed. His door is never closed. I head downstairs when I notice a few condoms spilling out of a knocked over garbage can in the living room. I ignore them and walk into the kitchen and eat Cheerios out of a Tupperware container. I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and I start to tell Tyler about running into Faith last night and the weird dream I had.

"You're not the only one who had a weird night stallion," she says waltzing into the kitchen in my bathrobe.

Milk drips out of my mouth as I stare at her.

What are you doing here? I ask her.

"What?"

How did you know I lived here?

"Don't be stupid," she says.

I sit and eat my cereal with my mouth shut as she washes her hands in the sink.

"I'd better get going," she tells me. "I'll see you later."

She runs back up the stairs and I hear her fumbling around for her clothes. A few minutes later she's back down in her wrinkled dress. She kisses me on the cheek and takes off out the back door. The minute she's gone Tyler comes walking down the stairs in jeans and no shirt.

"Man you should have stayed around last night," he says.

I already know what happened.

Tyler walked into the bar, looking beat up and buff just the way Faith liked them. She strutted her stuff up next to him, filled his ears with her promises of never forgetting. A few drinks, a few more promises and Tyler says okay. They come back here and screw like rabbits. I'm not at all surprised.

"That girl," Tyler says. "Is an animal."

I don't want to hear this.

"Look at my back man," he says turning around and showing me red puffy claw marks all over. "She ever do this to you?"

What?

"Use you as a scratching post," he says. "You fucked her right?"

Yeah.

"You're not still fucking her right?"

Ew, no.

"Good, that girl is bad for you."

She's not bad for you? I say.

He smiles and doesn't say anything. I tell him I've got to go to work and he grabs my arm.

"Listen," he says. "I don't want you talking about me to her or anyone else."

Why?

"Just do me this one favor," he says. "Promise me you won't talk to her or anyone else about me."

Okay, I say. I promise.

"Promise?"

Yes.

"Promise?"

Yes.

"That's three times you promised," he says tapping my shoulder. "Don't work too hard now."

I walk outside wondering what the hell that was about. I get in my car and drive to the site. Some of the guys are looking at me funny, but I don't think its because of my black eye this time. Some guys I've never really spoken to are smirking at me. A few guys actually say good job. I don't know what the hell they're talking about. I shrug it off and pick up my tool belt and hardhat and get to work.

At lunchtime Willow and Buffy show up half-frantic, asking me where have I been. They both hug me, glad to see I was alive. Didn't I know my apartment burned down? They ask. Why didn't you call us? What the hell happened to your eye?

I know. I didn't want to bother anyone. Tricky door at the motel I'm staying at.

I can tell they don't really buy the door thing but they don't dig into it. I'm glad. I don't want to know what Tyler would do if I broke a promise.

"Well Xand," Buffy says. "Next time we think you're dead, how about a call huh?"

Sorry, I say. I guess it was shock.

Willow hugs me tightly again. She says that I shouldn't be afraid to ask my friends for help and other stuff. I tell her that next time something like this happens, she's first on my list. When they ask if I know Faith is in town again, my hands clench and my scabs start to tear. They know what Faith and I used to do. They didn't approve of it at all. I tell them I've seen her, but blew her off.

"Good," Buffy and Willow say in unison. "She's bad for you."

Tyler had said the same thing. I wonder why.

I ask Buffy how the slaying's been while I was gone. She says it's all the same song and dance. They ask about my trip and I tell them all the boring little details. The weirdo motel manager in Utah. My boss's jerky brother in Kansas City. I don't say a word about Tyler. They smile and listen and comment on how exciting it all must have been. I tell them I was playing errand boy, not going on a five-star vacation. When lunch is over they leave and make me promise to call them. I smile, say sure and I go back on the job. I can't get the vision of screwing Faith out of head. I pound the jackhammer louder and let it distract me from any thought at all.

When I get home later the mansion is filled with the weirdest smell. I go upstairs and drop my stuff off in my room. I go to the bathroom and then head into the kitchen where Tyler is banging around with some pots and pans over the stove. I ask him what he's doing.

"Tonight," Tyler says. "I am making soap."

I notice the garbage can is overflowing with clear plastic bags with biohazard symbols on them. Residue of some substance I'm not sure I want to know is inside. Tyler sees me staring at the bags.

"To make soap," Tyler says. "First you render fat."

Fat, I say. Where did you get all those bags of fat?

"Pay dirt," Tyler says. "Is a poorly guarded dumpster at a liposuction clinic."

"I want you to do something else for me," Tyler says grabbing my hand.

Sure, I say. What is it? I notice he has a can of lye in his hand. We use it sometimes on the job to unclog drains and septic tanks. Tyler says its one of the key ingredients in soap. It also serves him other purposes. I ask him what the those purposes are. He licks his lips and bends his head slightly to kiss the back of my hand. He looks back up to me and smiles. I see the can of lye poised in his other hand. I try to jerk my arm away but Tyler holds it firm.

"This," Tyler says. "Is one of the key ingredients to changing your life."

My eyes feel like and owl's ,all wide and black. I can't get away from him but I'm not shouting for him to stop. I stare at the lip-shaped saliva kiss shining on the back of my hand.

And Tyler pours on the lye.