Can't let go
The dance floor is
virtually empty now, just a few diehard couples remain, holding tightly onto
one another as they sway in time to the final song playing. It's sort of
appropriate really: the last dance.
A lump forms in my
throat as I think the words. Our last dance. The last time his arms will
encircle me like this. The last time I'll rest my head upon his broad chest and
feel absolute peace with myself. And I don't want it to end. I want time to
stop, so I can stay like this forever, so the evening never has to be over and
we don't have to say goodbye.
The song fades out
with a soft guitar chord and the main lights are switched on again, destroying
the magical atmosphere of the prom and replacing it with that of a gym
decorated with paper streamers. The floor is littered with debris and the
decimated remains of what was once a buffet are suddenly illuminated. I blink
my eyes groggily, trying to adjust to the change in brightness and drag myself
from the fantasy world of Angel's arms back into the reality of my life.
"Hey, Buffy," some
guy I barely know comes bounding up to me. "There's an after-prom party at
Todd's house. You wanna come?"
I shake my head,
staying firmly glued to Angel's side. "Rain-check, okay?"
The guy shrugs.
"Whatever, but if you change your mind we'll be there all night. Todd's elder
sister promised to buy us beer."
He rushes away to
apprehend another set of stragglers and Angel speaks softly to me. "Are you
sure you don't want to go?"
I raise my
eyebrows at him. "Because the idea of staying out all night in a house packed
full of drunken teenage boys is such an attractive one."
"I just don't want
you to miss out on anything," Angel replies.
"Oh yes, I
remember, my perfect prom evening," I shoot back at him, my voice catching on
the lump in my throat. "Well, battling those Hellhounds earlier on already kind
of killed that dream."
"I'm sorry," he
whispers and I know it's not the Hellhounds he's apologising for.
"You should be," I
pull away from him, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
"Hey, you two!"
Principal Snyder approaches us in his typical angry waddle. "Prom's over. Go
home. Teenagers today are a mystery to me. Never show up for school when they
should then they hang around for all hours when you want rid of them. Go on,
get out Miss Summers – I can still stop you from graduating, you know."
Angel and I hurry
out of the gym into the cool night air. I shiver involuntarily and, ever the
gentleman, he gives me his jacket, draping it carefully over my shoulders.
"So, now what?" I
ask shakily, feeling utterly horrible. How can we be doing this? How can we
have held each other like always, as if nothing is wrong, as if he didn't just
tear our entire relationship apart? How can I be standing here having a normal
conversation with him when I'm slowly dying inside?
"I don't know," he
replies. "I've never been to a high school prom before."
I force myself to
smile slightly, the expression coming across crooked and a little crazed.
"Guess they didn't have them in your day, huh?"
Angel shakes his
head, a small smile gracing his own lips. God, he's so beautiful, his features
so smooth and defined, like they're carved out of marble, like he's some
sculptor's work of art that comes alive when I touch him. I love the way I
breathe life into him when I kiss him, the sight of his face flushed from my
heat when we are too close for comfort. Or rather I used to love those things,
because now I'll never have them again.
"I think now we
just walk home," I suggest flatly.
He nods and we
start to walk, our strides deliberately slow, the route a meandering one
through the cemetery. I hope we don't meet any vamps tonight, I'm not sure if I
could handle my last few moments with Angel tainted with violence and death.
Somewhere along the way I take Angel's hand, or he takes mine, but it just
seems the most natural thing in the world to do and my heart breaks for the
thousandth time this evening. How can something that feels so utterly right
possibly be so wrong? How can it be over when his touch still sends shivers
down my spine?
I lean against his
shoulder, dreading every step that takes me closer towards my front door.
Finally, at the edge of the graveyard, with my house merely a hundred yards
away, he stops.
"What's the
matter?" I turn to face him, to try and see into his expression and fathom out
his secrets.
"Maybe we…we
should," he stutters, one of the few times I have seen him lose his trademark
Angel cool.
"No," I reply
firmly. "We're not home yet. It's too soon, I'm not ready."
"I'll never be
ready," he says in an agonised tone, then he pulls me close to his chest.
"Buffy," he murmurs into my hair. "I love you so much."
"Don't do this
then," I return desperately. "Don't say goodbye."
He sighs. "We've
been through this already – I have to."
"Why?" My eyes
fill with tears, the salty liquid brimming over my eyelids and down my cheeks.
"I don't understand."
"Because we have
no future together," he strokes my face softly, gazing at me intently as if he
is trying to memorise every detail of my appearance.
"I don't care
about the future. There is no future without you."
His eyes are
shining with tears of his own. "Please don't make this any harder for me
Buffy."
"Why not? You
think I want to make it easy for you to leave me?"
"I think I have to
go now," he forces the words out in a measured tone. "I have to walk away
before we destroy each other completely."
I tighten my arms
around his waist, a last ditch attempt to keep him with me. "It's going to have
to be you than walks away then," I tell him resolutely. "Because I'm not going
anywhere. I won't give up on us like this."
"Buffy," he places
his hands on my shoulders, trying to prise me away from him. "You have to let
go now."
"I can't," I drop
my head on to his chest, weeping freely, "I can't let go." And I am telling the
truth. My hands seem locked together independently of my mind, controlled
solely by my heart. I am afraid now that if I step away from him, if I move
backwards even a tiny bit then I'll never touch him again. I'll never feel
Angel pressed up close to me, I'll never be able to tip my chin up ever so
slightly in order to bring his lips into contact with mine. I'll never cover his
mouth hungrily with mine, tracing his teeth with my tongue, gasping for breath
in between frantic kisses.
"Buffy," he pulls
away abruptly. "We can't do this."
"One last time," I
beg. "Just one more."
He doesn't take
much persuading and soon we are kissing again, wildly, madly, passionately,
hands desperately groping at one another. I've never wanted him so much or so
badly as at this moment. I long to wrap my body around his, take him deep, deep
inside me and have him pound the last 24 hours out of my memory. I need for him
to make me his again, like he did on the night of my seventeenth birthday. I
need that mark on my soul back; the one not even Angelus, or Hell or the First
could erase, but that began to fade as soon as he told me he was leaving me.
I fall to the
ground, my legs unable to support me anymore, having just given up under the
weight of the despair that crushes my body. I drag Angel down with me, his
heavy body toppling like a felled tree to land on top of me, our lips still
locked together. My beautiful silk dress is ruined, stained with grass and mud
and ripped open at the bodice, but I am glad, because now it matches rest of me
– battered and torn, a wreck of who I once was.
Angel detaches
himself from me, looking down with frightened, feral eyes. "We can't go any
further, Buffy – or I won't be able to stop."
"Don't then." I
pull his lips back on to mine and let hot hands wonder across his smooth skin.
I want to touch all of him, taste him, feel everything there is to feel, so that
I can cement it all in my memory during the long, lonely nights to come.
His fingers slide
up my thigh, finding the tops of my stockings and peeling them downwards. I
fumble at the fly of his dress pants, feeling him there ready for me. "God," he
gasps between kisses as I arch my breasts into his chest. "We mustn't – the
curse."
But the protests
are just words, we could utter a thousand denials, tell each other over and
over that this is wrong, but there's no stopping now. The point of no return has
not only been passed, but it's become a speck in the far distance. It's like
being sucked down into a whirlpool of feeling – the world is spinning and you
can't stop it, you're just dragged deeper and deeper down until only the
passion and the darkness are left surrounding you.
"Do you really
think this will make either of us happy?" I ask, the tears streaming down both
of our faces testament to the truth of my words.
He doesn't offer
an answer, just silences me with his lips and tongue. Then he hitches my dress
around my waist and plunges into me so hard that I see stars. Pain and pleasure
mix and I gasp out aloud.
"I love you…"
We move together
in a jolting, jarring rhythm, down in the grass amongst the graves. And it's
good, because it's Angel and he's holding me and filling me up to the brim with
pure emotion. I love him so much, but I hate him, because I need him. I'm
addicted to his touch, his kiss, his rich voice, the way he looks at me. I'm
like a junkie desperately needing her fix. Only now I'm overdosing and I don't
care what the consequences are going to be. I couldn't give a damn about
tomorrow – there is no tomorrow without him. There's only this instant and this
ecstasy of our bodies fused tightly together. There's only the scream that
issues from my lips as it's over, half in agony, half in unrestrained bliss.
There's only the salty taste of our combined tears when we lie together
afterwards, afraid to move, to breathe even, lest we disrupt the fragile fabric
of this moment.
Angel buries his
head in my hair and I sense his body shudder as he sobs silently.
"Shush, it's all
right," I comfort him gently, softly stroking the downy hair on the nape of his
neck. I love that part of him the most – it's so tender and vulnerable, unlike
the rest of his hard, muscular body. It's like a physical manifestation of
everything inside him – a sensitive, loving man, hidden by the tough façade he
chooses to project.
"I love you," he
murmurs into my throat. "No matter how hard I try – I can't stop…"
"Don't go," I
whisper to him, a last desperate plea.
He lifts his head
and looks up at me with ancient, tired eyes. He shakes his head. "I couldn't
even if I wanted to."
Fin
A/N ~ Okay, so I couldn't have him leave her at the end. I just wasn't
feeling that cruelly sadistic at the time! Thanks for reading. J
