Subject : Slayer Diary Part 2
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG 13 (mild sexual content)
Pairing: B/S
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss & CO, just borrowing...
Feedback: Please... but this is my first go, so don't flame me too hard.
Summary: Takes place anywhere in season 6. Will eventually end up where I would like season to end. This is a different perspective - what is written is from Buffy's point of view (hence I = Buffy) and is what she is feeling and thinking rather than what she says and does on screen. Diary dates are not meaningful. Just the dates I wrote the chapter. Hope you like..
The Slayer Diary
March 6, 2002
It is all very foggy now. I've no clue where to find the beginning or the end. I am so tired and I cannot help but crying. There is no comfort, not that he could stop the tornado racking my brain, shaking my core. No one can help me. I have been to this place before. I have stood atop this precipice with heaven just above my reach, and hell just below my feet and both sides searching for their lost angel.
I do not want to be here. I do not want to be alone. But I know that I can only rescue myself. There is no white knight, no princess in a tower, no salvation. No redemption. Only the light and the dark and the inescapable trap of my humanity.
He came to me again last night. Solemn and angry and sweet. But even he could not find me. He stood there staring his intense, tender stare, his hands clasped, hanging in front of him as if a mourner by a grave. All in black. I could feel his pity. I could hear his deep, hypnotic voice asking who I was and I *screamed* my name, but he stood still. Not hearing me. Or not hearing what he wanted.
I sat up in my bed, naked except for my sheet, and pleaded with him to hear me, to see me. He shimmered like a ghost, changing from one thing to the next, but it was always him. Always his eyes looking so sad and so furious.
I felt myself jump from the bed, coming at him, so angry that he was there, that he was staring at me but that he would not move. I felt fury, rage, anger, rejection. For the one thing that loved me could not even care anymore.
I jumped at him, striking, and felt myself reeling back against the bed, in shocked surprise. He had not moved. His hands still clasped, his feet planted, his perfect shape as still as a statue. Again and again, I ran at him, wanting to hit him kick him, make him stop...staring.. and every time I fell back, propelled to the start, like running into a barricaded door.
But he never, ever, moved.
I leaned against the bed, gasping for air, trying to muster enough energy to give it another go. Trying to make sense of why he was suddenly untouchable. Why could I not take him away, make him *stop* loving me? Or make him start again. There had to be something. My heart was exploding in my chest and I could not understand if it was from throwing myself against the invisible door, or if it was because I longed, I craved, to make contact. To beat him, or to feel his body near mine, or to let him touch me.
My feet gently padded against the wood floor and I walked to him, dazed,
almost drunk with confusion, stopping inches from his body. I could sense his presence, see him so still in front of me. My hand raised to touch his face, but instead I felt coldness. I felt the clear wall of the cell.
He moved, his hand raising to mine, pressing his palm against the invisible door. It should have be touching mine. It should have been against my skin. But he was stopped a hair's breadth, a whisper, from me. Finger mirroring finger, thumb mirroring thumb. But no heat. Only the cold void.
His head cocked to the side and his eyes softened more. My horror, my
bewilderment, were so much greater than that stare, but I could not break free. His lips never moved, but I could hear that voice. The voice I had known in every world, in every life. In anger and in love, the voice was my familiar. My memories, my frustrations, my desires.
"You built this cage, love, " his voice said softly, "I knew you were
building it all along. I tried to stop it. But you would not let me." I stared wide eyed at his still face, his sparkling eyes, his sad, cocked expression. " I could not save you, Pigeon. And I cannot save you now."
My eyes were wide with horror. I did not need saving! I did not need help. I was the strong one. I was the one who knew, who understood, who helped. I could feel my hand curling into a fist and banging into the door. His eyes shook for a moment, but his hand stayed pressed to it, fingers curling to stop my fist. But he could not stop it, and I could not break free. His eyes closed slowly and he swallowed hard. When they opened, they were wet and his stoic face was beginning to falter.
I looked at him as if I had never seen him before. My eyes locked in his, my stunned horror snaking through his gaze. I knew what was next to come. My anger boiled. The hurt crept into my chest, seizing my lungs. I could feel the hitch in my breath, the oceans of uncried tears crashing against the backs of my eyes.
"You never really believed that I loved you, " I heard from his motionless mouth. "Or you never loved me." And I was silent, my hand pressing again to where his should have been, fingers splayed, trying to grasp something, anything. I did not answer him. Mostly because love was something I was not sure I understood.
"So you locked away your insides, love, and you kept them safe and sound so all you had to do was be." I watched him like a cat sizing up a mouse that was already caught in the trap. His eyes flashing dewy stares, then looking away as if what he sees has turned from beauty to beast.
"You locked it all away until you made this... prison... where everything looks as it should, but there is no one left but you. And the cold."
I opened my mouth but could not speak. I could feel my body quaking. His words could reach me, but his body could not. And my eyes began to fill. He could not even stare at me anymore. He could barely look.
"You chose this, Pigeon. You made the cage. I knew I could set you free. I tried, " he whispered in his mind voice. Even there he choked on the words, " But I failed."
My other hand pressed to the door. The door I had guarded so long in my
mind. Protected like a precious gem when really all along it was a rotting cage.
"Goodbye, my love, " he said, this time speaking to me, his hand pressing hard to the clear, cold door, trying to reach me but realizing there was nothing left to reach. His hand slid down the length of my body. He tapped the coldness with his fist just once, glanced at me with more pain then I think I ever knew, and turned away.
I could feel everything rushing into my head. Every thought, every feeling stampeding through me, my mind rupturing, my breath seizing, my body shaking violently. My lungs were exploding in my chest. My madness had killed me, and my last breath was to be alone and cold and naked. And I had no one else to blame.
I slumped to the floor, hitting it hard, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces, splintering my lungs, my skin, my mind, my soul. Shards lodging everywhere. Pieces of the only part of me that was ever real. Breaking my spirit, or setting it free.
As my eyes rolled back into my shattered mind, I heard the walls shattering like glass and the primal scream of 'NO' come out of my mouth as as whisper. I felt myself slipping away. My madness had killed me.
***
In the very back of my shattered mind, in a distant far away place, I could hear his voice. But I was no longer there. I sensed a bustle and heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, in the hall, on my bedroom floor. And his voice. "Love, no. Oh God, No."
And I could see the rag doll body that once was mine being picked up and
laid across his black denim jeans, my head lolling off his lap, just an
empty shell. I could see him slumped over her and hear his broken voice..
"No."
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG 13 (mild sexual content)
Pairing: B/S
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss & CO, just borrowing...
Feedback: Please... but this is my first go, so don't flame me too hard.
Summary: Takes place anywhere in season 6. Will eventually end up where I would like season to end. This is a different perspective - what is written is from Buffy's point of view (hence I = Buffy) and is what she is feeling and thinking rather than what she says and does on screen. Diary dates are not meaningful. Just the dates I wrote the chapter. Hope you like..
The Slayer Diary
March 6, 2002
It is all very foggy now. I've no clue where to find the beginning or the end. I am so tired and I cannot help but crying. There is no comfort, not that he could stop the tornado racking my brain, shaking my core. No one can help me. I have been to this place before. I have stood atop this precipice with heaven just above my reach, and hell just below my feet and both sides searching for their lost angel.
I do not want to be here. I do not want to be alone. But I know that I can only rescue myself. There is no white knight, no princess in a tower, no salvation. No redemption. Only the light and the dark and the inescapable trap of my humanity.
He came to me again last night. Solemn and angry and sweet. But even he could not find me. He stood there staring his intense, tender stare, his hands clasped, hanging in front of him as if a mourner by a grave. All in black. I could feel his pity. I could hear his deep, hypnotic voice asking who I was and I *screamed* my name, but he stood still. Not hearing me. Or not hearing what he wanted.
I sat up in my bed, naked except for my sheet, and pleaded with him to hear me, to see me. He shimmered like a ghost, changing from one thing to the next, but it was always him. Always his eyes looking so sad and so furious.
I felt myself jump from the bed, coming at him, so angry that he was there, that he was staring at me but that he would not move. I felt fury, rage, anger, rejection. For the one thing that loved me could not even care anymore.
I jumped at him, striking, and felt myself reeling back against the bed, in shocked surprise. He had not moved. His hands still clasped, his feet planted, his perfect shape as still as a statue. Again and again, I ran at him, wanting to hit him kick him, make him stop...staring.. and every time I fell back, propelled to the start, like running into a barricaded door.
But he never, ever, moved.
I leaned against the bed, gasping for air, trying to muster enough energy to give it another go. Trying to make sense of why he was suddenly untouchable. Why could I not take him away, make him *stop* loving me? Or make him start again. There had to be something. My heart was exploding in my chest and I could not understand if it was from throwing myself against the invisible door, or if it was because I longed, I craved, to make contact. To beat him, or to feel his body near mine, or to let him touch me.
My feet gently padded against the wood floor and I walked to him, dazed,
almost drunk with confusion, stopping inches from his body. I could sense his presence, see him so still in front of me. My hand raised to touch his face, but instead I felt coldness. I felt the clear wall of the cell.
He moved, his hand raising to mine, pressing his palm against the invisible door. It should have be touching mine. It should have been against my skin. But he was stopped a hair's breadth, a whisper, from me. Finger mirroring finger, thumb mirroring thumb. But no heat. Only the cold void.
His head cocked to the side and his eyes softened more. My horror, my
bewilderment, were so much greater than that stare, but I could not break free. His lips never moved, but I could hear that voice. The voice I had known in every world, in every life. In anger and in love, the voice was my familiar. My memories, my frustrations, my desires.
"You built this cage, love, " his voice said softly, "I knew you were
building it all along. I tried to stop it. But you would not let me." I stared wide eyed at his still face, his sparkling eyes, his sad, cocked expression. " I could not save you, Pigeon. And I cannot save you now."
My eyes were wide with horror. I did not need saving! I did not need help. I was the strong one. I was the one who knew, who understood, who helped. I could feel my hand curling into a fist and banging into the door. His eyes shook for a moment, but his hand stayed pressed to it, fingers curling to stop my fist. But he could not stop it, and I could not break free. His eyes closed slowly and he swallowed hard. When they opened, they were wet and his stoic face was beginning to falter.
I looked at him as if I had never seen him before. My eyes locked in his, my stunned horror snaking through his gaze. I knew what was next to come. My anger boiled. The hurt crept into my chest, seizing my lungs. I could feel the hitch in my breath, the oceans of uncried tears crashing against the backs of my eyes.
"You never really believed that I loved you, " I heard from his motionless mouth. "Or you never loved me." And I was silent, my hand pressing again to where his should have been, fingers splayed, trying to grasp something, anything. I did not answer him. Mostly because love was something I was not sure I understood.
"So you locked away your insides, love, and you kept them safe and sound so all you had to do was be." I watched him like a cat sizing up a mouse that was already caught in the trap. His eyes flashing dewy stares, then looking away as if what he sees has turned from beauty to beast.
"You locked it all away until you made this... prison... where everything looks as it should, but there is no one left but you. And the cold."
I opened my mouth but could not speak. I could feel my body quaking. His words could reach me, but his body could not. And my eyes began to fill. He could not even stare at me anymore. He could barely look.
"You chose this, Pigeon. You made the cage. I knew I could set you free. I tried, " he whispered in his mind voice. Even there he choked on the words, " But I failed."
My other hand pressed to the door. The door I had guarded so long in my
mind. Protected like a precious gem when really all along it was a rotting cage.
"Goodbye, my love, " he said, this time speaking to me, his hand pressing hard to the clear, cold door, trying to reach me but realizing there was nothing left to reach. His hand slid down the length of my body. He tapped the coldness with his fist just once, glanced at me with more pain then I think I ever knew, and turned away.
I could feel everything rushing into my head. Every thought, every feeling stampeding through me, my mind rupturing, my breath seizing, my body shaking violently. My lungs were exploding in my chest. My madness had killed me, and my last breath was to be alone and cold and naked. And I had no one else to blame.
I slumped to the floor, hitting it hard, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces, splintering my lungs, my skin, my mind, my soul. Shards lodging everywhere. Pieces of the only part of me that was ever real. Breaking my spirit, or setting it free.
As my eyes rolled back into my shattered mind, I heard the walls shattering like glass and the primal scream of 'NO' come out of my mouth as as whisper. I felt myself slipping away. My madness had killed me.
***
In the very back of my shattered mind, in a distant far away place, I could hear his voice. But I was no longer there. I sensed a bustle and heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, in the hall, on my bedroom floor. And his voice. "Love, no. Oh God, No."
And I could see the rag doll body that once was mine being picked up and
laid across his black denim jeans, my head lolling off his lap, just an
empty shell. I could see him slumped over her and hear his broken voice..
"No."