So she's gone now. They're gone now. Shouldn't this be easier? Because
this, time, I know where she is. She's in heaven, again, right? So I
should let go. I can't seem to do that, though. I can't seem to really do
anything much at all.
I could tell you exactly when this started. It was when Anya died. It was a long time ago, but it doesn't feel that long. It seems like it was only a week ago that we were happy and she was smiling in that way she did. But when did happiness ever last, for any of us? It's so damn unfair. We save the world, and our lives suck for it.
They all tried to help me, they really did. The usual interventions and worried discussions took place. Without Anya, though, and without Willow, they didn't pack the same punch. I'm a Harris. It was sort of inevitable that I drink myself stupid.
This latest tragedy, well, it was just another reason to find reality at the bottom of a good drink. I was selfish. I hated myself for it. Out of all of them, I had lost the least. She wasn't my lover, or my sister, and they weren't my children. I should have been filling my role as the loyal friend and ready ear, but.
But I didn't. I let Giles comfort Dawn, and Spike. Goddamn Spike. I was the last and only holdout in liking Mr. Lemon fresh Hair. Buffy had said it was residual jealousy, but I thought I just didn't like the guy. Whatever. I didn't matter now.
My apartment was dark. The light bulb in the living room had burned out a few days ago, and I hadn't gotten the energy to climb up a chair and fix it. Besides, I kinda liked the dark.
I spent nearly a week in that dark, with the TV on and flickering, and me only half watching it. There were perks to owning a company. It meant no one to call when you didn't feel like getting out of bed in the morning. I made my own rules. The money still came in.
She found me sitting there, in my leather recliner, beer bottle in hand. I must have dozed off while some infomercial was trying to sell me a rack to dry food. Her voice woke me up.
"Get up." She sounded mad.
"Huh?" I opened my eyes. I couldn't see her. Too dark. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet.
"I said, get your ass off that chair."
I blinked. She came into focus slowly. Dawn. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, and she wore no make up. Her jeans and t-shirt must have been a decade old. Still, she looked young, fresh.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her.
"Saving you."
"I don't need saving." I looked at the green bottle I held. There was still a bit left. I brought it to my mouth and took a drink.
She flew at me, like mad thing. The bottle was out of my hand and smashed against the wall before I knew what she intended to do.
"I am not losing another person I love. You're doing this to yourself. You're so stupid!" She'd started to cry. I felt like scum. I wanted to feel like drunk scum.
"Dawnie," I said, "I've got it under control."
"Do not. Call me Dawnie. I'm not a child, Xander. I'm not blind, either. I've known for a long time you were still drinking." She sat down on the couch, pushing aside an old newspaper.
"And, I just said, I've got it under control."
"Right, and that's why you're sitting here in the dark with a week's worth of trash. Cause you've got it under control. God, even Spike's handling this better than you are."
And there she'd done it. She'd struck the one chord she knew would get a rise out of me. And she'd done it so skillfully that I didn't realize I'd been played until I'd already taken the bait.
"Yeah, Spike's great. Spike's fucking noble because he has no soul, and he's not killing people. I get all the flak around here, don't I? Everything I do wrong, every little thing, it's always, always mentioned. I'm sick of this, Dawn." I got out of the chair and walked over to her.
She looked up at me. "Then do something about it."
I could tell you exactly when this started. It was when Anya died. It was a long time ago, but it doesn't feel that long. It seems like it was only a week ago that we were happy and she was smiling in that way she did. But when did happiness ever last, for any of us? It's so damn unfair. We save the world, and our lives suck for it.
They all tried to help me, they really did. The usual interventions and worried discussions took place. Without Anya, though, and without Willow, they didn't pack the same punch. I'm a Harris. It was sort of inevitable that I drink myself stupid.
This latest tragedy, well, it was just another reason to find reality at the bottom of a good drink. I was selfish. I hated myself for it. Out of all of them, I had lost the least. She wasn't my lover, or my sister, and they weren't my children. I should have been filling my role as the loyal friend and ready ear, but.
But I didn't. I let Giles comfort Dawn, and Spike. Goddamn Spike. I was the last and only holdout in liking Mr. Lemon fresh Hair. Buffy had said it was residual jealousy, but I thought I just didn't like the guy. Whatever. I didn't matter now.
My apartment was dark. The light bulb in the living room had burned out a few days ago, and I hadn't gotten the energy to climb up a chair and fix it. Besides, I kinda liked the dark.
I spent nearly a week in that dark, with the TV on and flickering, and me only half watching it. There were perks to owning a company. It meant no one to call when you didn't feel like getting out of bed in the morning. I made my own rules. The money still came in.
She found me sitting there, in my leather recliner, beer bottle in hand. I must have dozed off while some infomercial was trying to sell me a rack to dry food. Her voice woke me up.
"Get up." She sounded mad.
"Huh?" I opened my eyes. I couldn't see her. Too dark. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet.
"I said, get your ass off that chair."
I blinked. She came into focus slowly. Dawn. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, and she wore no make up. Her jeans and t-shirt must have been a decade old. Still, she looked young, fresh.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her.
"Saving you."
"I don't need saving." I looked at the green bottle I held. There was still a bit left. I brought it to my mouth and took a drink.
She flew at me, like mad thing. The bottle was out of my hand and smashed against the wall before I knew what she intended to do.
"I am not losing another person I love. You're doing this to yourself. You're so stupid!" She'd started to cry. I felt like scum. I wanted to feel like drunk scum.
"Dawnie," I said, "I've got it under control."
"Do not. Call me Dawnie. I'm not a child, Xander. I'm not blind, either. I've known for a long time you were still drinking." She sat down on the couch, pushing aside an old newspaper.
"And, I just said, I've got it under control."
"Right, and that's why you're sitting here in the dark with a week's worth of trash. Cause you've got it under control. God, even Spike's handling this better than you are."
And there she'd done it. She'd struck the one chord she knew would get a rise out of me. And she'd done it so skillfully that I didn't realize I'd been played until I'd already taken the bait.
"Yeah, Spike's great. Spike's fucking noble because he has no soul, and he's not killing people. I get all the flak around here, don't I? Everything I do wrong, every little thing, it's always, always mentioned. I'm sick of this, Dawn." I got out of the chair and walked over to her.
She looked up at me. "Then do something about it."