Disclaimer: Rest assured that if I owned it, Tara would not be in that grave in the first place. Everything BtVS related belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. *pouts* A facts that just doesn't seem fair, does it?
Feedback: Yes, it just so happens that I'm the one fanfic author in the entire universe who absolutely can't stand feedback. And as this is typed, not spoken, I'm going to have to let you in on a little secret- if you were to hear me speak those words just now, they would be absolutely *dripping* with sarcasm. Please, review. It gives me a happy.
A/N: Thanks for clueing me in on what Tara actually said, *.
HURT
It seems wrong.
I mean, it would have seemed wrong no matter what- you didn't deserve to die; you were so young, so innocent, and I needed you so much…
But this?
The woman standing before the grave shakes her head.
It never should have happened this way. If it had to happen then, then I guess I can accept that, since I have no choice. I don't like it…
It hurts so bad, baby!
But I'm trying to accept it.
But a gunshot?
I always thought if one of us, one of the scoobies, were to die, forever die, I mean, that it would be…
I don't know, but something. A demon. A spell. Something. Not a gunshot wound.
A memory- "Your shirt," she says. In the present, the woman's eyes begin to water.
I messed up bad, baby, after you… left. I… did things. Bad things. Things I can never make right again.
Another memory- tearing Warren's skin off.
I can't forgive myself, but wherever you are, can you forgive me? I know it's not what you would have wanted. Selfless- you always were. To the last…
But I wasn't. I'm not. And
Tears, streaming now.
Oh, God, baby, I can't do it! I can't go on, everyday, living, breathing, combing my hair, folding laundry, researching, when all the while, you're not there. Not standing behind me, playing with my hair, not reassuring me with your shy smile, not stuttering in that cute way you do when you're nervous.
The woman looks at her feet, no longer able to face the sight of the cold marble headstone.
I have to go, now. Buffy's going to come to this cemetery soon, patrolling, and I don't want her to see me like this. I don't want comfort now. Not just yet. I'm not ready to let go. Of the pain. Of the hurt.
Of you.
I'm glad me made up, though, baby. I'll never regret the reason you were in the room when that shot came through the window.
I miss you so much.
And I love you. Forever.
