Part One
An Eye For An Eye, Chapter One
Angel.
The word wasn't much, as far as words go. Short, one syllable, easy to pronounce. But it was the world to her and now it was gone. But it wouldn't go away. He wouldn't go away.
Buffy shuddered as the fleeting images left her and consciousness resumed as she woke up. She was shivering and covered in ice cold sweat. No surprise there. Every morning since she had slain Angel had been like that and how many mornings had that been? Twenty? Thirty? Two or three weeks or so, she guessed but the counting didn't really matter. She had the nagging feeling that she had sentenced herself to an eternity of this and when you're never going to be released, what is the point of marking off the days?
She pulled herself out of bed slowly and stood up. She walked to the window and closed it. Even though her mom knew all about the slaying gig now and it was no longer necessary to sneak out at night, she left the window open anyway with a slaying outfit on the chair next to it, ready and waiting. Why? Habit? Tradition? She wasn't sure.
She glanced at the clock and smiled. It was a fake, forced smile, like everything else in her life now but it appeared anyway as she thought, "Well, that's a new record. Two whole hours. If sleeping were an Olympic event, I could accessorize my entire wardrobe with gold medals." It was only five thirty and she could go get back into bed and sleep for another hour at least. HA! She nearly laughed out loud at that thought as she stripped off her soaking wet tee shirt and panties and deposited them in the growing pile at the foot of her bed. Another hour of tossing and turning in wet, yucky clothes on wet, yucky sheets was something she did not need and yet the thought persisted. She was so tired and an hour of sweet dreamless sleep was so inviting. "Come on, you can do it," It teased, "You can escape the tossing and turning this time, you really can!" But she recognized the promise for what it was. Another lie. She had been seduced by it before and burned and she wasn't going to do it again.
She shook her head and walked into the bathroom. She half-heartedly brushed her teeth and then sat down on the toilet, thinking about Angel again. She giggled a bit as she expelled a noisy stream of mostly liquid waste from her body as the words of Mr. Keith, her English teacher flooded back to her. "Do you think that it's an accident that Bloom pondered the big questions of life as he sat in the outhouse?" She liked Mr. Keith. In fact, before the ordeal with Angel, she had had a crush on him. Back when she was happy and secure and crushes were innocent diversions and no matter how much life sucked, things were pretty good.
She hadn't understood the outhouse reference then but she was sure she got it now. Maybe reading the book would even be a good thing but it had looked impossibly boring the first time she had tried and she had faked her way to a B on the quiz, so why push her luck? Cause maybe Giles was right and doing her homework once in a while might open new worlds to her. And make her interesting to attractive teachers like Mr. Keith? And get her mom off her back about grades too?
She shook her head as she wiped herself clean. Or maybe I should just slit my wrists and be done with it. The false hope, the lies, the broken promises. The exhaustion. Trade it all in for an eternity of rest. She wasn't sure if that was the answer but she knew one thing for certain. She was too tired to even seriously think about the choices.
She stepped into the shower and turned on the water as hard and hot as it would go. This was her favorite time of the day lately. When flowing clean water and steam and warmth replaced the tears and sweat and cold. She relished it because it didn't last long. She knew that the moment she dried off, the sweat and chills would come quickly and she had maybe thirty minutes before the first bout of tears for the day.
Right on schedule, the tears came ten minutes later, the moment she stepped back into her room. She was lightly covered in sweat and chilled as she dropped the towel on the pile of clothes and looked around her room. She was surrounded by laundry, dust, clutter and stacks of books that represented days, maybe even weeks of undone homework and she didn't care about any of it. Except for the yelling it would all incite from her mother and that, she didn't need.
She collapsed face down on the bed and poured her smaller problems out through her eyes. A few moments later, she picked herself up off the bed again and dried her eyes.