Title: His: Silence
Author: Red Light District
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. owns Btvs.
Archive: Sure, why not? Please ask first.
Spoilers: umm.... a few for the post-resurrection Buffy and the B/S relationship that follow. It kinda diverges though... I'm not sure when this is happening, but it's in the future.
Author's Note: This is my first BtVS fic, and I can't believe that it's Spuffy! keels over I usually hate this pairing, but it does have a certain angsty appeal. I originally wrote this story as an original, then I realized how much it fit with B/S so... here it is. Please tell me if it's OOC... I haven't been able to see the more recent seasons, and I haven't seen the key B/S interaction episodes.
**This is sort of a rough draft. Please please please review/critique.
---
There is a time in most relationships when all you can do and all you know to do is hurt. We always knew how to draw blood. We're the same; maybe that's how we knew. The same thing that hurts me hurts you, and we always covered it up to keep the pain private.
I wonder if you're in Sunnydale thinking the same thing I am at this moment. No...I know you are. We are exactly alike, and that was the problem. I knew you better than anyone else-even better than you yourself-and you couldn't stand it. Is that why I'm here and you're there?
I'm driving somewhere with the black asphalt before me and the glittering gold sand stretching out on either side of me. I came to the desert to get away from you-from the pain and memories. You've always hated the desert for its silence and its emptiness. I thought I wouldn't find you here, but the desert is full of you. It's made of your colors. The sand is your hair, the sky is your eyes; in the wind, I hear the echoes of your every moan and whisper. Even the very emptiness reminds me of you. We were both empty and thought that we'd have the other to fill the void. You were my beautiful soulless angel... When did you stop needing me to make you feel alive?
God, it's beautiful out here, it's just like you. Maybe that's why you hated it. You could never bear your reflection-not after you came back. You were always beautiful— even when we were disgusted with each other, and I left you for this barren wasteland. Even when I slammed the door behind me, you were beautiful.
I had to get away from you, us, whatever. It was too much, an all-consuming love-obsession-that took me over. You knew too much about me, but too much wasn't enough.
When I left I was assured my rightness. I didn't doubt, it was too soon to feel anything past the shock. Now I feel too much. I still need you, though. If I was right to leave would I feel like this? Maybe I can drive until I forget about you. I'll drive until it doesn't hurt anymore. I'll drive until something fills the emptiness, or it consumes me so completely that I won't notice-or care to. I'll drive until I'm the way I was before I met you-before I felt so much that I wanted to be alive. If I drive through enough wind and rain and sand, then maybe I'll be numb. Somehow, I can't believe there's enough road in the world.
Why did we give up? I don't remember me, or you, or us deciding; it happened anyway. I only remember walking away from you without looking back and I wondered if you were watching me leave like you always did. I didn't turn back; I didn't even want to. That's how I knew that it was over.
This vast emptiness is too much with all its reminders of you. It hurts almost more than I can bear. The silence cuts into me despite the hum of the air conditioner and the roar of the engine. If you were here you'd talk to me just to chase away the silence. You'd chatter about this and that, and I'd convince myself that you really loved me. But you're not here. I simply couldn't talk you anymore, and when I think about it, I can't remember why-just that I couldn't.
That's why I'm speeding down this deserted highway hoping that the wind will make me forget the pain and the love I still feel. Perhaps I never should have left you, but we can't go back to what we never had. I would apologize, but it's too late for that. "I'm sorry" isn't good enough. I burned the bridges behind me, and there's no going back no matter how we feel. I can't fix this anymore, and maybe... maybe it's not supposed to be fixed.
I know I'll never see you again, and you can't hear me here, but I'm sorry. And for what it's worth... I love you.
---
The End?
Should I write a Buffy POV?
Author: Red Light District
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. owns Btvs.
Archive: Sure, why not? Please ask first.
Spoilers: umm.... a few for the post-resurrection Buffy and the B/S relationship that follow. It kinda diverges though... I'm not sure when this is happening, but it's in the future.
Author's Note: This is my first BtVS fic, and I can't believe that it's Spuffy! keels over I usually hate this pairing, but it does have a certain angsty appeal. I originally wrote this story as an original, then I realized how much it fit with B/S so... here it is. Please tell me if it's OOC... I haven't been able to see the more recent seasons, and I haven't seen the key B/S interaction episodes.
**This is sort of a rough draft. Please please please review/critique.
---
There is a time in most relationships when all you can do and all you know to do is hurt. We always knew how to draw blood. We're the same; maybe that's how we knew. The same thing that hurts me hurts you, and we always covered it up to keep the pain private.
I wonder if you're in Sunnydale thinking the same thing I am at this moment. No...I know you are. We are exactly alike, and that was the problem. I knew you better than anyone else-even better than you yourself-and you couldn't stand it. Is that why I'm here and you're there?
I'm driving somewhere with the black asphalt before me and the glittering gold sand stretching out on either side of me. I came to the desert to get away from you-from the pain and memories. You've always hated the desert for its silence and its emptiness. I thought I wouldn't find you here, but the desert is full of you. It's made of your colors. The sand is your hair, the sky is your eyes; in the wind, I hear the echoes of your every moan and whisper. Even the very emptiness reminds me of you. We were both empty and thought that we'd have the other to fill the void. You were my beautiful soulless angel... When did you stop needing me to make you feel alive?
God, it's beautiful out here, it's just like you. Maybe that's why you hated it. You could never bear your reflection-not after you came back. You were always beautiful— even when we were disgusted with each other, and I left you for this barren wasteland. Even when I slammed the door behind me, you were beautiful.
I had to get away from you, us, whatever. It was too much, an all-consuming love-obsession-that took me over. You knew too much about me, but too much wasn't enough.
When I left I was assured my rightness. I didn't doubt, it was too soon to feel anything past the shock. Now I feel too much. I still need you, though. If I was right to leave would I feel like this? Maybe I can drive until I forget about you. I'll drive until it doesn't hurt anymore. I'll drive until something fills the emptiness, or it consumes me so completely that I won't notice-or care to. I'll drive until I'm the way I was before I met you-before I felt so much that I wanted to be alive. If I drive through enough wind and rain and sand, then maybe I'll be numb. Somehow, I can't believe there's enough road in the world.
Why did we give up? I don't remember me, or you, or us deciding; it happened anyway. I only remember walking away from you without looking back and I wondered if you were watching me leave like you always did. I didn't turn back; I didn't even want to. That's how I knew that it was over.
This vast emptiness is too much with all its reminders of you. It hurts almost more than I can bear. The silence cuts into me despite the hum of the air conditioner and the roar of the engine. If you were here you'd talk to me just to chase away the silence. You'd chatter about this and that, and I'd convince myself that you really loved me. But you're not here. I simply couldn't talk you anymore, and when I think about it, I can't remember why-just that I couldn't.
That's why I'm speeding down this deserted highway hoping that the wind will make me forget the pain and the love I still feel. Perhaps I never should have left you, but we can't go back to what we never had. I would apologize, but it's too late for that. "I'm sorry" isn't good enough. I burned the bridges behind me, and there's no going back no matter how we feel. I can't fix this anymore, and maybe... maybe it's not supposed to be fixed.
I know I'll never see you again, and you can't hear me here, but I'm sorry. And for what it's worth... I love you.
---
The End?
Should I write a Buffy POV?