Faith hadn't expected it to be so loud.
It wasn't quiet, or reflective, or solemn. It was filled with the sounds of screaming, of arguing, of something she was sure was a fight. It was.. wrong. All wrong.
She was in this uncomfortable cot, in this horrible place where it was cold and people were screaming and she'd been sexually harassed by a guard. It was only the first night.
She wasn't a person that scared easily, but she was afraid now. She wanted to go home; she wanted it all to be over. She wanted to know why the fuck she'd been thinking that this was a good idea. She knew she could be somewhere in Mexico right now, on the beach with a mai tai, so what was she doing here?
Faith shivered and pulled the thin blanket higher around her shoulders. She knew she couldn't do this for twenty five years. She knew she'd been wrong, she wasn't good. She was selfish and immature and afraid and she just knew she couldn't do it. This was martyr behavior for other people, not for her.
Redemption wasn't worth this.
Not that she felt any differently anyway. It was a new day now, this was the new her--Redeemed Faith, she who was paying for her sins. Doing the right thing. Surely she was supposed to at least feel something? Good? Proud? Relieved?
She wasn't sure she felt anything.
The way Angel had talked she'd been convinced that she'd pretty much be sporting a halo from the glow of her self-sacrifice. That she would feel good about what she'd done. That through doing this some measure of peace, of self-respect would be found.
But there was nothing. There was *nothing*. Only the loneliness and the fear and the uncertainty. And the knowledge that she had no way out.
Part of her wondered if Angel had lied. She thought he must have. She was pretty sure that no one would enter into this redemption thing voluntarily if they had any idea of the truth of the situation. You had to make it sound good first. Worthy.
She had this sense that Buffy wouldn't feel this way, that her feelings were just another example of her many shortcomings. Just another reason she was bad.
Before she had fallen asleep the night before she'd heard Wesley's voice over and over in her head. He'd known her, he said, he knew one thing. She was shit, she always would be.
The problem was, Faith wasn't sure that he was wrong.
It was one thing to talk the talk of redemption, but then again, she had always been good at the talking part. It was the actual going through with things that stumped her.
The days all merged into one endless day. Same things were always going on. She had a routine. She assumed it was supposed to get easier as time passed. It hadn't yet.
Some days Faith got so frustrated she punched the wall, then she rejoiced in the shower of cinderblock dust as it fell around her. It made her feel better to know she could still hurt something besides herself.
Some days she sat on her bunk and cursed Angel six ways from Sunday for ever making her feel like this was something she had to do. Something she was going to be able to do.
And other days, the worst days, she cried and she wondered why in the hell after all this time she still felt the same. Exactly the same. She was a failure. Faith knew it, even if nobody else did.
She was so angry, so frustrated. But she never left. She never even really thought about leaving. She blocked it out.
Because if Faith fled this place, she knew those words Wesley had said that night were going to ring in her ears until she died.
And that was why she stayed.
It wasn't quiet, or reflective, or solemn. It was filled with the sounds of screaming, of arguing, of something she was sure was a fight. It was.. wrong. All wrong.
She was in this uncomfortable cot, in this horrible place where it was cold and people were screaming and she'd been sexually harassed by a guard. It was only the first night.
She wasn't a person that scared easily, but she was afraid now. She wanted to go home; she wanted it all to be over. She wanted to know why the fuck she'd been thinking that this was a good idea. She knew she could be somewhere in Mexico right now, on the beach with a mai tai, so what was she doing here?
Faith shivered and pulled the thin blanket higher around her shoulders. She knew she couldn't do this for twenty five years. She knew she'd been wrong, she wasn't good. She was selfish and immature and afraid and she just knew she couldn't do it. This was martyr behavior for other people, not for her.
Redemption wasn't worth this.
Not that she felt any differently anyway. It was a new day now, this was the new her--Redeemed Faith, she who was paying for her sins. Doing the right thing. Surely she was supposed to at least feel something? Good? Proud? Relieved?
She wasn't sure she felt anything.
The way Angel had talked she'd been convinced that she'd pretty much be sporting a halo from the glow of her self-sacrifice. That she would feel good about what she'd done. That through doing this some measure of peace, of self-respect would be found.
But there was nothing. There was *nothing*. Only the loneliness and the fear and the uncertainty. And the knowledge that she had no way out.
Part of her wondered if Angel had lied. She thought he must have. She was pretty sure that no one would enter into this redemption thing voluntarily if they had any idea of the truth of the situation. You had to make it sound good first. Worthy.
She had this sense that Buffy wouldn't feel this way, that her feelings were just another example of her many shortcomings. Just another reason she was bad.
Before she had fallen asleep the night before she'd heard Wesley's voice over and over in her head. He'd known her, he said, he knew one thing. She was shit, she always would be.
The problem was, Faith wasn't sure that he was wrong.
It was one thing to talk the talk of redemption, but then again, she had always been good at the talking part. It was the actual going through with things that stumped her.
The days all merged into one endless day. Same things were always going on. She had a routine. She assumed it was supposed to get easier as time passed. It hadn't yet.
Some days Faith got so frustrated she punched the wall, then she rejoiced in the shower of cinderblock dust as it fell around her. It made her feel better to know she could still hurt something besides herself.
Some days she sat on her bunk and cursed Angel six ways from Sunday for ever making her feel like this was something she had to do. Something she was going to be able to do.
And other days, the worst days, she cried and she wondered why in the hell after all this time she still felt the same. Exactly the same. She was a failure. Faith knew it, even if nobody else did.
She was so angry, so frustrated. But she never left. She never even really thought about leaving. She blocked it out.
Because if Faith fled this place, she knew those words Wesley had said that night were going to ring in her ears until she died.
And that was why she stayed.