His lips are caressing mine, lightly dancing over the dry cracked skin.
Each soft kiss brings me closer to him, breaking through the thick fog of
delusions and tattered dreams that cloud my mind. I feel like I'm rising
through the depths of the ocean, away from the inky blackness of the bottom
where the light cannot penetrate, moving closer to the sparkling crystal-
blue surface. Everything is happening so fast, my mind can't make sense of
it all; there's too much to think about, too many questions left
unanswered. But all I can concentrate on are his cool lips, gliding over
mine like the gentle wings of a butterfly. This is so different from all
our other kisses, it isn't about rekindling a flame or satisfying a lustful
desire; it's about love, pure soul-binding frozen in time heart-stopping
love. There's something almost magical about the way he can make me feel,
it's like the entire world just fades away and the only thing left is him.
He's my anchor in the tumultuous storm that I'm caught in, the only thing
in the entire world that feels real to me, the only thing that makes sense.
My lungs are burning, furiously protesting the lack of oxygen, screaming at me to break the kiss and take a deep gulp of air. But I can't let him go. My hands drift downward from his hair, clutching the lapels of his duster, my knuckles white with the strain. I can't loosen my grip on his coat, if I let go of him then he might vanish. I'm afraid that when I open my eyes, I won't see deep azure orbs but instead the monochromatic asphalt of the highway. I can only imagine what we look like, and for a moment it's like I'm seeing myself through someone else's eyes. His hands cup my face, the pale fingers a sharp contrast against my dirty cheeks. My body is enveloped by his duster as it swirls in the wind, a flash a blonde and tan beneath pressed against his lean frame. My hand clings to his duster, embedding the crescent marks of my nails into the buttery-soft leather, because it hurts too much to stand alone. I would rather cling to this figment of my imagination then face my friends, the tattered remains of my army.
It's like a terrible nightmare, his lips pulling away from mine, breaking our bond. My traitorous mind wills my eyes to open but I'm too afraid, I can't face a world without him. He was my strength, my champion, my savior, the only person who truly knew who I was. Even now I need him by my side. I always needed him. I wish he had known that. The familiar wave of nostalgia is rising inside me, the tightness in my chest that always precedes a harsh deluge of tears. A glimmer of sunlight creeps through my half-closed lids and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I've finally lost my mind. Now I know I'm truly insane. He wasn't real, he couldn't be real. He's just a shadow, a ghost, a phantom masquerading as my love. Somehow in the midst of my delusion I forgot that I was standing in the blinding sunlight. The emotions are welling up to the point of being painful, squeezing my heart in a vice as I struggle to digest this new piece of information. Insanity's funny like that, I guess. My mind can conjure up this man to stand beside me, someone who exists only in my mind, but it can't get rid of the crushing emotions. It can't erase the constantly conflicting feelings, the overwhelming guilt; I can't move forward, I can't look back, I'm trapped in this moment where my dreams are being destroyed right in front of my face but I still refuse to face the truth.
A strangled sob fills the air and I realize that I'm the one crying, that its my voice piercing the air with a primal howl of pain. This fantasy world is sure persistent, because there's that damn voice again. Only now it's not so tender and concerned. It's rough, demanding, more balls and swagger, less gentle. "Open your eyes," it growls, the accent low and rich, so familiar it hurts to listen. A maniacal smile brightens my thin face and I know that if my eyes were open, they would be glittering with madness. I don't care that this isn't real, that vampires can't stand in the sun, that my love just burst into flames to close the Hellmouth. It's more tolerable to pretend that he's real then it is to face a world without him by my side.
My eyes snap open and there he is, a vision in black. Aged leather duster, faded jeans, scuffed combat boots, the way I always picture him. His platinum hair gleams in the sunlight, giving him the appearance of an angel, a prophet or some other celestial being. "Am I dead," I ask, hoping that some obscure deity has taken pity on our broken hearts and joined us together in eternity, ending my suffering. He chuckles, his blue eyes glittering with mirth; his laughter fits the moment, it's comforting. "No," he answers, sticking to simple words, as if my grief-stricken mind can only comprehend single-syllable thoughts.
I hate how child-like my voice sounds, how confused I am, how stupid I must appear in his eyes. I always despised looking foolish in front of him, but I continue with my questions. I want to understand what's going on, I need to know the terrifying depths of my madness, to see how far my mind will go to convince me that he is real. "Are you dead," I ask, instantly regretting the words, waiting for the inevitable sarcastic barb about him being dead for decades. There's that smile again, he's shaking his head in amusement or maybe it's in aggravation; I never could tell with him. No, it's amusement because his eyes are sparkling like sapphires, twinkling with laughter and a few unshed tears. "Not anymore," he answers, his cheekbones strikingly prominent, the corners of his mouth upturned in a sweet smile. I've never seen him smile like that before, or maybe I never wanted to see him smile like that, never wanted to think about who he was beneath all the layers of bravado and image.
The look in his eyes is so genuine and familiar, for a moment I almost think that my sweet vampire is the one crushing me against his chest. I know now that he isn't my vampire, this creature before me isn't Spike. But for an instant I could ignore the warmth of his body, the comforting rhythm echoing inside his chest, the way his platinum hair gleamed in the sunlight; for that one moment I could pretend that he's real. Turning away from his piercing gaze, I look back at what's left of my army. Teenage girls standing by the school bus, their faces wet with tears, not one of them escaped the Battle unscathed. I don't care whether they're crying because they're happy to be alive or because they're sad that so many of their sisters, fellow Slayers, are dead. Even Faith is crying, she's trying to wipe away the mess of moisture and black mascara that's dripping down her cheeks, but I can still tell. Xander and Andrew are gaping at something behind me, staring at the spot over my shoulder where Spike's face exists in the shadows of my mind.
I lock eyes with Willow and that's when it hits me. I'm not crazy, I'm not delusional, I haven't lost all grip on reality. Her face is covered with tears but I haven't seen her smile like that in years. I shake my head no, not ready to believe, and she nods yes emphatically, her red hair swinging across her face as fresh tears well up in her eyes. My own eyes are burning with tears and I laugh, little giggles of disbelief. Then I'm laughing and crying and hugging him so tightly that I'm afraid he'll break into pieces. But he's laughing too, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, our bodies fitting together perfectly as he crushes my body against his. I kiss him again; it's been years since I felt this happy, this free. I'd forgotten what it's like to smile this wide, to live in the moment because nothing else in the world was more important.
My lungs are burning, furiously protesting the lack of oxygen, screaming at me to break the kiss and take a deep gulp of air. But I can't let him go. My hands drift downward from his hair, clutching the lapels of his duster, my knuckles white with the strain. I can't loosen my grip on his coat, if I let go of him then he might vanish. I'm afraid that when I open my eyes, I won't see deep azure orbs but instead the monochromatic asphalt of the highway. I can only imagine what we look like, and for a moment it's like I'm seeing myself through someone else's eyes. His hands cup my face, the pale fingers a sharp contrast against my dirty cheeks. My body is enveloped by his duster as it swirls in the wind, a flash a blonde and tan beneath pressed against his lean frame. My hand clings to his duster, embedding the crescent marks of my nails into the buttery-soft leather, because it hurts too much to stand alone. I would rather cling to this figment of my imagination then face my friends, the tattered remains of my army.
It's like a terrible nightmare, his lips pulling away from mine, breaking our bond. My traitorous mind wills my eyes to open but I'm too afraid, I can't face a world without him. He was my strength, my champion, my savior, the only person who truly knew who I was. Even now I need him by my side. I always needed him. I wish he had known that. The familiar wave of nostalgia is rising inside me, the tightness in my chest that always precedes a harsh deluge of tears. A glimmer of sunlight creeps through my half-closed lids and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I've finally lost my mind. Now I know I'm truly insane. He wasn't real, he couldn't be real. He's just a shadow, a ghost, a phantom masquerading as my love. Somehow in the midst of my delusion I forgot that I was standing in the blinding sunlight. The emotions are welling up to the point of being painful, squeezing my heart in a vice as I struggle to digest this new piece of information. Insanity's funny like that, I guess. My mind can conjure up this man to stand beside me, someone who exists only in my mind, but it can't get rid of the crushing emotions. It can't erase the constantly conflicting feelings, the overwhelming guilt; I can't move forward, I can't look back, I'm trapped in this moment where my dreams are being destroyed right in front of my face but I still refuse to face the truth.
A strangled sob fills the air and I realize that I'm the one crying, that its my voice piercing the air with a primal howl of pain. This fantasy world is sure persistent, because there's that damn voice again. Only now it's not so tender and concerned. It's rough, demanding, more balls and swagger, less gentle. "Open your eyes," it growls, the accent low and rich, so familiar it hurts to listen. A maniacal smile brightens my thin face and I know that if my eyes were open, they would be glittering with madness. I don't care that this isn't real, that vampires can't stand in the sun, that my love just burst into flames to close the Hellmouth. It's more tolerable to pretend that he's real then it is to face a world without him by my side.
My eyes snap open and there he is, a vision in black. Aged leather duster, faded jeans, scuffed combat boots, the way I always picture him. His platinum hair gleams in the sunlight, giving him the appearance of an angel, a prophet or some other celestial being. "Am I dead," I ask, hoping that some obscure deity has taken pity on our broken hearts and joined us together in eternity, ending my suffering. He chuckles, his blue eyes glittering with mirth; his laughter fits the moment, it's comforting. "No," he answers, sticking to simple words, as if my grief-stricken mind can only comprehend single-syllable thoughts.
I hate how child-like my voice sounds, how confused I am, how stupid I must appear in his eyes. I always despised looking foolish in front of him, but I continue with my questions. I want to understand what's going on, I need to know the terrifying depths of my madness, to see how far my mind will go to convince me that he is real. "Are you dead," I ask, instantly regretting the words, waiting for the inevitable sarcastic barb about him being dead for decades. There's that smile again, he's shaking his head in amusement or maybe it's in aggravation; I never could tell with him. No, it's amusement because his eyes are sparkling like sapphires, twinkling with laughter and a few unshed tears. "Not anymore," he answers, his cheekbones strikingly prominent, the corners of his mouth upturned in a sweet smile. I've never seen him smile like that before, or maybe I never wanted to see him smile like that, never wanted to think about who he was beneath all the layers of bravado and image.
The look in his eyes is so genuine and familiar, for a moment I almost think that my sweet vampire is the one crushing me against his chest. I know now that he isn't my vampire, this creature before me isn't Spike. But for an instant I could ignore the warmth of his body, the comforting rhythm echoing inside his chest, the way his platinum hair gleamed in the sunlight; for that one moment I could pretend that he's real. Turning away from his piercing gaze, I look back at what's left of my army. Teenage girls standing by the school bus, their faces wet with tears, not one of them escaped the Battle unscathed. I don't care whether they're crying because they're happy to be alive or because they're sad that so many of their sisters, fellow Slayers, are dead. Even Faith is crying, she's trying to wipe away the mess of moisture and black mascara that's dripping down her cheeks, but I can still tell. Xander and Andrew are gaping at something behind me, staring at the spot over my shoulder where Spike's face exists in the shadows of my mind.
I lock eyes with Willow and that's when it hits me. I'm not crazy, I'm not delusional, I haven't lost all grip on reality. Her face is covered with tears but I haven't seen her smile like that in years. I shake my head no, not ready to believe, and she nods yes emphatically, her red hair swinging across her face as fresh tears well up in her eyes. My own eyes are burning with tears and I laugh, little giggles of disbelief. Then I'm laughing and crying and hugging him so tightly that I'm afraid he'll break into pieces. But he's laughing too, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, our bodies fitting together perfectly as he crushes my body against his. I kiss him again; it's been years since I felt this happy, this free. I'd forgotten what it's like to smile this wide, to live in the moment because nothing else in the world was more important.