He'd always thought it would be cold. It figured, in the course of a
lifetime every bad thing turned out cold. From the very first vampire he
saw, from the first he felt, it was always cold. Or maybe he had bad
circulation. Or that he's lying on the floor in his kitchen. The cold,
tile floor. He sat up. Enough of this.
Dragging his body upright, he eventually gave up and slumped against the cabinets. Whatever, it doesn't matter, he was just mad and upset and all those other angry words that described his pathetic life. Every attempt at warmth had been shot down, and he knows. He just knows that he deserves this, that he doesn't get to have warmth. It's not for him; it's not for his life. He is a person surrounded by ice. A glacier even. A glacier in a snowstorm in the middle of the fucking North Pole. He shivered.
Sometimes he wishes that he didn't have the craving for warmth. It would make everything so much easier than this. He never claimed to have a pleasant home life. In fact everything was so less than pleasant that he would have laughed had he not realized how depraved laughing actually was. And damnit, no matter how much he tried not to, no matter what he did to cut himself off, he couldn't stop loving.
It seems that all he's good for is unrequited love of all types. Keeps getting harder, every time he gives his heart to someone he can literally feel them throw it back in his face, or throw it to the ground and light it on fire, or any other myriad of painful hurting things that you can do to someone who will forgive you because they have no choice in the matter. He has no choice. He has to love.
Because that's all he has. And he's come to accept that getting close to someone is going to hurt. There isn't a way around it, he likes you, you hurt him and sometimes he gets hurt in the process of liking you. Not one person he has known has ever controlled themselves from their own cravings and faults, not that he can blame them. Buffy, Cordelia, Willow, Faith, Anya.names of the girls he wanted to understand and love. Even if all they can do is rip out his heart quite literally but no, he can handle being hurt. He was about bred for it.
"Xander, my boy, you are lucky you are so tough. Us Harris's are made tough. You'll thank me for this one day when you're not such a pissant little kid."
Oh yeah. Bred for it. And he understands that too. He gets why his dad was such a bastard. It's actually a blessing. Whatever doesn't kill you hurts like hell for a couple of days and makes you stronger. He can't imagine his life without him, and if he could change anything his dad would be the last on the list. Survival skills are needed for today. And plus, dear old dad taught him a quick way to warmth even if it was false. Nothing a bottle of Jim Beam can't cure.
Still that fades away after awhile, and all he really wants is someone to understand enough to realize he can't like them and be willing to wrap around him like a human scarf. He thought about whores or a random stranger, because then love wouldn't factor in and they wouldn't be cold. Warmth can only come from an outsider. Friends hurt the worst. Family hurts the worst. But Willow.
Well Willow doesn't realize how badly she hurt him. He thought that all he had to do was show up and say, "Watcha doin'?" And she would realize she was being an idiot and a moron for shooting stupid green bolts everywhere and trying to kill everyone. She's logical! She could figure it out! But no, he had to feel her hurt him like he always knew she would. Only he thought the demon magnet spell would be the big hurt he had to endure. Guessed wrong. Should've figured. He thanks God everyday for his dad's treatment, because otherwise he would have collapsed from the despair of Willow hurting him so badly.
They only hurt you because they want to make sure you know your place.
None of that matters now, though, as he gulps down another drink. He didn't realize how deep the bottle went. He was feeling so warm for a little while, erasing the memories of the disaster with Faith, the wrenching guilt of Anya, his failure to keep Buffy safe, and how sad Willow is going to be when she realizes what she did. He hopes that they can forgive him for loving them. They don't deserve this kind of love. He's so cold and so hollow and so drunk now. Those little green bolts aren't so funny when you can feel them inside you gnawing at your gut and pounding behind your eyes. Because every little thing they've done, every little remotely bad thing directed towards him is flashing before his eyes. Looking around the room that is starting to be tinged red, he can't quite stifle the sinister chuckle that's threatening to bubble out of his throat and it comes out as a choked sob.
He was human. But it's so cold now. All he wanted was heat. Even that is too far for him to reach.
Willow hurt him.
They hurt him.
He should hurt them back. Shakes off those thoughts, and stumbles to the bathroom. He leans over the sink and turns on the hot water. Feeling the steam start to rise he raises his head to glance in the mirror. Slightly too long dark hair matted to his face. "Need a haircut," he notes. Doesn't flinch when he notices his eyes go from deep brown to a bright green to that awful vampire gold color to a dark red and finally into black. The image in the mirror flickers and he's not looking at himself anymore, it's someone else he can't place.dark hair and mas--no definitely feminine and now it's blonde. Buffy?
He can see his eyes return to their normal color and starts as a voice invades his mind,
"Yes. You will do nicely."
Dragging his body upright, he eventually gave up and slumped against the cabinets. Whatever, it doesn't matter, he was just mad and upset and all those other angry words that described his pathetic life. Every attempt at warmth had been shot down, and he knows. He just knows that he deserves this, that he doesn't get to have warmth. It's not for him; it's not for his life. He is a person surrounded by ice. A glacier even. A glacier in a snowstorm in the middle of the fucking North Pole. He shivered.
Sometimes he wishes that he didn't have the craving for warmth. It would make everything so much easier than this. He never claimed to have a pleasant home life. In fact everything was so less than pleasant that he would have laughed had he not realized how depraved laughing actually was. And damnit, no matter how much he tried not to, no matter what he did to cut himself off, he couldn't stop loving.
It seems that all he's good for is unrequited love of all types. Keeps getting harder, every time he gives his heart to someone he can literally feel them throw it back in his face, or throw it to the ground and light it on fire, or any other myriad of painful hurting things that you can do to someone who will forgive you because they have no choice in the matter. He has no choice. He has to love.
Because that's all he has. And he's come to accept that getting close to someone is going to hurt. There isn't a way around it, he likes you, you hurt him and sometimes he gets hurt in the process of liking you. Not one person he has known has ever controlled themselves from their own cravings and faults, not that he can blame them. Buffy, Cordelia, Willow, Faith, Anya.names of the girls he wanted to understand and love. Even if all they can do is rip out his heart quite literally but no, he can handle being hurt. He was about bred for it.
"Xander, my boy, you are lucky you are so tough. Us Harris's are made tough. You'll thank me for this one day when you're not such a pissant little kid."
Oh yeah. Bred for it. And he understands that too. He gets why his dad was such a bastard. It's actually a blessing. Whatever doesn't kill you hurts like hell for a couple of days and makes you stronger. He can't imagine his life without him, and if he could change anything his dad would be the last on the list. Survival skills are needed for today. And plus, dear old dad taught him a quick way to warmth even if it was false. Nothing a bottle of Jim Beam can't cure.
Still that fades away after awhile, and all he really wants is someone to understand enough to realize he can't like them and be willing to wrap around him like a human scarf. He thought about whores or a random stranger, because then love wouldn't factor in and they wouldn't be cold. Warmth can only come from an outsider. Friends hurt the worst. Family hurts the worst. But Willow.
Well Willow doesn't realize how badly she hurt him. He thought that all he had to do was show up and say, "Watcha doin'?" And she would realize she was being an idiot and a moron for shooting stupid green bolts everywhere and trying to kill everyone. She's logical! She could figure it out! But no, he had to feel her hurt him like he always knew she would. Only he thought the demon magnet spell would be the big hurt he had to endure. Guessed wrong. Should've figured. He thanks God everyday for his dad's treatment, because otherwise he would have collapsed from the despair of Willow hurting him so badly.
They only hurt you because they want to make sure you know your place.
None of that matters now, though, as he gulps down another drink. He didn't realize how deep the bottle went. He was feeling so warm for a little while, erasing the memories of the disaster with Faith, the wrenching guilt of Anya, his failure to keep Buffy safe, and how sad Willow is going to be when she realizes what she did. He hopes that they can forgive him for loving them. They don't deserve this kind of love. He's so cold and so hollow and so drunk now. Those little green bolts aren't so funny when you can feel them inside you gnawing at your gut and pounding behind your eyes. Because every little thing they've done, every little remotely bad thing directed towards him is flashing before his eyes. Looking around the room that is starting to be tinged red, he can't quite stifle the sinister chuckle that's threatening to bubble out of his throat and it comes out as a choked sob.
He was human. But it's so cold now. All he wanted was heat. Even that is too far for him to reach.
Willow hurt him.
They hurt him.
He should hurt them back. Shakes off those thoughts, and stumbles to the bathroom. He leans over the sink and turns on the hot water. Feeling the steam start to rise he raises his head to glance in the mirror. Slightly too long dark hair matted to his face. "Need a haircut," he notes. Doesn't flinch when he notices his eyes go from deep brown to a bright green to that awful vampire gold color to a dark red and finally into black. The image in the mirror flickers and he's not looking at himself anymore, it's someone else he can't place.dark hair and mas--no definitely feminine and now it's blonde. Buffy?
He can see his eyes return to their normal color and starts as a voice invades his mind,
"Yes. You will do nicely."