Water dripped down Xander's torso as he slowly stood up. Grabbing the nearest pair of sweatpants from the dirty clothes hamper, he pulled them on without drying off. Somehow the apartment suddenly felt too small, the rooms suffocating him; he hurriedly left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. Dizziness overwhelmed him and Xander fought back the urge to sink into the floor. Eyes closed, knuckles turning white from gripping the counter, he took a couple of shaky breaths and opened a drawer. Above the rattling of silverware he heard the clicking noise that had now surpassed mild annoyance to become wearisome. Shutting his eyes tightly he waited.
"Just what do you think you're doing? Freaking me out, splashing everywhere. It's not like that accomplishes anything. And now the bathroom is all wet." The last part ended on an amused whine.
Perfect. My annoying inner voices now have annoying tones to use. Xander reached into the drawer and grabbed a steak knife. Silver flashed in the sparse lighting coming in through the window from the nearby street lamp. He looked into it, really looked, as if it held all the answers.
The amusement quickly left and a frantic edge tinted the voice, "What the hell are you doing with a knife? Dude, it's just water. It doesn't mean anything."
Making his way to the stove, he leaned over and grabbed a box of matches. He set the knife on the grill and slowly opened the box. It wasn't that he couldn't actually feel the cold that was bothering him, no that was just a new fun Xander quirk. But it was another thing he wasn't able to control. Something else to separate him from his friends. If you can't share pain-
"I don't really see how this can be considered a good thing. . ." the voice trailed off as Xander turned on the stove, and a second later lit a match. "Really, now, what are you trying to prove?"
A blue flame engulfed the blade of the knife. It wasn't just separating him from his friends either. The same thing linked all his childhood memories. To take that away. . .What was he if he couldn't control his own body's reaction?
"It's not as if you are hurting anyone. You're just tired. "
Xander grabbed the handle of the knife, suspending it above the small fire. Glancing down, he took in how he was dressed. The gray sweatpants were clinging to the dampness on his legs, not providing any comfort or warmth. Or he assumed they weren't providing warmth.
"Isn't that all that matters? It's just a freak occurrence."
If that was all it was, a spot where God forgot to turn on his sensory nerves, then shouldn't he feel something right now? The hardness of the counter, the itch from drying cotton, something other than numb? All he could think was, How deep does it go? Sci-fi plotlines came out of nowhere, each trying to justify what was going on, each suggesting a different thing he now was or a new ability he now possessed. A faint sizzle sounded and he peered into the utensil, seeking out his reflection amid the blackened crust from previous meals that had not been thoroughly cleaned off. A curl of smoke lifted off the knife and swirled above his head.
Still holding it above the flame of the gas stove, Xander brought the knife fractionally closer to his body. A thought crossed his mind, and he tilted his head, experimentally exposing his throat. I wonder if my neck--his mind shut down that train of thought, hands shook violently at what he was contemplating doing for just even a second, and who thinks of things like vampire bites and scars and ripping body parts open at times like this? The hand that clutched the knife moved of its own volition, bringing the reflective surface back into view and he caught a glimpse of an eye. He cleared his throat. "Who are you?"
The voice, startled by the sudden sound reflexively stuttered out, "Well. . . I'm you." Pause. "I'm you," it repeated, in a calm, reassuring tone that produced neither of those reactions in Xander.
Swallowing heavily, he licked his lips, "Then this is going to hurt like a bitch." Before the last word had completely left his mouth, he pressed the broad side of the knife hard into his forearm searing the skin. Squinting his eyes shut, Xander took a couple of deep breaths before chancing a look downwards. Smoke. Coming from his skin. His very badly burnt skin.
Suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in his throat, he quickly pulled the knife away and winced at the sound of ripping skin as it was torn from the blade. He gave in to his earlier urge and sunk to the floor, staring at the wound on his arm.
"Wasn't that fun? I'm so glad that I'm marooned in a body that cannot control the urge to hurt itself."
Nausea rose up once more, a horrific smell of scalded flesh filled the apartment. He couldn't tear his eyes from the mark. Skin rose up and blistered, becoming angry shades of red and yellow. His stomach turned. "Who are you?"
The voice repeated, "I am you."
Xander seemed to gain some of his earlier energy, "Don't lie to me! You're something else! You can't be me! I'm not even sure if I'm still. . ." Human. "here." The sentence faded away into a despairing whisper.
There was a small pause. "I won't let you hurt yourself, Xander. You are obviously not able to curb your impulses."
Xander's eyebrows rose, "Just what do you plan to do about it? You seem to forget that you are trapped in my head." He suddenly felt completely drained and if he could just go back to bed, the injury would be taken care of tomorrow. Various thoughts flew through his head. Not like it was serious. Didn't people burn other wounds to prevent infection? Leprosy. I could have leprosy, the idea came unbidden into his mind. Lepers don't feel pain.
"Wrong." Though to what the voice was replying to, Xander had no idea. Continuing on quickly, "You haven't turned off the stove." He got up and reached over the burner, not bothering or not caring to move the knife and turned to go back to bed.
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Author's Note: It wasn't supposed to take three weeks to update, I swear! See, I kinda got distracted by my. . . um, my laziness. So, sorry about that. As always, thanks for the feedback.