Ash Can Reform



Author: VaRuka

Author's Note: This is a WIP. WORK IN PROGRESS! Will soon finish.
Disclaimer: I like to play with these "Barbies", and these "Dream Houses" . . . they've become a habit. They're so goddamn addictive . . .
Rating: R . . . ish? Yup.
Feedback: Do you really need to know the answer? Just, take, a, guess!
Summary: AU; Buffy's life is dangerous. Each night she waits on those L.A. corners. Waiting for anyone and everyone to be her next customer. Then she comes home to clean them all away. She can not go on like this forever. It has to change. Spike better make it change.





Unexpected consequence. That is what this all is. Being a College drop out that I am, a no job skilled woman of the now, a passed around orphan, a social reject, a taker of hands, and most of fucking all, I'm blonde. That's what has gotten me here. Standing on this corner. So cliche, I know. But as I was saying, standing on this filthy L.A. corner, flaunting almost every piece of flesh over my bones, just to pay for what I need. Oh, like my apartment.

Not that I hate my work. Fuck. I hate my work. Hate it with a passion. This is not what I had in mind when I was proudly handed my high school diploma. I was thinking along the lines of an artist. In my mind swirled images of art schools and magnificent paintings with my signature scrawled at the bottom. And of course hard earned money.

I can't really say this money isn't hard earned . . . but painting and drawing, running an art gallery, show casing at art galleries for money, seems just a little more innocent and just a tad bit less degrading. It doesn't simply seem, it is. Coming from a High School where we were all pumped up to join the big wide world and do something monumental, I feel as if I let my teachers down, myself included.

Okay, okay, I was not the best student. Missing a few classes for a little sex-fest with my latest boyfriend, causing some mischief with my big gang of friends . . . well . . . could have all been postponed till school was out. I tried, though. I truly gave my all when I was in class. Outside of class I tried to get everything. And look where that I got me. On a corner.

High School ended with a whirl wind of parties after parties. We were all celebrating our freedom, our independence. The bonds that shackled me to my foster parents (at the time, for I was always being brought back and sent to another family) were unfastened. By law I was allowed to be like an adult . . . not like I wasn't already flouncing around like one. Drinking. Swearing. Fucking. Stealing. Smoking (once or twice). Being wild.

Wild was fun. Still is.

But I have a hate for the kind of wild I have to perform for men every night. This type of wild, this job, this monstrosity and perversion of sex for money is not the kind of wild I thought my adult life would be constructed of.

Everything spiraled miles down hill after graduation. Me being me, I stupidly chose to go out with Angel. Notorious for contradicting his name. He asked for my hand. With a glance at his intense brown eyes apprehension was thrown to the sharks and I took it. Unknownly, I also threw myself to the sharks. Remember. I. Did. Not. Know. Forever, forever, forever, regret from the action will slowly nibble and chew away at my insides. Only I know of my regret. If it was ever spoken to the outside world . . . Angel will make his punishment hurt like a sharp blow to the gut.

Honestly, if it wasn't Angel, it would have been someone or something else that would have brought me here. I chalk it up to all the reasons I named in the beginning, and then some.

Damn Angel. Damn him to the darkest, scariest, hurtful place in hell. Damn his allure that yanked me to him. Damn those promises he whispered in my ear. Ultimately, damn my upbringing that built up the way I am today. Damn it all. He is the cause of all my trouble.

Alright, half is his fault.

I took his hand, he dug me ten levels deeper into the night world. The world of drugs, whores, money, blood, sex, and mistrust. Ugh.

If I didn't take that hand I wouldn't be in this position in life. So the other half is my fault. I relished acting like an adult at such a young and tender age, even if I was one legally. The problem was that I did not think like an adult. My mind did not analyze. Going with the flow looked to much better. The consequences were not grasped. They just appeared to be so, so far off in the distance.

The wind whips away the sigh of longing from my lips into the warm late Spring air. It could have been different. Why do I have to be the way that I am? Why do I make the fool hearted choices that I make? Someone should have warned me. Someone should have promptly explained the road I was following and how it would not result in my liking. Yeah, that someone should have been me.

Now night after night, I stand on these unholy corners. Other women . . . like me . . . doing the same exact thing near or right beside me. Cars rolling up with passengers that, in any other situation, I would give them the finger and stroll proudly away. I am so ashamed. And that my friends, is the understatement of the year. If only I could escape this way of life. Scrap up my pieces from the dirty gutter and move on with my head held confidently high.

Sometimes I dream about the alternate path I should have made myself take. Those dreams leave me crying. Leave me not wanting to go to work that late night. Leave me weak from wishing. Leave me with the hard reality slamming down on me about my life. This is what my sweat drenched nights are filled. Dreams. Horrible dreams of the "if only" types. Even when I have a customer pounding like the horny man he is, those dreams still occur. Even with closed eyes or opened eyes, those dreams still occur.

My apartment is nice and spacious. My roommate, Willow, is the closest thing to a best friend I have since High School. She's a bonafide freelance hacker. Retrieving secrets, codes, information, and whatever else you could get through a computer is her specialty. A great friend to have. A great person to hold you in the wee hours of the morning when you come rushing home with some man's cum dripping down from your thighs and you don't even know his name. Gotta love, red headed Willow.

Other than Willow there is Xander. He comes in handy as a close friend. Always there to stick up for me in front of Angel and anyone else that challenges me. That's good ol' Xander. There when you need him. A strong shoulder to weep upon. A witty retort to fling right back at you. A second in command for non other than my pimp Angel! I visible cringe. One of my best friends works for the person I hate with a consuming passion. Isn't that just grand?

Wait. It gets worse.

Half my money I make goes to Angel. So all the money I make night after night gets chopped in half, and flung back at me.

Wait. It gets a shit load worse.

If I ever ran away from this life. Ran so far away with no looking back. Fled far from this city. It would never be far enough. Angel would sniff me out like the dog he is. Direct his underground army in legions to find his favorite and most precious whore. For Angel loves me. He would be broken and bursting with tears if I was ever to be out of his clutches. Angel's love may be twisted, warped, and fucked up past the tenth degree, but it is still a type of love. And because he is so smitten with me, he would do whatever was available to him to retrieve me. That is just hurl worthy.

He owns me.

From my cascading waterfall of straight blond hair, brilliant hazel eyes, pouty pink lips, and well, the whole tanned package. I never believed another person could own another person, but Angel has made me start to believe.

It is so beyond sick. And horribly degrading. He gives new meaning to dirty bastard. This whole situation is horribly unchecked. No one has dared to put Angel in his place. They hate. They discriminate. But they do not take a stand to stop Angel. To cancel him out of the whole equation. Yes, he does have loyal people around him. Some. Only some. Just kill those off with him and the rest of the world will be so much better. He won't own me. He won't own the other girls. He will be gone. No more damage he could perform to our already battered self images, lives, and bodies. The end. Over.

I would hop onto the nearest train to China. Get my ass out of Dixie. Restart my life and pursue the ability to stand on my own two feet again. But not until Angel is dead. Not until then. I am to scared. I know he would discover me if I left now. He would discover me, yank me back, and make me pay for leaving his lovely side. That would not be pleasant. It would make this life look like a multiple orgasm. That's oooooookay. I'll bide my time. Seek comfort from my friends. Hold my feelings aloft. Wear the facade of Angel's best whore.

A car lazily rolls up. The window slides down. The unknown man of the night smiles. Time to work, Buffy.