Angel had heard enough. The bartender, who had watched, fascinated, as the man closed his eyes and clenched his fists until his nails scratched his skin and his palms ran with blood (his blood? maybe hers. sometimes he wondered if her blood still ran through his veins, and he meditated and tried to find it, tried to find where she was in him that he could never let go, that his heart broke every day when he woke up from his dreams. he could always taste her copper-tangy blood in his mouth)
and he rose, he had to rise, he had to go to her, she was his and he belonged to her, would always belong to her, and no cruel ex-boyfriend or angry ex-Watcher with words like torches would set fire to his dreams,
"She's moved on, Angel, she's happy and normal and doing what you left her to do."
would stop him from talking what was his and what he loved.
Angel was walking then, and then he was jogging and then he sprinted out of the dark bar and into the night with the stars winking at him and he was at his car and jumping over the side and Angel fumbled with the key and dropped them to the soft carpet of his car, only it wasn't soft anymore, not soft like her vanilla skin- Buffy's vanilla skin- he allowed himself to think her name and then it wasn't enough to think it, he had to say it, had to feel it on his lips until he could taste the salt on her skin.
And then he drove in a delirious frenzy, because he was doing the bad thing, he was giving in to the temptation, and this huge weight slid from his chest, he was euphoric, he was drunk, he was smiling so huge and so hard that he didn't think anyone would recognize his normally austere face.
and he rose, he had to rise, he had to go to her, she was his and he belonged to her, would always belong to her, and no cruel ex-boyfriend or angry ex-Watcher with words like torches would set fire to his dreams,
"She's moved on, Angel, she's happy and normal and doing what you left her to do."
would stop him from talking what was his and what he loved.
Angel was walking then, and then he was jogging and then he sprinted out of the dark bar and into the night with the stars winking at him and he was at his car and jumping over the side and Angel fumbled with the key and dropped them to the soft carpet of his car, only it wasn't soft anymore, not soft like her vanilla skin- Buffy's vanilla skin- he allowed himself to think her name and then it wasn't enough to think it, he had to say it, had to feel it on his lips until he could taste the salt on her skin.
And then he drove in a delirious frenzy, because he was doing the bad thing, he was giving in to the temptation, and this huge weight slid from his chest, he was euphoric, he was drunk, he was smiling so huge and so hard that he didn't think anyone would recognize his normally austere face.
