All Together, One After Another
by Nyohah
4
If All the World Were Paper
"each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater,
forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his subject."
This is all her fault. This whole bloody great mess, and every last bit of it, her fault.
Her, with her stupid sundresses, and her leather coats, and her shoes. High-heeled. You know, for running in.
It almost makes me sick. Sick to see her prance around the graveyards every night—well, I wish it did, anyway. And isn't that the whole problem to begin with? That it doesn't make me sick?
Wait, scratch that. Problem is, it makes her sick. Thinks she's too good for me, just because she's the Slayer. All high-and-mighty with her stakes and her righteous battles.
And look at her now, blonde hair falling over hoop earrings as big as the shackles on her wrists. Got yourself into a right bit of trouble now, haven't you, love?
Think you're so good when you're chained helpless to the wall, do you? Think you're so much better than me and that if I just fizzled away into nothing someday that no one would care.
Well, guess what? Drusilla came back for me. Things just weren't the same without me—not worthless to her, now, am I? She came back for me, and we were ready to take this town. Dancing in the Bronze and picking out our prey like we had never been apart. Like nothing had changed.
But things have changed. I have changed.
And it's all her fault.
That's right; you think I wanted this to happen? You think I woke up one morning and said, "Kinda bored today. Think I'll fall in love with the bane of my existence." No, that's just my curse, isn't it? Always has been, hasn't it?
And here I am, all different inside because she's wormed her way into every bit of me, and she can't even see her own reflection. Still thinks I'm just an evil, soulless thing who's too pathetic to put down.
And I'm that evil, soulless thing because of Dru. It's a right daft thing to think because if she hadn't made me evil in the first place, I wouldn't even be here to be evil. I wouldn't have ever met the Slayer. But even that would be better, wouldn't it? If Dru hadn't—
Eh, no. It wouldn't any better. But it is her fault. Her fault for leaving me. If she hadn't left me in Brazil, nothing on this earth would have dragged me back to Sunnydale. I'd be with her, and it would be like before, because I wouldn't be any different. I wouldn't have been forced away from her. Wouldn't have woken up one day with the Slayer in my dreams.
Dru's familiar, just like always, and it ought to be just like always, but there's bits of her just don't fit. Darla's got her dressed up in the essence of modernity, and Angel's got her scarred. She'll heal up soon enough, on her own, and clothes can be changed, and I do wish it was just that. There's something on the inside. We jar when we ought to mesh.
It's not her, though, is it? It's me. It's all me. And it's all because of the Slayer.
I'd give anything I've got to go with Drusilla and go to L.A.—God forbid—or wherever it was she fancied.
But I can't. She may have come back for me, but she'll never keep me now. I could never go with her now. She used to be everything, and now she's as much as worthless to me. And it's all because I'm in love with the Slayer.
And it's all her fault.
