Chapter Six
Sunnydale: February, 1998
He was stalking her. Willow felt his presence everywhere she went. At school his face lingered behind her eyes; during research session at the library he stood in the stacks; when Buffy walked her home each night he trailed them in the shadows; at night, when she lay down to sleep, he stood on her balcony. Watching. Always watching her and studying her. His eyes gaze felt like fire against her skin and her cheeks blushed each time it settled upon her. But she never saw him, only felt him. He was always cautious to keep to the shadows and it was slow torture to know how close he was and being unable to see him.
It was wrong, Willow knew. He was the enemy and she should despise him and fear him, but she didn't. She craved the twisted obsession he had found in her; craved the feel of his eyes against her flesh; craved the lust he had for her. Why? Because Willow had never known what it was like to be truly desired – Xander had rejected her for Cordelia and Oz didn't hold that passion for her. Her friends, as usual, paid little attention to Willow, each too busy with their own lives to notice the slight redhead slipping away from them.
Xander and Cordelia were wrapped up only in each other; Oz was focused on the band; Giles slaved over books trying to find a soul restoration spell; Buffy was lost in her own grief. Willow was truly and utterly along.
Until he finally came to her.
"Silly girl," he spoke from her balcony. "You know better then to leave your door open. There are dangerous things in the night."
Looking up from the book she was reading Willow starred at him for a moment. He stood just outside the doorframe, dressed in black, his porcelain skin clashing against the black night. "There's no barrier," she finally spoke. "Nothing to keep you from coming inside, Angelus."
Cocking his head to the side Angelus grinned, stepping over the threshold and into Willow's room. "Why didn't you un-invite me, Willow?"
Shrugging, the redhead set her book on her nightstand and responded, "Because I didn't want to."
Moving with perfect grace Angelus stood at the end of Willow's bed, his eyes never leaving hers. Tsking, he said, "That wasn't smart, Willow."
"Why not?" She asked bluntly, watching Angelus flinched, obviously taken aback by her forwardness.
"I'm dangerous," he answered arrogantly.
Willow grinned slightly. "I know what you are, Angelus. You're a hunter and I'm your prey. Though," she added leaning closer to him, "you disappoint me."
"How is that?"
"You're stealth," she noted. "It sucks."
Again, Angelus looked taken aback by her response and, Willow guessed, he was not much accustomed to be surprised by others. "Oh, Willow. You're truly intoxicating," he whispered, caressing Willow's cheek. "It's such a pity that they don't see you as I do. Your fire and your pain. Your innocence and your strength. I craved you the moment I set eyes upon you, my sweet redhead. I still crave you."
It was then, that night, it all begin. Angelus' seduction of Willow and her own surrendering to it. His toying with Buffy and her own self-loathing for not having the strength to destroy him. Angelus thrived on the pain he caused the Slayer and the wedge he had placed between her and Willow. She belonged to Angelus, he had made his claim clear, and as hard as she tried Willow couldn't let him go. He was the enemy and he was manipulative and sadistic but only he lavished Willow with the attention and affection she had always desired.
"You okay Wills?" Buffy asked absentmindedly.
For weeks Willow had been pushed further and further into the background by her friends. Ignored unless she was needed – when they wanted to go to the Bronze Willow was slammed with research, alone; when they needed a document from a secured database they forced her in front of the computer and demanded she cracked the system; when they had homework that needed to be finished they tossed it down in front of her, mumbling a thanks as they turned and walked away.
Willow was tired of it.
"No," she responded to Buffy. "I think I'm sprouting a second head."
"Uh-huh. Well, that's nice."
Pushing herself to her feet and knocking her chair to the floor Willow shouted, "God, that's it." Buffy and the others looked at her in shock. "I'm tired of being everyone's doormat. I'm tried of being ignored except when you need someone to dump all your crap on. What exactly am I to you guys? A handy researcher? A speedy hacker? A nice-punching bag? I sure as hell can't be a friend since you only notice me when you need something." No one answered the enraged redhead. "That's what I thought." Collecting her things Willow towards the library doors. "All I want to know is why? Why did I start meaning less to you?"
In her room that night Willow cried out all her anger and regret and grief. She Cried for hours, until she had no tears left to she and could do nothing but lie and stare up at the ceiling. They had abandoned her and she felt empty.
"What the hell have they done to you?"
She didn't move as Angelus sat beside her, gently caressing her cheek. "Nothing. They did absolutely nothing and that's what hurts so much."
"You're better then them."
Tears started to flow from her eyes again and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "Am I? Or are they better then me?"
Gripping her chin roughly, eliciting a gasp of pain from her, Angelus forced Willow's eyes to meet his. "Don't you even talk like that again, understood?" Willow nodded mutely. "They ignore you and use you Willow and you still stand at their side while they never so much as flinch to leave you standing alone. I've seen them, Willow. Seen the way they treat you and the way you never fight back. Does it make them stronger to gang up on you, who are so often defenseless against them? Or does it make them weaker?"
