Stumble Into Grace-Chapter Two
-Buffy-
I'm tired. I walk through the seedy alleys and streets of Cleveland and I'm tired. Giles has tried to convince me to give up the slaying and let the girls handle it. I've told him I would. I don't. If I go to long without slaying I feel itchy, edgy. The way most people feel after one to many mochas. So I slay. I don't even get that adrenaline high I used to. There's no joy in slaying. Hell who am I kidding, there's no joy in life.
I'm 29 years old and I feel like I'm 90. Willow had to explain to the slayers at one point that I'm a hardened bitch and I don't really mean to be. She didn't use those words of course. She probably said cranky or distracted. I'm neither, I'm a hardened bitch, I totally mean to be or maybe I just don't care and the sad thing is if any of these girls live long enough, they will be too. There's only so much death a person can take. Only so many people a person can loose. I've heard the same thing happens to homicide detectives sometimes. Maybe there's a support group. Of course I can't actually walk in there and tell anyone about the vampires and demons I kill. Those things don't exist, don't you know.
If I were a different person, stronger or weaker or something more, I'd kill myself. I'd be done with this life and all the shit that it brings. I know there's a Heaven but I don't think there's a Hell. Hell is here and the devil, he's everywhere. That doesn't mean I don't think about the ways I'd do it. When I was younger, I thought pills. It's a nice peaceful way to go. Now I know my life can't end in peace. It's got to end in violence with lots and lots of blood. Isn't there some kind of saying about dying the way you lived? Maybe I made that one up, I'm not really sure. I'm not going to end my own life though, that's the real point and I'm sure as hell not going to let some demon end my life. So for now I keep fighting. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll have a brain tumor like Mom. Sometimes those things are genetic, aren't they?
I push open the door to my apartment and send out my spidey senses. No sign of Spike. That's good. I can't deal with him tonight. I don't know why I keep Spike around. Actually, yes I do. I keep Spike around because he's convenient. Spike is sort of good to me, most of the time. He knows I'm using him and he doesn't care. I think using is what passes for love with Spike. That's okay because it's what passes for love with me now. Spike doesn't say I love you. He doesn't make promises he can't keep. He doesn't do what's noble and right for me. He doesn't break my heart into a zillion pieces and then leave. The sex is good. He always gets up and leaves when I tell him too. Hell he doesn't even ask if he can stay the night anymore. He knows I won't let him. He stays in a nice little apartment just down the street. He's here when I want him and he's gone when I don't. He gets the slayer thing. He's turned on by the slayer thing. And if Spike gets staked tomorrow, I'm okay. I'll miss him but I won't get my heart broken. I won't cry, I won't forget to breathe. I'll just miss him. I'll miss the sex, his brutal honesty and the fact that I don't have to play the game with him.
See there's this game I play with Giles, Willow, Dawn and Xander. It goes something like this. I wake up, I go to work. I pretend to be interested in the other slayers, in the current apocalypse and in my friends. I pretend to be in love with Spike and that I like my somewhat normal life. Sounds like fun, I know. It sucks beyond the telling. I don't have to play any of those things with Spike. I just am. He accepts it. Acceptance is hard to come by. I mean everyone says they accept this or that or whatever, but true acceptance, doesn't happen every day.
I take a steaming hot shower to wash away the vamp dust and demon blood. It crawls inside of you, the dirt, the blood, the darkness. I scrub until my skin is raw. I can't wash it away. I'll never be able to wash it all away.
I pull back the sterile white sheets on my bed and slip between them. I close my eyes. Cool, like sheets on a warm night. My eyes snap open. I don't want to snuggle up in that coolness. It's too familiar and to heart breaking. I turn on the electric mattress pad and set it a low heat. Soon the bed is warm, to warm for the night. It doesn't matter. I can't abide the coolness.
-Buffy-
I'm tired. I walk through the seedy alleys and streets of Cleveland and I'm tired. Giles has tried to convince me to give up the slaying and let the girls handle it. I've told him I would. I don't. If I go to long without slaying I feel itchy, edgy. The way most people feel after one to many mochas. So I slay. I don't even get that adrenaline high I used to. There's no joy in slaying. Hell who am I kidding, there's no joy in life.
I'm 29 years old and I feel like I'm 90. Willow had to explain to the slayers at one point that I'm a hardened bitch and I don't really mean to be. She didn't use those words of course. She probably said cranky or distracted. I'm neither, I'm a hardened bitch, I totally mean to be or maybe I just don't care and the sad thing is if any of these girls live long enough, they will be too. There's only so much death a person can take. Only so many people a person can loose. I've heard the same thing happens to homicide detectives sometimes. Maybe there's a support group. Of course I can't actually walk in there and tell anyone about the vampires and demons I kill. Those things don't exist, don't you know.
If I were a different person, stronger or weaker or something more, I'd kill myself. I'd be done with this life and all the shit that it brings. I know there's a Heaven but I don't think there's a Hell. Hell is here and the devil, he's everywhere. That doesn't mean I don't think about the ways I'd do it. When I was younger, I thought pills. It's a nice peaceful way to go. Now I know my life can't end in peace. It's got to end in violence with lots and lots of blood. Isn't there some kind of saying about dying the way you lived? Maybe I made that one up, I'm not really sure. I'm not going to end my own life though, that's the real point and I'm sure as hell not going to let some demon end my life. So for now I keep fighting. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll have a brain tumor like Mom. Sometimes those things are genetic, aren't they?
I push open the door to my apartment and send out my spidey senses. No sign of Spike. That's good. I can't deal with him tonight. I don't know why I keep Spike around. Actually, yes I do. I keep Spike around because he's convenient. Spike is sort of good to me, most of the time. He knows I'm using him and he doesn't care. I think using is what passes for love with Spike. That's okay because it's what passes for love with me now. Spike doesn't say I love you. He doesn't make promises he can't keep. He doesn't do what's noble and right for me. He doesn't break my heart into a zillion pieces and then leave. The sex is good. He always gets up and leaves when I tell him too. Hell he doesn't even ask if he can stay the night anymore. He knows I won't let him. He stays in a nice little apartment just down the street. He's here when I want him and he's gone when I don't. He gets the slayer thing. He's turned on by the slayer thing. And if Spike gets staked tomorrow, I'm okay. I'll miss him but I won't get my heart broken. I won't cry, I won't forget to breathe. I'll just miss him. I'll miss the sex, his brutal honesty and the fact that I don't have to play the game with him.
See there's this game I play with Giles, Willow, Dawn and Xander. It goes something like this. I wake up, I go to work. I pretend to be interested in the other slayers, in the current apocalypse and in my friends. I pretend to be in love with Spike and that I like my somewhat normal life. Sounds like fun, I know. It sucks beyond the telling. I don't have to play any of those things with Spike. I just am. He accepts it. Acceptance is hard to come by. I mean everyone says they accept this or that or whatever, but true acceptance, doesn't happen every day.
I take a steaming hot shower to wash away the vamp dust and demon blood. It crawls inside of you, the dirt, the blood, the darkness. I scrub until my skin is raw. I can't wash it away. I'll never be able to wash it all away.
I pull back the sterile white sheets on my bed and slip between them. I close my eyes. Cool, like sheets on a warm night. My eyes snap open. I don't want to snuggle up in that coolness. It's too familiar and to heart breaking. I turn on the electric mattress pad and set it a low heat. Soon the bed is warm, to warm for the night. It doesn't matter. I can't abide the coolness.