b
by fracturedheart
disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and Joss Whedon. None belongs to me. summary: Dawn says she's sorry.
She says she's sorry.
She says she's sorry she's not a potential, a slayer, or something special. She's sorry she's not even human. Just a ball of energy, floating around, in a human case. What does that make her? She thinks. She touches the grave, traces the letters with the tips of her fingers, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the hellmouth would swallow her up and she'd be forgotten. Forgotten. She was forgotten already. Did Xander, Willow, or Buffy know? Did they know anything? Did they know what she was feeling when she found out?
She says she's sorry about what she isn't. What she could've been. She's sorry about her existence. The scars left on everyone, from that night. She was supposed to die, to jump into the energy, and make it all stop. But it wasn't like that. She's sorry that Buffy jumped instead of her. God, she wished that. But wishes aren't supposed to come true. Buffy jumped and left her alone, alone with nothing. She knows that it's all her fault. They don't blame anyone, except her. There are no words of anger, no frustrated actions directed towards her. It's the uneasy stares; the disappointed looks that do it. The silence. They make her want to kill herself. She's tried once. Or was that twice? She held the knife against her throat, gripped it so tight that her knuckles turned white. Then she dropped it. The cool, moist feeling of the silver blade, mixed with her sweat, being too much for her.
She's only cried once. When she found out that she wasn't real. Not even when she knew that Buffy was fucking Spike. Could she feel? Or did humans only feel? Did it matter to them, Buffy and Spike? She thinks Buffy's given up on life. Maybe she has.
All she can do is wait. She's sorry.
by fracturedheart
disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and Joss Whedon. None belongs to me. summary: Dawn says she's sorry.
She says she's sorry.
She says she's sorry she's not a potential, a slayer, or something special. She's sorry she's not even human. Just a ball of energy, floating around, in a human case. What does that make her? She thinks. She touches the grave, traces the letters with the tips of her fingers, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the hellmouth would swallow her up and she'd be forgotten. Forgotten. She was forgotten already. Did Xander, Willow, or Buffy know? Did they know anything? Did they know what she was feeling when she found out?
She says she's sorry about what she isn't. What she could've been. She's sorry about her existence. The scars left on everyone, from that night. She was supposed to die, to jump into the energy, and make it all stop. But it wasn't like that. She's sorry that Buffy jumped instead of her. God, she wished that. But wishes aren't supposed to come true. Buffy jumped and left her alone, alone with nothing. She knows that it's all her fault. They don't blame anyone, except her. There are no words of anger, no frustrated actions directed towards her. It's the uneasy stares; the disappointed looks that do it. The silence. They make her want to kill herself. She's tried once. Or was that twice? She held the knife against her throat, gripped it so tight that her knuckles turned white. Then she dropped it. The cool, moist feeling of the silver blade, mixed with her sweat, being too much for her.
She's only cried once. When she found out that she wasn't real. Not even when she knew that Buffy was fucking Spike. Could she feel? Or did humans only feel? Did it matter to them, Buffy and Spike? She thinks Buffy's given up on life. Maybe she has.
All she can do is wait. She's sorry.