Willow Rosenberg was pissed off.
She stood at the window of her bedroom, parting the blinds to look out at the sky and the half-crescent moon that was just beginning to form. Looking at the moon, in any of its stages, usually made her feel closer to Oz, somehow. He was linked so intrinsically to the lunar cycle, and that in turn made her feel comforted when he wasn't with her. All she'd have to do is look out and see that silvery glow, and she'd be reassured that he was somewhere under the same moon.
Looking at the moon tonight, she had never felt further away from him.
No one would have thought that sweet, sensible Willow Rosenberg would cheat on her equally as sweet and cool boyfriend with someone else, especially not with doesn't-even-know-where-his-own-head-is Xander Harris. But she had.
It had been just over a week since the 'accident'. That being when she had given in to temptation when she swore to herself she never would again and kissed Xander on a bed in a deserted factory and then got caught by their respective partners. When she thought of it like that, it was more like a big, honking car wreck of a disaster than it was an 'oops, I spilt my milk' kind of accident.
She had gone through all the emotions possible for a human being, and quite a few that she was sure alien life-forms had invented, just to derive pleasure from her pain. The first thing being guilt. Humongous, nausea-inducing guilt when she had seen Oz's face when he had been standing in that doorway with Cordelia. Then came denial, when she tucked herself into bed every night since it had happened and told herself that it wasn't real, that it wasn't her fault. There was sadness, like when she saw Oz at school earlier and he had looked so… When Oz displayed emotion, that was the time to be afraid. And she had been afraid. She was afraid that Oz would always look at her with that devastation in his eyes, that he'd never talk to her again, and that she'd feel this badly for all of eternity. She was scared that she had wrecked her life totally and completely with something that had felt so amazingly… No, she wasn't even going to get into that.
And now she was just plain pissed off.
One week. One whole week, and Xander hadn't said a word to her about it. The first few days she understood. Cordelia was in the hospital, and Xander was visiting her to make sure she was okay – well, as okay as she could be after having a steel pole impaled through her midsection, anyway. He had wanted to apologise to Cordelia, and she got that, really, because that's what she was trying to do with Oz. She had been hanging around outside of the Osborne's house when he hadn't answered any of her calls, waiting outside of Devon's garage when she knew the band would be practising until Devon had threatened to call the police if she didn't leave. So she knew the need he had to explain his actions to her.
But how could he explain his actions to Cordelia when he hadn't even discussed them with her? How could Cordelia possibly even begin to understand what she hadn't witnessed for herself, when Willow clearly didn't, and she had been there the whole time?
Cordelia didn't want to understand, she had made that clear. She saw it as it was: Xander had cheated, therefore he was dumped, no explanation necessary. Willow just kind of hoped Oz didn't see it the same way.
Then Cordelia had been allowed home and Xander had been told to keep his distance by her parents while she was recovering, although how the constant phone calls he kept making to her private line entered into that equation, Willow wasn't quite sure. She herself had spent a lot of time with Buffy, more out of safety than anything else. Alone, she worried and panicked and fretted, but with Buffy she was reminded that at least she didn't sleep with Oz, have him go evil and try to kill all of their friends before she had to stick a sword through him to send him to hell and stop the world from ending, thus proving worse things could happen. Which was a plus.
She and Xander had always talked about everything, so naturally she had expected to discuss this with him, in some way, at least. But…nothing. Not when they had all met up to patrol a few nights ago, or when they had gone on a picnic-turned-demon-extermination at the weekend.
What was worse was that he couldn't even look at her. He couldn't make eye contact, like he was so ashamed of what they did, and not just because of the infidelity thing. It was like he was sorry that he had even gone near her all of those times, like he couldn't believe he had done something so awful. He was the only one who could possibly understand what she was feeling, and he wouldn't even look at her.
She moved back from the window, looking to her side and seeing her profile in the mirror a few feet away. Okay, so she didn't look too great right now in old jeans and an old shirt, but was she really that terrible? Was she really that bad that Xander would feel ashamed of himself for kissing her?
The few times they had been around Buffy they were okay. They could communicate via the slayer in a roundabout way that none of them wanted to admit or acknowledge. The closest he had come to talking about it was making a comment about how it would never happen ever again, and what was she supposed to do, ask him why it happened in the first place in front of their friend so they could make things even more awkward? At the Bronze, they had been left alone for a few minutes while Buffy was getting refreshments, and it was the closest they had been to being friends again. Although, she had to admit she had kind of ruined that moment herself when he had touched her hand and she had told him there had to be a strict no-touching policy between them. But she'd had to say that because she could hardly tell him that when he had touched her hand, she felt everything… Again with the not thinking of that.
But he hadn't said a word. She needed explanations, reasons, a flipchart and graph if he could possibly provide them. She needed to know why, after all of this time, he had suddenly seen her as more than best-friend-Willow, or she who was a guy friend who knew about girl stuff as he'd so eloquently named her a few years back.
She had waited, quite patiently, she had thought, for him to come and knock on her door late one night with that cute, little boy lost way that he had because he thought that maybe they should talk, or even call her so they could figure out a way to solve all of this mess that they had managed to create. But no, he was acting like he had that time a couple of years ago when she'd found that stack of Playboys under his bed. He hadn't been able to look at her for weeks without his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red than her hair, which Jesse had thought was just hilarious. There was no Jesse to laugh at them now.
She needed resolution. Was that too much to ask for? He had known her their whole lives, and he didn't know that she couldn't leave things up in the air like this by now? Had he even been paying attention?
She couldn't do this. She couldn't just carry on the way they were going, a division building between them more and more each day. She knew why she had kissed him that night – and those times after – although she'd never admit them to anyone else if she could help it. But why had he?
During those times with him, she could have sworn that she had seen something in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She could have sworn that he had looked at her like she had always dreamt that he would, and she had liked that. More than liked, she had… Let's not continue with that sentence.
How can it be that those things could just disappear in the blink of an eye? Guilt did terrible things to people, she knew that because she was living it. In her heart, she knew she was just the unattainable target, the current crush that Xander was known for having on every other girl in the world, but she had to hear that from him. She had to hear him say those words out loud, because even after everything, she still l… Not going there.
She understood if it was just a hormone thing. He was an eighteen year old guy and she knew that didn't exactly leave him in the best position to make judgements concerning lustful encounters with someone other than his girlfriend. But if he told her that she could move on. If he told her that he was just curious, she'd say okay and walk away, probably a little heartbroken, but still.
She had to know, because then she could move on with her life, and moving on was something she definitely needed to do.
She was sitting on her bed and slipping her sneakers on before she knew what she was doing.
She was tired of the passive, scared, shy little Willow she saw herself as. She had questions, and by Goddess, he was going to give her answers, whether he liked it or not. She needed to be someone different, if only for tonight, if only for the next hour. She was going to be forward and aggressive and say exactly what she meant. She felt empowered, and free, and…well, frankly, terrified. But that was a good thing. She could feel the adrenalin rushing around her body, making her tingle and shake as she tried to tie her shoelaces.
Whatever happened tonight, she had a feeling it would change things forever.
