Disclaimer: I will not claim to own anything of this story. Joss Whedon
created the characters, Billie Letts wrote "Where the Heart Is", which this
is based on.
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: Ola, my lovelies! Thank you so much for reading the last chappie. Also, I want to thank all of you who were angry at those "negative" reviews I received. But, sorry to say, I know both of those reviewers. They are my sister and my good friend, and they were just being shitty. But, thanks to all of my white knights and knightesses. Anyway, I have good news and bad news. Good news: NEW CHAPTER! WITH RELEVANT PLOT ITEMS. Bad news: I will not be updating for at least a week. I'm moving from my house to my dorm room (eek! The scariness of being a freshman in college). I do have Internet hookup, but with all the things that will be happening, it might be a while. But, keep reading, because I personally punish myself if I don't finish stories, i.e.- I have cut off both of my big toes because I have not updated my other two stories in quite some time. Love to all, and then some.
PS: Oh, Imzadi, dear . . . Lindsey is very much a hottie. Just saw a picture. Very munchable! (Or, as my spell-check tried to correct it to: MOUNTABLE!) ____________________________________________________________________________
* *
*
Chapter Three- New, and So Different
Years later, Buffy would not remember the checkout attendant approaching her, handing over the shoes and change in a white plastic bag, or her mandatory "Have a nice day." She wouldn't remember gathering her belongings and moving to a nearby bench to sit.
But she remembered opening up her journal, finding the next blank page, and scrawling through her tears,
'Angel left. What am I going to do?'
When she looked back on it, when she found that page splattered with the residue of the salty tears, she would still feel that pain. It twisted inside her belly, stung her throat, made her head spin. Only seventeen years old, left alone in some random California town, her only means of support traveling far away in a rusted Nova.
Pushing away the tears, she remained at the bench, too stunned to properly contemplate anything.
A soft voice broke through her mild catatonia.
"Marie?"
It was directed to her, although she did not recognize the name. Looking up, she saw two women approach her out from the greenhouse. One of them was young, probably not a few years older than her, with soft honey-blonde hair. A shy smile, which seemed permanently fixed on her sweet face, radiated out.
The speaker was older, probably in her mid-forties. Pretty, well dressed, in a casual sort of way. Her light brown hair hung in waves near her shoulders, bouncing as she walked closer to Buffy.
"Marie Morgan?" Her voice was questioning, as if she knew her, but was waiting to be sure.
Buffy glanced over her shoulder, to see if this Marie Morgan was right behind her.
The woman continued. "I haven't seen you since you left town with your family! How many years ago was that? Ten, eleven?"
'So, she is talking to me,' the blonde realized. "Oh, you see, I'm not-"
"I was walking out to my car with Tara here," she pointed to the young woman, who shied away during this moment of acknowledgement, "When I saw you sitting on that bench, and I thought to myself, 'That's little Marie Morgan!' I see your sister all the time when I get up to LA, but seeing you! And pregnant, no less!" Laughing slightly, the woman's face glowed.
"Sorry, but my name isn't-" Buffy tried to explain, but the woman interrupted.
"Do you remember when you were seven, and you painted JOYCE on my garage so I would remember where I lived?" More laughter came, and Tara joined in, due to the spectacle her older friend was creating.
"So," the woman (Joyce?) continued, "Where are you staying?"
Buffy was at a loss. This woman obviously thought she was someone else, and didn't realize that she wasn't this someone else. Not knowing what else to say, Buffy just made up the answer.
"Around . . .you know, somewhere nearby."
Joyce (?) grinned, her face softer after her giggle-fest. "That's wonderful. It's like Tara says, 'You always end up coming home.' I guess this makes it true."
This sparked something in Joyce, her eyes lighting up. For a brief moment, she turned to whisper something to Tara. Both nodded at the same time, their conspiracy decided.
"Come with us for a second, Marie."
Grabbing the blonde's hand, Joyce pulled her over to a black Jeep SUV, Tara trailing behind. Joyce popped open the trunk, and pulled out a small green bush-like plant in a black plastic holder, and deposited it in Buffy's hands.
"Tara used to work for me, but now she owns the greenhouse on Maple. Well, today she came over to landscape the gallery. She's very gung-ho when it comes to decorating." Rolling her eyes at the statement, Tara blushed.
"Anyway," continued Joyce, "Tara got a shipment of tea rose trees just yesterday, and brought a few to plant. It turns out she brought one to many, and I've been wondering what to do with it. Now I know."
For the first time since they met, Tara began to speak. Her voice was soft, and she had a slight stutter, but it was worth it to hear.
"Y-y you plant it w-w-w where it can get some shade during the day. In about w-w-w one year the buds will sprout. This one is," frowning, she began to examine the plant, her observant eye carefully deciphering the species, "Antique pink."
New sandals on her feet, and a small plant cradled in her arms, Buffy smiled for the first time that day, although it was small, self-conscious in front of the new people.
Joyce broke the silence. "Well Marie, we've taken up enough of your time, and I need to get Tara back to work, so we'll let you go on with your day." Slamming the trunk, Joyce inserted the key and locked it. "You make sure to come visit me. I'm at the gallery during the week, and home on the weekend. Same place as ever: 1630 Revello Drive."
Waving goodbye, Tara hurried over to the passenger side just as Joyce got into the driver seat. As the engine started up, Buffy began to turn, heading back to the bench, only to be stopped when Joyce called to her again.
"Welcome back to Sunnydale, Marie!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She had abandoned her bench at three when the heat and exhaust fumes started getting to her, choosing to wander the store.
Around five, Buffy started to get hungry. She bought a little thing of nachos, a candy bar, and a pop at the snack bar, then settled in one of the booths to eat.
This snack left her with 65 cents. There were also two $20 bills hidden in her purse. Apparently Angel hadn't gone through her stuff when he ditched her. That money would have been gone.
Suddenly, she wasn't all that hungry, but she willed herself to finish the nachos and pop, then put the candy bar in her purse. Since she and Angel left Nevada, she hadn't been eating all that well, and she knew it wasn't healthy for the baby.
Without anything to do, Buffy began to wander the store once again. This was one of those Super Wal-Marts, with a grocery store, so she could spend a long time wandering.
It was about ten, and most of the aisles were empty of customers when she ended up in frozen food. One guy remained, standing in front of a glass door, the glass fogging up with frozen condensation. A cell phone was pressed to his ear as he talked loudly.
Trying to give the guy his privacy, she stopped in front of a door filled with frozen dinners. She tried to guess the other ingredients of the cherry cobbler when the cell phone guy's conversation became louder.
"As I've been trying to explain for the last ten minutes, they don't have any Ben and Jerry's here . . . No, Cordy, I'm not going to run up and down the other aisles trying to find it . . . Because this is where they place the ice cream! There isn't going to be ice cream in ethnic foods, is there? No . . . God, you don't need to . . . Please don't cry! Oh, how about I bring you a pint of Pralines and Cream? It's your favorite . . . Great! I'll be home right away! I love you!"
Oozing triumph, he clicked the phone off, and stuck it in his shirt pocket. He then began to scan the iced shelves for that perfect pint of Pralines and Cream.
As he searched, he glanced over at Buffy, who had been watching him during his phone conversation. When this happened, she got embarrassed immediately, and ducked away.
"So, how far along are you?"
Her head whipped back over to the man, who was weighing the decision between the cheep, generic brand, or the well known but expensive pint of ice cream.
"Me?" She asked, her voice small in the large area.
The man smiled. "No, the other pregnant lady in frozen foods."
At first, she didn't catch onto the joke, but she got it seconds later. Laughing slightly, she turned to the man.
"Eight months." She left out the 'I think'. Buffy hadn't exactly been to a doctor since she discovered she was pregnant. Most of the information she got was from various books and magazines.
Nodding, the man rotated completely to face her.
"That's what I thought. My wife, Cordelia, is about two weeks behind you." Suddenly, a large grin broke out on his face, his eyes sparking. "I swear, since I knocked her up, it's been 'Get me this', 'Do that', 'Buy me this' nonstop. Within a few weeks, she's gonna make ME have the baby!"
Their laughter echoed through the empty aisle.
In a quick move, the man grabbed one of the containers, slammed the door shut, then hustled over to her.
"Xander Harris," he said, outstretching his right hand.
"Buffy Summers," she replied, shaking his hand.
"Nice to meet you."
Giggling, Buffy began to study the man. He was tall, much taller than her, and his almost black hair stuck out at odd angles against his head. The smile on his face was almost childish, as if he were still a young boy.
Xander took the ice cream carton and threw it to his other hand. "So, have you thought of any names for your youngin'?"
She shrugged. "Not really."
"Cordy's been all gung-ho about this name thing. She's made this chart to determine the proper name for whatever type of kid we have. Like, if it's a boy with brown hair: Mark."
"Efficient."
"I don't know." Sighing, he leaned against the glass doors. "I think the name should come to you. It should mean something. All of these Ashleys and Joshs running around, the name has to be significant. If that's the right word."
Speechless, she again observed this man. He still looked youthful, but that wisdom, however mutilated it was worded, hit her.
"Well, Miss Buffy Summers," Xander began, "I'm afraid I must depart. I am three minutes away from being castrated by a pregnant lady with a praline craving. So I say goodbye."
"Bye, Xander Harris."
The new friends joined hands, shaking once more.
"Hope to see you around," he stated, before jogging off, the ice cream carton continuously passing between his hands.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was eleven that evening when Buffy heard the announcement she had been dreading.
"Attention all Wal-Mart customers. It is now closing time. Please take all your purchases to the front counter. We thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart, and hope you have a pleasant evening."
Her stomach began to churn. Suddenly, the realization that she was alone hit her. And she was scared.
Previously flipping through a magazine, she set it down and headed towards the bathroom. Earlier that day, Buffy had stored her bag and new plant inside a storage compartment in the girl's bathroom. There had been too much to carry, and putting it away somewhere safe helped. Slowly walking, either from exhaustion or the dread that formed a cloud above her head, she went to retrieve her stuff.
The bathroom was dark, and smelled of cleaner, but she flipped on the lights and went straight for the closet. Both items were still there, nestled between one of those little yellow 'Wet Floor' signs and a bottle of bleach. The tree and the bag, along with her purse, the clothes she was wearing, and her journal, made up her possessions.
It was all of her life.
Not feeling the strength to leave just yet, Buffy sat down on the tiled floor, pulled out her journal and a pen, and began to write.
'I don't wish to be pitied. I got myself into this mess. Sure, it's partially Angel's fault. It's not like I crawled on top of myself and got pregnant.'
'But how can I be expected to raise a baby with forty dollars in my pocket?'
Closing the cover on her journal, Buffy lay her head against the wall, letting the tiles cool her body. Her eyes felt heavy, more from mental exhaustion than actual sleepiness.
# # # # #
Colossus climbed up into the heavens, gracing past the stars as it clicked along the track.
She looked down, and the earth was small, unrecognizable.
As she neared the peak, her child grabbed her right hand, holding onto it from fear. But another hand grasped her left, larger than her child's. She turned to the stranger, and was surprised to find it belonged to Angel.
"Can't you feel that little 'thump . . . thump . . . thump'? That's where the baby's heart is."
Angel turned to her. He wore the same grin that seduced her when he sauntered into Willie's Place eight months earlier.
"Whatever. I can't feel it."
His fingers, which had been linked with hers, now moved to grip around her wrist. And with a sudden burst of strength, he flung her from the restraints.
Still holding onto her baby, she fell.
# # # # #
Buffy woke with a start. She realized that she had fallen asleep.
"Shit!" she exclaimed as she gathered her possessions up.
As she flung the bathroom door open, she suddenly became enveloped in darkness.
Through her impromptu nap, the Wal-Mart had transformed into a ghost land. The churning of the Icee machines replaced the continuous announcements and chatter that filled the store earlier.
She set her stuff down near the bathroom entrance. How could the employees of Wal-Mart have missed her when they closed up for the night?
Then she remembered going into the bathroom earlier to retrieve her things. It had been cleaned and closed up for the night.
Timidly, like a tiny mouse, the blonde began to creep through the deserted store. She knew there would be no exit for her this night. The store probably hooked up alarms to prevent break-ins from occurring. And at the same time, the sensors also prevented break-outs.
After ten minutes of searching, Buffy knew that everyone had left for the evening.
Gathering her things, she moved toward the outdoor furniture section. Earlier, she fell in love with a portable lounge swing with a canopy, stripped in dark green and white. But she hadn't had a chance to sit in it.
She slowly lowered herself into the swing. As she had suspected, it was comfortable, the soft material cushioning her.
A light creaking noise, more like a lullaby than an annoyance, came from the joints as she rocked back in forth.
She knew she should write in her journal, or find someplace else to be, but at this moment, Buffy wasn't going to.
Because she finally felt . . . good.
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: Ola, my lovelies! Thank you so much for reading the last chappie. Also, I want to thank all of you who were angry at those "negative" reviews I received. But, sorry to say, I know both of those reviewers. They are my sister and my good friend, and they were just being shitty. But, thanks to all of my white knights and knightesses. Anyway, I have good news and bad news. Good news: NEW CHAPTER! WITH RELEVANT PLOT ITEMS. Bad news: I will not be updating for at least a week. I'm moving from my house to my dorm room (eek! The scariness of being a freshman in college). I do have Internet hookup, but with all the things that will be happening, it might be a while. But, keep reading, because I personally punish myself if I don't finish stories, i.e.- I have cut off both of my big toes because I have not updated my other two stories in quite some time. Love to all, and then some.
PS: Oh, Imzadi, dear . . . Lindsey is very much a hottie. Just saw a picture. Very munchable! (Or, as my spell-check tried to correct it to: MOUNTABLE!) ____________________________________________________________________________
* *
*
Chapter Three- New, and So Different
Years later, Buffy would not remember the checkout attendant approaching her, handing over the shoes and change in a white plastic bag, or her mandatory "Have a nice day." She wouldn't remember gathering her belongings and moving to a nearby bench to sit.
But she remembered opening up her journal, finding the next blank page, and scrawling through her tears,
'Angel left. What am I going to do?'
When she looked back on it, when she found that page splattered with the residue of the salty tears, she would still feel that pain. It twisted inside her belly, stung her throat, made her head spin. Only seventeen years old, left alone in some random California town, her only means of support traveling far away in a rusted Nova.
Pushing away the tears, she remained at the bench, too stunned to properly contemplate anything.
A soft voice broke through her mild catatonia.
"Marie?"
It was directed to her, although she did not recognize the name. Looking up, she saw two women approach her out from the greenhouse. One of them was young, probably not a few years older than her, with soft honey-blonde hair. A shy smile, which seemed permanently fixed on her sweet face, radiated out.
The speaker was older, probably in her mid-forties. Pretty, well dressed, in a casual sort of way. Her light brown hair hung in waves near her shoulders, bouncing as she walked closer to Buffy.
"Marie Morgan?" Her voice was questioning, as if she knew her, but was waiting to be sure.
Buffy glanced over her shoulder, to see if this Marie Morgan was right behind her.
The woman continued. "I haven't seen you since you left town with your family! How many years ago was that? Ten, eleven?"
'So, she is talking to me,' the blonde realized. "Oh, you see, I'm not-"
"I was walking out to my car with Tara here," she pointed to the young woman, who shied away during this moment of acknowledgement, "When I saw you sitting on that bench, and I thought to myself, 'That's little Marie Morgan!' I see your sister all the time when I get up to LA, but seeing you! And pregnant, no less!" Laughing slightly, the woman's face glowed.
"Sorry, but my name isn't-" Buffy tried to explain, but the woman interrupted.
"Do you remember when you were seven, and you painted JOYCE on my garage so I would remember where I lived?" More laughter came, and Tara joined in, due to the spectacle her older friend was creating.
"So," the woman (Joyce?) continued, "Where are you staying?"
Buffy was at a loss. This woman obviously thought she was someone else, and didn't realize that she wasn't this someone else. Not knowing what else to say, Buffy just made up the answer.
"Around . . .you know, somewhere nearby."
Joyce (?) grinned, her face softer after her giggle-fest. "That's wonderful. It's like Tara says, 'You always end up coming home.' I guess this makes it true."
This sparked something in Joyce, her eyes lighting up. For a brief moment, she turned to whisper something to Tara. Both nodded at the same time, their conspiracy decided.
"Come with us for a second, Marie."
Grabbing the blonde's hand, Joyce pulled her over to a black Jeep SUV, Tara trailing behind. Joyce popped open the trunk, and pulled out a small green bush-like plant in a black plastic holder, and deposited it in Buffy's hands.
"Tara used to work for me, but now she owns the greenhouse on Maple. Well, today she came over to landscape the gallery. She's very gung-ho when it comes to decorating." Rolling her eyes at the statement, Tara blushed.
"Anyway," continued Joyce, "Tara got a shipment of tea rose trees just yesterday, and brought a few to plant. It turns out she brought one to many, and I've been wondering what to do with it. Now I know."
For the first time since they met, Tara began to speak. Her voice was soft, and she had a slight stutter, but it was worth it to hear.
"Y-y you plant it w-w-w where it can get some shade during the day. In about w-w-w one year the buds will sprout. This one is," frowning, she began to examine the plant, her observant eye carefully deciphering the species, "Antique pink."
New sandals on her feet, and a small plant cradled in her arms, Buffy smiled for the first time that day, although it was small, self-conscious in front of the new people.
Joyce broke the silence. "Well Marie, we've taken up enough of your time, and I need to get Tara back to work, so we'll let you go on with your day." Slamming the trunk, Joyce inserted the key and locked it. "You make sure to come visit me. I'm at the gallery during the week, and home on the weekend. Same place as ever: 1630 Revello Drive."
Waving goodbye, Tara hurried over to the passenger side just as Joyce got into the driver seat. As the engine started up, Buffy began to turn, heading back to the bench, only to be stopped when Joyce called to her again.
"Welcome back to Sunnydale, Marie!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She had abandoned her bench at three when the heat and exhaust fumes started getting to her, choosing to wander the store.
Around five, Buffy started to get hungry. She bought a little thing of nachos, a candy bar, and a pop at the snack bar, then settled in one of the booths to eat.
This snack left her with 65 cents. There were also two $20 bills hidden in her purse. Apparently Angel hadn't gone through her stuff when he ditched her. That money would have been gone.
Suddenly, she wasn't all that hungry, but she willed herself to finish the nachos and pop, then put the candy bar in her purse. Since she and Angel left Nevada, she hadn't been eating all that well, and she knew it wasn't healthy for the baby.
Without anything to do, Buffy began to wander the store once again. This was one of those Super Wal-Marts, with a grocery store, so she could spend a long time wandering.
It was about ten, and most of the aisles were empty of customers when she ended up in frozen food. One guy remained, standing in front of a glass door, the glass fogging up with frozen condensation. A cell phone was pressed to his ear as he talked loudly.
Trying to give the guy his privacy, she stopped in front of a door filled with frozen dinners. She tried to guess the other ingredients of the cherry cobbler when the cell phone guy's conversation became louder.
"As I've been trying to explain for the last ten minutes, they don't have any Ben and Jerry's here . . . No, Cordy, I'm not going to run up and down the other aisles trying to find it . . . Because this is where they place the ice cream! There isn't going to be ice cream in ethnic foods, is there? No . . . God, you don't need to . . . Please don't cry! Oh, how about I bring you a pint of Pralines and Cream? It's your favorite . . . Great! I'll be home right away! I love you!"
Oozing triumph, he clicked the phone off, and stuck it in his shirt pocket. He then began to scan the iced shelves for that perfect pint of Pralines and Cream.
As he searched, he glanced over at Buffy, who had been watching him during his phone conversation. When this happened, she got embarrassed immediately, and ducked away.
"So, how far along are you?"
Her head whipped back over to the man, who was weighing the decision between the cheep, generic brand, or the well known but expensive pint of ice cream.
"Me?" She asked, her voice small in the large area.
The man smiled. "No, the other pregnant lady in frozen foods."
At first, she didn't catch onto the joke, but she got it seconds later. Laughing slightly, she turned to the man.
"Eight months." She left out the 'I think'. Buffy hadn't exactly been to a doctor since she discovered she was pregnant. Most of the information she got was from various books and magazines.
Nodding, the man rotated completely to face her.
"That's what I thought. My wife, Cordelia, is about two weeks behind you." Suddenly, a large grin broke out on his face, his eyes sparking. "I swear, since I knocked her up, it's been 'Get me this', 'Do that', 'Buy me this' nonstop. Within a few weeks, she's gonna make ME have the baby!"
Their laughter echoed through the empty aisle.
In a quick move, the man grabbed one of the containers, slammed the door shut, then hustled over to her.
"Xander Harris," he said, outstretching his right hand.
"Buffy Summers," she replied, shaking his hand.
"Nice to meet you."
Giggling, Buffy began to study the man. He was tall, much taller than her, and his almost black hair stuck out at odd angles against his head. The smile on his face was almost childish, as if he were still a young boy.
Xander took the ice cream carton and threw it to his other hand. "So, have you thought of any names for your youngin'?"
She shrugged. "Not really."
"Cordy's been all gung-ho about this name thing. She's made this chart to determine the proper name for whatever type of kid we have. Like, if it's a boy with brown hair: Mark."
"Efficient."
"I don't know." Sighing, he leaned against the glass doors. "I think the name should come to you. It should mean something. All of these Ashleys and Joshs running around, the name has to be significant. If that's the right word."
Speechless, she again observed this man. He still looked youthful, but that wisdom, however mutilated it was worded, hit her.
"Well, Miss Buffy Summers," Xander began, "I'm afraid I must depart. I am three minutes away from being castrated by a pregnant lady with a praline craving. So I say goodbye."
"Bye, Xander Harris."
The new friends joined hands, shaking once more.
"Hope to see you around," he stated, before jogging off, the ice cream carton continuously passing between his hands.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was eleven that evening when Buffy heard the announcement she had been dreading.
"Attention all Wal-Mart customers. It is now closing time. Please take all your purchases to the front counter. We thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart, and hope you have a pleasant evening."
Her stomach began to churn. Suddenly, the realization that she was alone hit her. And she was scared.
Previously flipping through a magazine, she set it down and headed towards the bathroom. Earlier that day, Buffy had stored her bag and new plant inside a storage compartment in the girl's bathroom. There had been too much to carry, and putting it away somewhere safe helped. Slowly walking, either from exhaustion or the dread that formed a cloud above her head, she went to retrieve her stuff.
The bathroom was dark, and smelled of cleaner, but she flipped on the lights and went straight for the closet. Both items were still there, nestled between one of those little yellow 'Wet Floor' signs and a bottle of bleach. The tree and the bag, along with her purse, the clothes she was wearing, and her journal, made up her possessions.
It was all of her life.
Not feeling the strength to leave just yet, Buffy sat down on the tiled floor, pulled out her journal and a pen, and began to write.
'I don't wish to be pitied. I got myself into this mess. Sure, it's partially Angel's fault. It's not like I crawled on top of myself and got pregnant.'
'But how can I be expected to raise a baby with forty dollars in my pocket?'
Closing the cover on her journal, Buffy lay her head against the wall, letting the tiles cool her body. Her eyes felt heavy, more from mental exhaustion than actual sleepiness.
# # # # #
Colossus climbed up into the heavens, gracing past the stars as it clicked along the track.
She looked down, and the earth was small, unrecognizable.
As she neared the peak, her child grabbed her right hand, holding onto it from fear. But another hand grasped her left, larger than her child's. She turned to the stranger, and was surprised to find it belonged to Angel.
"Can't you feel that little 'thump . . . thump . . . thump'? That's where the baby's heart is."
Angel turned to her. He wore the same grin that seduced her when he sauntered into Willie's Place eight months earlier.
"Whatever. I can't feel it."
His fingers, which had been linked with hers, now moved to grip around her wrist. And with a sudden burst of strength, he flung her from the restraints.
Still holding onto her baby, she fell.
# # # # #
Buffy woke with a start. She realized that she had fallen asleep.
"Shit!" she exclaimed as she gathered her possessions up.
As she flung the bathroom door open, she suddenly became enveloped in darkness.
Through her impromptu nap, the Wal-Mart had transformed into a ghost land. The churning of the Icee machines replaced the continuous announcements and chatter that filled the store earlier.
She set her stuff down near the bathroom entrance. How could the employees of Wal-Mart have missed her when they closed up for the night?
Then she remembered going into the bathroom earlier to retrieve her things. It had been cleaned and closed up for the night.
Timidly, like a tiny mouse, the blonde began to creep through the deserted store. She knew there would be no exit for her this night. The store probably hooked up alarms to prevent break-ins from occurring. And at the same time, the sensors also prevented break-outs.
After ten minutes of searching, Buffy knew that everyone had left for the evening.
Gathering her things, she moved toward the outdoor furniture section. Earlier, she fell in love with a portable lounge swing with a canopy, stripped in dark green and white. But she hadn't had a chance to sit in it.
She slowly lowered herself into the swing. As she had suspected, it was comfortable, the soft material cushioning her.
A light creaking noise, more like a lullaby than an annoyance, came from the joints as she rocked back in forth.
She knew she should write in her journal, or find someplace else to be, but at this moment, Buffy wasn't going to.
Because she finally felt . . . good.
