Disclaimer: See, there's this god that walks around on earth, and this god, he owns 'em all. Bow down to the great Joss! Ya'know, 'cause I'm just a lowly fan who likes to sneak in and borrow the characters; hey, I promised to return 'em… Eventually. Characters you don't recognize (namely, everyone but Faith) are my own twisted creations.
Author's Notes: What can I say; I have no idea where these story ideas come from. Uh, let's see, this is shortish, finished, and all I can say is that you aren't supposed to know exactly what happened, but if you look close enough, it should be rather obvious. It's an R story in a PG-13 mask. Takes place in Faith's distant and unexplained past, off of Faith's line "My dead mother hits harder than that."
Story Notes: Takes place in pretty much any time in early BtVS or AtS, and pre-BtVS.
Summary: "Faith stared in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Except for one key point. Below the scraggly hair, blank eyes, black-purple bags and gaunt frame, a frayed gray bra rested..." Memories of Faith's past - not nearly enough of them pleasant.
Rated: PG-13
Date Started/Finished: 15 January, 2006/21 January, 2006
Harder than...
By Delenn
Faith stared in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Except for one key point. Below the scraggly hair, blank eyes, black-purple bags and gaunt frame, a frayed gray bra rested over still perky breasts.
Safety pins studded it in an effort to save it from hundreds of tares caused by nearly as many lovers. In spots it was nearly shredded, but it held - faded and stretched nearly translucent over its heavy burden.
Delicately, Faith removed the bra and cradled it in her cracked, dry hands. It seemed to fit best where her bitten, stubby nails clutched it desperately. Faith stared.
For the longest time, Faith hadn't even really noticed the changes to her body. Well, she'd noticed - she wasn't blind - but it hadn't seemed to matter any. The first people to tell her otherwise were her sixth grade classmates.
She was used to their teasing her about something or other - her clothes, her attitude, her habits - but her looks were a new issue. Made her pause before she pulled back and socked Billy Brontos in the face. His friends fled.
By the time they pulled her into the principal's office, Billy had lost three permanent teeth and his nose would need cosmetic corrective surgery.
When the principal found out why Faith had attacked Billy, he'd blushed and called in Faith's English teacher, who he happened to be fucking, to talk to her. The youthful teacher had laughed, assured Faith that Billy Brontos wouldn't bother her again, and called Faith's mom. While Faith waited in the teacher's office. And waited.
Until Mr. Meyers excused herself to the "bathroom" and until - three hours later - her mother stumbled in with minty-fresh breath and no hand-eye coordination.
Gently, Ms. Meyers explained that Faith needed a "bra" and, perhaps, an explanation about "becoming a woman" and the "facts of life."
Faith's mother took one look at Faith and narrowed her eyes, nodding. It would be done by tomorrow.
Faith snorted. She already knew all about the "facts of life" and that there would be no "bra" tomorrow. Faith was eleven.
The next day, Ms. Meyers pursed her lips, but said nothing.
Weeks later, after Billy had already returned from the hospital with his toothless smile and brand-new nose, the issue came up again.
Faith had been out playing street hockey with the neighborhood boys and had returned to their stuffy apartment for a frink of water. In the kitchen, she found her mother's fuck-of-the-moment, smoking a cigarette and looking smug.
When Faith asked where her mother was, he looked at her a long time before saying "out" and offering her a cigarette.
Her mother had come home to Faith sitting next to him on the couch, sharing his cigarette. She'd exploded before she'd even poured her mid-afternoon drink. Startled, Quick-Fuck tired to explain that a cigarette shouldn't be such a big deal.
What was Faith anyway, sixteen?
"She's eleven," shot out Faith's mother, her eyes narrowed at Faith as though it was all her fault.
As he was still sputtering, Faith was hauled up and smacked across the face so soundly that her ears rang for hours. Her mother then turned, laughed, and drug her boy-toy back into her bedroom.
Faith didn't see that particular boyfriend of her mother's again, but the next morning a package was thrown onto her bed. Inside was a simple, cheap bra, probably purchased on a liquor run. Her mother's scrawl simply read: wear it.
Though it was, by now, over two sizes too small, Faith couldn't bring herself to stop wearing it. This small token of her mother's love and protection was too valuable to be shed just because her breasts had continued to grow, long past her mother's caring.
Last she'd heard, long past her mother's life.
Tonight though, Faith had a feeling that it would be better off without her.
Gently, Faith folded the old bra and set it aside before dressing and leaving. If she didn't recognize herself, with the bra - might as well finish the job. Tonight, Faith didn't want to recognize that same little girl in her.
She couldn't afford to.
The End