Chapter 4: Made to hurt them
Spoilers: Doomed
Disclaimers: I don't own the characters, the show, the Eiffel tower...anything. However, I am quoting dialogue from the episode verbatim at the end of this chapter, so I'm just gonna let you know right now. Please, nobody sue me.
A/N: I'm super nervous about writing this POV, because it's a character I love but have nothing in common with whatsoever, so I have no idea whether or not I can write it well at all. Therefore, it's a short chapter. :)
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We were made to hurt them, you know. Made to love 'em and leave 'em, to leech the best parts of them and leave them dead inside. It starts with a witty word, a gentle brush against the cheek, a nuzzle at the ear, a kiss on the neck. It ends with screaming.
That's the way it's supposed to be. It's a time-honored tradition, part of a rich culture with a history of bloody violence. God, how I miss it!
I'm not cut out to be livin' in a basement with a useless git who has no appreciation for what I'm goin' through. I'm a monster, damn it! A killer! I don't do laundry and I don't fix pipes, and I certainly bloody-well don't wear Hawaiian shirts. This is no kind of un-life for me. They shoulda just let me end it when I had the chance. But no. Red had to step in and spare my pitiful existence.
Look, it's not that I don't appreciate that the girl's heart is in the right place. She's a sweet little thing, and I meant what I said: I've thought about biting her more times than I'd care to admit. And despite the fact she cast a spell that had me halfway down the aisle with the Slayer, I've got a soft spot for her. In fact, this God-awful excuse for a shirt I'm wearin' right now—I picked it 'cause it smelled like her. The git must've been around her last time he wore it, and we all know how often he does his laundry.
So yeah, I find the girl snack-worthy. Maybe even friend-worthy. And if you tell man or beast about that revelation, I'll put a hired fang on you quicker than you can say, "Ouch." I might be a freak on a leash, but it doesn't mean I got no connections.
So they saved me—Red and the git—and it was a bit of luck after all, 'cause it turns out I can hurt things. Just not human things. But beggars can't be choosers. I was at the end of my tether, ready to ride the big splinter to hell, and I was saved. Saved by those I'm meant to kill so that I can kill those I'm meant to consort with. It's bloody sick is what it is. But a neutered dog like me's gotta take pleasure in whatever scraps fall from the table.
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We had a hell of a fight last night. Got the blood pumpin' in my veins again, so to speak, and I'm set to go again. There's gotta be something else needs killin' in this town tonight.
"I say we go out there and kick a little demon ass!"
Hey, I thought that was pretty damn inspiring. They're not even moving. Television—not like anything good's showing. Passions isn't on 'til tomorrow.
"What, can't go without your Buffy? Is that it? Too chicken? Let's find her! She is the Chosen One, after all."
Willow tugged at her shirt, and the git moved his foot a bit. This can't be all the excitement I get. I'm an animal, damn it. If I can't inspire a little more enthusiasm than this—
"Come on: vampires! Rrrr, nasty! Let's annihilate them. For justice, and for…the safety of puppies, and…Christmas, right?"
Am I speakin' to myself here? I'm practically a bloody cheerleader!
"Let's fight that evil! Let's kill something!"
Nuthin'. I give up. They're zombified. Comatose. They're—Red's not wearin' anything under that blanket. God, and that smell: lust and nerves. I can't believe this—
"Oh, come on!"
Sod 'em. Bloody well go kill the beasties myself. Be damned if I sit by and witness this. It's a miscarriage of justice is what it is—Red, settling for that useless whelp! Her magic and smarts, and she's gonna let the delivery boy here…well, I can't look at 'em.
"Think Anya'd be up for a little slayin' then?"
The git's eyes about shoot out of his head on that one. First response I've gotten yet.
"Yeah," he says. "Ya know, I think she just might."
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To be continued...