Character: Rupert Giles

Mood: depressed

Reason: mental illness :(

He opened the door slowly, peering in through a crack. I laid in my bed, a large comforter crumpled between my limbs. I had large shadows of eyeliner underneath my eyes, just above the purple gradients, and my eyelashes had crystalized tears on them. "Are you awake?" He asked quietly, nothing more than a whisper in the dim bedroom. I lifted my head at his voice, but then dropped it back down in shame.

I didn't want to disappoint him - but it seemed it was what I was good at, in sync with disappointing myself.

"How are you doing?" The old man asked, creeping in, and slowly shutting the door behind him. "They told me you haven't been out of bed since yesterday."

"I'm fine." My voice croaked and immediately gave me out, earning a frustrated eye roll from myself. "I'm okay," I tried again, with the same result.

"We've been through this. You don't have to lie to me about things like this." For a girl with issues with her father, I fell for his manners each time. For an old man with no children of his own, or illnesses of his own, he was extremely good at making it easy. Giles got closer, sitting on the edge of my bed. I turned onto my back to look at him and nearly broke down just then. I forced myself the sit up, despite how hunched and sickly I felt. My hair was greasy, my throat was burning. My face was drenched in oil and I wanted to wipe it off, but every time I did I somehow felt worse. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

I broke.

"Giles... I'm not normal," I choked up. "But I'm not special either, not like Buffy."

He looked at me with a softness in his eyes; the way you looked at a photo of a lost loved one torn on the floor when you can't fix it. My throat burned and I couldn't meet his eyes, but I kept talking. Giles sat on the edge of my bed, leaned in with his hands cupping mine. Every one of his wrinkles crept out.

"I - I haven't left my bed all day for anything but to pee and drink pop and when I can't sleep, all I do is cry and watch TV. Giles, I'm sorry." I rolled my head back and writhed in my spot. Sniffling every two seconds. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I thought I was better." I held my breath, a habit I'd picked up from years of trying to control myself. I only made my nose run more and me to choke on the tears. "My head hurts so much and I feel like I'm going to explode with all these - these feelings and noises, I just..."

Giles let out a soft "Oh" and furrowed his brows. "Nothing's wrong with you." He pulled himself closer to me, rather than me to him. He wrapped one hand around me and the other he used to stroke my hair. I put my head on his shoulder, facing his tie. "You did such a good job pulling yourself together you forgot to take a break, is all. We all fall down, every once in a while. That's why we go to people - you can come to me."

"I'm sorry," I cried, wiping my nose with my sleeve. "I didn't mean to fall and get in your way."

"You could never fall in my way. I'm sorry I didn't see you needed air before now. It's alright - let it all out."

I cried harder. It felt like forever, but after a while, I couldn't breathe. He rubbed my shoulder with his thumb and slowly let me go.

"I'll be right back, alright? I'm going to grab some tissues, maybe some water. Would you like anything to eat? We could eat your favorite, then watch a movie."

"Just water, please," I whispered. I looked up at Giles like a newly adopted puppy - unsure, quite, what to do or say, but grateful and less burdened.

Giles paused and then took my hand again. "If you need to do anything - change your clothes, bathe, but you don't have the energy, it's okay. You don't have to, but I could run water or grab you a sweater." I smiled at him. "Any movie suggestions?"