Chapter Twenty-Three
The TV screen blinked with a succession of garbled images as it jumped from channel to channel with frenetic speed. Finally, with a bored sigh, Annie snapped it off and flung the remote onto the empty couch cushion beside her.
She hated being home.
Feeling uneasy in the sudden quiet, she sprang up off the sofa and headed into the kitchen. She may as well eat something since she was stuck here until sunset anyway. A quick glance into the fridge revealed a packet of coffee beans, week-old milk, a lonely yogurt carton, some limp lettuce and a jar of raspberry jam. Okay, peanut butter and jam sandwich it was. She grabbed the jar and dropped it onto the counter before turning to pull out the last slices of bread from the pantry. She really was well overdue to do another grocery shop. And pay the bills come to think of it, a domestic chore that she deeply loathed.
It wasn't that she didn't have the money. She had nothing but money now, and she'd gladly give it all back if it would've made any difference. She was hardly even here if she could help it anyway; only to crash and shower and waste away the daylight hours when she was too weary to drag herself back outside. Sometimes she thought of selling the place. She knew she could make a decent deal on it, there were always people looking to snap up bargains despite the lack lustre real-estate market in Sunnydale. But the impulse never lasted long. Deep down, she wasn't quite ready to let go of this pile of bricks just yet.
It was just…too big. Sometimes she felt as if she rattled around the building like a discarded thought or forgotten loose-end, the empty space seeming to press down on her with a hollow but crushing weight. She twisted the lid off the jam a little too harshly. It clattered sharply as it hit the surface and she plunged the knife into the puréed fruit. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax. The sooner she got out of here the better.
The days were so damn long now and she struggled to fill the waiting time. She'd never been one for excessive sleeping, except for sometimes after a particularly gruelling patrol. She was impatient by nature and her body was always demanding some kind of activity, something to keep her mind occupied and energy focused. Usually she settled for going for a run as soon as she got up and not coming back until well after lunch, but for some reason she hadn't felt like it this morning. That was probably why she was feeling extra angsty now.
Plus, there might be a little bit of guilt mixed in there too. She brushed aside a lock of hair with the back of her hand and sighed. She hated to admit it, but as much as she tended to make a big deal of wanting to be left alone, the truth was that in the end, she didn't do so great with the silence. It loomed out of the stillness to prey on her mind, stirring up old demons and turning her unstable emotions into her own worst enemy. Like an ungrateful friend you turned to in search of solace, only to find spiteful mockery instead.
Isolation wasn't generally a healthy thing to crave, yet old habits were hard to break. It all felt part of a persona that wasn't really her. But the girl it had once protected was long gone, and now it was all she knew. She grimaced slightly as she recalled her drama-queen storm off the other night in the library. Mike didn't deserve to get snapped at like that. Yep, guilt was a bitch. Maybe she could try blaming it on PMS.
She'd been a bit of a bitter pill lately, with all of them. She knew that. Didn't mean she was about to apologise or anything, but perhaps she could stand to bite her tongue and curb her temper a bit more sometimes. She just had to find another outlet for her frustration instead of taking it out on the only stubborn people who still cared about her. More fool them. She nodded absently to herself. Yeah, she could do that. Well, she would definitely aim to try to do that. That was a start, right?
She didn't always have such an attitude; it wasn't as if she liked pissing off her friends, but unresolved suspicion tended to make her more than usually moody. It wasn't only her tongue that was sharp; Annie didn't miss much full stop. And she could see it now: how everything was changing, much too quick for comfort; the new tensions and inexplicable loyalties; how the familiar dynamic she had known so well was being upset -- and she didn't like it. They were playing in dangerously deceptive waters and it could only end badly. They were going to get hurt, one way or another. Why couldn't they see that?
She spread the thick peanut butter over the bread in thoughtful patterns. Annoyingly, Annie still didn't have a good handle on their lingering visitor, but the wrongness she felt in her gut was all the justification she needed. The whole vampire thing, the complete lack of answers surrounding her abrupt appearance, her reluctant and guarded manner, the effect she seemed to have on the others, and she was a witch on top of that? No, sorry; it just didn't add up to anything good, no matter what way you twisted. There was something else going on with all this. That girl knew so much more than she was telling and someone with that many secrets could only be trouble.
She couldn't make up for what had happened in their world. No matter how hard she tried to pretend she was one of them, it would never be true. And the longer she stayed, the worse the damage would be. Annie slammed the sandwich together in punctuation to her thought, and dropped it onto the plate.
Blowing out a long breath, the young woman carefully let go of the tense worry that had built up in her body. There was a time and a place for those concerns and right now she had other commitments to take care of. Her eyes swivelled to the black and silver clock on the wall over her shoulder. She still had some time to kill. Turning back to the counter, she replaced the lids of the butter and jam and shoved the spread back into the fridge. She pulled open the cupboard above her and as she blindly reached up to store the jars, something fell down from between the jostling tins and onto her head. Annie shook a hand through her hair in irritation and looked down to see what had fallen, secretly pleading that it wasn't a cockroach or anything.
It took her eyes a second to find it, but the rush of ice that shot through her heart was instantly familiar. She moved to lift it before she even registered the action, her fingers reaching out without permission to pull the small item closer for her inspection.
The oversized, brightly coloured petals looked almost forlorn under the harsh kitchen bulbs. She bumped her fingertip along the symmetrical curves with a soft frown. The cheap plastic had begun to peel and fade, like the flower itself was wilting on the silver hairclip it clung to. Sunshine yellow perched like a cheery halo all around the glittering pink centre of the decorative daisy, giving it the impression that it had been picked straight out of their childhood drawings of idealised summers. And here it was, in a kitchen cupboard amongst the vinegar and mustard. Annie shook her head almost indulgently. Her stuff always seemed to end up in the randomest of places; it was as if she saw the whole house as an extension of her bedroom.
She inhaled sharply, her fingers clenching around the hard points in her palm. But these petals refused to be crushed, biting back just as hard until she was forced to relax her fist. She stared down at the defiant and innocent accessory, desperate to swallow away the burning thickness in her throat. Charlie. She pressed her eyes shut and opened them again, a new hardness in their granite depths. There was no room for this weakness anymore. It was just forgotten trash now, that belonged to no-one and that she had no use for.
Striding across the tiles, she stamped her foot down, sending the stainless steel lid of the bin slamming back into the wall with an echoing clang. Without another glance, she threw the small clip down to get lost amongst the crevices of the full black bag. It toppled down and disappeared with barely a clink as she let the lid fall shut again. For a moment she only stared at her distorted reflection in the steel surface, breathing fast and shallow, as if the simple action had taken up a disproportionate amount of energy. She hesitated for the longest of seconds before her shoulders straightened and she stiffly turned her back to walk away.
She stopped in the middle of the floor and stood in thoughtful quiet, hands resting lightly on her hips. She glanced towards the untouched sandwich that sat on the counter, but the thought had lost all appeal; her stomach knotted too tightly to accept any attempt at food. Her gaze switched back to the clock before turning to assess the darkening sky just outside. Night seemed to fall so quickly now. She nodded slowly to herself, decision made. After placing the uneaten sandwich in the fridge, knowing she would be craving a snack again by three in the morning, she went in search of her jacket and discovered it was still lying halfway up the stairs where she had discarded it hours earlier.
She was tempted to cut through the nearest cemetery on her way over. She knew the others weren't keen on her patrolling on her lonesome (it was bad enough even when they went out together) and she knew from experience it was a stupid risk to take on her part. Sure, she was no Slayer or professional demon hunter, but she was still pretty damn good when it came to aggressive energy. She glanced at her watch again. Yeah, she had time for a quick detour. She was running early anyway.
She needed to get out: away from this house; away from maddening questions about suspicious redheads; away from the frustrating silence. A small, satisfied smile crossed her lips as she tugged her jacket on. At least that was one thing she was guaranteed a break from tonight. This was one party that smug little witch wasn't invited to.
Annie stopped to pick up the stake and sharpened crucifix that lived on the table under the hall mirror. On further consideration, she also retrieved her walkman and stuck it inside her jacket along with a small, paperback Gothic novel that she was in the process of half reading, that centered around a rogue demon hunter somewhat in the vain of Van Helsing. Giles would call it a mockery of the genre, trashy to the nth degree. She called it research, just for the expression on his face. Still, she had a long night ahead of her and it was something to do.
Looking up, she gave her hair a quick ruffle and flashed her reflection a tired smile of encouragement, before pulling open the front door. She had a date to catch.