It's Just You
Just sometimes she gets this look in her eyes, and its so small and vulnerable that it makes you wanna take her in your arms and never let her go. But then you remember that she's evil and insane and if you did she'd beat you until you couldn't see straight and somehow that makes you wanna do it more. Because something inside you believes, no knows, that you did this. You pushed her over that edge and there's a fair chance that she's never gonna come back.
She was proud and she was confident and she exuded sex, and in a way she was everything you never knew you'd been craving. And you took her, and you fucked with her and you left her to drown.
Because that's what you do. You were born to destroy. You take what you need from life and you beat the crap out of the rest. That's just what you did to her. You used her to scratch an itch, and to make you feel better about your pitiful existence of death and betrayal then you trashed what was left so no one could find out about your momentary weakness.
Of course you hid it well: your strategic destruction of her entire existence. You couldn't have any of your slayer worshiping fan club finding out about that now could you? On the surface you had to remain all sweetness and light while under the smoke screen you were knifing her in the back.
Right now she's standing there, teeth bared and eyes gleaming holding her shiny knife to Willow's throat. And a pang of something twists violently in your chest. Not anger, or sorrow or even guilt. No you feel that so constantly that you probably wouldn't notice it, no this is something far more twisted, far more wrong. You feel jealous. Jealous that it's Willow being held in those strong arms. Jealous that it's Willow that she's showing any form of emotion towards. Just jealous that it's Willow who can smell her hair, feel the muscles playing under her skin, hear her heart beating away.
It hits you just how fucked up that really is. She's about half an inch's wrist movement away from severing your best friend's jugular, and yet, still you want her. Need her. Crave her. Her taste. Her smell. Her lustful gaze. She's crawling around under your skin and no matter what you do, how you convince yourself, your friends, your boyfriend, that's never gonna stop.
You wonder momentarily if she has this effect on everybody, if right now there are people all over, wondering where she is, wishing they were standing watching her like you are now. Then you realise that you know that's wrong. You know it's only you that she does this to. Only you that has this colossal weakness with the name engraved on it: Faith.
It feels kinda nice. In a sick sort of way: to have a young female body in your arms again after all this time. Of course it's the wrong one. But then it always will be. You've long since given up on the right one returning. Not that she actually had the decency to leave, that is. Just ensure that she'd never be in a position to be in your arms again.
Anyway, this is far from the point. The big shiny knife in your hand should testify to that. A present from daddy-bear. A paradox in itself: an loving gesture form father-figure to daughter-figure and a lethal weapon passed from employer to subordinate.
But again we stray from that larger picture. The one which depicts you holding a young girl's life in your hands, staring that 'someone' in the face and snarling with a type of bitter resentment that only the abused can muster. Suddenly though, you don't feel abused, possibly for the first time in your life you are truly not the victim here. You're holding all the cards. You wonder if she's aware of this fact. You wonder if it makes her sorry that she shat on you from quite such a height. But then again you doubt it. Far be it for Buffy to realise when she's to blame. She's blundered through her life leaving pain everywhere in her wake and somehow managing to stay completely oblivious to this fact. And yet, despite this, people around her have this annoying habit of falling for her. It's not just you and you realise this, it's Xander, Angel, Scott, Willow… you could go on but you won't. You realise that there are a lot of people who have been through this with Buffy, and yet you're the only one holding a knife.
It hits you just how fucked up that really is. You're about half an inch's wrist movement away from severing her best friend's jugular but why? Because she used you? Took you for a ride then discarded you like trash? Took your pride? Exposed your weakness? What of all these things have you not done also, to some nameless stranger along the course of your bumbling path?
You wonder momentarily if anyone else has reacted this badly to her careless handling. Then you realise that's stupid. It's just you.
The End
