My Conscience
by Nemo
Summary: Ficlet
I am not an onion. I do not have layers. Some people look at this brash exterior, see my attitude and the leather, and they think it's a front. Behind it all I'm a scared little girl, all sensitive and shit, looking for love, or friendship, or… whatever, you get the idea. Well let me tell you something. With me, what you see is what you get. I ain't deep, or emotional. Just a simple gal. I take my pleasures where I find `em. I do what I do, and I do it good. Nothing more, nothing less. It's like I said. I do not have layers. So what DO I do? It's a pretty short list, that's for sure. In no particular order –
I eat.
I sleep.
I drink.
I dance.
I fuck.
Oh yeah, and I kill… …Did I mention I fuck? I don't give a shit bout nobody `cept yours truly. Looking after number one, like my ma always said. Course she was a bitch, and a shitty mom. Just this once she was right though.
Which kinda makes me wonder though, what the fuck am I playing at this time?
Oh I like to play, love my little games. I pick people up and throw `em away, use `em and abuse `em. You know what I'm saying. Some people are easier than others of course… Like Xander. Too easy, way too easy. Seven minutes of yawn. Only thing that made it worthwhile was the look on his face whan I slung him out on his ass. He was just to warm up though. Kinda like a starter, something to get my appetite going before the main course. You know where I'm going with this. I coulda happily taken a tilt at any of the super nerds – maybe could have brought Red outa her shell, or shown Cordy how a REAL bitch operates – but why bother? Only one scoob I was interested in, a real challenge.
I like a challenge.
I gotta tell ya, first time I saw her I just knew I had to hit that, had to hear her scream my name. Get the golden girl uber-slayer on her knees begging for my touch. And then I got to know her, found out she really was golden, all sweetness and light and caring and sharing, wrapped up in that tight little package. Fuck was I in heaven; creaming myself just thinking about dragging the little princess down from her pedestal and corrupting her, fucking her sideways and backwards and any which way but loose. And maybe that too.
Corrupting her, then tossing her aside.
I played it cool of course. She didn't want the rough bitch from Boston – or at least she didn't know that she wanted her. Just a little rough around the edges, a touch of darkness here and there. Diamond in the rough, that's me. Anyone with eyes could see that I was really a wonderful person behind my `walls'. She cared, so I cared. Doing my `duty' and making with the hero shit. I never did nothing for nobody, but for her I was Mother Fucking Theresa. There were times I wanted to throw up, we were so fucking sickly sweet. So many times I nearly walked away; so many times I had to stop myself from just throwing her down and showing her how it really is. But I stuck with it. Worth the wait yeah? And it was. Fuck me it was. When I finally made that home run I showed her all the depravity I was capable of, all the things she never knew she craved. I took her up and then dragged her down, plumbing the depths. Lather, rinse, repeat. And when I was finally done, the sheets drenched in our sweat and that body trembling beside my own, I fixed my smirk in place and rolled over to face her, the knockout blow ready to be delivered… And she looked up at me and smiled; a perfect, natural smile, innocence shining in her eyes like a kick to my gut. Sweetness and light, her hair like some goddamn halo, lying there like she was fuckin untouchable.
I couldn't let it lie.
Night after night; harder and faster and deeper and darker, so far down that I was losing myself, and she Just. Kept. Smiling.
I lie here in her bed, and she curls up against me, already half asleep. My arm reaches round and pulls her tight against me, even though I hate snuggling; hate not sleeping alone. Her lips gently touch my neck, and I feel the curve of that smile as she drifts away.
And I wonder, just who is corrupting who?
Copyright © 2004,
All Rights Reserved. | Contact Owner Contact Webmaster
