Waking up
by Lost
Dealing
[reviews]
Faith strolled through another cemetery. It was the third one since she'd left the club. She let the rhythm in her mind set the pace of her stride. That wasn't bad. Hell, it was better than I thought it'd be. I can't believe this is where Crazy's been all this time. Wish I knew where the hell he was now, though. I could've seriously used a place to crash.
Shrugging, she sat down on an old headstone. I have gotta get somethin', a CD player, an iPod...hell, even a radio would do. I don't care what. I need to have music. She opened up her nearly empty pack of cigarettes. Dammit, I'm gonna need more of these too. She counted what was left quickly. Did I really smoke that much last night?
She clenched her eyes and tried to remember her evening. There were fragments, but the gaping holes were disturbing. Accepting the truth, she snagged a cigarette. Five hours gone, what happened, was it laced? Usually I can remember. And why the hell are my hands so sore? A brief flash came of her snapping her fingers. But I would've had to've snapped them the whole time—more than mildly freak-some.
As she dug through her pockets, her hands shook. She located her lighter and brought the flame to her face. After lighting the cigarette, she took a deep drag. That's better. Her right leg bounced against the tombstone.
Repeating a useless gesture, she brushed her hair out of her face. Her hand brushed her forehead and she cringed. Great, cold and sweaty palms, just what I need. She flexed her fingers, testing their dexterity and re-stretching the muscles. Holding her hands to her face, she stared at them intently. See through too. She's gonna know I rolled. Breathing in, she caught a whiff of herself. Fuck. I need to try and clean up some before I head home. As she pulled the sleeves of her jacket down, she took in the highlighter designs that covered her arms. Wonder how my eyes look? Full of stupid questions—they look like shit. Bet on it.
The sun rose as she sat there. The sky filled with hues of amber, mauve and gold. She slowly savored the second to last cigarette and waited for the rush to wear off. Her leg wouldn't stop shaking. One cancer stick left for the hike—should be fine.
She stared at the top her hands, studying the dark blue veins. She rubbed them unconsciously on the surface of the grave marker. Some part of her hoping they would fade away. Each time she became aware of the compulsion, she chided herself, Sit still. Just sit still, let it wear off.
Her gaze fixed on the rising sun. Wow! What a light show! She peered up into it until the colors blended together. Her eyes lost focus and spotted. Shit! Too bright. She turned her attention to the dew darkened grass at her feet. After glancing at her hands, she wrapped them together in her lap. Her palms of both were pink and raw. She clamped her eyes shut, trying to clear them.
When they fluttered open, her attention set on the lawn. Bet that feels cool. Nice and refreshing and—fuck. Okay, get it together. Can't go home to T. like this. She'll know for sure that something's up. She stood up, reaching into her inside pocket to extract a pair of sunglasses. After slipping them on, she bounced to her feet and lit her last cigarette.
Turning to face the street, she set off for the gas station to pick up smokes. As she strode through the maze of monuments, she tried to control the bounce in her step. She desperately wanted to jump up and down to expend some of the left over energy. It's cool, just act natural.
*******
Falling. Why am I falling? Thud! Buffy landed on the ground and her eyes shot open. She had been lying on a soft, cushy bed, now she was on the rough carpeting of her bedroom floor. Did I roll off the bed? Haven't done that since I was what? Four?
Scrunching up her eyebrows, she sat up, looking around for the cause. And there was Willow, lying splayed out in the middle of her bed. The redhead was tossing and turning in her sleep, her arms flaying wildly around. Wonder what she's dreaming about? When Willow whimpered, Buffy felt stupid for wondering. Badness...that's what she's dreaming about.
Buffy watched her for a few moments and sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether or not she should try to comfort her girlfriend. The blonde reached out tentatively. Her movements were cautious; she didn't want to cause alarm. Meaning only to brush gently over Willow's sweaty brow, she reached out. As soon as the contact was made, the redhead jerked away. It's just a dream. I shouldn't take it personally. I mean, if I was having a bad dream well...I'd probably do the same thing. With the jerking movement, Willow restlessness increased. I should just go down stairs and sleep on the couch. Or on the floor. Hmm... The clock read 'six a.m.' when she glanced at it. Way too early to be awake. Couch it is.
She gathered the quilt she'd drug off the bed when she fell and tip-toed out of the room, making her way down the stairs to the couch. She pushed the pillows around, hoping to find a more comfortable position. Hope she doesn't freak when she wakes up alone, but well, it's not like I could exactly climb back into bed. Buffy tossed and turned for a few minutes before finding that perfect spot and drifting back off to sleep. Her last thoughts of the redhead dreaming upstairs.
*******
Holding out her fake ID, Faith said, "Marlboro Menthol Smoothes in a box," and handed the clerk a five dollar bill. He ignored the piece of plastic, just took her money, and handed her two pennies with a box of cigarettes. With a curt nod, she asked, "Which way is your bathroom?" The man never looked up from his magazine, gesturing to his left with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder.
The walk hadn't been helpful. She still felt like her blood was racing through her veins. Her stomach was doing summersaults with each step. Sometimes it's good to be ignored. I'm shaking like a leaf. Wonder what the hell was in those blu mitsu's? Normally the crash isn't this bad.
She swiftly made her way to the bathroom and shut the door. Reaching down, she punched the lock into place and grimaced at the color of the handle. Gah! Wonder what year this place had a quick cleanin'—looks like no one's been in here in months. The walls used to be eggshell white. A fact made obvious by the light spot where the soap container wasn't. They had turned into a sickly yellow. The toilet had small gnats flying around it. The mirror was splotchy and had rust on its edges. The sink was stained a sickly orange. The fluorescent light overhead blinked when she flicked it on. She reached over to grab a paper towel to wipe her face only to find the container empty. Sighing, she pulled off the dark glasses and leaned forward to inspect herself in the mirror.
M'kay, check number one, pupils are kind of normal. After staring at them for a moment longer, she realized what was wrong. Her eyes wouldn't stop shaking. They jittered from left to right in their sockets. Fuck! That was definitely laced. My eyes should not be doin' the cha-cha.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail. Leaning down to sniff her clothes, she winced. Man, I stink! The clothes reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat. Not just her own. She made a disgusted face. Pulling her jacket off, she tied it around her waist.
The soap container had a little bit of congealed goop at the bottom. She added water to the bottle shook it. When the lumps were finally dissolved, she poured the watery 'soap' into her cupped hand and started rubbing it up and down her arms. There's no way in hell this is gonna work. Maybe I'll smell slightly better.
She tried to rub the marker off using her nails, leaving red lines on her arms. Maybe I can grab a shower before hittin the hay. Maybe T. won't be able to tell so easily. Wetting some of the toilet paper, she rubbed it harshly against her skin, causing more red streaks. After all the soap was rinsed away, she looked in the mirror and shrugged. Helluva lotta good that did. She rolled her eyes and stuck her damp arms back into the sleeves of her jacket, rolling them up.
Cupping her hands under the tap, she splashed her face and then patted it dry. After leaving the bathroom, she began to search the store. Febreze, gotta find the Febreze. She quickly walked up and down the aisles until she spied the right bottle. Snatching it up, she went to the register and made the purchase. Exiting the store, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. Six thirty. No one should be up. Should be able to sneak in. She sprayed herself down with the Febreze and set off towards the condo.
*******
Where is she? It's nearly seven and she's not home yet. Tara shifted uncomfortably on their shared bed. It's not that she went out that's bothering me. At least I don't think it's that. It's that she went out, and I told her that I didn't want her to go, especially by herself; but she went anyway. And she promised to be back early. She felt a familiar tingly sensation behind her eyes and squeezed them shut against the tears that were welling up. How am I supposed to help her if she doesn't want the help?
Click. The front door opened and she heard soft foot steps coming towards their bedroom. She rolled over quickly onto her side as the smell of air freshener, sweat, and cigarettes wafted into their room. Just confront her. She was supposed to be here hours ago.
The bed dipped down as she felt Faith sit lightly on the edge. Two consecutive clunks sounded when her shoes were dropped onto the ground. She heard a rustle of fabric when what she assumed were Faith's pants fell. A quick zip and her jacket joined the pile. The bed curved when the brunette rolled onto it.
Would she lie to me? I can smell that scent on her, underneath whatever air freshener she sprayed all over herself. Wonder if she realizes? Tara laid perfectly still, waiting for Faith to say something—anything. When, after a few minutes, no words came from the brunette she turned over. She looks like hell. And of course, she's asleep. Well, guess I'll have to wait to ask her about it.
Tara lightly traced the still visible yellow patterns on the brunette's arms. Her gaze following the shapes all the way down to her girlfriend's palms. Oh my goddess, what has she done to her hands? Maybe I can get her uncle to help? I mean, I really don't know him, but Faith seems to trust him enough. Can I though? Or will he just do the same thing her parents did and ignore the problem? I think the reason why she got into it to begin with was to get their attention, but all it seemed to get her was more invisible-child-syndrome. Would he do the same thing?
Shrugging, she sat up, leaving the bed and gathering her toiletries. We'll just have to find out.
*******
Beep, beep, beep, beep... Joyce reached over and slapped the offensive machine. She glanced quickly at it. Seven o'clock, time to get up. I've got a half hour to get dressed, check on the girls, and make it to the gallery to sign for the new shipment. Oh and breakfast.
She rolled lightly out of bed and walked over to her closet. Selecting a pair of casual slacks and a plain blouse, she slid them both on followed by shoes. A quick glance back at the clock revealed that ten minutes had passed as she quickly ran a brush through her hair and walked out the bedroom door.
She glanced into her daughter's room. I thought Willow was supposed to be spending the night? There was only one lump on the bed under the covers. She reached out slowly, pulling the down comforter back to reveal the redhead. Okay, I guess that she did. Where'd Buffy sleep then? A slight panic started to rise in the back of her throat as she fought it down. Maybe she's up already? She listened for any other noise in the house but heard none.
Silently, she made her way downstairs and breathed a heavy sigh of relief to find her daughter asleep on the couch. Wonder what she's doing down here? I'll have to remember to ask her when I get back. After leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead, she quickly made her way out the front door, locking it behind her.
*******
When the blonde came into view down the hallway, Giles offered, "Tara, good morning." I thought teenagers were supposed to sleep until noon; it's only eight-thirty. His brow furrowed with confusion at the thought.
"Good morning, Mr. Giles." She sat down at the table and grabbed a biscuit from the tray he'd just placed there.
He strode back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Please, call me, Giles or Jeeves. Faith seems rather partial to the latter, but whichever you prefer would be fine." It's rather odd, she's been here for three days now and this is the first time she's actually been around me by herself, I wonder where Faith is. Maybe I should ask? He cleared his throat loudly and sat down across from her, placing the jam and butter dish next to the bread.
She nodded. "Oh, okay, I think I'll stick with Giles."
Grabbed a pastry, he cut it in half and buttered it, putting a spoonful of strawberry jam on top before sandwiching the two pieces back together.
Sensing her unrest, he kept his attention fixed on his breakfast. After finishing a bite, he asked, "I take it Faith has not risen yet?" There's something not right here. She looks troubled. She's normally fine talking with me when Faith is around. I wonder why she would suddenly become so withdrawn, he considered, taking a sip of his tea.
Shaking her head, Tara blushed before averting her gaze and stammering, "N-no, she's still asleep."
It was obvious to Giles that she was struggling with something. Allowing her space, he sat and ate his breakfast in silence until she asked, "Giles, can I umm, can I ask you a favor?"
He nodded quietly. "Yes, of course." This time he looked at her directly, waiting for the question to come.
After setting her half eaten biscuit down on the plate, she stared at it for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his. "Okay, I know that you know the reason we moved here was to get Faith away from drugs, but umm...well, I think that she's back into them, even here. I kind of need help with her. I can only do so much on my own and I'm worried that it won't be enough."
"I'm not sure how much assistance I can be, however I will do my best to help. Just let me know what I can do and well, I'll see to it that it's done," Giles answered plainly. When he fell silent, Tara let out a breath she was holding. He briefly made eye contact. Oh dear, she must be very worried.
A smile of brief relief lit up her features before fading to a frown. "I'll let you know. She's gonna be shaky today, I think that she got a hold of something last night and well, chances are that she's having a rough come-down, so for today, mostly just, well, whatever you do, no orange juice. She'll need to de-tox again. If there's any way we could make her something light and kind of bland to eat? That's all she'll be able to handle for a bit."
*******
"Finally freedom," The teen said as he stood up to stretch his legs. It's been one week since that bitch strapped me to this stupid bed. Now all I want to do is go for a walk. Maybe I'll go and see an old girlfriend. That has potential.
Maggie Walsh watched Angel through the one-way glass. Since the sunlight theory had been disproved, he had not tried to bite any of the nurses. It had been, in her mind anyway, a very successful week for her patient. His hallucinations had stopped and even his mood had improved slightly. Now it was time for him to have his first session, and she couldn't wait to pick his brain.
"If you'll please follow me, sir, I'll show you to your appointment," the mousy young nurse asked quietly from the doorway.
Angel nodded and walked over to her, following her out of the door. Wonder how long it'll be before I can get out of this place? The food is horrible and I could really go for a nice juicy cheeseburger. I'll have to talk to Walsh about it. At least that's where I'm assuming that we're headed. Stupid cunt never told me. While he walked, he scanned his surroundings. Everything was monotone; drab-gray in color. The floor was slick looking, like someone had recently waxed it. It too was light-gray with darker gray chunks spattered sporadically throughout each tile.
He followed the brunette with a sick smile plastered across his face, his own thoughts amusing him to no end. Eeny Meany Miny Mo, catch the doctor by her toe, if she hollers don't let her go, just pull on it harder and before— "We're here."
He looked around the small office, taking in the matching cherry wood desk, bookshelf, and frames all filled with different types of certificates.
"Angel, so good of you to join me," Dr. Walsh offered with a mock cheerful smile. Turning to the nurse, she said, "Thank you. I'll take it from here."
He sat down in the chair in front of her desk and propped his feet rudely up on her work station. "So Doc, what's my diagnosis?"
Raising both her eyebrows at his nonchalance, she ordered, "Remove your feet."
He rolled his eyes, but complied none the less.
When her patient settled, Dr. Walsh began to explain, "We found traces of PCP in your system, yet you claim to have never gone near it. It is, however, highly probable that you were being slipped doses. The amounts detected indicate that it was something you were given pretty regularly," pausing to clear her throat, "We'd like to run a few more tests and see if there are any other substances in your system. We'd also like to search your house to determine where they might've come from." She waited patiently for him to respond.
The only reward he offered for her time was a quick dip of his chin behind tented fingers. She thinks he was poisoning me. That must be it. My uncle would never do that. He let a glare play on his features.
"Other than that I would like to talk to you about your anger management problems."
Rolling his eyes, he stifled a sigh. No time like the present. "Well Doc, I'd like to talk to you about the possibility of me getting out of this hellhole—well, that and a cheeseburger. I could really go for one of those."
She raised both of her eyebrows. "I suppose that could be possible."
Now we're in business, he thought, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
*******
Everything around her was dark and damp. Willow cried out, "Buffy," and stole through a small passageway, "Buffy, where are you?"
Shivering when something brushed her leg, she yelped, "Eep," and jumped. Wrapped her arms around her chest, she implored, "Buffy? C'mon you've gotta be down here somewhere." Reaching out, she touched the wall. It was slick, warm and sticky. There's gotta be a door around here. If I can come in, then I can get out.
There was a small light up ahead. A singular beam radiating from what she assumed was the ceiling. She rushed towards it, keeping her hand on the wall. She ran towards it, but it moved further away.
"I've gotta find her. She's down here somewhere, I know she is, and that light would probably be pretty helpful." She knew she was talking to herself. It was better to listen to her own voice than the splashing sound of her footfalls.
Finally, the light stopped eluding her. It hovered in the distance, stationary in front of her. She ran even faster. When it was less than ten feet away, suddenly the ground dropped away and she started falling. Screaming, she looked at her right hand. It was covered in blood.
Soaked in sweat, she sprung upright in bed and scanned the room. When the confusion faded, she mumbled, "It's okay, it was just a dream. Not real." After sweeping the matted hair out of her face, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and reached out to find Buffy. Her hand brushed the cold sheets. Oh god, where'd she go?
Frantic, she rolled off the bed and padded out of the room. Descending the stairs, she chanted a mantra in her head, I will not panic, she's probably fine, I will not panic...
Relief surged through her when she found the blonde sleeping soundly on the couch. Why's she down here? I know she was upstairs with me when we fell asleep.
She reached down and lightly shook the blonde's shoulder. "Buffy," she whispered, "C'mon Buff, wake up." It only took a moment for the blonde's eyes to flutter open. When they focused on her, Willow asked, "What are you doing down here?"
For a second confusion crossed Buffy's face, then she answered, "Oh, well, you were having a bad dream, kinda kicked me offa the bed, but it's no big. I just didn't want to freak you out any more than whatever you were dreamin' was, so I moved down here."
Aww, that's kind of sweet. Wait, I pushed her off the bed? I don't remember that. It's not like I'd remember it anyway if I really was asleep. God, I'm horrible. I'm the one that pushed her into this whole relationship thing and now I can't even have her touch me while I'm asleep? "Ouch, sorry about that, how about I make us some breakfast?" Willow asked sheepishly.
Buffy smiled and nodded her agreement.
Willow leaned down, giving her a quick peck on the lips before standing up and holding out her hand. "You want pancakes or waffles?" Guilt cooking, yup, way to go Rosenburg, that's gonna help a lot.
*******
Cracking an eye, Faith sat wearily up in bed. God I feel like shit. No, not even shit—road kill. She concentrated on the foot of the bed and sighed in relief when her eyes focused properly. Least that part's over. Now for the depression. Grrreat.
She made her way to the bathroom, stumbling weakly from door frame to door frame. Oh I'm so gonna ralph. This is bad. It's just gonna make me roll again. Nope, gotta keep anything that's left in my stomach there. Oh, water would be good.
She reached into the shower and turned the faucet on. Steam instantly started filling the room. Cold, it has to be cold; hot will just make me sweat again. She turned the knob the other direction and started to breath again as the steam dissipated. She stripped down quickly to her panties and bra. After shutting off the bathroom light, she felt her way over to the icy tub in the dark. Just gotta relax for a few minutes, it'll be fine. Crazy would never screw me over, would he? No, no, he wouldn't. She sank down into the cool liquid. Clamping her eyes shut against the buzzing in her head, she dunked it underwater to stifle the noise.
It didn't take long for her to start shaking again, but this time from the frigid water. Time to get out; don't want to make my temp drop too low. She stood up and felt her way over to the light switch. She flipped it on without opening her eyes. After a few moments of being able to see the brightness through her eyelids, she let them slowly flutter open. Fuck; that is too much. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, rubbing her hair to a point of semi-dryness.
She quickly gathered up her clothes and shut the light off. Opening the door, she stumbled on shaky legs back to her room. The sopping wet panties and bra were discarded in short order. She slipped into a pair of pajama pants, a sports bra, and a tank top.
Checking her reflection in the mirror, she winced. Makeup, makeup is good. Gonna need some of that. After applying a thick layer of foundation under her eyes, she hastily finished her makeup. I don't look quite so much like the walking dead.
She made her way into the living room to find Tara sitting alone on the couch. A giant cup of water and two Tylenol sat in front of her and a large book resting on her lap. Shit. Busted.
Faith plopped down on the couch next to Tara and reached out, taking the water and the medicine. Swallowing it in one gulp, she muttered, "Thanks, Blondie."
Tara looked at her coldly. "I thought you said you weren't going to roll."
Not gonna beat around the bush then I guess. Faith bit her bottom lip guiltily before responding, "Listen, T., I wasn't. Swear it. I just ran into Crazy and he—"
"Faith, I'm tired of this. Tired of these empty promises. How am I supposed to trust you when you can't even keep a stupid promise," Tara grumbled, exasperation clear in her tone.
Faith glanced down, doing her best to look shameful.
"I mean, do you know what it feels like to know that your girlfriend would rather go and get fucked up than to spend a Friday night with you?" the blonde spat, putting emphasis on the curse word.
Faith flinched. Damn, she is pissed. She never curses. Guess that's what makes it more effective when she finally does let one slip. She reached out and grabbed at Tara's hand. "Listen T, it has nothing to do with us. I love you, you know that. It's just that this is kinda a part of who I am. You can't expect me to just stop overnight."
Tara rolled her eyes and yanked her hand away. "Yes, actually, I can. Faith, what do you think the point was of us moving all the way out here? It certainly wasn't so that we could go swimming. You were supposed to stay away from that lifestyle and now what? One week and you're back into it."
She's right, but I can't just cut off all my friends like Crazy. I mean, they're friends, what would they say if I suddenly went 'sorry, can't chill anymore, gotta stay home and be a good lil girl' They'd all look at me like I'd lost my mind. "Well, it's not like I meant to find it here. Swear I didn't. It's like ... almost like gaydar but for ravers. And I can't just turn off my signal, people still find me even when I'm dressed normal."
The blonde sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "So tell them you quit. Tell them to leave you alone. I don't care what you tell them, you don't have to give in. You need to stop, I know you don't want to, and the last thing I want is for you to resent me for making you stop. It's gotta be something you want to do. That's the only way I can help you."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, she's gonna leave. I know it. Dammit, I can not lose her. "I want to stop, believe me T, you know me, better than anyone else, just please, help me?" A tear rolled down her cheek and she thanked whatever god it was that made her be hydrated enough to manage that little trick. I'm startin' to think that sayin' is true. How do you know a druggie is lying? Words are comin' outta her mouth. Fuck.
Tara gently wiped the moisture away and sighed again as she nodded her acceptance. "C'mere," she said softly and pulled the brunette into a hug.
I'll stop. And I'll actually do it, just not till after next weekend, I promised Snugglz that I would meet her back up there. I can sneak out just once more.
*******
Willow watched Buffy as she started washing the plates in the sink. "Where's your mom at?"
Buffy's brow wrinkled slightly before she replied, "At the gallery I think. She said something about a new shipment last night, so that's my guess."
The blonde hummed lightly to herself and watched Willow out of the corner of her eye. She looks all deep thinky. Wonder what's up? She can't still be freaked over the whole couch thing can she? As she watched, the redhead's face changed from the thoughtful to resolved.
*******
"And one-two-three, and one-two-three. That's it, twirl, step, and twirl," the instructor's voice carried over the din of students. She was a small woman with short black hair and a large smile.
Man she's loud. Xander grimaced as he tried to follow the instructions unsuccessfully. "I'm not sure what good this is gonna do Cordy, I told you, I've got two left feet unless you count the 'Snoopy Dance'."
Cordelia suppressed rolling her eyes, and let her mouth curl into a smirk. "Xander, dance lessons will be good for you and how else do you plan on dancing with me at the party next weekend?"
"Ms. Chase, excellent job, Mr. Harris, you're a beat off. Mr. Osbourne, would you please take Mr. Harris' place with Ms. Chase? Mr. Harris, come dance with me," the instructor remarked coolly.
Cordelia's smile nearly lit up the room at the praise and Xander frowned slightly. This whole dancing thing just isn't for me. Gimme some balls and maybe I can juggle, I can tell a funny joke, I can...wait, what else can I do?
As Xander stepped away from his girlfriend, he heard the pale red-haired man introduce himself, "Daniel Osbourne, everyone calls me Oz though." He held out his hand for Xander to shake.
"Nice to meetcha, well, guess I better go and learn to do the salsa!" Xander snapped his fingers at the end of his sentence to give it that extra little oompf. Gonna have to keep an eye on him.
As he walked sullenly towards their teacher, Cordy asked, "Oh wow, so where'd you learn how to dance?"
"Just around, clubs, you know," Oz replied.
Yeah, around. Xander rolled his eyes and in his head started to mimic the dancing pair behind him. His internal voice took on a high pitched squeaky tone, 'You dance so well blah, blah, blah—' then went to low and thick, 'Oh yeah, maybe I could take you out sometime and show you some new moves.' He guffawed at his impression of the two of them. Cordy would never do that, would she?
*******
I can do this! Yup! I have the will power! Ha-ha...Will-power...'kay, so...total dork. Willow fidgeted nervously as she sat next to Buffy. Both of them were pretending to watch some old movie that had come on TV. And here I go.
Leaning forward, she turned Buffy's face her and captured the blonde's lips in a passionate kiss. Whoa look at me go. She ran her tongue lightly along Buffy's lips. When she felt Buffy respond, it didn't take long for her to pull the blonde closer. Okay, hands, hands; what to do with my hands? Hips or shoulders? Hips are more intimate, that's what I want, right? More intimate. She slid her hands over the blonde's petite waist. Suppressing a sigh of contentment, she felt Buffy's hands make their way up her ribcage, over her shirt. Yup, I can do this. Wait, am I convincing myself or her? Dammit, this may have been a bad idea.
Buffy pulled back just enough to start kissing her way down the redhead's neck, lightly nipping and sucking her way towards Willow's collarbone. She was so distracted that she didn't notice Buffy was slowly lowering her onto her back on the couch while her fingertips played with the hem of her shirt.
Stifling a moan deep in her throat, she felt the blonde's hand slip under the material. The moment her girlfriend's fingers brushed her stomach, she froze, stuck in a memory. Not of her and Buffy, but of someone else, someone with rough hands forcing his way up under her shirt. She winced and felt bile rise up in her throat, but swallowed it. The gag wouldn't let any of the acrid liquid out of her mouth.
*******
Okay, what happened? Everything was going fine. I didn't think that anything was too rushed. Then suddenly, 'bam!' she freezes. She's got this look in her eyes. It's far away and vacant and—well, honestly...it's freaking me out. Maybe she's not ready for this? Umm...duh...was your first clue 'the deer the headlights' look, or— "Will? Willow? You okay?" Buffy pulled back and shook the redhead softly by the shoulder, "Wills? Earth to Willow, come in Willow?"
Willow blinked and the expression was gone.
Suddenly, Buffy had an arm full of crying redhead. Whoa, where the hell did that come from? One minute she's all over me, initiating something. She started kissing me and god did it feel good. I'm finally giving in and actually getting really comfortable with this aspect of the 'Willow and Buffy' thing. Next thing I know she's nothing but tears? Maybe we should be going to see a real shrink after all?
"Oh Buffy." She managed to sob out in between tears and gasping for breath.
Dammit, I knew it was too fast. "Shhh, shhh, it'll be okay. Everything's fine, I've got you." Buffy rocked her back and forth, letting her fingers trail softly through the red locks.
"No, it's not okay, I'm sorry," Willow stammered, "I was just trying to prove to you that I'm okay and well, I guess I'm really not," her voice catching at the end.
Buffy just stared at the redhead in alarm. Rubbing circles on her girlfriend's back, she reflected, "Oh sweetie, you don't have to prove anything to me. I get that it's gonna take time and I'm okay with that. I promise."
Willow rubbed her eyes in a futile effort to stop the tears and stood up, backing away from Buffy's embrace. "I'm just—I'm just gonna go home. I'll see you at school," she said as she backed out of the room, rushing out the front door.
The moment what had happened registered in her mind, Buffy called out, "Will," but it was too late. Willow had gone, and there she was, sitting alone on the couch. Great, this is just freaking wonderful. She let her head drop into her hands and sighed dejectedly. I'll wait a few and then call her, see if she wants to talk maybe?
What happened to make her freeze? Well, I know what happened to her, but what happened with us? Is it me? Did I maybe go too far with the whole, gropage thing? She must not be that comfortable with me yet, but then, how am I supposed to make her more comfy with the idea of us? I mean... Dammit. I'm so lost.
******
As they neared the school, Tara asked, "So, then I'll see you at lunch?"
Faith nodded before answering, "Yeah Blondie, I'll see you there." She gave the girl a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading towards the weekly group counseling session. Taking a seat at her regular desk, she glanced over at Buffy's to see a paper laying on it. Dammit, knew I was supposed to be doin' somethin' this weekend. She shrugged and mentally kicked herself for her forgetfulness.
"So, B, where's Red this morning?" she asked, mocking a smirk while she waited for a response.
Buffy never even glanced up from her paper.
Man, she's really out of it this mornin'. Faith waved her hands in front of the blonde and when that got no response, resorted to poking her.
Buffy nearly jumped out of her desk. "Huh, what? What'd you say?" She glanced questioningly at the brunette.
"Just asked where Red is?" Faith repeated. The smirk disappeared and a look of concern replaced it when Buffy seemed to pause, thinking about her answer.
The blonde shrugged slightly. "No idea. Haven't seen or heard from her since Saturday."
Well, that sure as hell isn't good. Trouble in paradise maybe?
Mrs. Trawick stood up in the front of the class as soon as the bell rang and clapped her hands together. "Alright now would everyone please pass up their essays?"
Why the hell can't she just act like a normal person and hate Mondays?
*******
It's the same, it's always the same. Willow was in the dark again, trying to find her footing. "Buffy? Buffy where are you?" she called out into the murky surroundings. The light loomed in the distance, far, far away. She ran away from it this time, but it kept gaining on her. "Someone help me! Please?!" she yelled desperately to anyone who would listen.
It was no use. Her legs were growing tired, turning to lead. She tried to run harder, but the light just kept gaining. No matter how much effort she put in, she couldn't outrun it.
"I'm coming for you, Strawberry," a gravelly voice called out behind her.
She could almost remember the thick, evil smile. An image of her captor flashed in front of her. "No!" she screamed, "Stay away from me!" Sticking her hand out, she felt the wall as she ran, hoping to find someplace to hide. It was lumpy, squishy and hot again. God, where am I?
"There's no point in running, Strawberry. You're just running to me," the voice behind her taunted.
As she looked up, the light was there. She glanced back quickly. It was behind her too. Stopping, she glanced back and forth between the two lights.
"See Strawberry, no matter where you run, it's always to me," the voice echoed from both ends.
She took one more step forward and fell again.
'You'll always be mine, Strawberry,' the voice reverberated in her head as she woke up with a start. She glanced over at the alarm clock next to her bed, taking in the fluorescent green numbers numbly.
You'll always be mine, Strawberry. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was right, even as she got up and started getting ready. She was late, that much she knew. The question was: did she really care?
A/N: Thanks for Valyssia for fixing this chapter. Thoughts? Happy readings.-L.