Mature
Disclaimers apply. Song by Beth Hart.
October 26, 2001
---
She
hangs around the boulevard
She's a local girl with local scars
“Dust-ed! Hah!”
The lithe blonde smirked widely at the spread of ashes as she brushed off her
boots. Pocketing the wooden stake, she turned around and exited the alley.
She strode down the nighttime streets of
A middle-aged man dodged out of her way, giving her a
disgusted and slightly frightened look. She stopped and stood, hands on hips,
and shouted to him, “Yeah, mister, that’s right! I can handle much bigger
things than you so move your ass!”
Proudly she spun back around and played with her choker
pendent of a Celtic cross. Her tank top reveled parts of scars, years old and
days old, but they were hardly testimony to all she had faced. With one hand
stretched out she found the shadowed door handle entering the apartment
building and jabbed the key towards the keyhole - instead hitting her thumb.
“Ow, damn!” Trying again, she
wriggled it in and managed to get inside. She made her way to the elevator and
hit three numbers before getting the correct floor.
She got home late, she got home late
She drank so hard the bottle ached
Once inside her apartment, Buffy, the roaming Slayer, kicked
off her boots and threw down her keys and weapons. In the kitchen she propped
herself up on a barstool and reached for a bag of chocolate chips, snatching a
bottle of some thing or another - its label already torn off.
“God, what number are you on now?!” she demanded of herself.
Flipping to a happy-go-lucky note she replied, “I have no
idea! I can’t count past seven!” She snickered as the other side of the
argument snorted in disgust.
In silence she finished the rest of the bottle and then
threw it towards the sink in annoyance when it was finished. Glass shards
scattered along the opposite counter top and into the sink basin. Ignoring it,
Buffy lowered her head to her crossed arms, exhausted.
And she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried
But nothings clear in a bar full of flies
So she takes and she takes she takes and she takes
She understands when she gives it away
It had only been a year or so ago when she had started the
need for something, anything, to get her away from reality. Things had been...
settling down, at least in the demon sort of way, in Sunnydale
and she had moved up to LA permanently, her help no longer needed. It was too
hard to stay there anyway.
Originally she stayed with her dad, taking an empty guest
room and personalizing it to her own tastes. After a week of failing job
interviews, she’d headed out to a bar instead of going home. One way or another
she wound up on some alcoholic high and it had lifted her above everyone and
everything. She’d been free, for however long that insane high had lasted, and
even the vomiting and hangover later were worth it. When it became a nightly
habit for her to go bar-hopping, her father wasn’t happy and sat down for a
far-too-late “father-to-daughter” talk.
That didn’t help things a bit, she
only left the house and ended up unconscious at a small table in a dingy club
tucked away in a rotting neighborhood. She’d thought about her options before
that, though, and started to come to a number of conclusions about her life.
She says
"Man I got to get out of this town.
Man I got to get out of this pain.
Man I got to get out of this town,
out of this town, and out of LA."
A bar attendant slapped her awake and shipped her out into
the predawn morning. Buffy managed to stumble her way “home” and pack her
things up, as well as taking some extra cash from her father, and headed out
the front door. No letter, no sign, nothing. She didn’t want to leave anymore
than she had to of her presence behind.
At the bus station she bought a ticket to the first town
name she found on the list - one way. She slumped into a waiting chair,
stuffing the ticket in her leather jacket pocket and pulled up her single
duffle bag onto her lap. To pass the hours she had to wait, she people watched,
not wanting to think of the past that hadn’t given up and died yet.
‘I’m
not leaving anything good behind. It’s all just an ugly, fucked-up mess... Anything’s
better, it’s got to be.’ Determined, she finished her waiting and boarded the bus
with a powerful aura radiating from her.
She's got a gun, she's got a gun
She got a gun she call the lucky one
She left a note by the phone
Don't leave a message
Cause this ain't no home
Coming out of her half-doze, Buffy hit the answering machine
angrily. ‘I
thought the piece of shit was already broken!’ The stupid machine
somehow avoided the crappy building that electronics were known for and managed
to grind out pieces of its final recording as Buffy looked around for something
else to hit it with.
“-uffy, didn’t know if... There?...Sorry, I... See you... Nee-...
Okay?... I should catch-... Have to... Bye.”
Lifting the toaster, she dropped it decisively on the
worthless machine and smirked proudly as a few sparks leaped in the air. “Don’tcha know, ‘diot? This ain’t no home!” She laughed humorlessly and left the kitchen,
already forgetting that there had ever been an answering machine to murder or a
voice she needed to recognize. There was a different voice yelling from the
inside, screaming at her and clawing at her insides, ready to poke her eyes
out, eat her tongue, crush her neck.
‘Die,
die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die...!!!’
She laughed again as she fell to a kneel
before her bedside table. Old clothes were strewn about the room along with
paper, books, videos, and other items. The bed wasn’t made, hadn’t been for
ages and the sheets hadn’t been washed since God-knows-when and was dirty with
stains of ink, lead, paint, nail polish, lipstick, alcohol, food, and blood.
Buffy touched the bed affectionately, smiling happily. This was her sanctuary,
yes, her little tower for one. No one could touch
her...
No one but herself.
With a chilling smile and voices chorusing in her head, she
pulled the drawer open and reached fingers with chipped nails inside to sift
through the belongings she didn’t want to look at. He hand curled around and
cool handle of metal, it felt so different from the medieval weapons she used
for slaying demons.
“Well,” she sniggered to herself, “it’s a new demon, not
like anything before, let’s use a new toy!”
And she cried, and she cried, and she cried, and she cried
She cried so long her tears ran dry
And she laughed, and she laughed, she laughed, and she laughed
Cause she knew she was never coming back
There had been a time when all she could do was sob and mope about while dreaming the impossible, that a
life that she didn’t mind - a life that she had at least partially loved -
would ever come back. Friends told her to let it all go, to move on with her
life and make the best of it. Still she cried, in secret and when she couldn’t
keep it hidden she burst and babbled uncontrollably about all she missed and
what she wanted back the most. They’d all been disappointed in her, they said
she should have been able to control herself and understand that things
happened and this was all just a part of life, there
was nothing she could do about it.
So she tried it out, she tried moving on and went to
college, hung out with old and new friends alike. She’d dated, had slept around
a bit, had tried new things, looked for her creative
side - discovering her liking for art and poetry. In the end it didn’t help one
bit. She broke up with her boyfriends, dropped connections she didn’t give a
wit about and finished college none too soon. After that she packed up and
left, content that she would find something else to the world in LA, the
strange city she had originally come from, where the best part of her past
roamed. She was determined to get something better from life there, determined
to find at least someone or something to fill in the largest gaping wound that
wouldn’t close.
She said
"Man I'm gonna get out of this town.
Man I'm gonna get out of this pain.
Man I'm gonna get out of this town,
out of this town and out of LA."
Things hadn’t quite turned out as expected, however, and she
never broke down to the point of calling the one person she needed most. To
call was to be weak and to cause even more pain. She had understood they were
separated, separated for the rest of their lives at that, and Buffy knew she
would get over it. She knew it
was no big deal.
...But it wasn’t. So she left again, she had ridden out of
the city without notice to enter some old town...
Its all she loves
It all she hates
It's all too much for her to take
She can't be sure just where it ends
Or where the good life begins
Buffy drew the gun out of the drawer, cradling it to her
chest protectively, like a newborn baby. She cooed to it and herself, feeling
the calm settle over her. Carefully she stood, swaying over to an old
full-length mirror she had picked up at some rummage sale. Her reflection
looked back at her. She chuckled softly, her image was
quite the sight...
Old makeup ran, mascara and black
eye shadow a mess on her upper cheeks. Her lipstick had long worn, leaving no
trace of it behind. Her hair was a mess, shoulder length now with strands of
hair three-quarters dyed blood red. Her outfit of a gray tank-top and torn,
dark jeans let the scars leave their impressions on pale skin. She just smiled
and waved at the reflection.
“We don’t have to look at this anymore, now do we?”
The smile widened and she cocked the gun, holding it before
her with the barrel hovering just inches away from the mirror’s surface. The
crazed figure in the mirror did the same.
“Bang...!” She whispered, still grinning as the pulled the
gun up and back, mimicking a real blast.
“Not yet... gotta finish some
things. I’ll be back,” she gave a hushed promise and turned away from the
mirror, starting her search through dirty piles for her paint set.
So she took a train, she took a train
To a little old town without a name
She met a man
He took her in
But fed her all the same bull shit again
When she stepped onto the sidewalk of the tiny town, Buffy
knew immediately this was just what she was looking for. Something out in the
middle of nowhere, a place quiet and secretive, easy place to stroll all day
and night while being able to find her way back to anything she wanted.
She found a small bed and breakfast for a cheap fare and
stayed for two nights, then left and started her search for what she was going
to do next. She ended up working at the main store of the town - a place that
sold everything from groceries to hunting supplies.
A fellow employee began to notice her dilemma of having no
place to stay when she wore the same, stained and dirty sweatshirt for the
fourth day in a row. He offered her a place to stay, Buffy shrugged and
accepted. It actually went well, and her mind floated to calmness and her
drinking habits slowed to nothing. She realized she was having a normal life, a
content
normal life. So it was possible...
But if she had learned anything through her experiences, it
should have been that things can easily start out wonderful, fantastic, even,
but then take a sharp turn and plummet all hope into nothing.
Cause he lied and he lied and he lied and he lied
He lied like a salesman selling flies
So she screamed and she screamed and she screamed and she screamed
Its a different place
But the same old thing
Jason was his name and they lived together for one and a
half months before he went beyond kissing her and they made it past some hot,
fiery nights of sex. He said he loved her, but she didn’t say anything back,
couldn’t think of anything truthful. But it was an all right relationship and
she felt fine about it, it didn’t bother her at all...
Until he started bringing in other women who he slept with
and then asked her to come back to him. He’d tell her over and over the same
old lies she’d always heard uttered from anyone’s mouths - whether it be to her
or anyone else she knew. When he tried to convince her that she was the only
one good enough for him and that he’d cancel everything he’d ever thought of
just to make her happy, she laughed in his face.
She slapped him hard and yelled at him, blaming him for all
her past pains and everything that had ended up fucked up in her life. She
packed as she ranted, going off into spurts of things
he had no clue about. When she left the bedroom with her baggage in hand, Jason
sprinted to the other side of the room, watching her with an obvious expression
reading “Freak!” She didn’t say anything else to him, merely slammed the door
hard.
Its all I love
Its all I hate
Its all too much for me to take
I can't be sure
Where it begins
Oh if the good life
Lies within
“mado kara itsumo kawarazu sakura ga kaze ni
yurari yurari yurari yurari to mau ishiki
ga kyou mo usureyuku kimi wa dare? nanimo
omoidasenai boku no te o tori chikara
tsuyoku nigitteru te ni namida
ga koboreochita yo...” Buffy sang softly to herself as she rubbed in the
last bit of red on her abstract painting. She touched it lovingly as she
finished and licked her wrist absently to slow the blood flow.
“Don’t you see... how
little I mean...” she sang softly to a tune of her own, partially in a trance. “There’s no meaning... no life to live... It doesn’t
matter... ‘Cuz I don’t care... You won’t miss me... No one will...”
She stared at the smooth gun in her hands, a heavy weight
held between frail hands. It was rather funny how after all this time she was
going to kill the one thing that had screwed everything up for anyone and
everyone she had ever meant. Well, maybe it was too late to fix but she could
at least try. No one would be missing out on anything, not like she’d spoken to
anyone since that damn incident in the small town where she had lost her last
strands of any hope...
So she said
"Man I gotta get out of this town.
Now I gotta get back on that train.
Man I gotta get out of this town.
I'm out of my pain,
So I'm going back to LA
Back to LA
Back to LA
I'm going back to LA
“Guess this means I’ll see you all later,” she smiled
bitterly. “See whoever goes to hell...”
She stood facing the canvas before her, smeared with all her
emotions screaming out to the dead world of her apartment. The barrel of the
gun slid easily into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she tightened the trigger.
Bang.
There was silence.
I'm
going back to LA
Desperate and beyond worried, Angel took the stairs, three
at a time, rather than use the elevator. He’d been haunted by a reoccurring
dream throughout the late part of yesterday’s night and the day following.
Because of sunlight he had been unable to travel and couldn’t send anyone else
out to check for him since he knew that he’d only locate where he needed to be
by himself, but just heading there and letting his sense guide him.
Angel strode down the hallway, glancing at doors quickly and
finally coming to an abrupt halt before and plain door matching all the others.
He didn’t think he had any time to wait and broke the door handle, pushing it
in and hurrying inside the apartment.
He stopped at the smell.
Blood. And a lot of it. His insides plummeted and he felt, for the
first time in many, many decades, like throwing up. Feeling weak-kneed, now, he
carefully placed once foot in front of the other, moving towards the booted
feet that were showing from behind the single couch. When he could see her, he
didn’t move and just stared.
There wasn’t anything he could say, and there was nothing he
could do. Not now, maybe not even before.
His soul died, or at least it felt like it did, and he
walked over to the phone calmly, picking it up and dialing without thinking.
Softly his voice sounded, “I have a suicide to report...”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy’s morbid masterpiece consisted of abstract figures -
presumably of herself - and quotes, names, and other words with meaning. Those
who had known her well - or perhaps even just a little bit - could start to
interpret what she had created. The pool of blood that has welled over its
surface gave it a chilling resemblance to some form of... “Goodbye.”
What was painted in large, block, black letters was:
“Suicide is easy.”
Perhaps the most accusing words of the piece were those that
repeated themselves over and over, forming the border and cutting into family,
friends, and lover... “Do you even care if I die bleeding?”
Angel wanted to say something, say aloud that he was sorry,
so sorry,
because he knew it had to be because of him... but an apologize would do
nothing... and he choked up each time he thought about it. When the group
mingled together after an evening funeral, he walked away, heading towards the
part of town where a large group of demons were holing up. He needed to take
out his pains on someone else before he put an end to himself as well.
~ * ~
* ~ * ~ End ~ * ~ * ~ * ~