The Way it Should Be

By Clarity Scifiroots

Disclaimers apply

November 20, 2001

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No one listened.

Willow did, for a time... She listened and looked so helpless when I talked to her. I listened to everything he had said, tried to make him change his mind... I was so desperate, but it had no effect. When I related it to Willow she put him in the bad light for me - claimed it was what best buds do. Well, I wish I'd told her to keep going... Instead she was serious and open with me, hesitantly revealing that she thought it was best and that this was how things should be. I told her. I told her what it was doing to me...

I'm dying. I can't feel anymore...

Is that how things are supposed to be?

College is Hell, I can't find my way around, my few friends are far from me, the teachers hate me, I'm lost in the crowd, and there's no longer anyone to help. Willow and Oz are off doing their thing and being happy... I don't want to hurt them, they deserve the happiness. Giles... is still holed up and wandering about without any real job. He's still on guard about helping me; he wants me to finish growing up and adept to responsibility. My last resort, Xander, is hard to find sometimes. Since he's not here, at college with us, I can't see him when I most need to. When I'm with him, I feel at least calm, that means something.

Still, I'm cold and hollow. I don't feel much, it's like everything's blocked except for pain... deep, stabbing pain and bitter sorrow. I can't feel anything else... Maybe if I didn't cover it up so well someone would touch me and ask what's going on. But I'm too good with the mask... Hell, I learned from the best. God it hurts... hurts more than I can stand.

I'm dying, so why don't that see?

I want them to see... because I can't feel the danger anymore... I just don't care.

{Thin drops of blood fall on the tissue sticking from the box.}

There is pain surrounding me... yet if it's pain I feel, why doesn't my skin hurt? My pulse is here, I feel it constantly or else I don't trust I'm even alive. It's not hurting... I started with small, thin cuts that close quickly and disappear within a week. I moved from there, and I dig, deeper and deeper. I've got scars, behind my knees, my ankles, the inside of my elbow, and now my wrists. I'm attacking my wrists, because I want to banish that fucking lie known as my pulse.

I can't breathe, I can't feel, I'm not normal... I'm just dead, why are there signs to prove otherwise? I just want to lay down and die, but no... I'm the "chosen" bitch that has to save the others. I have to... otherwise they'll all end up like this. All of them will turn into empty shells, their corpse-like bodies traveling place-to-place - existing, but not living.

{A small oval-shaped stain is revealed when the arm is moved away, the fingers combing through blonde hair. Streaks of red appear on her cheek and brow.}

Guess it doesn't matter. In the end I'll die, there's nothing that will stop it. I'll die, maybe because my enemy is stronger or wittier. Maybe because I'll be thinking of the people I love instead of myself. Maybe because I'll be too wounded to do something else. Maybe because my opponent will have a face of someone I know. Maybe because the enemy - at its core - is me.

{The phone rings.}

"Hello?" My voice is calm.

"We tracked down the nest, we'll meet up at the Red Table."

"On it."

I hang up. So, here we go again. Let's see how well I hold back the enemy. I look in the mirror as I pull on boots. I have blood on my face and on my sleeves. The skin and fabric stick, but it doesn't hurt, and I don't care. I pull on a jacket, pocket a few knifes, resisting the urge to jamb them between my ribs. I need to get someone out right now. I won't let them take away Oz, the person Willow deserves and needs. I can't let her down, not after all this time.

One more day, just one more day and then I'll-...

<End>