February - Goodbye Drug [16]
There's a picture in her head that causes her unbearable pain - and it shouldn't, because truly, it's only a reflection of everything that she's brought upon herself and Darla has always (always) believed that regret is a wasted emotion. Perhaps it's the soul, burning itself ever deeper into her unconscious, but she can't help wondering. Why now? Why him?
Of all the lives she's taken, children she's orphaned, people she’s hurt (using cruelty and her sharp tongue to achieve her purpose), why is he the only one she can’t banish from her thoughts?
It’s something to ponder, truly. She’d never had a great deal of respect for him (the feelings he inspired in her when she realized how cruel he could be [despite his human soul] were something else entirely. Despite his shortcomings, however, she’d leaned on him more often than she cares to admit. He’d saved her and protected her from herself (and he’d understood her better than anybody had since Angel).
He’d realized early on that she’d never love him, yet he took her harsh words against him with a quiet acceptance, expecting little (or nothing) in return.
She never thanked him for his unconditional - support, love, infatuation - whatever it was that led him to take care of her while she adjusted to being alive again, and she never gave him even the slightest hint that she might have felt more for him than mild distaste.
And now that she’s back, now that she’s alive again and doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing, that hurts.
Part of her knows that Angel could tell her, or could find him for her, but she’s not one to accept weakness in anybody, especially herself. And what she does admit to, she’d never show to Angel, of all people (though he probably could see it if he cared to look - he’s always been able to look right through her.)
For now, she’ll bear the pain of not knowing and the regret of the things she’s done. Even if she saw him again, what would she say? She’s lived four hundred years and she understands how hollow an apology can sound.
Of all the lives she's taken, children she's orphaned, people she’s hurt (using cruelty and her sharp tongue to achieve her purpose), why is he the only one she can’t banish from her thoughts?
It’s something to ponder, truly. She’d never had a great deal of respect for him (the feelings he inspired in her when she realized how cruel he could be [despite his human soul] were something else entirely. Despite his shortcomings, however, she’d leaned on him more often than she cares to admit. He’d saved her and protected her from herself (and he’d understood her better than anybody had since Angel).
He’d realized early on that she’d never love him, yet he took her harsh words against him with a quiet acceptance, expecting little (or nothing) in return.
She never thanked him for his unconditional - support, love, infatuation - whatever it was that led him to take care of her while she adjusted to being alive again, and she never gave him even the slightest hint that she might have felt more for him than mild distaste.
And now that she’s back, now that she’s alive again and doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing, that hurts.
Part of her knows that Angel could tell her, or could find him for her, but she’s not one to accept weakness in anybody, especially herself. And what she does admit to, she’d never show to Angel, of all people (though he probably could see it if he cared to look - he’s always been able to look right through her.)
For now, she’ll bear the pain of not knowing and the regret of the things she’s done. Even if she saw him again, what would she say? She’s lived four hundred years and she understands how hollow an apology can sound.