A Double Heart for my Single One ch 8
Apparently I forgot to post chapter 8 on here. *is chagrined*
He was in a place where the screaming never ended. Where the sky never cleared. Where the very air burned. He was strapped naked to a table, his body beaten, his arms and legs stretched out tight and held there by rough bands of rope. Every so often a small sharp toothed demon would come and take a nibbling bite out of his flesh. It’s saliva burned worse than the bite, and he would scream, and above the screams he could hear the laughter.
Angel woke with a start and again could not fathom where he was. To his confused denigrated mind he was still in Hell and so his confusion mounted with the blinding brightness. It seemed as though he could not adjust his eyes and even the indirect barely there light of day felt like hundreds of needles on his raw skin. Tears streamed down his prickling eyes as he tried to make sense of where he was, and who might be around him. The vulnerability he felt was terrifying.
Then he realized he was on something soft. Surely this was some kind of new game. They were showing him what he did not have in order to torture him further. More tears leaked down his face as he tried to sit up. At the first sensation of restraint he panicked and thrashed, only to find out that the binding wasn’t to the bed, but in fact all over his skin. Unbalanced from his movement his tumbled from the warmth of the mattress and onto a wood floor and he groaned as numerous injuries were once again opened. Perhaps it was for the best though; perhaps they would have punished him for reveling in the softness. Then a new fear hit him. What if he was supposed to stay? What if they sent him to the fires for moving? His entire body was once again overtaken with trembling at the thought of such agony. Please no, no, no, no, no.
You’re forgetting something, a small voice in his head seemed to say, but Angel hardly recognized the voice let alone had the wherewithal to calm and recall what he had forgotten. He was wracked with the feeling that he had seen *her* and she had been there, that he had touched something that wasn’t pain, but that had to be a fantasy. He’d had that fantasy before. That wasn’t a memory, that wasn’t real. There was nothing he wanted to remember. There was nothing for him. He knew he was crying, but could not seem to contain it even as his keening sobs tore at his ears. He wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted exactly but he wanted. Still, the memories that would unlock his understanding were hidden from him. They lay in the peripheral of his mind, tantalizing but invisible. Frustrating, working to shred any knowledge he acquired with their illusiveness. And so, frightened and unsure, he curled up and hoped *they* would not find him and that maybe *she* would.
To say that Buffy was in a bad mood at school the next day was an understatement. At lunch, before Cordelia even had a chance to snark, Buffy’s costic glare shut her up. Xander giggled at that until Buffy’s look was aimed at him.
He held up his hands imploringly. “What? I didn’t say anything.” Then he paused and leaned closer. “But since I’m talking now and probably going to get my head ripped off anyway, what’s eating you? Did something happen?”
Buffy’s glare quickly turned into a sulk as she sunk down a little in her chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Xander looked to Willow who shrugged. “She was gone, now she’s back. I don’t know anything else. Slayer stuff maybe.”
Buffy continued to glare and pout until Oz walked up, then she started and nearly fell out of her chair.
“Hello?” he said.
Buffy held her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me. You’re likely to get slayed.”
Oz raised an eyebrow but under the sarcasm there was hurt. Willow looked to her boyfriend imploringly and shrugged. “She didn’t really mean it. She’s just stressed.”
“Oh.” This was Oz again, “I use those scented candles.” Buffy sighed and stood but the moment before she lifted her hand from the table it was obvious she was shaking badly. Walking over to the window she crossed her arms and stared out at the lawn forlornly. Oz took her place and began to eat.
“Wills, she’s really bad off,” Xander said. He spoke in a stage whisper but if Buffy heard him she didn’t respond. In fact, at the moment, she was doing a fantastic impression of statue Buffy.
“I know,” Willow said, “but she won’t say anything. Giles is afraid she’s going to…” Willow dropped her voice, “run away again.”
They all looked at Buffy as one to see her wiping a tear from her eye.
“Whatever it is,” Willow added, “it’s bad.”
When the bell rang at the end of the day Faith was at Buffy’s locker before she’d even opened it.
“Hey B, how ya doing?”
Buffy didn’t answer. “Ready to go slay some vamps? Kill some demons? Gah, doesn’t it get you pumped up just thinking about it?” Faith air boxed and smiled at the other slayer. Buffy slammed the locker and stomped off toward the library. When she had turned the corner Faith glance over at the locker where the door had been crumpled by Buffy’s hand.
“Shit,” she said.
He was in a place where the screaming never ended. Where the sky never cleared. Where the very air burned. He was strapped naked to a table, his body beaten, his arms and legs stretched out tight and held there by rough bands of rope. Every so often a small sharp toothed demon would come and take a nibbling bite out of his flesh. It’s saliva burned worse than the bite, and he would scream, and above the screams he could hear the laughter.
Angel woke with a start and again could not fathom where he was. To his confused denigrated mind he was still in Hell and so his confusion mounted with the blinding brightness. It seemed as though he could not adjust his eyes and even the indirect barely there light of day felt like hundreds of needles on his raw skin. Tears streamed down his prickling eyes as he tried to make sense of where he was, and who might be around him. The vulnerability he felt was terrifying.
Then he realized he was on something soft. Surely this was some kind of new game. They were showing him what he did not have in order to torture him further. More tears leaked down his face as he tried to sit up. At the first sensation of restraint he panicked and thrashed, only to find out that the binding wasn’t to the bed, but in fact all over his skin. Unbalanced from his movement his tumbled from the warmth of the mattress and onto a wood floor and he groaned as numerous injuries were once again opened. Perhaps it was for the best though; perhaps they would have punished him for reveling in the softness. Then a new fear hit him. What if he was supposed to stay? What if they sent him to the fires for moving? His entire body was once again overtaken with trembling at the thought of such agony. Please no, no, no, no, no.
You’re forgetting something, a small voice in his head seemed to say, but Angel hardly recognized the voice let alone had the wherewithal to calm and recall what he had forgotten. He was wracked with the feeling that he had seen *her* and she had been there, that he had touched something that wasn’t pain, but that had to be a fantasy. He’d had that fantasy before. That wasn’t a memory, that wasn’t real. There was nothing he wanted to remember. There was nothing for him. He knew he was crying, but could not seem to contain it even as his keening sobs tore at his ears. He wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted exactly but he wanted. Still, the memories that would unlock his understanding were hidden from him. They lay in the peripheral of his mind, tantalizing but invisible. Frustrating, working to shred any knowledge he acquired with their illusiveness. And so, frightened and unsure, he curled up and hoped *they* would not find him and that maybe *she* would.
To say that Buffy was in a bad mood at school the next day was an understatement. At lunch, before Cordelia even had a chance to snark, Buffy’s costic glare shut her up. Xander giggled at that until Buffy’s look was aimed at him.
He held up his hands imploringly. “What? I didn’t say anything.” Then he paused and leaned closer. “But since I’m talking now and probably going to get my head ripped off anyway, what’s eating you? Did something happen?”
Buffy’s glare quickly turned into a sulk as she sunk down a little in her chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Xander looked to Willow who shrugged. “She was gone, now she’s back. I don’t know anything else. Slayer stuff maybe.”
Buffy continued to glare and pout until Oz walked up, then she started and nearly fell out of her chair.
“Hello?” he said.
Buffy held her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me. You’re likely to get slayed.”
Oz raised an eyebrow but under the sarcasm there was hurt. Willow looked to her boyfriend imploringly and shrugged. “She didn’t really mean it. She’s just stressed.”
“Oh.” This was Oz again, “I use those scented candles.” Buffy sighed and stood but the moment before she lifted her hand from the table it was obvious she was shaking badly. Walking over to the window she crossed her arms and stared out at the lawn forlornly. Oz took her place and began to eat.
“Wills, she’s really bad off,” Xander said. He spoke in a stage whisper but if Buffy heard him she didn’t respond. In fact, at the moment, she was doing a fantastic impression of statue Buffy.
“I know,” Willow said, “but she won’t say anything. Giles is afraid she’s going to…” Willow dropped her voice, “run away again.”
They all looked at Buffy as one to see her wiping a tear from her eye.
“Whatever it is,” Willow added, “it’s bad.”
When the bell rang at the end of the day Faith was at Buffy’s locker before she’d even opened it.
“Hey B, how ya doing?”
Buffy didn’t answer. “Ready to go slay some vamps? Kill some demons? Gah, doesn’t it get you pumped up just thinking about it?” Faith air boxed and smiled at the other slayer. Buffy slammed the locker and stomped off toward the library. When she had turned the corner Faith glance over at the locker where the door had been crumpled by Buffy’s hand.
“Shit,” she said.