FTVS: I've got some s'plainy to do.
It was hard to put my finger on it, because I don't know when it started. It was like I'd forgotten something important. Or remembered something important, and then immediately forgotten it again. It was dreamlike, but slightly more real. There were flashes, but the images were washed out, and I couldn't tell if they were memories from back in Sunnydale, Mexico, or ...or memories from last night. Maybe memories of something I dreamed while passed out in Tracy's bed. It's like every name I'd even known was on the tip of my tongue. I wondered if just one night of heavy drinking could give me brain cancer.
The weird feeling was still there after my nap, definitely. After the whole Blue Moon catastrophe, I sat with Spike for a while in my room. That's when my hangover really hit: great swoony waves of nausea and a headache that felt like one of those Khan wormy ear-things Kahn was burrowing itself into my earliest memories. I asked him politely to excuse me, and he stood right up, and -- without asking -- picked my TV up to take back into his room. I didn't care. I didn't want the TV. I didn't want noise. I wanted to pull the blankets over my head and forget that I just stole a store from a vampire.
Instead of going to sleep with my whiskey sweat smelling up the sheets, I took a hot shower. I carefully inspected my body for any signs of sex. Sexual misconduct, or... conduct in general. I mean, Tracy said nothing had happened, but... why did I feel so weird?
Maybe it was paranoia -- if I'd finally known the touch of a girl, I'd probably know, right? I looked for hickeys, or bite marks. I carefully inspected my foreskin, checking to see if there was any girl-given abrasion. Nope. The boyhood looked just like I last left it. It looked like what it was, a sad, lonely little fish.
At the thought of penis-as-fish, I suddenly realized with a start that I hadn't even looked at my goldfish friend. I scrambled out of the shower to check on Anyankafish. She was still there, thank ye gods!, swishing about in her bowl, but now there was a distinct greenish swamp tint to her water. When had I cleaned her bowl last? Never. Oh, sweet. Once again, I'm a bad friend. Oh, sure, it's all fun to just keep feeding her fish flakes, but, how long could *I* live, swimming in a sea of my own filth? It wasn't fair. The urge to nap was so strong, but, instead I carefully scooped her into a glass tumbler with fresh water and cleaned her bowl. The smell was making me gag, so I tied a t-shirt around my face and pushed through. Penance. Cleaning up Anya's bowl was penance for being a bad friend.
So, that wasn't it. I hadn't killed Anyanka. I carefully hung up my towel, even if we'd be moving into the Blue Moon tonight, it didn't mean I had carte blanch to leave the room in shambles. I shook out my grassy clothes and sniffed through them. They smelled pretty clean, so I put on a clean t-shirt and some fresh boxers. I loved this t-shirt. It had a rubbery transfer of Chewbacca on it that smelled like kindergarten.
Laying back on the motel sheets and closing my eyes, that rubbery smell was all I focused on. It was surprisingly comforting. I love this shirt, I thought drowsily, blocking out all external stimuli. It was Warren's. Remember? Well, not the shirt, but the transfer. And not this transfer, because that was Cratersville, USA. He bought one just like this for me, back in Sunnydale. He used to say that my Chewy battle-cry was second only to his, which isn't a small compliment if you knew Warren. He was very proud of his Chewy voice. Now Yoda -- there's an easy voice to do. Jonathan was always Yoda. But, Jonathan didn't warrant a patch from Warren. No, Warren was always Chewbacca, and I was always Vader. Ten minutes of talking like Vader, man, and the boys are separated from the men. Breathing that much makes my head swim ...
...
When I woke up, it felt like only seconds had passed. And who was sitting on the edge of my bed but Warren Mears! I was only momentarily startled. The First wouldn't follow me all the way to Cleveland. It was a dream. I still sometimes dreamt of him occasionally, anyway. I could always tell the difference between The First and Dream Warren, because Dream Warren usually wore a wife beater, and looked like he just got back from the gym.
"Oh, hi, Warren," I said groggily. I curled up like a pill bug, facing him. He looked good. Dream Warren almost always looks good. Except sometimes, I dream about him without skin, and that's really, really horrible. I think that falls more into the "Nightmare" category. "What are you doing here in Cleveland?"
"Hell if I know, asshole. You brought me here." Dream Warren glanced around the room, "And this is the best you could do for setting? This room sucks. You could be dreaming about New York City, or Jamaica or something."
"Ssshhh... ut up, Warren. Be nice. Just hang out with me. I drank too much last night, and I need to sleep off this, uh bug I seem to have caught."
"Oh yeah, Sparky had a big date! Nice work, boy. Too bad you passed out before you even made out. She's into you! It's so obvious!"
I looked at the clock, but the numbers were too small to read. "Go away, Warren, if all you're gonna do is tease me. I'm tired and my head hurts even in this dream. Plus, I saw Lord of the Rings last night and it was really good. Maybe I'll switch you out with Viggo or Orlando. At least they'd be nice to me."
"You are such a fag, Andrew. Seriously. I can't believe that Tracy couldn't tell. What, was she born with no gaydar? Or is she just hoping she'll swing you back to being NORMAL?" Warren snorted, lifting the blanket off my feet and delicately sticking needles in the fleshy pad of my little toe.
God, even my lucid dreams were painful. This sucked! At least The First was non-corporeal, so he couldn't touch me. This Dream Warren was sadistic, and mean-spirited.
"Seriously, Warren, fuck off. I'm glad to see you, but, you're being a dick. I had a really nice time last night ... except for the puking. Tracy's a peach. I don't remember what we talked about, but, it was fun to talk to someone who actually listened to what I had to say." I pulled my dream foot away from his prodding and poking.
"You don't remember what you talked about, huh?" Warren said, standing up and towering over me. He was wearing a towel loosely around his waist, and looked down at it briefly, rolling his eyes. "Can you put some fucking pants on me, you cocksmoker? What is this fucking bullshit?"
"UGH! SHUT UP! YOU'RE BEING ANNOYING. I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!" I groaned, pulling the sheet over my head. Dream Warren lifted it off me as soon as it settled, and looked at me pointedly.
"Pants."
"Fine. You are such a jerk, Warren. This is my dream, next time you have to wear what I want!" All the same, I concentrated briefly and he was wearing his favorite black Dickies.
"Thanks. For being such a good little boy, I'll let you in on a little secret."
"What secret? If it's about Faith stealing candy bars from my room, I already knew." Actually, I hadn't already known that. But I did now.
"No, it's not about Faith. It's about you. And what you and Tracy talked about," Warren smiled, and stretched his neck. He must be uncomfortable, being stuck inside my memories all day.
"What? Lord of the Rings? So what?"
Warren's mouth turned into a mocking exaggeration of surprise, "Oh! Lord of the Rings! That's what you think you talked about? Oh, cool. Then, so, yeah, you remember everything you told Tracy... you remember going into detail about vampires, then? Good. It's nice to know that you told her all about being Faith's 'watcher' on purpose, and not because you were drunk off your ass."
I sat up in my dream bed, "What? I didn't talk about vampires."
He smiled at me, in his smug Dream Warren way, "Okay."
Ever so slightly, he started to dissipate. I reached out for him -- he couldn't leave right now. Now I needed him. I needed him to remember what I forgot.
"No! Warren! Don't go! Warren! What did I say?!" I lunged towards him, but could feel myself soaking into the bed like warm pee. "Please, Warren! Don't go! What did I tell her?"
This time when I woke up, it was more real. Faith was in my room. She was holding my sword! Why? Why was she touching my sword? Maybe this was a dream?
"Why are you holding my sword?" I groaned, rubbing the sleep dust from my eye corners. No dream. My hair was still wet from the shower. No Warren anywhere and Faith wasn't dressed like Xena.
"Who's in here with you?" Faith said, opening my bathroom door (eeek! my skivvies were on the exposed end of the pile of dirty clothes! how embarrassing!) and brandishing MY weapon.
"What do you mean? I'm here alone." I sat up in bed. The clock said I'd been sleeping for about thirty minutes. Damn. I was going to need more than that if I was going to get over to the Blue Moon tonight for move-in.
"You were screaming, Andy. Spike and I could hear you through the wall. You were yelling for somebody, or something. Warrant? What the fuck? Do you like Warrant, kid? Want me to get you a tape from work?" She finally lowered the sword, seeing that there was no one in my room other than the two of us.
"Oh," I shrugged. "I was probably just dreaming. Sorry. Thanks for trying to save, me, though, uh, 'F'. You're the best." I lay back down and pulled the sheet over my head.
"Ohhhh! Not 'Warrant' -- Warren! Your little fucktard friend from Sunnydale! Right. Forgot." She chuckled to herself lightly. She sure was in a good mood since we killed Chuck. "Sorry, Andy. I'll leave you with your fucked-up sex dreams about your dead friends, then. Sleep good, man! Don't let the bed bugs bite!"
After Faith left, the shaking started. Half of the memories of last night started to come into focus. Oh, Christ. I was in big trouble. Dream Warren was trying to help me remember, and I was a jerk to him. But he was right, and I suddenly remembered -- I told Tracy WAY TOO MUCH about Faith last night. I got drunk, and I spilled m guts both literally and figuratively.
Faith would kick my ass if she knew. She likes to keep a lower profile in Ohio than she did in Sunnydale. She would beat me into a pulpy, red mess.
I put my pillow over my head. I was so fucked.
The weird feeling was still there after my nap, definitely. After the whole Blue Moon catastrophe, I sat with Spike for a while in my room. That's when my hangover really hit: great swoony waves of nausea and a headache that felt like one of those Khan wormy ear-things Kahn was burrowing itself into my earliest memories. I asked him politely to excuse me, and he stood right up, and -- without asking -- picked my TV up to take back into his room. I didn't care. I didn't want the TV. I didn't want noise. I wanted to pull the blankets over my head and forget that I just stole a store from a vampire.
Instead of going to sleep with my whiskey sweat smelling up the sheets, I took a hot shower. I carefully inspected my body for any signs of sex. Sexual misconduct, or... conduct in general. I mean, Tracy said nothing had happened, but... why did I feel so weird?
Maybe it was paranoia -- if I'd finally known the touch of a girl, I'd probably know, right? I looked for hickeys, or bite marks. I carefully inspected my foreskin, checking to see if there was any girl-given abrasion. Nope. The boyhood looked just like I last left it. It looked like what it was, a sad, lonely little fish.
At the thought of penis-as-fish, I suddenly realized with a start that I hadn't even looked at my goldfish friend. I scrambled out of the shower to check on Anyankafish. She was still there, thank ye gods!, swishing about in her bowl, but now there was a distinct greenish swamp tint to her water. When had I cleaned her bowl last? Never. Oh, sweet. Once again, I'm a bad friend. Oh, sure, it's all fun to just keep feeding her fish flakes, but, how long could *I* live, swimming in a sea of my own filth? It wasn't fair. The urge to nap was so strong, but, instead I carefully scooped her into a glass tumbler with fresh water and cleaned her bowl. The smell was making me gag, so I tied a t-shirt around my face and pushed through. Penance. Cleaning up Anya's bowl was penance for being a bad friend.
So, that wasn't it. I hadn't killed Anyanka. I carefully hung up my towel, even if we'd be moving into the Blue Moon tonight, it didn't mean I had carte blanch to leave the room in shambles. I shook out my grassy clothes and sniffed through them. They smelled pretty clean, so I put on a clean t-shirt and some fresh boxers. I loved this t-shirt. It had a rubbery transfer of Chewbacca on it that smelled like kindergarten.
Laying back on the motel sheets and closing my eyes, that rubbery smell was all I focused on. It was surprisingly comforting. I love this shirt, I thought drowsily, blocking out all external stimuli. It was Warren's. Remember? Well, not the shirt, but the transfer. And not this transfer, because that was Cratersville, USA. He bought one just like this for me, back in Sunnydale. He used to say that my Chewy battle-cry was second only to his, which isn't a small compliment if you knew Warren. He was very proud of his Chewy voice. Now Yoda -- there's an easy voice to do. Jonathan was always Yoda. But, Jonathan didn't warrant a patch from Warren. No, Warren was always Chewbacca, and I was always Vader. Ten minutes of talking like Vader, man, and the boys are separated from the men. Breathing that much makes my head swim ...
...
When I woke up, it felt like only seconds had passed. And who was sitting on the edge of my bed but Warren Mears! I was only momentarily startled. The First wouldn't follow me all the way to Cleveland. It was a dream. I still sometimes dreamt of him occasionally, anyway. I could always tell the difference between The First and Dream Warren, because Dream Warren usually wore a wife beater, and looked like he just got back from the gym.
"Oh, hi, Warren," I said groggily. I curled up like a pill bug, facing him. He looked good. Dream Warren almost always looks good. Except sometimes, I dream about him without skin, and that's really, really horrible. I think that falls more into the "Nightmare" category. "What are you doing here in Cleveland?"
"Hell if I know, asshole. You brought me here." Dream Warren glanced around the room, "And this is the best you could do for setting? This room sucks. You could be dreaming about New York City, or Jamaica or something."
"Ssshhh... ut up, Warren. Be nice. Just hang out with me. I drank too much last night, and I need to sleep off this, uh bug I seem to have caught."
"Oh yeah, Sparky had a big date! Nice work, boy. Too bad you passed out before you even made out. She's into you! It's so obvious!"
I looked at the clock, but the numbers were too small to read. "Go away, Warren, if all you're gonna do is tease me. I'm tired and my head hurts even in this dream. Plus, I saw Lord of the Rings last night and it was really good. Maybe I'll switch you out with Viggo or Orlando. At least they'd be nice to me."
"You are such a fag, Andrew. Seriously. I can't believe that Tracy couldn't tell. What, was she born with no gaydar? Or is she just hoping she'll swing you back to being NORMAL?" Warren snorted, lifting the blanket off my feet and delicately sticking needles in the fleshy pad of my little toe.
God, even my lucid dreams were painful. This sucked! At least The First was non-corporeal, so he couldn't touch me. This Dream Warren was sadistic, and mean-spirited.
"Seriously, Warren, fuck off. I'm glad to see you, but, you're being a dick. I had a really nice time last night ... except for the puking. Tracy's a peach. I don't remember what we talked about, but, it was fun to talk to someone who actually listened to what I had to say." I pulled my dream foot away from his prodding and poking.
"You don't remember what you talked about, huh?" Warren said, standing up and towering over me. He was wearing a towel loosely around his waist, and looked down at it briefly, rolling his eyes. "Can you put some fucking pants on me, you cocksmoker? What is this fucking bullshit?"
"UGH! SHUT UP! YOU'RE BEING ANNOYING. I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!" I groaned, pulling the sheet over my head. Dream Warren lifted it off me as soon as it settled, and looked at me pointedly.
"Pants."
"Fine. You are such a jerk, Warren. This is my dream, next time you have to wear what I want!" All the same, I concentrated briefly and he was wearing his favorite black Dickies.
"Thanks. For being such a good little boy, I'll let you in on a little secret."
"What secret? If it's about Faith stealing candy bars from my room, I already knew." Actually, I hadn't already known that. But I did now.
"No, it's not about Faith. It's about you. And what you and Tracy talked about," Warren smiled, and stretched his neck. He must be uncomfortable, being stuck inside my memories all day.
"What? Lord of the Rings? So what?"
Warren's mouth turned into a mocking exaggeration of surprise, "Oh! Lord of the Rings! That's what you think you talked about? Oh, cool. Then, so, yeah, you remember everything you told Tracy... you remember going into detail about vampires, then? Good. It's nice to know that you told her all about being Faith's 'watcher' on purpose, and not because you were drunk off your ass."
I sat up in my dream bed, "What? I didn't talk about vampires."
He smiled at me, in his smug Dream Warren way, "Okay."
Ever so slightly, he started to dissipate. I reached out for him -- he couldn't leave right now. Now I needed him. I needed him to remember what I forgot.
"No! Warren! Don't go! Warren! What did I say?!" I lunged towards him, but could feel myself soaking into the bed like warm pee. "Please, Warren! Don't go! What did I tell her?"
This time when I woke up, it was more real. Faith was in my room. She was holding my sword! Why? Why was she touching my sword? Maybe this was a dream?
"Why are you holding my sword?" I groaned, rubbing the sleep dust from my eye corners. No dream. My hair was still wet from the shower. No Warren anywhere and Faith wasn't dressed like Xena.
"Who's in here with you?" Faith said, opening my bathroom door (eeek! my skivvies were on the exposed end of the pile of dirty clothes! how embarrassing!) and brandishing MY weapon.
"What do you mean? I'm here alone." I sat up in bed. The clock said I'd been sleeping for about thirty minutes. Damn. I was going to need more than that if I was going to get over to the Blue Moon tonight for move-in.
"You were screaming, Andy. Spike and I could hear you through the wall. You were yelling for somebody, or something. Warrant? What the fuck? Do you like Warrant, kid? Want me to get you a tape from work?" She finally lowered the sword, seeing that there was no one in my room other than the two of us.
"Oh," I shrugged. "I was probably just dreaming. Sorry. Thanks for trying to save, me, though, uh, 'F'. You're the best." I lay back down and pulled the sheet over my head.
"Ohhhh! Not 'Warrant' -- Warren! Your little fucktard friend from Sunnydale! Right. Forgot." She chuckled to herself lightly. She sure was in a good mood since we killed Chuck. "Sorry, Andy. I'll leave you with your fucked-up sex dreams about your dead friends, then. Sleep good, man! Don't let the bed bugs bite!"
After Faith left, the shaking started. Half of the memories of last night started to come into focus. Oh, Christ. I was in big trouble. Dream Warren was trying to help me remember, and I was a jerk to him. But he was right, and I suddenly remembered -- I told Tracy WAY TOO MUCH about Faith last night. I got drunk, and I spilled m guts both literally and figuratively.
Faith would kick my ass if she knew. She likes to keep a lower profile in Ohio than she did in Sunnydale. She would beat me into a pulpy, red mess.
I put my pillow over my head. I was so fucked.