All the things I should have said to you
My feet slipped over the dewy grass as I ran, I didn't even know how far or how fast but it was never far or fast enough. They always caught one, always. Just as I saved my own skin, another girl went down. Cold hands pressing her into the grass, the silver glint of a blade shining in the moonlight. I didn't know how I could still be propelling myself forward so fast and still somewhere in my mind's eye I was still stuck with that one girl. Fear flashing across wide eyes, panic forcing blood to rush and her heart rate to quicken. Then it was over in one fell swoop, a pale hand splayed across the grass for the rest of us to see.
My eyes opened with a start, and I gasped in a breath as I looked around the room. I wasn't running, I wasn't even outside. I was still in Wesley's apartment, in his bed, in his clothes. My fingers strayed beneath the covers, and ran over the jagged edge of the stitches that were holdin' my skin in place. I could feel that the skin had already started to heal and mend itself back together. Gotta love that slayer healing, already felt way better than I had before.
Throwin' the covers off, I pulled up the pale blue button down shirt and examined the pale flesh underneath. Black thread lacing itself down my side where those fuckers had stabbed me. Oh yeah, definitely gonna have a big scar from that one. At least now I matched. My fingers brushed the scar on my abdomen softly, that one scar that just wouldn't go away. The one that had sent me into a coma for eight months.
Seriously, I'm startin' to think I'm like a cat or something. Gotta have nine lives maybe, or maybe I'm just the luckiest chick ever. Naw, that couldn't be right- my luck always ran short except twice. The first time when that garbage truck passed under my apartment after B stabbed me in the gut with my own knife. The second time? When Wesley showed up to drop in for a visit to his favorite ex-psycho slayer.
I didn't wanna be, but I couldn't help it. Seemed all kinds of suspiscious that Wes of all people would show up on the one day that demons decide to attack me in prison. I felt wicked guilty feelin' that way, mostly cause all of my feelings about Wes were centered around guilt. And also? Cause I knew if it wasn't for Wes, I'd probably be dead. If not the first time when the lame council of watchers asked him for his help, definitely this time if he hadn't stitched me back up. Christ, I was wearin' his shirt and sleeping in his bed. Well...not anymore. I didn't know what I was gonna do next, but this? It had to stop. Mostly cause, I just felt so fucking guilty I couldn't stand it. I'd hidden away from all of this for so long it was like a bitchslap right in the face, ya know? These things...I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with them. Seemed like they were ready to deal with me though. Got the stab wound to prove it.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wrinkled my nose at how pasty pale they were. It wasn't very often I got to examine my own flesh in the last few years. Mostly it was other chicks tryin' to examine my flesh and really? I wasn't down with that. In prison you fall in line, you're either someone's bitch or you had bitches. Well, I might have been a bitch but I wasn't anyone's damn bitch. Pretty much the reason why every chick in the joint wanted to throw down with me. Tried to stay all zen about it though- at least until Wes showed up just in time for my untimely release. Nothin' about bein' here felt zen or anything close to it. So what if I had some free time and read some of those new age books in the library while I was doin' my time. Nothin' wrong with expanding your horizons or whatever.
Standing up I walked out of the bedroom and idly down the hall. It wasn't long until I found Wesley sitting at the kitchen table with a tea cup in his hand and a book in front of his nose.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Ain't that the truth.
"Hey." I said hoarsely, looking around in his kitchen. Wondered if he had any pop-tarts. I hadn't had pop-tarts in like forever, or maybe the crunchy cereal with the marshmellows.
My eyes opened with a start, and I gasped in a breath as I looked around the room. I wasn't running, I wasn't even outside. I was still in Wesley's apartment, in his bed, in his clothes. My fingers strayed beneath the covers, and ran over the jagged edge of the stitches that were holdin' my skin in place. I could feel that the skin had already started to heal and mend itself back together. Gotta love that slayer healing, already felt way better than I had before.
Throwin' the covers off, I pulled up the pale blue button down shirt and examined the pale flesh underneath. Black thread lacing itself down my side where those fuckers had stabbed me. Oh yeah, definitely gonna have a big scar from that one. At least now I matched. My fingers brushed the scar on my abdomen softly, that one scar that just wouldn't go away. The one that had sent me into a coma for eight months.
Seriously, I'm startin' to think I'm like a cat or something. Gotta have nine lives maybe, or maybe I'm just the luckiest chick ever. Naw, that couldn't be right- my luck always ran short except twice. The first time when that garbage truck passed under my apartment after B stabbed me in the gut with my own knife. The second time? When Wesley showed up to drop in for a visit to his favorite ex-psycho slayer.
I didn't wanna be, but I couldn't help it. Seemed all kinds of suspiscious that Wes of all people would show up on the one day that demons decide to attack me in prison. I felt wicked guilty feelin' that way, mostly cause all of my feelings about Wes were centered around guilt. And also? Cause I knew if it wasn't for Wes, I'd probably be dead. If not the first time when the lame council of watchers asked him for his help, definitely this time if he hadn't stitched me back up. Christ, I was wearin' his shirt and sleeping in his bed. Well...not anymore. I didn't know what I was gonna do next, but this? It had to stop. Mostly cause, I just felt so fucking guilty I couldn't stand it. I'd hidden away from all of this for so long it was like a bitchslap right in the face, ya know? These things...I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with them. Seemed like they were ready to deal with me though. Got the stab wound to prove it.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wrinkled my nose at how pasty pale they were. It wasn't very often I got to examine my own flesh in the last few years. Mostly it was other chicks tryin' to examine my flesh and really? I wasn't down with that. In prison you fall in line, you're either someone's bitch or you had bitches. Well, I might have been a bitch but I wasn't anyone's damn bitch. Pretty much the reason why every chick in the joint wanted to throw down with me. Tried to stay all zen about it though- at least until Wes showed up just in time for my untimely release. Nothin' about bein' here felt zen or anything close to it. So what if I had some free time and read some of those new age books in the library while I was doin' my time. Nothin' wrong with expanding your horizons or whatever.
Standing up I walked out of the bedroom and idly down the hall. It wasn't long until I found Wesley sitting at the kitchen table with a tea cup in his hand and a book in front of his nose.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Ain't that the truth.
"Hey." I said hoarsely, looking around in his kitchen. Wondered if he had any pop-tarts. I hadn't had pop-tarts in like forever, or maybe the crunchy cereal with the marshmellows.