(no subject)
Title: The Replacement
Author: P.d.
Just another one of my spawn stories...not very good but I seem to like this one. It's a take off of that one drabble I did for the weather challenge. Thanks to all those you apologised for Bonnie (my dog) but really, she was really sick...its morbid but we expected it. Thanks anyway though. Comment if ya like.
Replacement
It was only dripping softly, bathing her skin with dew. Silk diamonds clutching to pearls embedded into her body. Rubies hidden by scars and emeralds crossed with sapphires shielded with pain to ward away the love. Always have to be protected, can’t let anyone in. He comes up behind her, smirking as she jumps. Thunder crackles and lightning tears the sky; breaking it open and flashing memories of little girls shattered and heroes crashing to their death. He turns her slowly, tilting her chin so her eyes meet his. They connect for a moment before she shies away and defiantly yanks her body from him. Someday it’ll stop…someday…but someday never comes.
“Buffy,” His voice is pained, desperate. For a moment, a fleeting moment she feels like he needs her. Wants her…not the shell she was molded from. She feels tainted, can’t let her hero touch her dirty body. Dirty blood, dirty tears, dirty skin. Not the real thing…just fake. He pulls her towards him again, his right arm wrapping around her too-thin waist and his left hand grasping her own. He twirls them gently, and she rests her cheek on his wet chest. His hair is barely gelled, a few strands breaking free. Reaching up, she brushes a piece back, tracing her finger down the beautiful ridges of his face. She had always related him to a wolf; even long before he realized she existed and was in love with her sister. And now she isn’t sure which intrigues her more, man or beast.
“I can’t dance,” She breathes, barely speaking. He smiles, motioning for her to stand on his feet. They dance like that. As the lighting flashes she has visions of rickety towers and screams that echo through her mind each night as she tries to sleep. She thinks of gravestones etched with words “Buffy Summers” and roses dotting trimmed grass. She remembers him kneeling at the granite, swearing undying love to the empty air and praying it reached the ears of an angel. Buffy was his angel…but she…she was just the replacement. “I can’t be her forever,”
“I know, Dawn.” The way those three words echo through her mind cause her throat to close and tears to fill her eyes. It is the first time he has used her name since the night and she allows herself to believe that he wants her, that he needs her. She is sure he notices how her hair doesn’t match her sisters, or how her eyes aren’t green and her smile doesn’t light up a room. How three scars blemish her stomach from where the metal pierced. She will never be beautiful enough. Even at her funeral, her sister was beautiful. It was days like this that the girl wishes it had been her that jumped. That she hadn’t been too scared to jump, too scared to stop her sister. Too scared to be the hero.
After that night things like books and lipgloss seemed too simple. With death roaring in the distance like a lion how could one wish for such things. How could she think of boys and cars when her sister was six feet under and the boy who loved her clung to the only thing that was left. When she was the only thing left. She knows that if he closes his eyes, and ignores that her breasts are too small, that her waist is too thin, and that her hair is too dark then it could almost be as though she is still alive. As though the accident never happened, and Glory never existed and she had never been made. And sometimes, all Dawn can do is wish for that too. All she can do is wish that it had been her that had gone through the portal because then maybe her sister could have had a chance.
“Do you think she’s in heaven, Spike?” The question comes out of her mouth before she can stop it. It was one of those thoughts that plagues her mind day and night, and as she looks up at the boy who was the only thing left, she wishes he will give the answer she can’t.
“I don’t know, but I hope so,” And then the deafening silence sets in, and the rain begins to fall harder but neither move. They still dance, her bare feet on his boots. Her hair is matted to her back now, and she realizes just how many times she had considered dying it blonde for him. Just so it will be even easier for him to pretend.
“Shoulda been me,” And he doesn’t protest, because they both know it is true. Her sister was loved in this world, and she was just the replacement. But sometimes when he says her sister’s name when he’s with her, she’s able to pretend that she is her sister. But then it all comes crashing back when it ends, and all she is is the replacement for the angel that should have lived.
Author: P.d.
Just another one of my spawn stories...not very good but I seem to like this one. It's a take off of that one drabble I did for the weather challenge. Thanks to all those you apologised for Bonnie (my dog) but really, she was really sick...its morbid but we expected it. Thanks anyway though. Comment if ya like.
Replacement
It was only dripping softly, bathing her skin with dew. Silk diamonds clutching to pearls embedded into her body. Rubies hidden by scars and emeralds crossed with sapphires shielded with pain to ward away the love. Always have to be protected, can’t let anyone in. He comes up behind her, smirking as she jumps. Thunder crackles and lightning tears the sky; breaking it open and flashing memories of little girls shattered and heroes crashing to their death. He turns her slowly, tilting her chin so her eyes meet his. They connect for a moment before she shies away and defiantly yanks her body from him. Someday it’ll stop…someday…but someday never comes.
“Buffy,” His voice is pained, desperate. For a moment, a fleeting moment she feels like he needs her. Wants her…not the shell she was molded from. She feels tainted, can’t let her hero touch her dirty body. Dirty blood, dirty tears, dirty skin. Not the real thing…just fake. He pulls her towards him again, his right arm wrapping around her too-thin waist and his left hand grasping her own. He twirls them gently, and she rests her cheek on his wet chest. His hair is barely gelled, a few strands breaking free. Reaching up, she brushes a piece back, tracing her finger down the beautiful ridges of his face. She had always related him to a wolf; even long before he realized she existed and was in love with her sister. And now she isn’t sure which intrigues her more, man or beast.
“I can’t dance,” She breathes, barely speaking. He smiles, motioning for her to stand on his feet. They dance like that. As the lighting flashes she has visions of rickety towers and screams that echo through her mind each night as she tries to sleep. She thinks of gravestones etched with words “Buffy Summers” and roses dotting trimmed grass. She remembers him kneeling at the granite, swearing undying love to the empty air and praying it reached the ears of an angel. Buffy was his angel…but she…she was just the replacement. “I can’t be her forever,”
“I know, Dawn.” The way those three words echo through her mind cause her throat to close and tears to fill her eyes. It is the first time he has used her name since the night and she allows herself to believe that he wants her, that he needs her. She is sure he notices how her hair doesn’t match her sisters, or how her eyes aren’t green and her smile doesn’t light up a room. How three scars blemish her stomach from where the metal pierced. She will never be beautiful enough. Even at her funeral, her sister was beautiful. It was days like this that the girl wishes it had been her that jumped. That she hadn’t been too scared to jump, too scared to stop her sister. Too scared to be the hero.
After that night things like books and lipgloss seemed too simple. With death roaring in the distance like a lion how could one wish for such things. How could she think of boys and cars when her sister was six feet under and the boy who loved her clung to the only thing that was left. When she was the only thing left. She knows that if he closes his eyes, and ignores that her breasts are too small, that her waist is too thin, and that her hair is too dark then it could almost be as though she is still alive. As though the accident never happened, and Glory never existed and she had never been made. And sometimes, all Dawn can do is wish for that too. All she can do is wish that it had been her that had gone through the portal because then maybe her sister could have had a chance.
“Do you think she’s in heaven, Spike?” The question comes out of her mouth before she can stop it. It was one of those thoughts that plagues her mind day and night, and as she looks up at the boy who was the only thing left, she wishes he will give the answer she can’t.
“I don’t know, but I hope so,” And then the deafening silence sets in, and the rain begins to fall harder but neither move. They still dance, her bare feet on his boots. Her hair is matted to her back now, and she realizes just how many times she had considered dying it blonde for him. Just so it will be even easier for him to pretend.
“Shoulda been me,” And he doesn’t protest, because they both know it is true. Her sister was loved in this world, and she was just the replacement. But sometimes when he says her sister’s name when he’s with her, she’s able to pretend that she is her sister. But then it all comes crashing back when it ends, and all she is is the replacement for the angel that should have lived.