Everything was black. For so long, there was darkness, and I was floating, weightless, lost. Then slowly, something began to pull me down, pull me in and I went spinning back down into consciousness
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God, I love the pressure of her teeth on my lip. Kind of thing that might encourage a man to just whip up a girl's skirt and take her on the dance floor, rest of the world be damned. And maybe we'll do it. Just not tonight.
"We should go see, then."
Yeah. We've got someone else to worry about right now. If worry's the right word. It's hard to tell from Dawn's voice; it's too even, too calm. No idea what she's thinking.
We walk out of the club hand in hand. Her skin is cool against mine. I like seeing the way her legs scissor beneath her short skirt, the pallor of her skin above the black leather of her boots. She's beautiful.
We can walk faster, now. She keeps pace with me easily. And then we run, just for the hell of it, and she doesn't flag. She's not a weak little girl any more. I don't really know what the hell she is. But she's mine. I look at the mark on her throat. Yeah. My girl.
We get to the house. Can't believe that only a few hours ago I nearly killed Dawn here. Before I actually killed her, o'course. Thank fuck Willow turned up when she did.
Willow. Is she dead yet? I push the door open but of course Dawn can't go in. Shit. I call through the door.
"Willow? Can Dawn come in?"
There's a mumbling, weak sound. But evidently it's enough. We walk inside and there's Willow, lying at the bottom of the stairs. There's some blood on the carpet. She looks pretty crap.
Waiting on the porch, I cross my arms even though it's not cold. I don't feel cold. Right now, I don't really feel much of anything.
How weird, that I can't go into my own house anymore without an invitation. My goddamn house. Suddenly, I just have this wild urge to set the place on fire, everything, leave it in flames and run away, like Spike and I ran through the alleys, my body fast and compliant and everything would be simple and easy. Just torch this fucking mess of a life that I left behind now that I'm dead and go far away, just me and Spike.
But there's still Willow.
Apparently she's not dead yet, because she lets me in, even though she has no idea why. I wonder if she even realizes what she's saying. I slip past Spike once we're inside and approach her, the weak, crumpled figure at the foot of the stairs. What a fucking mess. And she'd caused me so much trouble. And now she's nothing.
The air smells like blood and fear and pain - how fucking weird is that, that I can smell how people feel? - and Willow is so pale. She's fragile, like I used to be. I look at her, and I think, I can't be broken that easily anymore.
I kneel down next to her, balancing carefully on stiletto heels, my hair falling down to brush softly across her skin. She looks at me and winces, and it looks like her eyes are clearer than they have been in months. Yeah, a narrow brush with death will really sober you up. I meet her gaze and hold it.
"We should go see, then."
Yeah. We've got someone else to worry about right now. If worry's the right word. It's hard to tell from Dawn's voice; it's too even, too calm. No idea what she's thinking.
We walk out of the club hand in hand. Her skin is cool against mine. I like seeing the way her legs scissor beneath her short skirt, the pallor of her skin above the black leather of her boots. She's beautiful.
We can walk faster, now. She keeps pace with me easily. And then we run, just for the hell of it, and she doesn't flag. She's not a weak little girl any more. I don't really know what the hell she is. But she's mine. I look at the mark on her throat. Yeah. My girl.
We get to the house. Can't believe that only a few hours ago I nearly killed Dawn here. Before I actually killed her, o'course. Thank fuck Willow turned up when she did.
Willow. Is she dead yet? I push the door open but of course Dawn can't go in. Shit. I call through the door.
"Willow? Can Dawn come in?"
There's a mumbling, weak sound. But evidently it's enough. We walk inside and there's Willow, lying at the bottom of the stairs. There's some blood on the carpet. She looks pretty crap.
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How weird, that I can't go into my own house anymore without an invitation. My goddamn house. Suddenly, I just have this wild urge to set the place on fire, everything, leave it in flames and run away, like Spike and I ran through the alleys, my body fast and compliant and everything would be simple and easy. Just torch this fucking mess of a life that I left behind now that I'm dead and go far away, just me and Spike.
But there's still Willow.
Apparently she's not dead yet, because she lets me in, even though she has no idea why. I wonder if she even realizes what she's saying. I slip past Spike once we're inside and approach her, the weak, crumpled figure at the foot of the stairs. What a fucking mess. And she'd caused me so much trouble. And now she's nothing.
The air smells like blood and fear and pain - how fucking weird is that, that I can smell how people feel? - and Willow is so pale. She's fragile, like I used to be. I look at her, and I think, I can't be broken that easily anymore.
I kneel down next to her, balancing carefully on stiletto heels, my hair falling down to brush softly across her skin. She looks at me and winces, and it looks like her eyes are clearer than they have been in months. Yeah, a narrow brush with death will really sober you up. I meet her gaze and hold it.
"Hey, Willow," I whisper.
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