fanfic: folded, unfolded, unfolding
Type; Fanfic / fanmix
Fandom; Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Title; Folded, Unfolded, Unfolding
Characters; Buffy, Angelus
Pairings; Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Angelus
Rating; R. Want a light, fluffy piece? This isn't the one.
Disclaimer; I own nothing. Unfortunately.
Summary; Buffy hates Angelus. Buffy loves the vampire he once was. Where does the line start? Where does it end?
Notes; Comments are adored!
evil angel, breaking benjamin
hold it together, birds of a feather.
nothing but lies and crooked wings.
"No,"
What does 'no' mean, anyway? It's just a word. A tiny, insignificant word. A word that means nothing in this place. A place of pain. A place of torments, and heartbreaks. And a place of pleasure. Where does the line start? Where does it end? The line had been long-since blurred, if there was still a line at all. And if there was a line, it must have been so tarnished from being crossed so many times.
"Stop it,"
Her voice, once so strong and steadfast, was broken. Hollow. Just like she was. He didn't take heed to her words, because he knew it wouldn't make a difference. She could tell him to stop until her voice was cracked, and her throat raw ( had done it, on occasion ), but it wouldn't do any good. Not for her. Never for her. The outcome was always the same.
"Make me."
The voice of an angel without wings. An angel without the halo. Without any sort of light for that matter. This angel was cruel. Malicious. He reveled in her pain nearly every night now. It was like a drug for him. One that he couldn't quit. Angelus was an addict, and he would get his drug in whatever way that was necesary. It almost disappointed him that he didn't have to use force anymore. No, she came to him willingly. And when she didn't, he always sought her out. He always knew where to find Buffy. The predator never had to wander long before he found his prey. A prey different than any other. One so beautiful, and strong that she was in a league of her own. No one could have her. No one except him. He made damn sure of that.
Buffy Summers belonged to him. He had proven that to her numerous times. Numerous ways.
hallelujah, rufus wainwright
remember when i moved in you, the holy dove was movin' too.
and every breath we drew was "hallelujah," hallelujah, hallelujah.
Rewind five months, to a time that was leagues easier. To a time that Buffy was happy. She had almost forgotten what it was like.
“Buffy, maybe we shouldn’t --”
“Don't,” Fingers lifted, and pressed against Angel's lips. Buffy didn’t want to hear the reasons why they shouldn’t, because there were more than a few. At the same time, there were hundreds why they should. She wanted to throw all reason out the window. How long had she waited for this moment? Too long. Ever since she’d known him, really. There was only so long that two people could go on loving each other before the next step was inevitable. And oh, how they loved each other. Buffy had boyfriends before. In Los Angeles, she’d never been short of one. But she had never loved them. Angel was the only one who had her heart in his hand. He knew that, and treated it with utmost care, he treated it like it was the finest crystal that could shatter into millions of pieces. He loved her. And Buffy loved Angel more than anything else she had ever known in her sixteen years ( seventeen years, that night ).
"Just kiss me." The voice that poured from trembling lips didn't sound like her own. It was tremulous, and husked from the emotions that raged inside, treatening to pull her under. Angel kept her grounded, though. He always did.
When he obliged, and caught her lips in his, there was no turning back. Buffy had been the one to make the choice. She knew where this was leading to, and she couldn't imagine stopping it. Refused to, even. This wasn't to say that she wasn't scared, because she was. Not scared of Angel, though. Never of Angel. She knew that he would take care of her. Until the end of time. That's not what frightened her. What if she didn't do this right? What if --
"Buffy, relax," The smooth tenor of Angel's voice, deep from arousal, and completely earnest, told Buffy everything she needed to know. The emotion was as obvious in his voice as it had been in hers. He knew this was her first time. He knew, and was touched. Touched that she was giving him something so precious. Angel had dreamed of this since the moment he had first seen her. No, not in the alley behind The Bronze. Before that, even. From the moment he had seen her sitting in front of Hemery High, a picture of perfect innocence -- with her waist-length blonde hair, sun-kissed flesh, a lolli-pop in hand. Angel had watched her get chosen. Hell, he'd seen her slay her first vampire. He'd also watched the aftermath. He watched her despair that night, and he had hurt right there with her. The shadow of a man had watched from her window with tears in his dark eyes. With heartache, he watched the tears flow from her magnificent green eyes. From that moment on, he had vowed to protect this Slayer. His Slayer. His Buffy Anne Summers.
Buffy didn't even think about turning back when he laid her back against the silken pillows, his cool fingers pulling her shirt above her head. She decided then and there that this must have been heaven. Or something equally as amazing. How had she ended up with someone so amazing? In reality, Angel was anything but perfect. But in Buffy's eyes? He was utterly flawless. The epitome of perfect. She had read pages about him in the Watcher's Diaries, and had read about the terrors he had done in the past. And she didn't care.
Maybe she should have.
"Are you sure, Buffy?" Concern played across his face, shadowed by the dim lighting, and Buffy's heart swelled until she thought it would break through her chest. Vocal cords were uncooperative, so she simply nodded. That was all Angel needed, and his lips caught hers once again, his tongue tracing across the memorized dip at her top lip, as his hands finished what they had started, and peeled her wet clothes from her body.
If he had any breath, it would have been stolen away by the sight of her beneath him. He had never believed in angels until now. No, not even angels could compare to Buffy. Dark eyes took in her form, unable to keep himself from staring. In all of his two hundred plus years of existance, never had he seen something this beautiful. At one point in time, Darla was the most beautiful creature he had thought he'd seen. Darla had just been put to shame, along with every other woman Angel had even been with in his long life. Gingerly, the pads of his fingers smoothed down the length of her sides, over her hips, across her belly, and back the way they came, before they moved to her hair, which was splayed across the silk in a halo of blonde. Angel's eyes took in each and every curve, every freckle, and memorized them. He realized that Buffy was misunderstanding his staring when she moved to cover her chest, and a bright, crimson blush danced across her flesh. Gently, he captured her wrist before she could cover herself, and shook his head, before he lifted her hand to his mouth, and pressed small, butterfly kisses against her knuckles, his eyes still taking her in. "Don't, Buffy." He paused only for a moment. "You're beautiful,"
When he moved inside of her that night, it wasn't sex. No, it was most definitely making love. Even in Buffy's dreams, it hadn't been that amazing. Angel had been gentle, and passionate all at once, making sure to give her time to adjust, and even then he was careful, like she was glass. More than once he had asked her if she was okay, not ever wanting to hurt her. He would have stopped in an instant if she had even uttered a single word of cessation.
When both of them had reached their climaxes, and fallen back to the sheets, he had wrapped her in his strong arms, and couldn't help but smirk when her voice, small in the large room, reached his ears.
"Wow," Buffy breathed the words against his chest, where her cheek laid. She couldn't find the words to describe how perfect, or how intense it had been. Eyes fluttered shut behind a sweep of dark lashes as she fought off sleep.
"Happy birthday, Buffy."
infra-red, placebo
one last thing before i shuffle off the planet.
i will be the one to watch you crawl.
so i came down to wish you an unhappy birthday.
someone call the ambulance.
there's gonna be an accident.
Making love didn't exist anymore. Love was something that didn't live there any longer. Buffy had almost forgotten what love even felt like. Along with it; happiness, joy, laughter .. all the things that made Buffy herself were gone. Stolen away by the very person who had once been the cause of it all. During the day, she would put on a mask. A mask for her friends, and her mother -- was she even fooling them anymore? There was only so many fake smiles and laughs, and "I'm okay,"s until it becomes routine. It becomes something that you do without thinking. She still laughed at Xander's jokes, still smiled when her mother would bake her cookies. But she never felt them. Buffy was running on empty. She was a zombie.
"So, are you going to play hard to get tonight, or are you going to lie back and take it? You know I love it when you act all noble .."
Buffy wanted to tell him that it was over. Wanted to tell him that she was done being his sick obsession. The truth was -- she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of will power. She didn't have the strength to tell him to stop. In all honesty -- she wasn't sure if she wanted to. The only time she wasn't completely hollow, void of all emotions, was when she was here. At least here she felt rage, and disgust. When she left, all she felt was empty. Hollowed out, and totally alone. Sure, she was aware that she had her friends. But really, what could they do for her? And what would they do when they found out what Angelus and Buffy did every night? Buffy could already see the disgusted, shocked looks on her friends faces if they found out the truth.
They couldn't handle the truth.
They never could.
colorblind, natalie walker
i am colorblind. pull me out from the inside
i am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding. i am colorblind.
Some nights, when Angelus was feeling unusually generous ( or extremely malicious. she hadn't decided ), he would act like him. Like the vampire she had loved, still loved completely. She wasn't sure which was worse; having him shove her up against a wall, while growling out his frustrations as he ripped at her clothes, or when he would caress her with such care, and whisper how beautiful she was in her ear. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he loved to watch her afterwards, after he would make faux love to her, when all he wanted to do was tear her apart. The first time he had imitated her Angel, she had rolled over afterwards, and despite the fact her back was turned to him, he watched her body shake as the air grew thick with the scent of liquid salt. He loved it when she cried. It made her already brilliant emerald eyes positively sparkle. Instead of laughing like he had wanted to, he had made it even worse. Strong arms took up his crying lover as he pressed gentle kisses across her hairline, telling her it would be okay, all the while wiping at her tears.
The nights afterwards were always worse. Buffy figured that he didn't want to let her think that he was Angel. He'd enforce that idea by imbedding his frustrations into her skin, leaving bruises and cuts in his cruel wake. He bruised her in places that her friends wouldn't see. Places that only Buffy and Angelus would know about. He'd bruise and cut her, let her heal, then do it all over again.
If you irritate a wound long enough, the nerves die.
Maybe that had been what was happening to Buffy. It was a slow, unending death. He wasn't kind enough to just kill her. That would have been too merciful.
And Angelus was anything but merciful.
what have you done, within temptation
what have you done now? i have been waiting for someone like you.
but now you are slipping away. why does fate make us suffer?
there's a curse between us.
between me and you.
Steam blanketed the bathroom in a warm, humid mist that covered the mirror. It's just as well, Buffy thought, as she stood infront of the glass. At least when it was covered in mist, she couldn't see her face. She could only see a faint outline of blonde hair, and tan skin. When she couldn't see her face, she couldn't see the dark circles underneath her eyes -- eyes that had once held a vibrancy. Now all they held was sorrow, and exhaustion. It was definitely easier not to look at herself. Easier not to look at who she had become.
She lost track of how long she sat in the shower, knees pulled up to her chest, like every other night that she'd come home after being with him. The water, as scalding as it was, wasn't nearly hot enough for Buffy. It wasn't hot enough to burn away his touch, his lips, his scent .. and like always, she found herself scrubbing viciously at her skin until it was raw, and very nearly bleeding. When she knew her skin could take no more, Buffy pulled herself from the shower, wrapped an overly-fluffy towel around her petite frame, not taking time to look at the bruises she knew decorated her body, and moved into her bedroom. A few months ago, Buffy might have slipped into her favorite pair of pajamas; the matching silk, pink shirt, and shorts. Now they laid in the floor in a crumpled heap, obviously not having been worn in a while. Why? Because Angelus had made an off handed comment about how they were his favorites. So, she settled on the plain Sunnydale High tank top, and sweat pants.
Sleep never came easy for her anymore -- not since Angelus could come in whenever he wanted. And she knew that he did. More often than she would have liked. Sometimes, he even left her little gifts. A sketch here, a note there .. nothing she wanted to wake to find by her pillow.
When had she started to cry? Buffy wasn't sure, but there was no stopping the wave of tears that spilled down her cheeks as she clutched at Mr.Gordo, holding the stuffed pig to her shaking chest while her face buried into the pillow. There were so many reasons she was crying, now. She was still mourning the loss of Angel. And now, she was mourning the loss of herself. Buffy didn't like this new girl, the girl that went to the mansion every night, knowing what would happen. The old Buffy would have been above that. Then again, the old Buffy had Angel. The old Buffy wasn't forced to look at this monster every day that boasted Angel's beautiful face, and spoke with his smooth tenor.
The old Buffy Summers was still innocent, and still saw the beauty in life. Now all she saw was disaster.
She was the disaster.
over, evan's blue
you'd better crawl on your knees the next time you say that you love me.
fall on your knees, 'cause this time i won't be so kind.
Angelus loved this part. He loved watching her stumble back to her house, try to scrub away bruises that seemed to refuse to fade, and collapse onto her bed in a useless heap. Breaking the will was always the best part. And the tears? Oh, the tears! Buffy's tears were like cocaine to this monster. If he could have, he would have bottled up each and every one of her precious tears. After all, she was precious when she cried. Almost as precious as when she was writhing beneath him, gasping out 'Angel's' name, and trying not to look at his eyes.
Damn, he loved this girl.
No, that wasn't entirely true. Angelus didn't love anyone but himself. But he was most definitely in love with her misery. And he was utterly obsessed with this Slayer. He could see what Angel had first seen in her. The girl had spunk, that was for sure. Along with it came the smart-ass mouth. Not even he had been able to stop that, yet. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to. Buffy Summers was nothing, if not able to match wits with the best of them. Even he admired that about her. There were numerous other things he enjoyed about this girl. There was no denying she was beautiful. More beautiful than any other woman he had known. She was smart, strong, and had once built herself on a soapbox so high that nothing could touch her. Buffy had known what was right and wrong, and she had always tried to do the right thing.
Angelus had knocked her off that moral soap box, and now she had landed on her ass in the mud.
They would roll in it together.
The only difference was that Buffy would always rush home to get rid of that mud, and bury herself so far into a self-loathing party that she couldn't climb back out. Angelus? He liked it down in the mud.
His only complaint? He couldn't quite bring himself to kill her. Everytime he got close, something stopped him. Something wouldn't allow him to cross that one last line, and simply snap her perfect neck. Oh, he fantasized about it enough times. He fantasized about the way the initial 'snap' would sound, followed by that last, wheezing breath that would divorce from lips open from surprise. Fantasized about how her body would crumple to the ground, and her viridian eyes would stare into nothing, eventually losing that green luster, and becoming milky and gray. Her lips, so perfect, would have been the most beautiful color blue.
But he couldn't do it.
So he'd have to settle for this. And he would settle. He would tear her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but a walking corpse. Angelus planned on taking every single thing that Buffy loved, everything that made her who she was, and then some. He would watch her world shatter around her feet. Buffy only thought she knew what pain was. He was going to unfold this girl until she begged him to end it.
And then, who knows -- he might actually do it. But until then, she was his. She would always be his.
He would wait until she was broken beyond repair, and he'd be the one to deliver the final, crushing blow that would shatter her being into thousands of pieces.
"These violent delights have violent endings," He voiced the words he knew all too well. His voice was low enough not to wake Buffy, who had finally cried herself to sleep. It truly was convenient to have an open invitation. He would be here every night, watching her sleep. Finger tips lifted, and grazed along her cheek, still damp from tears. Tears for him.
"And in their triumphs, die."
click here for the .zip of the songs
Fandom; Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Title; Folded, Unfolded, Unfolding
Characters; Buffy, Angelus
Pairings; Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Angelus
Rating; R. Want a light, fluffy piece? This isn't the one.
Disclaimer; I own nothing. Unfortunately.
Summary; Buffy hates Angelus. Buffy loves the vampire he once was. Where does the line start? Where does it end?
Notes; Comments are adored!
evil angel, breaking benjamin
hold it together, birds of a feather.
nothing but lies and crooked wings.
"No,"
What does 'no' mean, anyway? It's just a word. A tiny, insignificant word. A word that means nothing in this place. A place of pain. A place of torments, and heartbreaks. And a place of pleasure. Where does the line start? Where does it end? The line had been long-since blurred, if there was still a line at all. And if there was a line, it must have been so tarnished from being crossed so many times.
"Stop it,"
Her voice, once so strong and steadfast, was broken. Hollow. Just like she was. He didn't take heed to her words, because he knew it wouldn't make a difference. She could tell him to stop until her voice was cracked, and her throat raw ( had done it, on occasion ), but it wouldn't do any good. Not for her. Never for her. The outcome was always the same.
"Make me."
The voice of an angel without wings. An angel without the halo. Without any sort of light for that matter. This angel was cruel. Malicious. He reveled in her pain nearly every night now. It was like a drug for him. One that he couldn't quit. Angelus was an addict, and he would get his drug in whatever way that was necesary. It almost disappointed him that he didn't have to use force anymore. No, she came to him willingly. And when she didn't, he always sought her out. He always knew where to find Buffy. The predator never had to wander long before he found his prey. A prey different than any other. One so beautiful, and strong that she was in a league of her own. No one could have her. No one except him. He made damn sure of that.
Buffy Summers belonged to him. He had proven that to her numerous times. Numerous ways.
hallelujah, rufus wainwright
remember when i moved in you, the holy dove was movin' too.
and every breath we drew was "hallelujah," hallelujah, hallelujah.
Rewind five months, to a time that was leagues easier. To a time that Buffy was happy. She had almost forgotten what it was like.
“Buffy, maybe we shouldn’t --”
“Don't,” Fingers lifted, and pressed against Angel's lips. Buffy didn’t want to hear the reasons why they shouldn’t, because there were more than a few. At the same time, there were hundreds why they should. She wanted to throw all reason out the window. How long had she waited for this moment? Too long. Ever since she’d known him, really. There was only so long that two people could go on loving each other before the next step was inevitable. And oh, how they loved each other. Buffy had boyfriends before. In Los Angeles, she’d never been short of one. But she had never loved them. Angel was the only one who had her heart in his hand. He knew that, and treated it with utmost care, he treated it like it was the finest crystal that could shatter into millions of pieces. He loved her. And Buffy loved Angel more than anything else she had ever known in her sixteen years ( seventeen years, that night ).
"Just kiss me." The voice that poured from trembling lips didn't sound like her own. It was tremulous, and husked from the emotions that raged inside, treatening to pull her under. Angel kept her grounded, though. He always did.
When he obliged, and caught her lips in his, there was no turning back. Buffy had been the one to make the choice. She knew where this was leading to, and she couldn't imagine stopping it. Refused to, even. This wasn't to say that she wasn't scared, because she was. Not scared of Angel, though. Never of Angel. She knew that he would take care of her. Until the end of time. That's not what frightened her. What if she didn't do this right? What if --
"Buffy, relax," The smooth tenor of Angel's voice, deep from arousal, and completely earnest, told Buffy everything she needed to know. The emotion was as obvious in his voice as it had been in hers. He knew this was her first time. He knew, and was touched. Touched that she was giving him something so precious. Angel had dreamed of this since the moment he had first seen her. No, not in the alley behind The Bronze. Before that, even. From the moment he had seen her sitting in front of Hemery High, a picture of perfect innocence -- with her waist-length blonde hair, sun-kissed flesh, a lolli-pop in hand. Angel had watched her get chosen. Hell, he'd seen her slay her first vampire. He'd also watched the aftermath. He watched her despair that night, and he had hurt right there with her. The shadow of a man had watched from her window with tears in his dark eyes. With heartache, he watched the tears flow from her magnificent green eyes. From that moment on, he had vowed to protect this Slayer. His Slayer. His Buffy Anne Summers.
Buffy didn't even think about turning back when he laid her back against the silken pillows, his cool fingers pulling her shirt above her head. She decided then and there that this must have been heaven. Or something equally as amazing. How had she ended up with someone so amazing? In reality, Angel was anything but perfect. But in Buffy's eyes? He was utterly flawless. The epitome of perfect. She had read pages about him in the Watcher's Diaries, and had read about the terrors he had done in the past. And she didn't care.
Maybe she should have.
"Are you sure, Buffy?" Concern played across his face, shadowed by the dim lighting, and Buffy's heart swelled until she thought it would break through her chest. Vocal cords were uncooperative, so she simply nodded. That was all Angel needed, and his lips caught hers once again, his tongue tracing across the memorized dip at her top lip, as his hands finished what they had started, and peeled her wet clothes from her body.
If he had any breath, it would have been stolen away by the sight of her beneath him. He had never believed in angels until now. No, not even angels could compare to Buffy. Dark eyes took in her form, unable to keep himself from staring. In all of his two hundred plus years of existance, never had he seen something this beautiful. At one point in time, Darla was the most beautiful creature he had thought he'd seen. Darla had just been put to shame, along with every other woman Angel had even been with in his long life. Gingerly, the pads of his fingers smoothed down the length of her sides, over her hips, across her belly, and back the way they came, before they moved to her hair, which was splayed across the silk in a halo of blonde. Angel's eyes took in each and every curve, every freckle, and memorized them. He realized that Buffy was misunderstanding his staring when she moved to cover her chest, and a bright, crimson blush danced across her flesh. Gently, he captured her wrist before she could cover herself, and shook his head, before he lifted her hand to his mouth, and pressed small, butterfly kisses against her knuckles, his eyes still taking her in. "Don't, Buffy." He paused only for a moment. "You're beautiful,"
When he moved inside of her that night, it wasn't sex. No, it was most definitely making love. Even in Buffy's dreams, it hadn't been that amazing. Angel had been gentle, and passionate all at once, making sure to give her time to adjust, and even then he was careful, like she was glass. More than once he had asked her if she was okay, not ever wanting to hurt her. He would have stopped in an instant if she had even uttered a single word of cessation.
When both of them had reached their climaxes, and fallen back to the sheets, he had wrapped her in his strong arms, and couldn't help but smirk when her voice, small in the large room, reached his ears.
"Wow," Buffy breathed the words against his chest, where her cheek laid. She couldn't find the words to describe how perfect, or how intense it had been. Eyes fluttered shut behind a sweep of dark lashes as she fought off sleep.
"Happy birthday, Buffy."
infra-red, placebo
one last thing before i shuffle off the planet.
i will be the one to watch you crawl.
so i came down to wish you an unhappy birthday.
someone call the ambulance.
there's gonna be an accident.
Making love didn't exist anymore. Love was something that didn't live there any longer. Buffy had almost forgotten what love even felt like. Along with it; happiness, joy, laughter .. all the things that made Buffy herself were gone. Stolen away by the very person who had once been the cause of it all. During the day, she would put on a mask. A mask for her friends, and her mother -- was she even fooling them anymore? There was only so many fake smiles and laughs, and "I'm okay,"s until it becomes routine. It becomes something that you do without thinking. She still laughed at Xander's jokes, still smiled when her mother would bake her cookies. But she never felt them. Buffy was running on empty. She was a zombie.
"So, are you going to play hard to get tonight, or are you going to lie back and take it? You know I love it when you act all noble .."
Buffy wanted to tell him that it was over. Wanted to tell him that she was done being his sick obsession. The truth was -- she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of will power. She didn't have the strength to tell him to stop. In all honesty -- she wasn't sure if she wanted to. The only time she wasn't completely hollow, void of all emotions, was when she was here. At least here she felt rage, and disgust. When she left, all she felt was empty. Hollowed out, and totally alone. Sure, she was aware that she had her friends. But really, what could they do for her? And what would they do when they found out what Angelus and Buffy did every night? Buffy could already see the disgusted, shocked looks on her friends faces if they found out the truth.
They couldn't handle the truth.
They never could.
colorblind, natalie walker
i am colorblind. pull me out from the inside
i am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding. i am colorblind.
Some nights, when Angelus was feeling unusually generous ( or extremely malicious. she hadn't decided ), he would act like him. Like the vampire she had loved, still loved completely. She wasn't sure which was worse; having him shove her up against a wall, while growling out his frustrations as he ripped at her clothes, or when he would caress her with such care, and whisper how beautiful she was in her ear. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he loved to watch her afterwards, after he would make faux love to her, when all he wanted to do was tear her apart. The first time he had imitated her Angel, she had rolled over afterwards, and despite the fact her back was turned to him, he watched her body shake as the air grew thick with the scent of liquid salt. He loved it when she cried. It made her already brilliant emerald eyes positively sparkle. Instead of laughing like he had wanted to, he had made it even worse. Strong arms took up his crying lover as he pressed gentle kisses across her hairline, telling her it would be okay, all the while wiping at her tears.
The nights afterwards were always worse. Buffy figured that he didn't want to let her think that he was Angel. He'd enforce that idea by imbedding his frustrations into her skin, leaving bruises and cuts in his cruel wake. He bruised her in places that her friends wouldn't see. Places that only Buffy and Angelus would know about. He'd bruise and cut her, let her heal, then do it all over again.
If you irritate a wound long enough, the nerves die.
Maybe that had been what was happening to Buffy. It was a slow, unending death. He wasn't kind enough to just kill her. That would have been too merciful.
And Angelus was anything but merciful.
what have you done, within temptation
what have you done now? i have been waiting for someone like you.
but now you are slipping away. why does fate make us suffer?
there's a curse between us.
between me and you.
Steam blanketed the bathroom in a warm, humid mist that covered the mirror. It's just as well, Buffy thought, as she stood infront of the glass. At least when it was covered in mist, she couldn't see her face. She could only see a faint outline of blonde hair, and tan skin. When she couldn't see her face, she couldn't see the dark circles underneath her eyes -- eyes that had once held a vibrancy. Now all they held was sorrow, and exhaustion. It was definitely easier not to look at herself. Easier not to look at who she had become.
She lost track of how long she sat in the shower, knees pulled up to her chest, like every other night that she'd come home after being with him. The water, as scalding as it was, wasn't nearly hot enough for Buffy. It wasn't hot enough to burn away his touch, his lips, his scent .. and like always, she found herself scrubbing viciously at her skin until it was raw, and very nearly bleeding. When she knew her skin could take no more, Buffy pulled herself from the shower, wrapped an overly-fluffy towel around her petite frame, not taking time to look at the bruises she knew decorated her body, and moved into her bedroom. A few months ago, Buffy might have slipped into her favorite pair of pajamas; the matching silk, pink shirt, and shorts. Now they laid in the floor in a crumpled heap, obviously not having been worn in a while. Why? Because Angelus had made an off handed comment about how they were his favorites. So, she settled on the plain Sunnydale High tank top, and sweat pants.
Sleep never came easy for her anymore -- not since Angelus could come in whenever he wanted. And she knew that he did. More often than she would have liked. Sometimes, he even left her little gifts. A sketch here, a note there .. nothing she wanted to wake to find by her pillow.
When had she started to cry? Buffy wasn't sure, but there was no stopping the wave of tears that spilled down her cheeks as she clutched at Mr.Gordo, holding the stuffed pig to her shaking chest while her face buried into the pillow. There were so many reasons she was crying, now. She was still mourning the loss of Angel. And now, she was mourning the loss of herself. Buffy didn't like this new girl, the girl that went to the mansion every night, knowing what would happen. The old Buffy would have been above that. Then again, the old Buffy had Angel. The old Buffy wasn't forced to look at this monster every day that boasted Angel's beautiful face, and spoke with his smooth tenor.
The old Buffy Summers was still innocent, and still saw the beauty in life. Now all she saw was disaster.
She was the disaster.
over, evan's blue
you'd better crawl on your knees the next time you say that you love me.
fall on your knees, 'cause this time i won't be so kind.
Angelus loved this part. He loved watching her stumble back to her house, try to scrub away bruises that seemed to refuse to fade, and collapse onto her bed in a useless heap. Breaking the will was always the best part. And the tears? Oh, the tears! Buffy's tears were like cocaine to this monster. If he could have, he would have bottled up each and every one of her precious tears. After all, she was precious when she cried. Almost as precious as when she was writhing beneath him, gasping out 'Angel's' name, and trying not to look at his eyes.
Damn, he loved this girl.
No, that wasn't entirely true. Angelus didn't love anyone but himself. But he was most definitely in love with her misery. And he was utterly obsessed with this Slayer. He could see what Angel had first seen in her. The girl had spunk, that was for sure. Along with it came the smart-ass mouth. Not even he had been able to stop that, yet. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to. Buffy Summers was nothing, if not able to match wits with the best of them. Even he admired that about her. There were numerous other things he enjoyed about this girl. There was no denying she was beautiful. More beautiful than any other woman he had known. She was smart, strong, and had once built herself on a soapbox so high that nothing could touch her. Buffy had known what was right and wrong, and she had always tried to do the right thing.
Angelus had knocked her off that moral soap box, and now she had landed on her ass in the mud.
They would roll in it together.
The only difference was that Buffy would always rush home to get rid of that mud, and bury herself so far into a self-loathing party that she couldn't climb back out. Angelus? He liked it down in the mud.
His only complaint? He couldn't quite bring himself to kill her. Everytime he got close, something stopped him. Something wouldn't allow him to cross that one last line, and simply snap her perfect neck. Oh, he fantasized about it enough times. He fantasized about the way the initial 'snap' would sound, followed by that last, wheezing breath that would divorce from lips open from surprise. Fantasized about how her body would crumple to the ground, and her viridian eyes would stare into nothing, eventually losing that green luster, and becoming milky and gray. Her lips, so perfect, would have been the most beautiful color blue.
But he couldn't do it.
So he'd have to settle for this. And he would settle. He would tear her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but a walking corpse. Angelus planned on taking every single thing that Buffy loved, everything that made her who she was, and then some. He would watch her world shatter around her feet. Buffy only thought she knew what pain was. He was going to unfold this girl until she begged him to end it.
And then, who knows -- he might actually do it. But until then, she was his. She would always be his.
He would wait until she was broken beyond repair, and he'd be the one to deliver the final, crushing blow that would shatter her being into thousands of pieces.
"These violent delights have violent endings," He voiced the words he knew all too well. His voice was low enough not to wake Buffy, who had finally cried herself to sleep. It truly was convenient to have an open invitation. He would be here every night, watching her sleep. Finger tips lifted, and grazed along her cheek, still damp from tears. Tears for him.
"And in their triumphs, die."
click here for the .zip of the songs