Take These Broken Wings. (fanfiction)
I have a few icons and a wallpaper that I will be posting later today. for now, has a fanfiction.
Title: Take These Broken Wings.
Character: Faith.
Pairing: light Buffy/Faith.
Warning: somewhat explicit abuse and rape scenes.
Summary: One drunken night, Faith is triggered into revisiting her broken past, and Buffy is there when it happens.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of it's characters. however, I would very much like to own Faith or Eliza Dushku. ;P
Author's Note: the abuse between Faith's mother and father is based on the true story of Wendy Maldonado. the story of Faith's kidnapping is based on the past of the Slayer Dana from Angel episode 'Damage'. this was written for the LiveJournal community winter_of_faith.
-
I never knew a true childhood. Until the age of eight, I- though too young to do anything- prayed to whatever God was out there to give me the strength to protect my mother from my father.
There are no words to make anyone understand the things he did to her. I remember holes in the walls everywhere- holes that my mother, trying to show me that she was okay, would happily cover with pictures I drew- holes from my father punching the walls, slamming my mother's head through them.
He would threaten to kill her so often that my mother had to hide all of the knives. She also hid flyswatters- he would heat up the metal wires of them and burn her with them- and swept the floors with a broom and no handle because he would break them over her. And she would hide the dog leashes; anything that could, and had, been used as a weapon against her. When my father went to prison, she had four teeth left.
They had been together, my mom enduring this abuse almost the entire time, for over ten years. One day, he beat her unconscious and left. I kept shaking her, trying to wake her. I quickly realized this wasn't a good sign, and I was thankfully at least old enough to call the police. My father was arrested and after a long court trial, put in prison for ten years.
What I will still never understand fully, to this day, is why my mother took it out on me. She yelled at me, saying she loved him. Less than a week or so after my father was sentenced, she began to drink. A lot. Just months later, I found her smoking and inhaling and injecting all sorts of things.
Another thing I will never understand is why she started the abuse on me. It only got physical when she was out of drugs; which was maybe a few times a month because she started dating drug dealers. No; mainly, it was verbal. Emotional.
She'd call me every name in the book. I was nine years old, and she would call me a slut.
I lived like this until I was thirteen. Six days before my birthday, her new boyfriend and her were drunk and my mom had passed out. Not surprisingly, the bastard raped me- for hours. Left me broken, bruised, crying and wishing I would die. That night, I slit my wrists. My mother had sobered up and found me in the bathroom and, for some reason, decided she didn't want me to die and called 911.
Two weeks of living in a long-term mental hospital, I was deemed stable enough to go home. I know now that I should have told the people at the hospital about my mother's abuse, but I was too scared.
First day I was home and the abuse started again. When I told my mother that her skeevy boyfriend raped me, she called me a lying whore.
That night, I laid in bed, contemplating suicide again. But what if I failed once more? The hospital was better than being here, but I didn't want to go through that. So I made up my mind and, having saved money from stealing some here and there over the past eight months, I ran away and never looked back.
For a few months, I stayed in a motel. The motel manager never looked twice at how young I was. But my money faded, and I couldn't get a job because of my age.
I ended up living on the streets. Two weeks into it, and I was approached by a Latino man who asked me if I ever thought of being an 'escort'. He lied, saying it was just to take men out on 'dates'. Soon enough, though, I realized the meaning of an escort. But I didn't quit.
And then, shortly after, I became addicted to heroin. One other reason to keep selling my body; so I could afford my fix.
None of the johns questioned my age. None of them looked twice at the scars on my upper thighs, either. I lived as a prostitute and a drug addict for three years.
Then I met Diana. Who I thought was batshit at first. But I was interested enough to read into the fictional world of vampires, demons and Slayers.
One night, I was snatched from the street and into a van. I still don't know who the man was, as he had his face hidden, but he still haunts me. For about four months, he kept me chained to a basement, torturing me in every way imaginable as I already dealt with drug withdrawal. I lost my ability to have children because of him.
He had been brutally raping me with one of those big police flashlights. I was bleeding everywhere, and pain ripped through me like fire. I struggled uselessly against the chains, crying, when suddenly every cell in my body became alive and the chains broke under my newfound strength. The man stopped and tried to restrain me, but I yanked the flashlight from his hand and bashed him over the head with it. I covered myself with a sheet, and limped out of the basement, walking until I was stopped by a couple who called 911.
The day after I was admitted, Diana found me, crying at the sight before her. She apologized profusely, and I shook my head and gave her a small smile.
"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have realized the strength that came over me last night."
I had become a Slayer.
Just one month training with Diana, and she was murdered by Kakistos in front of me. I ran, and ended up in Sunnydale. Which leads me to the next part of this story.
Buffy Summers.
Probably the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I thought that things were heading in the right path with B. All I wanted was to be hers. And then Angel came back. And it all went downhill from there.
If Buffy wasn't going to love me, I'd give her a reason to hate me. So I did.
That fight between us after I poisoned Angel was exhilirating. Not only because I got to touch her- albeit violently- and see her so passionate about me (though not the way I wished), but because I knew she was going to kill me. And I wanted her to.
The two biggest reasons I went after her after I woke up? One; she didn't kill me, and two; she was with someone else. Some ugly, corn-fed asshole.
When I saw myself through her eyes- literally- I just couldn't take it anymore. I beat the hell out of her (me) and when we switched back, I ran.
And then I did the same thing with Angel. Egged him on so that he would kill me. But something about me seemed worth fighting for to him, and that's what led me to prison.
I hated it there, but I was going to do my entire sentence. I wanted B to be proud of me, in some way. But the pain was still there, and I dulled it with hiding and using homemade knives on my skin.
But when I heard that Angelus was back, I had to repay Angel for what he did for me. And then that led me back to Sunnydale.
Buffy was, of course, a little hostile at first when I arrived; but nowhere near what I thought she'd be like toward me when I came back. Then, she just started to accept that I was there, and treat me with respect.
When we saw the army of Turok-Hahn vamps, I blanched; terrified because I knew a lot of us wouldn't make it. But when I glanced to my left and caught B's eyes as the Potentials became Slayers and the army advanced upon us, I smiled.
It's been three weeks since Sunnydale collapsed. The gang decided, since everyone was healed and things were becoming routine at the Hyperion, that we should celebrate. So we did. First time I'd drank since I got to prison.
I was having a great time at first. And then Dawn decided to turn on a song that hit far too close to home, and I hastily retreated to my room.
I was not aware that Buffy was following me until I saw her at the door that I'd left open and was sitting on my bed, elbows on my knees and head in my hands, crying. I straightened up but didn't look at her.
"Just go, Buffy," my voice broke, barely audible.
But she walked into my room and shut the door. She sat next to me on my bed, brushing the hair from my face and wiping away my tears.
"What's wrong, Faith?" She asked softly.
And I broke down again. I don't know how, but I ended up telling her everything. Including the part where I was in love with her. But I didn't look at her or change the tone of my voice- pretending as if it was just another fact- and continued on with spilling my secrets to her.
We were both quiet for a long time as I was still crying silently. Then, she kneeled down in front of me and lifted my shirt to reveal the- literally- hundreds of self-inflicted wounds on my stomach.
She looked at them for a long time, tracing them with her fingers softly. Then she stopped on one. Yeah, that scar.
Pulling her hand away, she looked up at me, brushing the tears away from my face. And she kissed me.
Title: Take These Broken Wings.
Character: Faith.
Pairing: light Buffy/Faith.
Warning: somewhat explicit abuse and rape scenes.
Summary: One drunken night, Faith is triggered into revisiting her broken past, and Buffy is there when it happens.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of it's characters. however, I would very much like to own Faith or Eliza Dushku. ;P
Author's Note: the abuse between Faith's mother and father is based on the true story of Wendy Maldonado. the story of Faith's kidnapping is based on the past of the Slayer Dana from Angel episode 'Damage'. this was written for the LiveJournal community winter_of_faith.
-
I never knew a true childhood. Until the age of eight, I- though too young to do anything- prayed to whatever God was out there to give me the strength to protect my mother from my father.
There are no words to make anyone understand the things he did to her. I remember holes in the walls everywhere- holes that my mother, trying to show me that she was okay, would happily cover with pictures I drew- holes from my father punching the walls, slamming my mother's head through them.
He would threaten to kill her so often that my mother had to hide all of the knives. She also hid flyswatters- he would heat up the metal wires of them and burn her with them- and swept the floors with a broom and no handle because he would break them over her. And she would hide the dog leashes; anything that could, and had, been used as a weapon against her. When my father went to prison, she had four teeth left.
They had been together, my mom enduring this abuse almost the entire time, for over ten years. One day, he beat her unconscious and left. I kept shaking her, trying to wake her. I quickly realized this wasn't a good sign, and I was thankfully at least old enough to call the police. My father was arrested and after a long court trial, put in prison for ten years.
What I will still never understand fully, to this day, is why my mother took it out on me. She yelled at me, saying she loved him. Less than a week or so after my father was sentenced, she began to drink. A lot. Just months later, I found her smoking and inhaling and injecting all sorts of things.
Another thing I will never understand is why she started the abuse on me. It only got physical when she was out of drugs; which was maybe a few times a month because she started dating drug dealers. No; mainly, it was verbal. Emotional.
She'd call me every name in the book. I was nine years old, and she would call me a slut.
I lived like this until I was thirteen. Six days before my birthday, her new boyfriend and her were drunk and my mom had passed out. Not surprisingly, the bastard raped me- for hours. Left me broken, bruised, crying and wishing I would die. That night, I slit my wrists. My mother had sobered up and found me in the bathroom and, for some reason, decided she didn't want me to die and called 911.
Two weeks of living in a long-term mental hospital, I was deemed stable enough to go home. I know now that I should have told the people at the hospital about my mother's abuse, but I was too scared.
First day I was home and the abuse started again. When I told my mother that her skeevy boyfriend raped me, she called me a lying whore.
That night, I laid in bed, contemplating suicide again. But what if I failed once more? The hospital was better than being here, but I didn't want to go through that. So I made up my mind and, having saved money from stealing some here and there over the past eight months, I ran away and never looked back.
For a few months, I stayed in a motel. The motel manager never looked twice at how young I was. But my money faded, and I couldn't get a job because of my age.
I ended up living on the streets. Two weeks into it, and I was approached by a Latino man who asked me if I ever thought of being an 'escort'. He lied, saying it was just to take men out on 'dates'. Soon enough, though, I realized the meaning of an escort. But I didn't quit.
And then, shortly after, I became addicted to heroin. One other reason to keep selling my body; so I could afford my fix.
None of the johns questioned my age. None of them looked twice at the scars on my upper thighs, either. I lived as a prostitute and a drug addict for three years.
Then I met Diana. Who I thought was batshit at first. But I was interested enough to read into the fictional world of vampires, demons and Slayers.
One night, I was snatched from the street and into a van. I still don't know who the man was, as he had his face hidden, but he still haunts me. For about four months, he kept me chained to a basement, torturing me in every way imaginable as I already dealt with drug withdrawal. I lost my ability to have children because of him.
He had been brutally raping me with one of those big police flashlights. I was bleeding everywhere, and pain ripped through me like fire. I struggled uselessly against the chains, crying, when suddenly every cell in my body became alive and the chains broke under my newfound strength. The man stopped and tried to restrain me, but I yanked the flashlight from his hand and bashed him over the head with it. I covered myself with a sheet, and limped out of the basement, walking until I was stopped by a couple who called 911.
The day after I was admitted, Diana found me, crying at the sight before her. She apologized profusely, and I shook my head and gave her a small smile.
"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have realized the strength that came over me last night."
I had become a Slayer.
Just one month training with Diana, and she was murdered by Kakistos in front of me. I ran, and ended up in Sunnydale. Which leads me to the next part of this story.
Buffy Summers.
Probably the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I thought that things were heading in the right path with B. All I wanted was to be hers. And then Angel came back. And it all went downhill from there.
If Buffy wasn't going to love me, I'd give her a reason to hate me. So I did.
That fight between us after I poisoned Angel was exhilirating. Not only because I got to touch her- albeit violently- and see her so passionate about me (though not the way I wished), but because I knew she was going to kill me. And I wanted her to.
The two biggest reasons I went after her after I woke up? One; she didn't kill me, and two; she was with someone else. Some ugly, corn-fed asshole.
When I saw myself through her eyes- literally- I just couldn't take it anymore. I beat the hell out of her (me) and when we switched back, I ran.
And then I did the same thing with Angel. Egged him on so that he would kill me. But something about me seemed worth fighting for to him, and that's what led me to prison.
I hated it there, but I was going to do my entire sentence. I wanted B to be proud of me, in some way. But the pain was still there, and I dulled it with hiding and using homemade knives on my skin.
But when I heard that Angelus was back, I had to repay Angel for what he did for me. And then that led me back to Sunnydale.
Buffy was, of course, a little hostile at first when I arrived; but nowhere near what I thought she'd be like toward me when I came back. Then, she just started to accept that I was there, and treat me with respect.
When we saw the army of Turok-Hahn vamps, I blanched; terrified because I knew a lot of us wouldn't make it. But when I glanced to my left and caught B's eyes as the Potentials became Slayers and the army advanced upon us, I smiled.
It's been three weeks since Sunnydale collapsed. The gang decided, since everyone was healed and things were becoming routine at the Hyperion, that we should celebrate. So we did. First time I'd drank since I got to prison.
I was having a great time at first. And then Dawn decided to turn on a song that hit far too close to home, and I hastily retreated to my room.
I was not aware that Buffy was following me until I saw her at the door that I'd left open and was sitting on my bed, elbows on my knees and head in my hands, crying. I straightened up but didn't look at her.
"Just go, Buffy," my voice broke, barely audible.
But she walked into my room and shut the door. She sat next to me on my bed, brushing the hair from my face and wiping away my tears.
"What's wrong, Faith?" She asked softly.
And I broke down again. I don't know how, but I ended up telling her everything. Including the part where I was in love with her. But I didn't look at her or change the tone of my voice- pretending as if it was just another fact- and continued on with spilling my secrets to her.
We were both quiet for a long time as I was still crying silently. Then, she kneeled down in front of me and lifted my shirt to reveal the- literally- hundreds of self-inflicted wounds on my stomach.
She looked at them for a long time, tracing them with her fingers softly. Then she stopped on one. Yeah, that scar.
Pulling her hand away, she looked up at me, brushing the tears away from my face. And she kissed me.