Why can't I feel anything for anyone other than you?
"I have a confession to make."
Funny how your entire world can turn around all in the matter of a couple minutes. You can go from a chick on the run, so much hate bursting in my chest- to sittin' in a jail cell with your hands cuffed together. Nothin' to do but sit and stare at the wall and wonder how the hell you ended up in this one very dark place. On second thought, I guess it wasn't really funny haha. More funny, told ya so. Not like this wasn't where everyone always expected me to end up anyway, slayer or not.
I told Angel I didn't think I could make it through the next five minutes and I wasn't kiddin'. It was violence, bubbling up from under the surface and threatening to burst at the seams at any minute. I wasn't ready for this. I couldn't do it, coudln't contain it. I couldn't stop myself. And every time I tried to squash the rage, one face came back and haunted me. A faint trail of blood from his lips to his chin, blank wide eyes. There was nothing there, I'd killed it. I was good at killing things. I was even better at destroying anything good that came my way.
I was so tired. Kinda weird that you could be tired after spendin' eight months layin' on your back in some hospital. So long sleeping and I hadn't gotten any rest. That's the bitch about a coma, you're always dreaming. And I didn't dream like normal people did, neither did Buffy. That one thing that connected us together connected me to the outside world while I was sleeping. Vaguelly I wondered if she would be my only connection anymore for the rest of my life. All the people I killed? I was willing to bet I wouldn't be seein' the light of day for a wicked long time. Lot of long lonely nights ahead of this slayer. Not really different than the rest of my life. Still I wondered how long she could brush me away before letting me in if I had nothing else.
Staring at the concrete wall, I had nowhere to go. All I could do was sit, and stare and think and wonder if anyone would even know. Is this what it was like for Angel? Just sitting down and thinking about every single fucked up thing you'd ever done? I didn't know how he did it. He had a lot longer to think about shit then I did. Hell, I wasn't even twenty years old yet and he was like six hundred or something.
The worst part of it all was that I knew. This place couldn't hold me. I was a slayer, I'd bust out of prison easy and no one'd be able to catch me. That was the bitch. The thing that made it different for me. Because I could get out. This was all about self-control and I didn't think I was that strong. I was never that strong.
But at least for the first time ever? I had a reason.
Funny how your entire world can turn around all in the matter of a couple minutes. You can go from a chick on the run, so much hate bursting in my chest- to sittin' in a jail cell with your hands cuffed together. Nothin' to do but sit and stare at the wall and wonder how the hell you ended up in this one very dark place. On second thought, I guess it wasn't really funny haha. More funny, told ya so. Not like this wasn't where everyone always expected me to end up anyway, slayer or not.
I told Angel I didn't think I could make it through the next five minutes and I wasn't kiddin'. It was violence, bubbling up from under the surface and threatening to burst at the seams at any minute. I wasn't ready for this. I couldn't do it, coudln't contain it. I couldn't stop myself. And every time I tried to squash the rage, one face came back and haunted me. A faint trail of blood from his lips to his chin, blank wide eyes. There was nothing there, I'd killed it. I was good at killing things. I was even better at destroying anything good that came my way.
I was so tired. Kinda weird that you could be tired after spendin' eight months layin' on your back in some hospital. So long sleeping and I hadn't gotten any rest. That's the bitch about a coma, you're always dreaming. And I didn't dream like normal people did, neither did Buffy. That one thing that connected us together connected me to the outside world while I was sleeping. Vaguelly I wondered if she would be my only connection anymore for the rest of my life. All the people I killed? I was willing to bet I wouldn't be seein' the light of day for a wicked long time. Lot of long lonely nights ahead of this slayer. Not really different than the rest of my life. Still I wondered how long she could brush me away before letting me in if I had nothing else.
Staring at the concrete wall, I had nowhere to go. All I could do was sit, and stare and think and wonder if anyone would even know. Is this what it was like for Angel? Just sitting down and thinking about every single fucked up thing you'd ever done? I didn't know how he did it. He had a lot longer to think about shit then I did. Hell, I wasn't even twenty years old yet and he was like six hundred or something.
The worst part of it all was that I knew. This place couldn't hold me. I was a slayer, I'd bust out of prison easy and no one'd be able to catch me. That was the bitch. The thing that made it different for me. Because I could get out. This was all about self-control and I didn't think I was that strong. I was never that strong.
But at least for the first time ever? I had a reason.