someone else entirely
Title: Killing Time, Waiting For My Mutant Powers To Explode
Fandom: BtVS
Character, Pairing: Faith, Buffy/Faith
Rating: sexuality, swearing
Disclaimer: not my characters
Notes: written for the alterego_thon
This is an AU, inspired by Daniel Clowes's 'Ghost World' (both comic and movie). No hellmouth, everybody's human.
Killing Time, Waiting For My Mutant Powers To Explode
Outside of the Bronze, Faith pulls up short, stopped by the new graffiti on the side of the building. “Ghost World” it reads, in silver paint. A chill goes down her spine and she reaches out her fingers to touch the letter W, surprised to find it still damp. Her fingers are tipped with silver now, and she looks up and down the alley, wonders if the graffiti artist is still in the area. Ghost World. She’s seen it around town for as long as she’s lived here. Usually it gets painted over within a few days, but then she’ll eventually see it again, in a different location. It echoes in her head sometimes, right before she falls asleep. Does it mean that the world is filled with spectral people, insubstantial, floating on the wind? Or is it supposed to mean that this world doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel solid and dependable, like it should?
Stepping into the building and out of the bright day, Faith stands for a minute just inside the door, blinking and giving her eyes time to adjust. Buffy’s sitting by herself at their usual table, already sipping on a drink. Her skirt is short and her shirt is tight and her hair is down and she’s slowly swaying to the beat of the R and B song that’s playing. When Faith first met her, she had her chance. She could have been honest, but it was too scary. It was easier to play the friend card, to get close to Buffy like that. So she took the coward’s way out and now she has to pay for it. Buffy’s eyes are searching the room and when they meet Faith’s, she smiles, beckons with her hand. Faith slinks towards her, keeps her eyes locked on her, on the prowl. “Hey,” she says, and leans in to press a kiss to Buffy’s neck.
She lets her lips linger and Buffy giggles softly. “Tickles,” she murmurs, and pulls away. Faith takes the cue, reluctantly, resentfully. “So I was thinking,” Buffy says, before Faith’s even sat down on the bar stool, before she’s even had a chance to order a drink. “I saw online that if you apply to UC-Sunnydale before September Fifteenth, and you’re accepted, you can start school in January.”
“Yeah, so?” Faith says, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.
“Well, you have to live on campus your first year. But after that you don’t. So if you started school in January, and took classes during the summer term, we could get an apartment and both be sophomores by this time next year.”
Faith finally gets Anya’s attention, and raises two fingers. Anya’s a smart girl and she’s figured out a smooth system to boost her profits. She puts two shots of whiskey in a mug, fills it to the top with beer, and then leaves it on the bar. Once she’s busy with some of her legal customers, Faith will go get her drink, never paying for it directly, but leaving an extra ten on the table when she goes, like she’s just a big tipper or something. “I’ve told you so many times, B. I’m done with school.” That part of Buffy’s equation doesn’t work, though Faith is touched by the suggestion of being roommates. But who wants to live with Buffy if you don’t get to share her bed? Torture.
“Well if you’re not going to go to college, then what are you going to do? If you promised to take it seriously, I could probably get my mom to hire you at the gallery.”
“Hell no.”
“Then what?”
Faith shrugs, leaves the table to collect her drink. When she returns, Buffy tries to take the mug from her. “Get your own.”
“What are you going to do?” Buffy asks again. “You have to do something.”
Faith doesn’t answer. As she drinks, she looks off into the distance. She can feel Buffy watching her. It feels good. “You know what I’d like?” she says, putting down the mug and admiring how Buffy’s lips purse as she sips her Coke through a straw. “You know what I’d really like?” She remembers being ten, eleven, shoplifting Milky Way bars, and grape flavored lip balm, and X-Men comics from the drugstore. “Superpowers.”
“Why?”
“Why? Jesus, B. Use your imagination. Invincible, indestructible, immortal, who wouldn’t want that? You could do anything you wanted, have anything you wanted. Unstoppable.”
Buffy shakes her head. “Uh-uh. No way. Too much responsibility. I would never want to be a superhero.”
“Who said anything about being a hero? I just want the powers, but I make no promises about how I’d use them.”
“You’d have to give up so much. You’d never be able to live a normal life,” Buffy warns.
“How’s that a bad thing?” The life Buffy seems to be planning, with college then a job then a husband then a nice house with a pretty garden then kids, makes her want to puke. “A normal life? Fuck that. I’ll do anything to avoid that.” She finishes her drink, gestures to Anya for another one. “You want anything?” she asks, before getting up again. Anything, anything at all B. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.
“I’m good.”
When she comes back from the bar, Buffy’s not alone. Angel’s leaning over her, talking to her, and her cheeks are pink. “What’s up?” Faith says, sitting down again.
“Hello, Faith,” Angel says, without looking at her, without ever taking his eyes off of Buffy. Their hands rest side by side on the tabletop, fingers grazing. “I’ll see you later,” he says to Buffy, voice all low and serious and shit, like he’s trying to be seductive, and Faith’s mouth twists into a sneer.
“Yeah, later,” Buffy echoes, breathy and sweet, and Faith knows that shit is for real, and damn if it doesn’t make her wet. She always wants Buffy, but seeing Buffy like this, her eyes wide, her lips parted, makes the ache so much worse, and it’s intolerable to see that desire, that she wants so much for herself, burn for that sleazy ass.
“You can do so much better,” Faith says before Angel’s out of sight. “You know he’s got a kid stashed away somewhere?”
“Connor,” Buffy says. “He told me. How do you know him, anyway?”
“I’ve seen him around.” She sees him all the time over at Willy’s, a bar where all the low lives of this town, and there’s plenty, congregate. She’s not going to tell Buffy that, though. Willy’s is rough, but Faith can handle it. But Buffy shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of shit. “I’ve heard rumors about him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Stuff. Like he has a real bad temper, like people are scared of him, shit like that.”
“He told me,” Buffy says again. “He told me there were things he did, bad things, things he regrets. He says he’s different now.”
“People can say anything they want. Doesn’t make it true.”
“I know.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“What do you care? Do you want him?”
“No!” Faith insists. “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself. Promise me.”
“What?”
“Promise me. That you won’t.”
“Won’t?”
“Sleep with him. Promise me.”
“Christ, B. How much of a ho do you think I am?” She never should have slept with Riley. Buffy was done with him, so she couldn’t see the harm, but everyone else seemed to think it was some kind of sin. Everyone she knows takes fucking way too fucking seriously. Shit, call her a hypocrite. Sometimes she thinks that if she could just get down on her knees and taste Buffy once, yeah, just once, that would make everything ok, that would change everything. Hello pretty pussy, good bye Ghost World. She rests one hand on each of Buffy’s thighs, which are pressed together, wonders how she can be fearless in everything else, but afraid to part them, afraid of being stopped, told no.
“Promise me,” Buffy entreats again.
“Yeah,” Faith says, not meaning a word. “I promise.”
They leave the Bronze and walk towards the center of town. “Do you want to come over?” Buffy asks. “Dawn and my mom went away for the weekend.”
Faith wishes there was no connection between those two sentences, but her paranoia pleads otherwise. “Does your mom think I’m a bad influence on ‘Buffy: the Next Generation’ or something?”
“Please. Mom’s super-protective of her. She's worried about everyone corrupting her baby, including you, me and Miley Cyrus.”
“So where’d they go?”
“San Simeon.”
“Where’s that?”
“Up north. They’re visiting Hearst castle.”
“Castle? You Summers girls are such princesses.”
“I know! It’s not our fault; blame our childhoods spent at Disney on Ice.”
“Did you have a favorite?”
“Disney princess? Yeah. Belle, from Beauty and the Beast. I love that story.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” They’ve reached the bench outside a store called the Magic Box, the kind of place that reeks of incense and sells crystals and black lights and bongs. Buffy drops down to the bench, leans her head back and closes her eyes to feel the sun on her face. Faith sits beside her, rests her cheek against Buffy’s shoulder. “I guess I just like the idea of it,” Buffy says, “of kisses breaking spells, and love turning animals back into men. I guess that’s why she’s my favorite.”
“Belle’s got brown hair.”
“So?”
“You should be Cinderella.” She tugs at the ends of Buffy’s hair. “She’s a blonde.”
“You just want to be Belle, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Snow White?”
“I never liked her.”
“Wicked queen?”
“She’s the one. She’s hardcore. Badass.”
“Hey, Ms Hardcore Badass,” Buffy says, pulling away and standing up. “Let’s get some ice cream.” She crosses the street and gets in line.
Faith lounges on the bench for a while, waits until Buffy’s almost reached the counter, and then joins her. “No cuts,” someone behind her calls out and she decides against turning around and giving everyone the finger.
“I’d like a chocolate milkshake,” Buffy says, “topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, please.”
“And for your friend?”
“The same,” Faith says, “but put a cherry on top.” They drink their milkshakes as they walk back towards Buffy’s house. “Oh shit,” Faith says, grabbing Buffy’s hand. “Look! Ghost World!” The words have been painted on the garage door of one of Buffy’s neighbors.
“The Hargroves are gonna be pissed,” Buffy says.
“Why? It’s art.”
“They’ll call it vandalism.”
“People are morons,” Faith says.
“I heard there’s a website where you can go and record where you saw that graffiti.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Apparently it shows up all over both coasts, and all these people are out there trying to find out who’s doing it, but no one’s ever even caught a glimpse.”
“Do you think it’s always the same person?”
“Maybe. People post pictures online and the writing always looks the same.”
“It’d be cool if it was the same dude. Someone who’s always on the move, never stays in one place too long.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Not if you had someone with you. Ghost world,” she repeats and follows Buffy inside. They go to Buffy’s room and lie side by side on her bed, listening to records until they get hungry and go back downstairs to order pizza. After they eat they curl up together on the couch to watch telly, and it’s so cozy and comfy that Faith falls asleep. When she wakes up, she’s by herself and the house is dark. She tiptoes back upstairs and peeks into Buffy’s room. Buffy’s asleep in bed and the clock flashes 12:02 in big blue letters. “Sweet dreams,” she whispers, and lets herself out. The front door locks behind her.
She spends a couple more hours out after she leaves Buffy’s, goes back to the Bronze to dance, goes over to Willy’s for a drink. She looks for Angel, but he’s not there. It’s after two by the time she makes it back to the Wyndam-Prices. She knows she’s supposed to feel grateful that they took her in, that they became her legal guardians, but she never has. Lilah’s a snake, but at least she doesn’t try to hide it. Wesley’s worse because he honestly seems to think he’s the hero of his pathetic little dramas. He treats her like she’s just another cross he nobly bears, and stares at her tits when he thinks she’s not paying attention. A few weeks ago a pair of her leather pants and a bottle of her perfume disappeared, and she wouldn’t be surprised if those sick fucks were using them for dress-up. If the choices are Lilah, Wesley, or death, she’s definitely going with the first option. Wesley or death is pretty much a toss-up.
“You’re home late,” he says, meeting her in the kitchen as she tries to sneak in the back door.
“This isn’t home,” Faith says as she passes by him.
“Then where?” he calls up the stairs after her, and both of them know she has no answer to that.
She brushes her teeth and washes off her makeup and strips down to her underwear, but when she gets into bed she just lies there, eyes open and staring at the shadows on her bedroom walls. Buffy’s right, she has to do something. But what? She won’t be able to stay here much longer. She told Lilah and Wesley that she was going to UC-Sunnydale in the fall to keep them off her back this summer, but in a few more weeks, they’ll know it was a lie.
She never told Buffy the flip side of her superpower fantasy. She’s always imagined that once she got them, she’d be able to rob a bank and split town for good. She wouldn’t have to worry about money, and she could go anywhere she wanted in the world. She’d never have to see Wesley or anyone else in this shit town again. She’d definitely see B again, though, for sure. And B would have missed her, would be so glad to see her again, would see her differently, finally, so that, for the first time, when they stared at each other, they would both see beauty.
Yeah, she’d love to be a different person, feels like she’s meant to be some other version of herself, but she has no idea who that would be, or how she’s supposed to start.
It’s dawn before she manages to get to sleep.
In the weeks that follow, shit starts to fall apart pretty much exactly as she was afraid it would. Buffy starts seeing Angel, and though she and Faith still hang out, it’s obvious he’s where her attention is. She feels more like a stranger in this town than ever, and she knows it’s only going to get worse once Buffy starts college. She’s got no good reason to stick around.
Willy’s is unusually quiet for a Friday night, which confuses Faith until she notices Spike at the bar. He’s in and out of town and she doesn’t know much about him, but one thing she does know is that he’s really strong and always looking for a fight, which explains why everyone else cleared out. He’s alone, which surprises her. She’s never seen him without this sickly-looking goth chick who hangs all over him. “Hey,” she says, as she sits down on the stool beside him. “Where’s your girl?”
“What the fuck do you care?” he growls.
“I don’t,” Faith snaps right back. His slouch and his red eyes tell the whole story, anyway. He smells like he’s on the tail end of a week-long bender. “She dumped your sorry ass, didn’t she?”
“Fuck off.”
“Hey man, I’m right there with you. I just lost my girl, too. Except I never really had her. So. What’s worse? The girl you never have or the girl you lose?”
“They’re both bitches, and they’ve made us their bitches. Love’s bitches.”
“Love’s bitches. I like that. We should start a band and call it that.”
“What do you play?”
“Nothing. I could learn. Bass is easy, right? I mean, they’ve only four strings. Or how about drums?” She flexes her biceps. “I got the guns for it.”
“I’ve got a guitar. Can you sing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Prove it.”
“What you wanna hear?”
“Gimme some Clash.”
“Alright. Let me blow your mind.” She busts out some ‘Lost in the Supermarket’. “I wasn’t born, so much as I fell out, nobody seemed to notice me. We had a hedge back home in the suburbs, over which I never could see. I heard the people who lived on the ceiling, scream and shout most scarily. Hearing that noise was my first ever feeling, that’s how it’s been all around me.”
“God damn. How do you fit a voice that big into your tight little body?”
“Did I rock it?”
“You did.” They toast each other.
“Yeah,” Faith brags, “I’m the shit.” She throws back her shot. “How long you gonna be in SunnyD?”
“Leaving tonight.”
“Where you going?”
“I have a few things I need to take care of in LA, and then I’m back to New York for a few days, and then on to London.”
“Can I come with you?”
“If you want.”
“Seriously? Because I really need to get out of this town.”
“Seriously, but I’ve got to be on the road by eleven.” The clock above the bar reads ten-thirty.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” She doesn’t want to give herself any opportunities to turn back.
He pays the bar tab and they walk outside. They get in his car, which is old and kinda beat up, but has a really roomy, comfortable front seat. When he turns the key in the ignition, the Sex Pistols scream out from the tape deck. They pull away from the curb and head towards the freeway. Spike gets out a pack of cigs from his pocket, but finding it empty, he crumples it up and tosses it out the window. “Hey, Faith, be a doll. Look in the back and see if I’ve got any smokes.”
The back seat is covered with shit. “What the fuck, dude, do you live in your car?” She pushes aside clothes and books and tapes, before she spies his Marlboros. “Got em,” she says as she grabs them, but before she turns around, a well-known color catches her eye. “Oh, fuck me!” she says, staring at the can and brush splattered with silver paint. “You’re the dude!” she says, turning back to him, and punching his shoulder. “You’re the dude who writes Ghost World everywhere.”
“I’m the one,” he says, rubbing at the spot she hit.
“I’ve been looking for you.” She lights a cigarette for each of them, leans over and places his in between his lips. “This is gonna be a wicked good road trip.”
Fandom: BtVS
Character, Pairing: Faith, Buffy/Faith
Rating: sexuality, swearing
Disclaimer: not my characters
Notes: written for the alterego_thon
This is an AU, inspired by Daniel Clowes's 'Ghost World' (both comic and movie). No hellmouth, everybody's human.
Killing Time, Waiting For My Mutant Powers To Explode
Outside of the Bronze, Faith pulls up short, stopped by the new graffiti on the side of the building. “Ghost World” it reads, in silver paint. A chill goes down her spine and she reaches out her fingers to touch the letter W, surprised to find it still damp. Her fingers are tipped with silver now, and she looks up and down the alley, wonders if the graffiti artist is still in the area. Ghost World. She’s seen it around town for as long as she’s lived here. Usually it gets painted over within a few days, but then she’ll eventually see it again, in a different location. It echoes in her head sometimes, right before she falls asleep. Does it mean that the world is filled with spectral people, insubstantial, floating on the wind? Or is it supposed to mean that this world doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel solid and dependable, like it should?
Stepping into the building and out of the bright day, Faith stands for a minute just inside the door, blinking and giving her eyes time to adjust. Buffy’s sitting by herself at their usual table, already sipping on a drink. Her skirt is short and her shirt is tight and her hair is down and she’s slowly swaying to the beat of the R and B song that’s playing. When Faith first met her, she had her chance. She could have been honest, but it was too scary. It was easier to play the friend card, to get close to Buffy like that. So she took the coward’s way out and now she has to pay for it. Buffy’s eyes are searching the room and when they meet Faith’s, she smiles, beckons with her hand. Faith slinks towards her, keeps her eyes locked on her, on the prowl. “Hey,” she says, and leans in to press a kiss to Buffy’s neck.
She lets her lips linger and Buffy giggles softly. “Tickles,” she murmurs, and pulls away. Faith takes the cue, reluctantly, resentfully. “So I was thinking,” Buffy says, before Faith’s even sat down on the bar stool, before she’s even had a chance to order a drink. “I saw online that if you apply to UC-Sunnydale before September Fifteenth, and you’re accepted, you can start school in January.”
“Yeah, so?” Faith says, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.
“Well, you have to live on campus your first year. But after that you don’t. So if you started school in January, and took classes during the summer term, we could get an apartment and both be sophomores by this time next year.”
Faith finally gets Anya’s attention, and raises two fingers. Anya’s a smart girl and she’s figured out a smooth system to boost her profits. She puts two shots of whiskey in a mug, fills it to the top with beer, and then leaves it on the bar. Once she’s busy with some of her legal customers, Faith will go get her drink, never paying for it directly, but leaving an extra ten on the table when she goes, like she’s just a big tipper or something. “I’ve told you so many times, B. I’m done with school.” That part of Buffy’s equation doesn’t work, though Faith is touched by the suggestion of being roommates. But who wants to live with Buffy if you don’t get to share her bed? Torture.
“Well if you’re not going to go to college, then what are you going to do? If you promised to take it seriously, I could probably get my mom to hire you at the gallery.”
“Hell no.”
“Then what?”
Faith shrugs, leaves the table to collect her drink. When she returns, Buffy tries to take the mug from her. “Get your own.”
“What are you going to do?” Buffy asks again. “You have to do something.”
Faith doesn’t answer. As she drinks, she looks off into the distance. She can feel Buffy watching her. It feels good. “You know what I’d like?” she says, putting down the mug and admiring how Buffy’s lips purse as she sips her Coke through a straw. “You know what I’d really like?” She remembers being ten, eleven, shoplifting Milky Way bars, and grape flavored lip balm, and X-Men comics from the drugstore. “Superpowers.”
“Why?”
“Why? Jesus, B. Use your imagination. Invincible, indestructible, immortal, who wouldn’t want that? You could do anything you wanted, have anything you wanted. Unstoppable.”
Buffy shakes her head. “Uh-uh. No way. Too much responsibility. I would never want to be a superhero.”
“Who said anything about being a hero? I just want the powers, but I make no promises about how I’d use them.”
“You’d have to give up so much. You’d never be able to live a normal life,” Buffy warns.
“How’s that a bad thing?” The life Buffy seems to be planning, with college then a job then a husband then a nice house with a pretty garden then kids, makes her want to puke. “A normal life? Fuck that. I’ll do anything to avoid that.” She finishes her drink, gestures to Anya for another one. “You want anything?” she asks, before getting up again. Anything, anything at all B. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.
“I’m good.”
When she comes back from the bar, Buffy’s not alone. Angel’s leaning over her, talking to her, and her cheeks are pink. “What’s up?” Faith says, sitting down again.
“Hello, Faith,” Angel says, without looking at her, without ever taking his eyes off of Buffy. Their hands rest side by side on the tabletop, fingers grazing. “I’ll see you later,” he says to Buffy, voice all low and serious and shit, like he’s trying to be seductive, and Faith’s mouth twists into a sneer.
“Yeah, later,” Buffy echoes, breathy and sweet, and Faith knows that shit is for real, and damn if it doesn’t make her wet. She always wants Buffy, but seeing Buffy like this, her eyes wide, her lips parted, makes the ache so much worse, and it’s intolerable to see that desire, that she wants so much for herself, burn for that sleazy ass.
“You can do so much better,” Faith says before Angel’s out of sight. “You know he’s got a kid stashed away somewhere?”
“Connor,” Buffy says. “He told me. How do you know him, anyway?”
“I’ve seen him around.” She sees him all the time over at Willy’s, a bar where all the low lives of this town, and there’s plenty, congregate. She’s not going to tell Buffy that, though. Willy’s is rough, but Faith can handle it. But Buffy shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of shit. “I’ve heard rumors about him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Stuff. Like he has a real bad temper, like people are scared of him, shit like that.”
“He told me,” Buffy says again. “He told me there were things he did, bad things, things he regrets. He says he’s different now.”
“People can say anything they want. Doesn’t make it true.”
“I know.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“What do you care? Do you want him?”
“No!” Faith insists. “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself. Promise me.”
“What?”
“Promise me. That you won’t.”
“Won’t?”
“Sleep with him. Promise me.”
“Christ, B. How much of a ho do you think I am?” She never should have slept with Riley. Buffy was done with him, so she couldn’t see the harm, but everyone else seemed to think it was some kind of sin. Everyone she knows takes fucking way too fucking seriously. Shit, call her a hypocrite. Sometimes she thinks that if she could just get down on her knees and taste Buffy once, yeah, just once, that would make everything ok, that would change everything. Hello pretty pussy, good bye Ghost World. She rests one hand on each of Buffy’s thighs, which are pressed together, wonders how she can be fearless in everything else, but afraid to part them, afraid of being stopped, told no.
“Promise me,” Buffy entreats again.
“Yeah,” Faith says, not meaning a word. “I promise.”
They leave the Bronze and walk towards the center of town. “Do you want to come over?” Buffy asks. “Dawn and my mom went away for the weekend.”
Faith wishes there was no connection between those two sentences, but her paranoia pleads otherwise. “Does your mom think I’m a bad influence on ‘Buffy: the Next Generation’ or something?”
“Please. Mom’s super-protective of her. She's worried about everyone corrupting her baby, including you, me and Miley Cyrus.”
“So where’d they go?”
“San Simeon.”
“Where’s that?”
“Up north. They’re visiting Hearst castle.”
“Castle? You Summers girls are such princesses.”
“I know! It’s not our fault; blame our childhoods spent at Disney on Ice.”
“Did you have a favorite?”
“Disney princess? Yeah. Belle, from Beauty and the Beast. I love that story.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” They’ve reached the bench outside a store called the Magic Box, the kind of place that reeks of incense and sells crystals and black lights and bongs. Buffy drops down to the bench, leans her head back and closes her eyes to feel the sun on her face. Faith sits beside her, rests her cheek against Buffy’s shoulder. “I guess I just like the idea of it,” Buffy says, “of kisses breaking spells, and love turning animals back into men. I guess that’s why she’s my favorite.”
“Belle’s got brown hair.”
“So?”
“You should be Cinderella.” She tugs at the ends of Buffy’s hair. “She’s a blonde.”
“You just want to be Belle, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Snow White?”
“I never liked her.”
“Wicked queen?”
“She’s the one. She’s hardcore. Badass.”
“Hey, Ms Hardcore Badass,” Buffy says, pulling away and standing up. “Let’s get some ice cream.” She crosses the street and gets in line.
Faith lounges on the bench for a while, waits until Buffy’s almost reached the counter, and then joins her. “No cuts,” someone behind her calls out and she decides against turning around and giving everyone the finger.
“I’d like a chocolate milkshake,” Buffy says, “topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, please.”
“And for your friend?”
“The same,” Faith says, “but put a cherry on top.” They drink their milkshakes as they walk back towards Buffy’s house. “Oh shit,” Faith says, grabbing Buffy’s hand. “Look! Ghost World!” The words have been painted on the garage door of one of Buffy’s neighbors.
“The Hargroves are gonna be pissed,” Buffy says.
“Why? It’s art.”
“They’ll call it vandalism.”
“People are morons,” Faith says.
“I heard there’s a website where you can go and record where you saw that graffiti.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Apparently it shows up all over both coasts, and all these people are out there trying to find out who’s doing it, but no one’s ever even caught a glimpse.”
“Do you think it’s always the same person?”
“Maybe. People post pictures online and the writing always looks the same.”
“It’d be cool if it was the same dude. Someone who’s always on the move, never stays in one place too long.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Not if you had someone with you. Ghost world,” she repeats and follows Buffy inside. They go to Buffy’s room and lie side by side on her bed, listening to records until they get hungry and go back downstairs to order pizza. After they eat they curl up together on the couch to watch telly, and it’s so cozy and comfy that Faith falls asleep. When she wakes up, she’s by herself and the house is dark. She tiptoes back upstairs and peeks into Buffy’s room. Buffy’s asleep in bed and the clock flashes 12:02 in big blue letters. “Sweet dreams,” she whispers, and lets herself out. The front door locks behind her.
She spends a couple more hours out after she leaves Buffy’s, goes back to the Bronze to dance, goes over to Willy’s for a drink. She looks for Angel, but he’s not there. It’s after two by the time she makes it back to the Wyndam-Prices. She knows she’s supposed to feel grateful that they took her in, that they became her legal guardians, but she never has. Lilah’s a snake, but at least she doesn’t try to hide it. Wesley’s worse because he honestly seems to think he’s the hero of his pathetic little dramas. He treats her like she’s just another cross he nobly bears, and stares at her tits when he thinks she’s not paying attention. A few weeks ago a pair of her leather pants and a bottle of her perfume disappeared, and she wouldn’t be surprised if those sick fucks were using them for dress-up. If the choices are Lilah, Wesley, or death, she’s definitely going with the first option. Wesley or death is pretty much a toss-up.
“You’re home late,” he says, meeting her in the kitchen as she tries to sneak in the back door.
“This isn’t home,” Faith says as she passes by him.
“Then where?” he calls up the stairs after her, and both of them know she has no answer to that.
She brushes her teeth and washes off her makeup and strips down to her underwear, but when she gets into bed she just lies there, eyes open and staring at the shadows on her bedroom walls. Buffy’s right, she has to do something. But what? She won’t be able to stay here much longer. She told Lilah and Wesley that she was going to UC-Sunnydale in the fall to keep them off her back this summer, but in a few more weeks, they’ll know it was a lie.
She never told Buffy the flip side of her superpower fantasy. She’s always imagined that once she got them, she’d be able to rob a bank and split town for good. She wouldn’t have to worry about money, and she could go anywhere she wanted in the world. She’d never have to see Wesley or anyone else in this shit town again. She’d definitely see B again, though, for sure. And B would have missed her, would be so glad to see her again, would see her differently, finally, so that, for the first time, when they stared at each other, they would both see beauty.
Yeah, she’d love to be a different person, feels like she’s meant to be some other version of herself, but she has no idea who that would be, or how she’s supposed to start.
It’s dawn before she manages to get to sleep.
In the weeks that follow, shit starts to fall apart pretty much exactly as she was afraid it would. Buffy starts seeing Angel, and though she and Faith still hang out, it’s obvious he’s where her attention is. She feels more like a stranger in this town than ever, and she knows it’s only going to get worse once Buffy starts college. She’s got no good reason to stick around.
Willy’s is unusually quiet for a Friday night, which confuses Faith until she notices Spike at the bar. He’s in and out of town and she doesn’t know much about him, but one thing she does know is that he’s really strong and always looking for a fight, which explains why everyone else cleared out. He’s alone, which surprises her. She’s never seen him without this sickly-looking goth chick who hangs all over him. “Hey,” she says, as she sits down on the stool beside him. “Where’s your girl?”
“What the fuck do you care?” he growls.
“I don’t,” Faith snaps right back. His slouch and his red eyes tell the whole story, anyway. He smells like he’s on the tail end of a week-long bender. “She dumped your sorry ass, didn’t she?”
“Fuck off.”
“Hey man, I’m right there with you. I just lost my girl, too. Except I never really had her. So. What’s worse? The girl you never have or the girl you lose?”
“They’re both bitches, and they’ve made us their bitches. Love’s bitches.”
“Love’s bitches. I like that. We should start a band and call it that.”
“What do you play?”
“Nothing. I could learn. Bass is easy, right? I mean, they’ve only four strings. Or how about drums?” She flexes her biceps. “I got the guns for it.”
“I’ve got a guitar. Can you sing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Prove it.”
“What you wanna hear?”
“Gimme some Clash.”
“Alright. Let me blow your mind.” She busts out some ‘Lost in the Supermarket’. “I wasn’t born, so much as I fell out, nobody seemed to notice me. We had a hedge back home in the suburbs, over which I never could see. I heard the people who lived on the ceiling, scream and shout most scarily. Hearing that noise was my first ever feeling, that’s how it’s been all around me.”
“God damn. How do you fit a voice that big into your tight little body?”
“Did I rock it?”
“You did.” They toast each other.
“Yeah,” Faith brags, “I’m the shit.” She throws back her shot. “How long you gonna be in SunnyD?”
“Leaving tonight.”
“Where you going?”
“I have a few things I need to take care of in LA, and then I’m back to New York for a few days, and then on to London.”
“Can I come with you?”
“If you want.”
“Seriously? Because I really need to get out of this town.”
“Seriously, but I’ve got to be on the road by eleven.” The clock above the bar reads ten-thirty.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” She doesn’t want to give herself any opportunities to turn back.
He pays the bar tab and they walk outside. They get in his car, which is old and kinda beat up, but has a really roomy, comfortable front seat. When he turns the key in the ignition, the Sex Pistols scream out from the tape deck. They pull away from the curb and head towards the freeway. Spike gets out a pack of cigs from his pocket, but finding it empty, he crumples it up and tosses it out the window. “Hey, Faith, be a doll. Look in the back and see if I’ve got any smokes.”
The back seat is covered with shit. “What the fuck, dude, do you live in your car?” She pushes aside clothes and books and tapes, before she spies his Marlboros. “Got em,” she says as she grabs them, but before she turns around, a well-known color catches her eye. “Oh, fuck me!” she says, staring at the can and brush splattered with silver paint. “You’re the dude!” she says, turning back to him, and punching his shoulder. “You’re the dude who writes Ghost World everywhere.”
“I’m the one,” he says, rubbing at the spot she hit.
“I’ve been looking for you.” She lights a cigarette for each of them, leans over and places his in between his lips. “This is gonna be a wicked good road trip.”