Dear Dear Diary I wanna tell my secrets Cause you're the only one that I know Who'll keep them
Dear Dear Diary I wanna tell my secrets I know you'll keep them And this is what I've done.
--Pink
Shouts rang out all the way down the small street in South Boston - both a man's and a woman's voice, swearing, crashing, slamming of doors. It wasn't uncommon in these parts. In fact, it was almost a daily occurrence. Someone was always shouting about something in this street, perhaps a symptom of having too many low-cost rental flats jammed far too closely together inside several ten-storey concrete shoeboxes.
In an alley dividing two of the high-rises a small figure scurried, between cars, dumpsters and bags of garbage, out of sight of most anyone who cared to look. Those who did look would have seen a dark- haired girl of no older than seven, sporting jeans a few sizes too big, and a bright purple and pink tie-died t-shirt. The white sneakers on her feet were almost unrecognisable as white, and barely recognisable as sneakers. In one hand she carried a white plastic bag with a couple of books and some pencils, and in the other was clutched a rolled-up piece of paper that she held with unlimited care, ensuring she wouldn't crease it by gripping it too tightly.
At the sounds of the shouts she stopped, craned her neck and eyed a window on the fourth storey of the building to her right. There was another crash, someone swearing and then suddenly, two storeys higher and five apartments along the window exploded outwards, sending shards of glass plummeting to the bitumen in front of her. The girl took a hesitant step backward, as if expecting something else to follow - a body maybe? - but when nothing did, she threw one more glance at the first window, switched the rolled-up paper and plastic bag between her hands and resumed running.
She dodged the glass under her feet, darting out of the alley and swinging around to the front of the building, up a concrete path to a set of stairs at the very edge of the block. The soft slapping sound of her shoes connecting with steps as she flew up all four flights echoed against the concrete walls. Out of the stairwell, right, then all the way down to the other end she jogged, past the large pile of clothes, several books and a stereo outside 417 that still blocked half the corridor, and would continue to do so until the occupant's boyfriend eventually came home.
She stopped at 425, lowered her bag of books to the concrete and reached into her oversized pockets for her keys. The keyhole was at chest hight for adults and a full arms' length from her, but she pushed herself onto her tip-toes and jammed the key in with as much force as she could.
But before she even had the chance to turn the key, the door swung powerfully open, not giving her enough time to regain her balance from having her entire bodyweight leaning against it. She stumbled forward, taking all her concentration to not end up with her face in the carpet. Somewhere between losing and regaining her footing her hand had clamped down on the rolled-up paper, putting a deep set of creases in the middle.
The smell that wafted through the door made her nose crinkle. It smelled a mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, off baked beans, and sex.
To the girl, it smelled distinctly of home.
"Get the fuck inside."
A hand grabbed a fistful of her t-shirt and yanked her forward, throwing her off balance again and this time, the paper fell out of her hand. She gasped, her head snapping around to where it rolled on the floor, and she made a futile attempt to reach forward and retrieve it. She only received another yank in response.
"Kitchen, NOW."
Doug gave her a rough shove away form the door. With an expression somewhere between indignation and silent resignation at what was to come she walked slowly through the lounge room, past the couch, stepping carefully around several empty beer bottles. She heard the rustling of her plastic bag being retrieved from outside and paused, listening intently to any sound that would indicate he had picked up the other, more important item..
"Kid how many fucking times do I gotta say it?!" Doug bellowed. The sound made her flinch. Spurred on by the threat in his voice she half jogged, half shuffled the rest of the way through the open living area into the kitchen.
A woman sat on a stool by the bench, her hands wrapped protectively around a bottle of cheap gin. Her head was bowed, but the moment the little girl entered the woman looked up, in that semi-glazed glare the girl knew so well. Almost in slow motion she watched her straighten to her full height, draw in a deep breath and rock slightly backwards, as if she were the wolf trying to blow down a house.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" She seethed, the stench of alcohol spewing out with every word. "You're asking for it you little bitch I swear."
The girl's eyes turned down to her shoes, then she jumped again when the sound of books and pencils slamming onto the kitchen lino heralded Doug's entrance. He stormed past her, deliberately knocking her shoulder on the way.
"It's fucking true." He thrust the loose piece of paper out towards the woman, seething. The girl craned her neck again to ensure it was the picture they were looking at, but her shoulders slumped in dismay at the creases now crossing it. Doug spun around and glared at her, jabbing at the paper. "Who the fuck is this!?"
"He lives across the street." She said, "I..I was drawing it for him cos he didn't have nothing to put up on his walls."
"Since when have you been hangin' around strangers huh?"
"He's not a stranger!" She shouted. "I know him - I see him every day on my way from school.'
"So you drew a picture of you and some old guy, and you signed it `Kid'?" He snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
The girl glanced between the woman and Doug, and eventually settled on staring at the benchtop somewhere in between them both.
"But mom the teacher said-"
The woman lurched forward with almost impossible speed for someone so drunk, nearly knocking her stool over. "I told you not to fucking call me that!" She hissed, pointing harshly at her. Fucking hell, how many times do I have to tell you!"
The girl's resolve did not waver. "But the teachers said-"
"Fuck the teachers! What would they know? Just because I gave birth to you doesn't make you my fucking responsibility!" She snarled again, taking a step away and glancing at Doug. She shook her head. "Do you know how hard it was to explain to your teacher why the fuck you had `Kid' written on your paper!?"
"But. that's my name." The girl said softly.
The strike hit the little girl's cheek before she even saw it coming. She fell backwards, but her hands and arms were already ready to break her fall. She blinked up in time to see the woman towering over her, her left hand balled into a fist and the gin held firmly in her right hand.
"Don't be an idiot." The woman spat. "I don't even know your name." She lifted the bottle to her mouth and poured a generous amount past her lips, swallowing with a grimace and slamming the bottle back on the bench. "I told you to make up a fucking name, and stick to it! How fucking hard is that? Do you know what happens when teachers start asking questions?" Crumpling up the drawing, she thew it at the girl. "Social security gets involved. They take you away, and I lose my fucking payment for keeping you in this house."
She shook her head again and made a face of utter disgust, swigging deeply from her gin. Then, in the next instant she seemed to forget the young girl had ever been in the room, plastering her best lewd smile on her face and beckoning Doug toward her with one finger. Doug, equally ignorant, chuckled huskily, closing the distance between them with small, over-emphasised steps.
Still on the floor of the kitchen the girl slowly reached for her picture, taking it into her hands and beginning to unwrap it, but without a second's hesitation Doug's arm swooped down, snatching up the paper, crinkling it tighter and tossing it in the bin without so much as glancing in her direction.
Perhaps not so equally ignorant, after all.
"Don't even think about getting it out." He muttered. He pushed himself against the woman roughly, sliding his hand up to cup her breast. "Now, where were we?" He growled in her ear. Then, as if as an afterthought he kicked at the ground, connecting with the small girl's ankle. "Get the fuck out and leave us alone." He snarled. "And don't come out until tomorrow morning or you'll wish you never fucking breathed."
Rolling onto her stomach, away from the hate and the anger and the sight of her mother getting it on with Doug, again, the girl rose to her feet and padded softly back through the lounge room, into the corridor and around to the right where her room - no bigger than a small study and jam-packed full of junk - awaited her.
And she didn't come out. Not for dinner, for the bathroom, not even for a glass of water.
Not until the next morning.
She returned from school the same way as yesterday, but this time she didn't go straight home. The girl instead darted across the road to a smaller block of apartments, slipped through the fence behind it and into another alley. This time, she wouldn't lose her prize to Doug and her mom.
She could tell he was there from the small cloud of cigarette smoke that, by all appearances from a few yards away looked like it was seeping out of the walls themselves. However, a few more steps yielded a small alcove, reserved for the garbage dumpster that nobody ever bothered to store there and instead left a few feet away, up against the wall. In the interim the alcove had become home to an elderly man, or at least seemingly elderly. Years of homelessness always age a person more than their share of years. For the most part residents and visitors to this area of town kept well away from him, casting him aside as a homeless bum who had more than his share of screws loose.
She approached him boldly - a wide grin plastered on her face. The moment the old man saw her he gave a `whoop' and grinned back.
"Princess!" He puffed around his half-burned cigarette. "How was school?"
The girl shrugged, dropping her plastic bag of books and pencils on the step. "School's school." She said nonchalantly. The grin faded only slightly, however it was soon replaced with a sly, mischievous glance at her hand. The old man tilted his head to the side and peered at her.
"What's you got there?"
Then the brilliant grin was back - he had noticed her prize. She held out her hand, and out of the sleeve of her cardigan dropped a sizeable chocolate bar. The man blinked.
"Ooo where'd you get that one then?"
"I took it on my own!" She stated proudly, nodding. "Gots it from the corner store."
"Bet they never saw you coming, princess."
"Nope!" She said triumphantly, breaking the chocolate bar in half and ripping the packet open. She passed him the larger half, turned around and dropped down onto the concrete step beside him. "Not even close."
This had become almost a daily routine. They would sit in amicable silence for several minutes - he would puff away at his cigarette and munch on anything she had managed to steal for him, and she would sit and simply stare at the wall opposite her, enjoying the time to herself.
This time, however, the silence lasted barely a minute, before she turned to him and stared.
The old man broke into a smile and took a long puff of his cigarette, only turning to blow the smoke outward rather than into her face. "What's on yer mind, Princess?"
She continued staring at him, seeming to battle with the question in her mind. Then, she blinked and tilted her head.
"What's your name?" She asked finally
The old man, unfazed by the nature of the question, simply grinned. "Beats me."
She frowned. "But what do people call you?"
"Oh, everyone's got a name for me." He shrugged and bit into the chocolate, relishing it with an enthusiastic `mm-mmm'. He swallowed then leaned across to her. The girl wrinkled up her nose at the unwashed, unkempt smell of body odour mixed with old cigarettes and alcohol that surrounded her, but she didn't move away. "Most of `em I got no time for."
"So.what can I call you?"
"You can call me whatsoever takes yer fancy, princess."
She contemplated his comment for a moment, her face thoughtful. Then, she turned to stare at him, her eyes taking in every detail, ever line, every missing tooth. They travelled down the length of his old brown coat, his dirt-stained grey trouser pants, and his fading blue shirt. They paused again at his worn-out black shoes. He looked like he could have been one of those important, business people, who had just stepped out of his office building in his suit one day, sat down on the pavement and never got up again.
Then, her eyes flicked across to the garbage bag that held all of his "special" things - as he called them - shoved in the corner of the alcove he spent his time in, out of sight prying eyes. He had always kept it tightly closed, but today it was half-open and she could see the corner of a soft, thick blanket, a torch, and a bright yellow box of Cheerios.
Her eyes brightened.
"I want to call you Cheerio." She said, matter-of-factly.
He seemed surprised, for a moment, and a brief look of concern crossed his face when he realised where the word had come from. Immediately, he reached for the bag, his unsteady hands - bordering on panicked - bunching up the plastic and hiding its contents once more away, further into the alcove, out of sight.
She looked at him and smiled, catching his hand with one of hers on the way back to his lap.
"It's okay." She reassured him. "I won't tell nobody."
The man simply stared at her, as if unsure whether a seven year- old's word could be trusted. Then, he broke into another big, toothy grin.
"Cheerio it is then." He said with a `whoop' gesture. "Cheerio." He tried the name out again. Yes, he could certainly get used to it. He leaned in closer. "So, what shall I call you?"
The girl frowned. "Well.I don't know."
"But you gotta have a name! A princess like you?:
She nodded, thinking back to how he had rationalised it.
`Everyone's got a name for me.'
She licked her lips. "Well, my mom says I don't got no name cos she can't remember what the nurses put on that." Her small brow furrowed. "..piece of paper that's what proves to the gov-nent I'm born."
Her mind suddenly diverted to her mother's words. `I don't care what you call yourself, just find somethin' and stick to it.'
".And she says she don't care what I calls myself s'long as it's the same an' no-one gets spicious what might tell the gov-nent on her so I get taken and she loses her paycheck. So I figures I call myself Cassie at school after that pretty lady on TV everyone's talkin' bout an' Doug mom's boyfriend thinks is hot an' wishes mom was as hot as her."
`And don't fuck it up by changing half way through.'
"..But I don't really like the name cos I want my own and mom and Doug calls me `Kid' all the time. Can't remember when they called me anything else."
`Because if the government finds out and takes you away from me, then I lose my money, and I'll come after you so fast that you'll wish you weren't fucking born.'
She shrugged. "So I guess you and me's the same an' it don't matter what you call me." She frowned and looked at him earnestly. "S'long as it's not `kid' cos I hate that name."
`.and if you ever tell anyone, I'll drown you in the fucking Charles river.'
Cheerio nodded. Unbeknownst to anyone but him, this conversation was one of the most sobering in his life. Here was this girl, barely seven years old, holding her own against a world that thought nothing of her. Here she was. Unafraid. Cheerio had learned many times over that the human race was, for want of a better word, down- right fucked. This girl - this one, small, scraggly, dark-haired girl, gave him hope.
"I'd be much obliged, little Miss," He began, bowing his head. "If you let me call you Faith."
She blinked, then screwed up her face.
"But that's a word!" She said, pouting. "You can't name me after a word that's cheating!"
He laughed. "Sure I can - you named me after a breakfast cereal!"
She seemed to ponder that, then broke into a tiny, cheeky smile. "'Spose I did." She giggled. "Why Faith anyways?"
Cheerio simply smiled. "You'll figure it out some day."
He'd worded it so she wouldn't understand, but would perhaps a few years later, when the meaning behind it could be dealt with with something more than childhood understanding. What he had done, was pay her the highest compliment he knew how to give. But he couldn't have her finding out about it now.
`Faith' grew suddenly serious - far more serious than any child should be - and pointed at him. "You gots to keep it secret cos I'm not sposed to tell anyone I don't got no name."
Cheerio smiled, a sad smile.
"Safe with me, Miss Faith." He said. "Safe with me."
"HEY!"
A shot rang out loudly, echoing backwards and forwards, up and down the street, the rain carrying it all the way to the ground. The dark figures scattered like startled rats. Each ran in their own direction, off into the shadows, away from the man with the gun.
He moved closer, leaning over to inspect the damage in what little light was offered by the early evening. A sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him turn, and only barely miss a whirlwind of dark, matted hair scramble past him, her short legs scrabbling for purchase on stone pavement drenched by the downpour.
"Hey.. whoa." He said, squinting into the darkness and spying a small gap between the wall of their apartment building and the dumpster in the alley.
She beat him - a girl no older than eight - finding the damage first, her arms flung out, grubby hands reaching, desperately seeking life in the crumpled mass of battered limbs and blood.
"Cheerio.." She whimpered, sobbing. "Cheerio wake up."
Tracks of dust mingled with rain and tears lined her face. Her hands pulled at his clothes, angrily yanking at the lapels of his tattered brown jacket. "Come on.." She begged, punctuating each syllable with a jerk. The old man's head, twisted at an impossible angle, simply lolled back each time she tried. Eyes lifeless. Body bloody.
The man who had disturbed the peace, and ultimately stopped the beating, knelt down close to the gutter, which was now beginning to run a shade of red.
"It's just some old homeless guy, kid." He said, almost sympathetically. "Nobody'll miss `im."
As if registering him for the first time he watched her release her hold on the man's jacket. Her hands and clothes were now stained with his blood, her face having caught bubbling spatters that still seeped from a cut above his eyebrow and out both nostrils.
"My name is Faith." She snarled, leaning back into a crouch, her hand still resting gently on the homeless man's body. "An' he wasn't some old homeless guy. His name was Cheerio." Her eyes filled with fresh tears and she wiped the back of her hand across her nose, smudging his blood across her upper lip.
Slowly, she turned to him, and the man would swear over and over again in years to come that he had never seen such an angry, haunted look in a child's eyes. Now, at this angle the man could see a bruise that traversed the length of her right cheek, sneaking across the space beneath her eye. There were grazes on both knees, and deep blue indentations in her left arm. Finger-shaped marks.
"You should've killed `em."
The iciness of that girl's voice struck him to the very core.
"Killin's for scum." He said quickly, then flicked his eyes up the wall to the first level apartment window, studying it closely for any sign he had been seen. "Hey, do you live up there?"
The little girl thought around that question, then her eyes, and voice hardened.
"Nope."
Faith shot upright in her bed, flinching unconsciously at the creak that resonated through the room. Wiping her hands furiously down her body, on her arms, her legs, her tank top she blinked the vestiges of the dream away, trying to force the feeling of his blood from her hands - the sick grinding of his head flopping on a broken neck.
Fuck. what was she doing?
She wiped at her face, shuddering. It had taken her days to realise his blood was on her face. Fuck.
She was going to be sick.
Unceremoniously throwing the blanket off her body Faith staggered to her feet, lurched across the carpet and flung herself at the door, yanking it open with no time or inclination to do so quietly. She was only concentrating on two things - one, keeping the contents of her stomach down, and two, remembering where the hell the upstairs bathroom was.
She heard Buffy call out to her softly as she threw herself into the corridor but didn't even register it. One arm wrapped around her stomach and the other up against the wall for support, Faith called on all the reserves of brain function she had and pictured the house in daylight.
Right.
Carpet gave way to cold tiles, and Faith couldn't help but remember how cold the pavement had felt against her bare legs that night. She'd thought it was just the rain, but it hadn't been. His blood had been everywhere. All over the pavement, running through the gutters, all over her.
She half walked, half stumbled the extra distance to the toilet, her hands reaching out, bracing herself against the seat. It took barely a second for her brain to connect to her stomach, and she vomited violently, over and over again until she had nothing but bile to expel and barely the energy to hold herself upright. Her fingers still held tightly to the toilet seat even as she slumped in an untidy heap onto the cold floor, bone-tired but too afraid to close her eyes, just in case the images would be there, waiting for her.
Where were they coming from? Why now? She'd managed to file all that shit away in the `do not open, EVER' section of her head a long time ago. She hadn't thought about him in years. Almost ten years.
Fuck, it was like she was a gram away from a fucking overdose.
"..Faith?"
Faith flinched at the voice, holding up her hand in defence of herself, or perhaps defence of the picture she painted. Unfortunately with one less hand to steady her she unbalanced and her other hand slid away from the toilet, hitting the tiles with a slap and folding her body away from the voice.
"Go back to bed, B-" She rasped, the vile taste of stomach acid mixed with old popcorn dancing across her tongue, enticing her to be sick again. Of all the people in the world she didn't want her to be here. She didn't want Buffy to be here. Miss pristine existence. Miss perfect fucking life. "-this is my shit."
She felt as filthy as she had been that night, like his blood still stained her, covered her hands and arms - sticky, semi-congealed. The dust that stuck in her eyes.
Buffy moved into the bathroom, and reached down to her, touching her arm gently. Too gently. Too fucking gently for her. Faith flinched away, hiding herself from it.
"Get.the fuck. away from me Buffy."
Buffy didn't move. Instead, she leaned forward again, reaching out, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Faith let me help you."
But this time Faith jerked forward, pushing Buffy away from her, wiping a hand savagely across her mouth.
"I don't need your help!" She snarled. "I don't fucking need it!"
Her eyes burned brightly with the fire she knew inside her so well. The one that told her she was nothing. She was alone. She was worthless. The fire of self-loathing, the one that screamed for people to hear and yet isolated her so far away from them at the very same time.
Buffy was too gentle. Not rough enough. Not rough enough for what she deserved.
She had to get out.
Scrambling to her feet, Faith flung herself out of the bathroom door and sprinted down the hallway, a shocked Buffy only having moments to decide whether to follow her or not. But by the time the decision was made there was the scrambling sound of bare feet pounding down the stairs, and a door slamming.
And Faith was gone.
Chapter 13
You spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight.
-- Sarah McLachlan
Barely half an hour had passed since Faith's disappearance and the house was already unnaturally abuzz with activity. Unnaturally only because it was abuzz at 3am. All the lights downstairs and in the upstairs hallway were on, and Giles, Willow, Angel and Tara all moved cautiously around, as if the very air would shatter if they spoke too loudly.
Xander emerged from upstairs yawning and scratching a hard-to-reach spot between his shoulder blades. He ran a hand quickly over his scruffy hair to improve his `just-out-of-bed' appearance and frowned.
"What's going on?" He asked.
Buffy's faced was drawn tight, and her eyes were strained. "Faith's gone." She said.
"Surprise surprise." Xander's arm fell back down to his side. "Well, there goes the world." He shook his head even before Buffy had a chance to glare at him and blew out a loud breath. "What time.when did she go?"
"About half an hour ago." Buffy said. "She'd. just woken up from a nightmare and totally. flipped out. Xander-" Her eyes pleaded with him. "Can you just. put a lid on the `I told you so's?" She wiped a hand over her face. "I don't think I could deal with that right now."
"This changes things a little." Giles suddenly said, having paced backward and forward in thoughtful silence up to now. He frowned, looked across at Willow and pursed his lips. "Does Faith need to be present in order for us to begin?"
Buffy's eyes widened. "Begin? Begin.." She bunched up her shoulders as if her following word would be `what?'.
Willow didn't so much as glance in Buffy's direction, and nodded. "They've shared dreams before over distances. It.can be done, yes."
"What, now!?"
This time Giles turned to Buffy. "If we don't know where she is, we're blind." He looked across at Angel. "This is happening awfully quickly."
Angel nodded carefully. "I know. Faith has a lot of. history." He pursed his lips. "Maybe Ammitus is playing also on Buffy's relationship with her, I'm not quite sure."
"It would make sense." Willow said. "I mean. Buffy's hatred for Faith-"
"I don't hate Faith." Buffy snapped harshly.
"Okay. you." Willow thought for a minute, then her eyes brightened. "..strongly dislike her and don't trust her as far as Xander could throw her?"
"I could so throw her further than I could trust her!" Xander exclaimed, scowling at Willow like a spoiled child. "But thank you for the vote of confidence in my physical prowess."
Willow caught a nervous glance from Tara at the brewing storm and raised her voice. "Uh.well what I meant was we all feel the same about Faith, Buffy, but. you. you know. Ammitus found your head first."
"Either way-" Giles interrupted. "-we need to do something about it now or we might lose our only hope of saving them both. Do you have everything you need?" He asked Willow and Tara.
They both nodded.
Buffy shook her head.
The room ignored her.
"It's all been prepared." Tara offered, standing up and gesturing towards the stairs. "I'll go get it."
Buffy's shoulders sagged, and she ran a hand through her hair. "Someone remind me again why I agreed to this?" She asked, then held the hand up before anyone had a chance to answer her. "That was a rhetorical question, by the way."
Tara returned, a pouch in one hand and a jar of what looked like sand in the other. Buffy raised an eyebrow at both items but said nothing. After this long, she had learned never to ask because the answer never sounded attractive. There was something about standing in a circle of powdered newt droppings that could really spoil a person's day.
"We'll need to.uh move the table." Willow said, glancing between Giles and Xander.
"Oh, so now I'm chosen for my superior physical capability." Xander mumbled. He wasn't granted a response, which Buffy knew he wouldn't have been expecting, and helped Giles move the coffee table to the back of the room.
"Ohhkay." Willow said, taking the jar from Tara and popping it open. She dipped her hand into it, whispering an incantation under her breath as she slowly withdrew a pinch of the powdery substance and tossed it onto the rug.
Tara waited three tosses, then joined in, opening the pouch she held and circled Willow, pouring the brownish-red and equally powdery contents in a tight circle around her, her own lips silently moving with different words.
Then they both stopped, closing their eyes, moving closer and chanting together, under their breath so Buffy couldn't hear. Buffy asked herself for the hundredth time whether what she was doing was the right thing. Spying on Faith's secrets, her dreams. It was wrong. She turned to Angel, her eyes asking, pleading with him to tell her there was another way. There was something else they could be doing to stop this.
"Buffy." Willow said, without opening her eyes. "Step into the circle."
Angel nodded seriously, shattering Buffy's last minute hopes of salvation.
Taking a deep breath, she shot a quick glance at Giles, then crossed the distance to the two witches, forcing the implications of what she was about to do into the dark, untouched and untouchable areas of her mind. Again without opening their eyes both Willow and Tara took half a step backward, outside of the circle, leaving exactly enough room for Buffy to stand between them.
"Step inside Buffy." Willow repeated.
The moment Buffy entered it she felt the magic, pulsing around her with its own ethereal viscosity. It was times like these that she understood how exciting it could be to command such power. She could understand how someone could become addicted to it, be corrupted by it.
"Close your eyes." Tara whispered.
Buffy's eyes slid closed, until there was nothing but darkness and their voices. Almost immediately, like a cobra being teased from a basket with a lilting flute, the voices stirred a cold, dark yet enticingly uncontrolled presence that Buffy recognized straight away.
It was the one she felt every time she was close to Faith.
The chanting increased in volume, and in turn the presence amplified. It swirled around Buffy's subconscious, moving away from the place she had come to accept their connection to be, and began to settle in the more prevalent sections of her mind. Places where she could almost touch the darkness. Like it had form itself. Like Ammitus itself was knocking on her own mind's door.
For an instant, she saw the flash of a child's face, screaming, crying, calling out for help, a garbage bag open in front of her. Crumpled sketches... drawings laid out in a circle - a boat, a bird, a cat. In her fist she grasped the tattered remains of another drawing, in the same hand, of an older man and a child, sitting on a step, smiling.
Buffy gasped. The cries escalated, louder and louder, overwhelming loss and loneliness echoing in her mind until she could barely think herself.
And was that... a box of Cheerios?
"Stop." She whispered. "I can't."
Willow opened her eyes. Tara increased her chanting to match Willow's disconnection. "Just.. concentrate on the things you know. Let Faith into your mind, but don't let her take over your mind."
Buffy squeezed her own eyes shut. "..Please don't make me do this."
But Willow and Tara linked hands, both eyebrows furrowing, concentrating harder. Buffy pushed the sound away, but jerked bolt- upright as the feeling of strangers hands roaming her body tingled up and down her spine.
"Oh God."
Terror, grief, abandonment, fear all flowed through her like a giant jolt of emotional lightning. Tara and Willow changed pitch, tilting their heads in concentration.
And the guilt. God, the guilt.
She'd been so alone.
Then suddenly, Willow and Tara's voice stopped dead, and as intensely as it had started the influx of emotions vanished, giving way to a vague, only slightly painful background radiation. Buffy raised a shaky hand to her head.
"How.did it go?" Willow asked tentatively. Tara still had her eyes closed.
Buffy swallowed heavily. If she concentrated hard enough she could have sworn she could feel blood all over her. Something about a snapped neck?
"I think. you know I think it worked." She said shakily, looking up at Willow who was watching her with a concerned expression. Behind her Tara placed a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder and she flinched, turning her head and offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry, just a little jumpy." She said, side-stepping away from them. "You know? I. think I'm going to get a glass of water."
Without waiting for a response Buffy left the lounge room, her face troubled. She walked evenly through the kitchen, almost on autopilot around the bench, opened the cupboard above the stove and pulled out a glass. One step to the right, fridge. Open door, pull out chilled filtered water, pour into glass, replace.
And that was where autopilot ended.
Buffy slumped onto the bar stool, her arms forming a protective circle around her glass of water and her shoulders hunched. She was trying desperately to make sense of it. The fury in which Faith had woken startled even her. Although she had felt the unease before Faith had woken, she hadn't experience enough to recognise it as such, and had still been half asleep when Faith had stumbled past her bed.
In the bathroom. she had been white as a ghost. As if she had seen a ghost. Her features were drawn and haunted and terrified to the point that the body had kicked in on instinct and shown self- defence, rather than fear.
And Faith had run from it. Again.
And in the darker, more holistic picture, their one chance at finding and killing Ammitus was running only a few feet behind.
It was done. The connection was well and truly established. And now, she sat back.and waited? What? Went and grabbed her popcorn and diet coke and settled in for the show?
Buffy wondered if those things she'd seen only minutes before was a glimpse of what Faith had seen. That thought alone sent a jolting shudder through her body. Of course they had been.
"Buffy."
Her eyes darted up, finding Angel in the doorway in front of her. Immediately her resolve cracked, and her face crumpled for an instant before she quickly regained control, knowing in her heart that her relationship with Angel was no longer that which it used to be.
"Angel..."
"I know." He said solemnly. He turned his head, staring behind him and then back at Buffy. "What happened?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I just.she woke from a nightmare and I found her throwing up in the bathroom. I tried to help her and she flipped out on me."
Angel sighed. "She's not ready Buffy."
Buffy stared at him for a moment. "What, to face what she's facing? I know that!" She snapped. "But she has no choice!"
"I wasn't referring to that." Angel said quietly.
"Oh."
"I meant she's not ready to accept you."
"Oh."
".or your friendship."
This time, Buffy paused in earnest. She looked up at him, momentarily confused, then her face calmed and she nodded very slightly. She knew what Angel meant.
She had wanted to comfort Faith. She had wanted to make things easier for her, to help her.but it was too late for that. It had been too long gone since she had cast Faith aside with little more than a half-glance and shown blatantly that she was utterly disinterested in her side of the story... that there was nothing she could say or do that would change anything - that she would always be evil, always be bad.
There was so much healing to do now, that providing Faith any physical or emotional comfort seemed a bit contradictory. Especially considering all the physical.all the emotional damage they had caused each other.
Buffy tilted her head. "I thought you would have gone after her." She said.
"I will." He answered her, nodding. "But I know Faith needs her time. Ammitus will be concentrating on her now. He won't be out roaming." He took a few more steps into the kitchen, stopping opposite Buffy. "I wanted to make sure the spell worked..," He paused, glanced at the ceiling and back down again, looking slightly uncomfortable. "..and that you were okay."
Buffy sighed. "I just.don't know what to be around her." She said softly. The girl's face flashed into her mind, then vanished again. "We're either fighting, or running." She lowered her head. "All the time."
"It was never going to be easy, Buffy. You said that to me yourself."
"I know, but." She stared intently at her glass. "-seeing her here. Having her here. part of me feels like she never left, you know?" She flicked her eyebrows up and looked back at him. "Part of me is glad to have her back, and the other part is. still expecting her to ride in on Ammitus' back and destroy us all."
"Do you forgive her?" Angel asked.
Buffy blinked. "What?"
"Do you forgive her.for what she did."
"I-uh." Buffy closed her eyes. Images of her in her apartment, laughing off a murder - a death she caused.her with Angel, taunting Buffy as she was held, chained against a wall...images of Graduation - Faith's instrumental part in it all, and images of Angel himself, dying and in insurmountable pain all flitted across her mind. Then. her mother. Her body. Riley. Buffy looked up at Angel, her forehead creasing. "There's just so much."
"What would you say to her?" He asked. "If you had the chance to."
"God.I'd.." Buffy lowered her head again. "I guess I'd want to make her understand all the hurt she caused.."
"She understands. She sent herself to jail, Buffy."
"So what!?" Buffy shouted, slapping her hand down on the counter. The water rippled in her glass. "She spends a couple of years in an institution and comes out all squeaky clean!? Suddenly all her victims sit around and say `oh, Faith is out of prison. Let's forget about the things she did and invite her around to our place for tea and cookies!'?" She punctuated her last word with an insincere clap of her hands, and rose from her stool, gesturing at Angel. "Angel after everything she did.. everything she did to you!?" She shook her head. "How can you stand there and pretend it never happened?"
"I know it happened."
"And so do I!!" Tears pricked Buffy's eyes. "But the difference is I remember the feelings. I remember how much it all hurt!"
"And you want to make her hurt too?"
"YES!" Then as if listening to that opinion for the first time, paused, lowering back down onto the stool. "No. I mean-"
Suddenly, out of nowhere Buffy's consciousness split in two. In one part of her mind she was arguing with Angel, and in the other she was.standing on a rooftop.watching a fight. The kitchen was warm, but the rooftop was cold, and the combination was wreaking havoc on her brain. Buffy's frown deepened and she pulled her head back. Angel stared at her, concerned.
"Buffy?"
"Uh.I think." She swallowed, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge one of the realities.
Angel reached across the counter and placed a hand on her arm. "Close your eyes." He said. "It'll be easier." She did, and she leaned into the counter, steadying herself as the rooftop reality took over her senses.
Buffy's blood ran as cold as the night air the moment she felt the concrete under her feet. She'd recognise this place anywhere.
"That's mine!"
"You're about to get it back."
Buffy pulled her robe tighter around her, glancing left and right, then back at the two figures across the way, watching them throwing kicks and punches at speeds only capable of slayers. She advanced on them until she could see the fear in Faith's eyes, and the utter, controlled hatred in her own.
Realisation shot through her like fire, and instantly Buffy knew. she knew there was nothing she could say now that could possibly hurt Faith more than she had this night.
This night Buffy told her in no uncertain terms that she was hopeless, that she would never be anything more than evil. She would never be anything more than the scum of the Earth. There was no future for her. There would be no future for her. And what's more, nobody cared enough to come out and save her, because they all agreed.
"Man, I'm gonna miss this." She heard Faith say.
Buffy's eyes widened as her counterpart swung at Faith with that knife.
"No!" She cried out, lunging towards them. But there was no way she could stop it. She was close enough to see.practically feel the knife slide into Faith. She saw the blood, Faith's blood pause almost suspended near the wound and then spill out, over the blade, over Buffy's hands.
And she heard the words spoken loudly in those hands, the curses pouring out of the blade into Faith's heart. Heard the accusations screamed, over and over again in her own eyes.
Here Faith, take this knife and look at yourself. See what I think of your life? See what importance I place on your existence? Now Faith, now look at it. Watch your life.your existence ebb away like I think it should. I've killed you Faith. I am so right and you are so wrong and you will die tonight and the world will be free of your evil.
And she saw Faith's reflection in the blade. How desolate, how much desperation was written on that face. How much sorrow. How much relief. For an instant, she saw the little girl.
Tears pricked Buffy's eyes. Oh God.. what had she done?
"No Faith.." She choked, spinning around, turning her back on her own disgusted glare. Pain flitted across Faith's features as she bent over, clutching her stomach. Automatically Buffy reached up to the dark face before her. She was desperate to smooth the pain away. take it all away. "Faith I'm so sorry..."
But Buffy's fingers passed directly through her as if she were a ghost, unable to connect. Unable to comfort.
"You did it-" She murmured. And that smile, that small, sad smile.
Buffy's heart contracted painfully in her chest. Her hand darted to her mouth, catching the first sob as it escaped. "I know I did." She said softly, reaching back towards Faith's cheek with her other hand. She knew she wouldn't be able to touch her but somehow she hoped the proximity would soothe the pain. "I know.."
It didn't.
Faith took a step backward and shoved her attacker away, hands pushing unseen through Buffy's body, leaving the attacker on the ground behind them and Buffy barely inches from her face.
"You killed me."
She watched Faith's face change, harden and grow cold. Watched her steel herself for the last few feet, the small climb to the edge of the rooftop. Buffy could see the injury overwhelming her now, in a way she hadn't been able to see from the ground.
"Still won't help your boy though." She said.
Then she saw another change - one she had surely missed the first time. Buffy stepped closer towards her.
The smile.the smile was back. "Should've been there B-" She murmured, "-Quite a ride."
And as she watched her fall away from the roof - fall to the truck below, sealing her fate for at least another 8 months, Buffy thought she understood. That was Faith's way of saying she should have seen her life, should have been in her shoes. Should have known that she'd never get the better of her. Never Faith. Faith always had the last word.
"I will be there Faith." She promised the darkness "We'll find a way."
"Buffy?"
Buffy's eyes snapped open and she sat upright, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings. Angel was still standing in front of her, concern marking his face, his hand resting just to the left of Buffy's, just out of reach.
"You okay?"
Buffy nodded. The tears still felt fresh in her eyes - the image of Faith falling away replaced with the memory of her running towards the edge of the roof, watching the truck disappear down the road with Faith's broken body on the back of it. She remembered the feelings she had in those moments. She remembered the realisation of what she had done. She remembered the sadness, the fear of what not having Faith's body meant for Angel, and she remembered feeling the guilt. That guilt that she still carried with her, though glossed over a hundred times with all those things Faith had done.. to her.
"Yeah," She murmured. "I was. she was dreaming about the night I. you know." She flashed a weak smile that faded instantly. "Angel." She stood up and stepped away from her stool. "We have to find her."
Chapter 14
I linger in the doorway
Of alarm clock screaming
Monsters calling my name
Let me stay
Where the wind will whisper to me
Where the raindrops
As they're falling tell a story
In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
And watch my purple sky fly over me
-- Evanesence
She'd spent a fraction too long with Cheerio this afternoon. He'd been happy because she'd managed to steal him a packet of cigarettes - and although they were twice the strength he usually smoked and the taste reminded him of petrol fumes he took them with his giant smile. She had gone for the bright yellow box. To match his Cheerios.
It was a gift from her, his Princess. His Faith.
And he would smoke every damned one if it meant he died of a heart attack in the process.
She had been becoming more bold with her petty thieving, too. Having started with small things like crisps and chocolate bars to have moved on to cigarettes and dirty magazines, she was certainly developing an appetite for the criminal. It made her feel untouchable.
It made her feel like she could do anything.
She heard nothing from the other side of door 425 when she pushed her key into the lock. Now, she didn't need to stand on tip-toes to do it - despite having to still stretch her arm up she could do so without committing herself to the swing of the door.
As she entered she could hear soft, muffled giggles from further inside. Her mom and Doug must be drunk again. Dropping her plastic bag full of books, pencils and homework by the door, she pulled it shut behind her and stepped over the scattered shoes, around the corner into the lounge room.
Her mom lay sprawled on top of Doug on the couch, laughing at nothing, just disintegrating into giggles as soon as there came anything close to silence.
The girl shuffled her feet, and leaned against the wall. Doug glanced up and grinned.
"Hey. Kid." He slurred, a glazed look across his face.
Her eyes traveled from him, to her mom, to the beer bottles on the carpet, to an obscure white powder on the tabletop. There, they held, and she took a step forward, craning her neck to see what it was.
"It's coke, honey." Her mom answered the girl's unspoken question. "Doug got it for me.and fuck it's better than that cheap shit I've been drinking all this time." She shook her head, bracing her hands against Doug's chest and pushing herself upright, but slightly overcorrected and slid back against her armrest. With a considerable amount of coordination and effort Doug also pulled himself into a seated position. Her mom pointed in the vague direction of the half-empty bottle of gin on the carpet beside her foot. "Fuckin' waste, with this stuff around." Gesturing at the table she snickered. "You should try this, honey. Fuck.it'd take you places you'd only dream of."
The girl glanced at the powder again.
Like.out of here? She silently thought.
Doug smiled wider. "Good shit, kid." He grunted.
Then her mom flashed Doug a smile. "Isn't he just the greatest?" Giggling, she dropped her hand onto Doug's groin and kneaded, hard, her giggle giving way to an open laugh as his eyes rolled heavenward and he leaned back into the couch.
The girl made a face and turned away, intending to leave the room, but her mother's voice stopped her.
"Where the fuck d'you think you're goin', huh?" She demanded, redirecting the girl's attention to the couch. She had moved her hand away, folding forward to take in another line, and Doug's erection was pushing up against his tracksuit pants like he'd stuck one of the empty bottles of beer down there. He growled, snatching at her mom's hand, trying to guide it back, but she simply swatted it away, concentrating on slicing the coke like he'd taught her. "Later, baby." She promised huskily.
"Come on baby. you know you want it." He leaned into her, sliding his own greasy hand up between her thighs, fingers teasing. "Some o' this?" He attempted to wiggle his eyebrows, but thanks to the lines he'd already had he could only succeed in controlling his muscles to raise, then lower. Once. "We've never done it high before."
She shrugged him off irritably.
"I'm not done gettin' high, so you'll just have to fuckin' hold on a sec."
"Fuck, Jaz!" He shouted, slamming his back into the couch. "Fucking tease. You can't just leave me like this." As if to emphasise his point he pulled at his waistband and peered down at himself. "They're going blue!" He reached for her for a second time with his free hand, intending to pull her over to him so she could look herself.
But she was having none of `it'. "Fuck off!" She said, shoving Doug away. Unable to respond in nearly enough time he simply toppled over, coming to rest with his head jammed up against the arm of the couch. Jasmine scowled again.. "I said later, alright? Fucking-" Then eyes snapped up to the girl, whose own eyes immediately widened in fear. "Get her to fucking suck you off." She sniggered to herself, catching her own thought before voicing it. "She'll need the practice."
A laugh left Doug's mouth that was half way between a scoff and a snort, and the girl could see spit flying from his lips in all directions. He stared incredulously at her mom's face for a good minute, just laughing, chuckling. pausing.
Then he turned to the girl, and raised an eyebrow.
In her mind, many, many times over in so many years to come the girl would have run. She would have just picked up her stuff and run for it. Out the door. Out a window. She wouldn't have cared. But here, in this reality, where it happened, with nothing.not even a real name to hold her tight to the world, the little girl froze.
"How's about it, kid?" He leered at her, already rising from the couch, the beer bottle sticking straight out. "Whaddya say?"
She shook her head.
"Oh go on you wuss!" Her mom slurred, giggling. "I do it all the time. Consider it.. my birthday gift to you. My boyfriend's dick. Yours to be fucked."
The girl blinked, suddenly completely distracted, and peered around Doug's approaching form, at her mother's face.
"What? Yah you heard me. Eight years ago today I squeezed you out of my fuckhole and hoped to all fuck you weren't breathing. And look at that- you were." When that answer didn't seem to compute with the girl, she laughed, then added "What?" with a punctuated shrug. "Want a fucking medal or somethin' for living this long?"
The girl's eyes darted up to the calendar that hung on the wall. A naked woman with enormous breasts and no panties stared back at her as she straddled the engine of a car, black oil dripping from her body.
Today was December 14th.
She stared at it until Doug's shadow distorted her line of sight and his hands reached for her shoulders, turning her sharply towards him.
"Come on, kid. Let me make a woman outta you." He growled.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head furiously, trying to pull away. She could feel the fabric of his tracksuit pants fall to his ankles, bunching up against her own shins. She could feel the heat of him close to her right ear, and once again she tried to duck, escape. He simply jerked her forward again. The end of his dick slid past her cheek. She could feel it - hot, wet. Sticky. It left a mark on her skin.
She gasped, terror ripping through her, unable to see, unable to move, unable to scream.
"Your mouth, you idiot. It goes in your mouth. Just like sucking a lolly pop."
`No' she mouthed, shaking her head, then pressing her lips together as hard as they would possibly go.
"What's that?" He hissed. She didn't answer. She didn't open her eyes. Tears slid unbidden out from under her eyelids. "I didn't fucking hear you. What did you say?" When she didn't answer for the second time, he buried a hand in her hair and yanked it back so she would look up at him.
Her knees buckled. She fell forward against him, feeling the hair on his legs tickling her face. Completely limp. If she was completely limp he wouldn't be able to move her, to control her.to make her stand where she didn't want to be.
"Don't make me hurt you you little fucking bitch."
His other hand dug into her left arm, gripping tightly, fingers boring into her skin, pressing into ligaments and tendons and muscles so hard it made her cry out. He lifted her up to him, back to the height he wanted, pressing her mouth against the tip of his erection so that she could taste it. but she was sobbing now, her little body shaking with fear, her legs utterly useless.
"STAND UP!" He bellowed, slicing his hand across her cheek. She fell to the floor instantly, rolling onto her side, bunching herself up, shielding herself from him.
And as he reached down, as he pulled her upright for the third time and pressed her body against him, proving she couldn't get away, proving she was small, insignificant, that he was in control.she shut off her mind, and remembered the woman.
December 14th
December 14th
Today is my 8th Birthday.
Faith jerked awake, instinctively rolling away from her position, pulling herself semi-upright and vomiting yet again, expelling the dream from her body. The taste of him from her mouth. Her hands, fingers pressed into the grass leaving dark prints in the dew. Her breaths came in short gasps - her entire body shook with the cold that had settled over Sunnydale, bringing with it the first real signs of winter. Her mind reeled, her body following closely behind as she pushed herself weakly to her feet and stumbled a few steps backward, only falling to her knees again, silent tears streaming down her face, arms wrapped around her body, shivering.
What was the date.
What the fuck was the date.
"Faith?"
"Buffy?"
Buffy's eyes flew open, and she sat up immediately, without even registering who it was, breathing heavily, legs scrambling to remove the bedspread from her sweating and overheated body. In a flurry of feet, sheets and encased goose down she scrambled off the bed, lurched across the room and bent over her knees, bracing a hand against the wall.
"Buffy. Buffy it-it's me." A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched instantly, spinning around, sidestepping the contact with a semi-feral hiss.
"Don't touch me."
"Faith it's okay.. it's just me."
Angel reached for her again, this time trying to move around so she could see him. Without needing to focus on her face she simply fell away from his shadow.
"I said don't touch me!" She snarled. "Get the fuck away from me."
"It's just me. you know." The voice remained soft, but had now taken on an edge of hesitance. "Your ol' pal Wills?"
But Buffy ignored her, turning back to the wall, arm reaching once again for the support of something inanimate... something stable.
"What's the date?" She demanded.
Angel frowned. "It's not important right-"
"Tell me the fucking date!!" Faith shouted, her voice fading into a hoarse cry at the end, her breath puffing out in thick clouds of steam. Her lips were beginning to turn a shade of blue, matching the beds of her nails.
Angel glanced away.
"It's the 14th, Buffy. It's.a week to the solstice."
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