Fanfiction: Gidgetgirl's 'Bad Girl'
Sometimes I think the Mommy died. I don’t want her to be dead, I don’t think. You can’t breathe no more when you’re dead, not at all. Sometimes I don’t breathe so good. Like right now, when I’m lying here, all alone, and it’s dark and I think that maybe Liam and Wes and Cordy are gone, and they’re not coming back. Not ever.
I don’t give a care.
People don’t come back to me. Not ever. I think it’s maybe cause I’m stupid. I don’t care. I don’t. People don’t come back cause I’m a Bad Girl. The Mommy always said I’ve got the ugly in me, and that maybe people don’t see it, but does she look blind to me?
When you’re dead, you can’t talk, but the Mommy talks to me all the time, so maybe she’s not dead. Then maybe she’ll come back and love me, only I’ve got the ugly and I’m a little bitch, so probably she won’t.
My Liam can’t hear her, but she says he’s not mine. I miss my mommy. I think that maybe it’s my fault she’s maybe-dead, because there was lots of red and maybe it was sodding blood.
My Uncle Spike always wants his sodding blood, and no one ever gives it to him. I don’t think it’s fair. If they wanted their sodding blood, Uncle Spike would give it to them, cause he’s not a whelp or a poof or a wanker. They say Uncle Spike is bad, but I think he should still get his blood, and they don’t know my secret. I’m worse, worse than Uncle Spike, worse than bad, only Liam says no. He says I’m his best wench.
Liam’s the first real wanker I’ve ever had. He’s my best wanker, and maybe he doesn’t know that I’m me and not someone else. Sometimes, I’m all empty, only Liam doesn’t care about that.
Sometimes we have fun with staplers, and sometimes we play with peanut butter. Cordy says we’re very creative, but she only says that when Wes has to clean it up. Me and Liam, we tried to fix Uncle Spike a peanut butter and blood sandwich once, but Giles ate it instead and then he got sick and then he yelled at us and said bad words.
I asked him, did he want me to wash his mouth out with soap, young man? Liam thought it was funny. Giles didn’t. He sees the ugly. I know he does.
My back hurts now, where the knife was that once. It was a knife, only maybe I fell down the stairs, because I’m so damn clumsy. The Mommy said so. It hurt so bad I cried, and I don’t ever cry.
I really miss my mommy.
Sometimes, I pretend Cordy is my mommy, because she’s nice and pretty and she maybe doesn’t hate me. Sometimes, I’m Cordy’s girl, and you know what? She even picks me up and brushes my hair, and she doesn’t even care that it’s dark-as-sin.
One time, Wes did my hair, and he made me promise not to tell anyone that he makes real good pigtails. He said it was our secret. I know lots of secrets, like about how Liam gets sad face when he thinks about his old blonde woman and why he likes sheep so much and how his toe nails tried to eat him and how he thinks Buffy killed him.
Silly Liam. Stupid Buffy.
I don’t think she likes me very much. She sees the ugly in me. She knows I’m a Bad Girl, and maybe if the Mommy is really dead, Buffy knows it’s my fault. Maybe I’m going to die too.
I can’t breathe too good.
Pillow on my face. No, Mommy. Can’t breathe. Pillow on my face, all black. Kick my legs. Kick hard. Think you’re so smart, little slut? I’ve seen the darkness in you. Damn idiot. Pressing harder, pressing harder. Can’t breathe, Mommy.
I can’t breathe. The Mommy won’t let me. If she’s dead, then I die, too, because she said so.
Oh, baby, are you all right? Mommy picks me up. She cuddles me. I didn’t want to, Faithie. It’s the ugly in you. Why are you such a bad girl? Why can’t you let Mommy love you?
Is it me thinking or her talking? I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, except for maybe my Liam. I don’t care about being someone’s girl, because maybe Cordy and Wes will leave and they won’t take me with them, cause I’m me, and people don’t take me with them.
My mommy didn’t take me with her. Where did she go?
“Faith,” Liam whispers, and I wonder if he’s real or just maybe in my head like the Mommy.
“My Faith,” he says again, and I know it’s my Liam. He jumps up on my bed and moves around, cause he likes to move. So do I. She can’t get me if I’m moving.
I don’t care. I remember all about not caring, and I killed someone, and I didn’t care, and I think I killed the Mommy, and now my mommy doesn’t love me anymore, and it’s all my fault, cause I’m a Bad Girl.
Liam pinches me, and I sock it to him real good. He snuggles.
“Bad dream?” I ask him. It’s easier to breathe when Liam is here. I won’t let her get him. I won’t let anyone get my Liam ever, or my Cordy, or my Wes.
Liam doesn’t say anything for a minute.
“The blonde lady?” I ask.
He nods. “The Mommy?” he asks.
“I couldn’t breathe,” I say. “And the knife was back.”
“Let’s wrestle,” Liam says.
“Okay,” I say.
We wrestle, and I win, because I always win, but my Liam loves me anyway, I think. He wants to pull my hair. I can tell.
I close my eyes, and he sings to me, the song Anya helped us make up about inflatable sheep and lengthy orgasms and cream cheese icing.
That’s a good song, and maybe, when I’m with Liam, I’m a good girl.
THE END