Fanfiction: Movements of a Fractured Mind
When she came to one hand was wrapped around the whore’s throat, holding her to the ground while her other hand sent a series if furious hits to her victim’s face. Buffy couldn’t move, she was shocked, frozen. Staring into the eyes that belonged to that of a killer, not that of which she thought was a friend. She looked frightened at first and Faith felt nothing but enjoyment.
The saner of the two finally snapped out of her thoughts and she bucked upwards. Surprising the other slayer with the sudden movement left her open for attack. Summers took her chance and sent her fist slamming into the face of her attacker, knocking them both away from each other. She jerked herself up to a stand. Faith, however, stayed on the ground.
What.. “Oh, God, B, I’m so—”
“Don’t.”
She winced at the look of hurt and hatred in Buffy’s eyes but didn’t say anything else. Knowing she was the one of culpability, Faith ran.
Morning came and went and then came the afternoon. She slept all day. Her dreams filled with ashes and drunken moms and abusive fathers and rapists and drug dealers and Boston life. Lurid with the glowing and shining of fire through a haze. She thought about not going out that night, to avoid B at all costs. She could hide away in her room and watch television, maybe scrape up some change and get some quality delivery food. Anything to postpone what was sure to come.
She sat on the bed, both of her leather-clad legs stretched out infront of her, resembling a crippled little girl. Her face was that of a brooder but why brood? Brooding was for losers who felt bad for every little thing they did. Buffy deserved what she got last night. She did. She did.
Buffy had probably ratted her out already. Now everyone would know she was a murderer. She was a filthy, sick animal. That’s what they would think. That’s what she was thinking. The cops were already on their way, or something close to it. The Watchers’ Council were on their little ships or planes or whatever the hell they used to get from the Mother Country to America. She would fight them all off. She had the strength and the power to do so. No one could take her, they wouldn’t take her. If anything, she would never live behind bars.
She fought back the rising of rage and disgust and lightly jerked the comforter over her small body. She would sleep it all off - all of these feelings, the things she couldn’t stand to feel. She would sleep away the things that hurt the most. It always worked. Because her dreams were fifty billion times worse and then some. She could forget all about what happened the day before. It wouldn’t matter anymore.
She didn’t wake up until the next morning. Standing by the window and staring at the cars and people that passed by her motel. She stood there for an hour, counting every single thing that came by. So far she counted 22. That was the new record for the month.
She wondered if the scooby gang were wondering where she was. She doubted it, doubted it so much that it stung and burned and ripped. A sigh escaped those pale lips and she thought about her next move. What could she do next? Was there anything to do? Never again would Buffy and her friends trust her. She was positive that they wouldn’t. She hated herself for knowing. If only she could be fooled. At least thinking that they had a tiny shred of care for her would do.
If only there was a way.. to escape it, forever. To get out of this emotional grinder called Life-In-Sunnydale. Suicide wasn’t an option. Only the weakest committed suicide.
Only a few minutes passed before Faith began to pack her bags.
This place. It was dark, it stank, it was horrifying, it was freedom all at the same time. She sat in the far corner, legs drawn to her chest and a few plastic bags full of clothing and weapons sitting next to her. Why didn’t she think of this before? Had she been hanging onto a small thread of hope that things between her and Buffy would work out? That’s impossible.. isn’t it? It had to be.
She felt the cargo ship begin to move and wrapped her arms around her stomach. It would help to keep her from getting sea sick. This wasn’t the first time she ran away from her problems by means of sneaking a ride on a boat. Never fancy - but it did the job.
She thought about all she was leaving, and if she was doing the right thing. It was too late to go back, but she couldn’t keep herself from thinking about what could have been. Never again would she see Buffy or Giles or Xander. Never again would she look at Joyce with amazement at how cool she was. Angel’s warm words would never sooth her again and she would never witness Wesley’s incredible annoyance.
Maybe, just maybe, one day she would come back. When everything boiled over. But for now, she needed to get away. Away from this hell.
END
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