Fanfiction: Movements of a Fractured Mind
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon, et. al, are the owners. I simply write non-profit work. NOTE: I wrote this as a simple way to dive into Faith’s character and explore it a little bit.
All of her clothes had blood on them. She didn’t have money to buy new ones. She washed them in the sink, scrubbing the crimson stains off of her white wife beater. Hypnotically she watched her hands dip in and out of the red water, even darker bubbles forming. The lather of the soap turned red and no matter how much soap she put on it it didn’t help. She kept squirting more and more soap onto the cloth. Timing herself on how long it took for it to turn red, every scrub just passing the time until nightfall, when she was truly alive.
She might as well be a vampire. Day time had no meaning to her what so ever. Night time was when she went clubbing and slaying. Her life wasn’t spent going to school or talking to friends. It was spent in her small motel room, scrubbing her blood stained clothes and thinking about scooby gang meetings and what the next apocalypse might be. Some new demon that could be running about, they wouldn’t tell her. She would be left clueless and if the demon succeeded in killing her they’ll notice but won’t care. That wasn’t going to happen. Just a month or two of spurting blood and she was the master at what she did.
Natural Sunnydale heat was scratching at her, under her skin. Lack of air conditioning had trickles of sweat slithering down her forehead like unwanted snakes in a rose garden.
The skin on her finger tips and hands was wrinkled by now, each little wave a symbol for the fractures in her mind. Noticeable cracks in the skin, courtesy of carving stake after stake every night, were now red with her own blood. The blood she washed off of her clothes every day, scrubbing and timing and waiting for light to disappear and darkness to take over.
She danced like the devil’s pretty little whore, her hips swaying in a sinister, wrong way. Anyone who stumbled across her destructive path were left in a frozen state of mind, where no one, nothing, moved.. except her. Her movements were that of a reprobate vampire, her body wrapped up in pale skin, dark crimson dancing on her lips. Hypnotizing, to say the least. She knew what affect she had on people. It was a talent, she used it. It was her weapon.
Time was nothing to her but it flew by. People left and some people came. Show out harlots tried to dance with her, outdo her moves but not one of them could. From man to man she went, giving them a small taste of her intoxication before disappearing into the crowd to leave them speechless and wondering.
The world fell away. Demons did not exist, her past was not her past and her body was the body of a goddess. A dirty, dirty little goddess.
Chestnut hair swayed on her shoulders, tossed into the air by her hands alone, where it fell around her neck in a seductive, tonic way. She didn’t try to get any attention, oh no, it would come to her soon enough. It always did. All she had to do was crook her finger or jerk her head and they were hers. Little slaves gathered for the after life, her little slaves. Following willingly. No longer did she feel like the pathetic slut at the big man’s feet. She was the master.
As time passed by she became bored with her unknowing victims. A forbidden tug on the lips with her pearly white teeth was the only farewell she would give before abandoning them and leaving the only worth it club in Sunnydale. It was unusually cold, icy wind blowing at her face and whipping her already tussled hair back.
She somehow sensed the evil of the small town.. it was everywhere she went. She wondered if anyone else could.. anyone who wasn’t a slayer.
“Faith.”
A voice, never friendly to her, rang in her ears and made her look at the person who called her name.
“I was looking for you.” The blonde would say, the obvious lies behind her eyes stinging a place deep down inside. The place she liked to keep hidden within herself.
You bitch. Faith would think, fists clenching and nails digging into her wrists so hard that she felt as if the veins could bust. You liar.
“Here I am.” She took in a deep breath and let it out, calming herself.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
And there it was, the words she expected to hear from the manipulating mouth of a lying bitch. Her entire soul fell.. falling inside of her, screaming, and landing somewhere dark and frightening. Disappointment, malice, betrayal, it all bubbled in her throat. Boiling water making her blackened heart steam with hatred.
“And I don’t want to talk.” Don’t say it, don’t you dare fucking say it. “Faith, we need to—” Pushing. You’re always pushing. Don’t know when to fucking mind your own goddamn business.
“We don’t need to do anything.” Faith hissed, using all of the strength in her body to keep from striking out and giving the other slayer a piece of her mind. Not that there was much to give.. it was all gone. All gone to insanity.
“Faith, please!”
She paused, staring at Buffy with darkest death behind her eyes.
“I don’t talk.”
Then her world turned red.
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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