Fanfiction: Survivor
~~~~~
“Please Hear What I’m Not Saying” Don’t be fooled by me. Don’t be fooled by the face I where. For I wear a mask, a thousand masks. Masks that I am afraid to take off. And none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me. Don’t be fooled. For God’s sake and mine, please don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure. That all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without. That confidence is my name and coolness my game. That the water is calm and that I am in command, and that I need no one. But please don’t believe me.
~~~~~~
Franklin Inc. Coal Mine
Friday, May 4, 2004 9:45 PM
Sunnydale, Ca
Rational thinking and I have never met before.
Oh well, I tried to call B on my cell, but the battery was to low and I never signed up for the unlimited nights and weekends. That’s as rational as I’m going to get about what I’m about to do.
This night is so typical it isn’t even funny. Dark, storming like crazy, wet and not in that I’m-about-to-get-some sort of way. Here I am at the entrance of a coal mine, about to rush in and lay the smack down on Sunnydale’s first demon serial killer.
The Rainman, as he’s being called in the underground these days for all the tears he’s caused, has murdered no less than forty humans and demons in the last five weeks. Some of his demon victims were informants of ours. Pretty okay for the non-human kind.
Never before has it taken so long for us to catch one baddie. Especially one that’s not even all that super powered. Three of his victims got away, and all said that while he was pretty damn strong and invulnerable, he bled and could be hurt. They had all gotten lucky.
Good enough for me.
Problem was, this guy was smart. Never killed in the same place twice. Had no preference of victims, and no real agenda. He just wanted to make a name for himself. Make a statement. Being a demon killer in a town full of Slayers was one bold ass move to begin with. He killed and left the bodies for us to find. Mostly just broke peoples necks.
Two days ago he broke a kids neck.
A five year old little girl with big blue eyes who was guilty of nothing more than running a little to far from her Dad at the park. She was reported missing from the Park View Children’s Playground. Her disappearance has been the talk of the West Coast ever since. With all the added Police, F.B.I., and media running around it’s been making things tougher on Buffy and I to catch this monster.
I had the unlucky fortune of finding the little girl. And let me tell you, shit doesn’t get to me to often. Ain’t to much a bottle of Jack Daniels and some good sex won’t make me forget. Most of the time the Jack Daniels is more than enough. But not this time. Finding that child’s cold lifeless body in the bushes behind a garbage dumpster made me almost lose my lunch. I patrolled that night for nine straight hours looking for the Rainman.
I found nothing. Not diddly squat. And I wanted this motherfucker so bad. Xander thought I was becoming obsessed. He was right about me as usual. He sees through me better than most. Even Angel these days. When this is all over I’m gonna have to have a talk with Mr. Nice and Sexy Shoulders.
He’d love it if I called him that to his face. Maybe someday….
Back to business.
B and the Scooby Gang are worried about me. Especially Xander. Tough shit. This guy got major TV exposure last night and I think I got him figured out. He’s a glory hound. He’ll want more victims. I have no doubt tonight’s victim will be a human, but he’ll try to escape using Sunnydale’s underground tunnels and passageways. He wants the media whipped up into a frenzy. He’ll attack again. Keep the momentum going. He enjoys that. Gets off on it, I bet.
Good.
Let him.
It’ll be easer to kill him that way.
I got lucky as hell about ten minutes ago. From the three surviving victims, one was a demon and I talked with him for two hours straight. Got a real good idea about what this guy looked like, and that he was tattooed from head to toe. I actually caught sight of him creeping into this abandoned coal mine from the streets. Area’s like this are known demon and vampire haunts. The local coppers know to stay away. Good thing me and law enforcement don’t mix.
Willow’s been doing her magic mojo day and night trying to find this guy. Whatever he’s doing, he’s blocking her attempts to find him.
He won’t block my knife.
I’m going to tie this disgusting piece of shit to a wall, cut him in about twenty places, and watch him bleed to death. Slowly. Then sit back like I’m watching some motherfucking T.G.I.F comedy shows. His death will be the highlight of my week.
And maybe the parents of that child I found will get some closure.
I’m running through a small series of tunnels now. It’s dark as fuck, and I’m drenched. My feet are digging deep in mud. But I’ve got his scent. I can smell death and it’s not far up ahead. My knife is hungry. I’m the predator tonight. No one else is going to die.
Light.
Up ahead. Fire light. Torches. Good.
I’m creeping along the side of the wall, no doubt ruining my leather coat. I can hear chanting up ahead as things become clearer for me to see. I can smell dead flesh and I know I’m close. This fucker is…is….
Okay, all of a sudden I’m nauseous. It’s a wave that hits me like a ton of bricks. But as soon as it hits, it’s gone. Maybe that Taco Bell I ate earlier is coming back to haunt me.
Finally, from around a corner, I see him.
The Rainman.
Built like a tank, he was all hulking chest and bulging biceps. First impressions on his skin made him look like a white guy, but a closer look told you his skin looked nothing like a normal humans. Dry, raised, and resembling the material of my jacket more than anything. The Rainman stood about 6’11, just like the reports said. His eyes are dark, no pupils. He’s sitting in the middle of a Pentagram, shirtless, wearing only black pants. His entire body, arms neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, back, are all covered in Satanic symbols. All appear to have been carved in his skin. I recognize them because I’ve studied them recently. Another clue one of the victims was able to give us.
From the side he resembles a common biker thug. Just some big lumbering guy with a ton of tats and a face no mother could love. I wonder if he knows he’s going to die tonight.
“Leave now while you still can.”
I’m smiling already. Good, he knows I’m here. We don’t have to play games. “You’re never going to leave this mine shaft, Rainman. I’m going to see to that.”
He doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. This cave clearing we are in has torches aligning the floor. More Satanic symbols adorn the walls, know doubt written in blood. “Had you not come alone you might have had a chance against me.”
“I’ve been counted out plenty of times, jackass. And I’m still standing.”
Finally, he does too. His bald head is even covered in tattoos. He turns to face me. Evil and uncaring. Looks as if he weighs at least 300 pounds. And that’s all muscle. Doesn’t matter. He’ll bleed just like the rest. Before I tie him up I’m gonna beat the shit out of him. Make it hurt real good. And take my time while I’m at it.
He’s circling me now, expressionless, full of that kind of evil that had no name. “Do you like to kill?”
Oh great, another jerk who’s watched Silence of the Lambs once to often and wants to engage in psycho babble. “I don’t want to play games with you, junior.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To end your miserable life.”
“Then you do like death after all. You seek it even now. How alike we are in that regard.”
Enough is enough. I charge dark and ugly, duck a lunging right hook, and land one of my own. Instantly my hand explodes in pain as I reel backwards. My blow didn’t even turn his head. What the fuck?
“You hunted me, but could not find me with your magical eyes. That’s because these are enchanted torches. Anything in their vicinity having to do with magic or mystical properties is negated. The only demonic power I possess is the need to not breathe. I tell you this for two reasons.”
The hair on the back of my neck is flaring up as bad as the pain in my right hand. My knife is drawn in the next instant. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
The bastard’s smiling at me now. “I don’t mind telling you all of these things. The knowledge will do you no good after tonight.” Good, stupid bad guy. Keep talking. Just keep talking. “You’re gripping that knife pretty hard.”
My hand’s still killing me. Whatever. Push past the pain. “Enough of this shit.” I rush in this time, landing a straight kick flush to his chin that staggers him a bit, but should have sent him off his feet and slamming against the wall. Wasting no time, I slash once across his chest, taking his blood at the same time. Viciously, he lands a brutal backhand that connects with the side of my face and I can’t remember the last time anyone hit me that hard. Not even Angelus or Buffy hit that hard.
I’m on the ground now. My lip’s busted pretty bad and my neck hurts like a sonofabitch. He’s standing over me, staring….
Then he absolutely smashes his fist into my face. I scream, despite myself. My nose may be broke. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. I can’t even move. Everything is a blur of pain and vulnerability.
He hits me again, harder!
I’m slowly losing consciousness. How in the hell is he that strong? I should be able to shrug off his blows with ease. This doesn’t make sense. What in the world….
Then it hits me, but he explains at that very moment.
“Your Slayer powers are mystical in nature, young one. But here, they are negated. You are no more than a slim, frail little girl attempting to attack me. Nothing more. Less than that even. You allowed your rage to fuel you, and that it is your undoing. You weren’t smart enough to figure out what was happening around you before it was too late. You rely on your powers more than your mind. Without those powers, you are worthless.”
Before I can respond he backhands me again so hard I cough up blood all over myself. Next, he reaches down, grabs my hair and lifts my head off the ground, then rams the back of my head back down into the dirt. I’m barely there, breathing heavy, bleeding, in severe pain. My face feels like it is on fire. I can’t move, though I try to scoot away.
Fear…. Fear begins to grip me.
Then I feel them.
His hands.
Pulling my leather jacket off…. Ripping my shirt in two…. Tearing my bra away…. Oh God, stop. Please stop. My mind is begging because my lips can’t do that. I want to. I know I need to. But if I’m to die here, he won’t get the luxury of hearing me beg. I’ll die with that.
My jeans are yanked off of me hard. My ass connects with the ground, He uses my own knife to tear my panties away, and I’m naked. Naked and helpless before him. “Killing me won’t prove jack shit,” I manage to slur while spitting some of my own blood in his face.
“Who says I’m going to kill you?”
I’m delirious and now sick to my stomach and…. I’m scared. Having flashbacks of my youth when I actually had innocence to be taken away. He’s staring down at me, not looking aroused or angry or even hateful. He’s just staring as if I am nothing. Nothing at all to him or anyone in the entire world.
I still won’t tell him to stop. I won’t yell it. I won’t give him any satisfaction. He’s going to rape me. That much is clear. I don’t have the strength to stop him right now. Fortunately for me, I’ve been raped before. And as disgusting as that sounds, I know the key is to survive the attack.
Worry about everything else later.
I am on the floor, bleeding and in pain, but I am alive. My body feels strangely numb as I assess myself as best I can. Cuts and bruises that I can not account for coat my face and neck. A dull ache runs down my spine from the base of my skull and I testingly move my head from side to side. With a slight protest from my muscles it moves. I am relieved. My vision is hazy and fades in and out of focus but I am brought back to reality abruptly as his face appears in front of me.
“I seek release this evening. But death will simply not do. I shall use you for what your sex was meant to be used for. Please do not scream. I enjoy the quiet when making love.”
He’s sick and twisted and I am so fucked. This maggot has the nerve to call rape, love making. So did two of my step-fathers once upon a time. If I survive this he will die by my hand and no other. I just don’t want this to happen. Not now. I can’t let this animal rape me. I can’t! I won’t!
He slams his fist into my skull again. I’m gasping, about to pass out. I want to speak but I have no voice. I am suddenly aware of his close proximity and can feel the burning desire to vomit. He stares at me, pupils dark and feral. He speaks, but the sounds are blurred and distant, the ache in my skull becoming more prominent. I think he called me beautiful. He descends on me again coming closer, reaching out a sturdy hand to graze my face. His touch is so gentle, so slight, but it burns through my flesh scolding the bone beneath. Graceful fingers stroke me over and over again and I am hit with a sudden rush of revulsion at such a gesture. So intimate an act when performed by the right person but used here as a weapon against me, and an insult to….
I can’t think of him right now. Not here.
The Rainman’s gaze is a blatant display of maleness and territorial domination. He has power over me and he knows it. I hate it with ever fiber of my being. He becomes entranced by my hair and has to touch it. He’s looking at me as if he’s waiting for my permission to touch my hair. I’m struggling against him, and slapped hard for my insubordination. As he caresses my hair with a look of adoration on his face I am again disgusted. I can feel his rotten breath against the skin of my neck and it chills me. I am surrounded by his scent, a warmer likeness of death that is too much to bear and I try to remove myself from it only to be sucked even further into its realm. His index finger slides quickly under my chin bringing my eyes back up to meet him as I try again to shift away from him, but can’t. I spit my own blood in his face again, cursing him. His features radiate the torrent of emotion that writhes within and I am paralyzed by its ferocity as he brushes my hair aside and leans his lips against my ear. My surprise escapes in a burst of air before I can contain it, and then I hear him as my eyes fall shut.
“Making love to you will please me indeed.”
“You got a rape fetish, huh?” I’m swallowing blood now. “You’re nothing. A nobody who’ll be forgotten in a heartbeat.”
“You’ll never forget me.”
I just don’t have the strength to fight back and I hate myself because of it.
“I’ve watched you, young one. Watched you fight reckless and violent. I like your spirit. I intend to indulge in that tonight.”
“Go to hell!”
“Eventually.”
My eyes are full of unshed tears, they threaten to spill like a broken dam, but I know I have hold on to the thin strand of self control that still lives within me and refuse to let them fall.
My head aches, my stomach rolls and cold sweat appears on my skin. I close my eyes against the harshness of the dull light as I desperately try to regain control of my labored breathing that sounds hollow to my ears, but I am given no true time to recover.
“Others have enjoyed raping you. Of that I am sure.”
He stands before me, a languid grin on its face as a hand firmly rubs the all too obvious erection it sports through the fabric of his clothes. My stomach lurches and I only have time to turn my head as bile thunders up my throat, pouring out of my mouth onto the ground beside me.
I’m scared, disgusted, and if I knew a prayer I’d say it now. I am not a religious person, never have been, and as such I am opposed to the idea of a higher power. I heard the parables, the Gospels, the tales of Jesus and his miracles and each left me cold and unfulfilled.
But look what not believing in a higher power has gotten me. I can’t win for losing.
“It is time….”
Fingers grip my shoulders, digging into the sensitive skin and instinctively I strike out, my knee connecting with his balls with a satisfying crunch. I just didn’t have enough strength behind the blow. He doesn’t even look annoyed with me.
With frightening speed he is on me once again, arms locked around my waist, trapping my arms by my sides. Reaching back, he strikes me again, this time loosening two of my teeth. The right side of my face is swollen badly. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t…. I can’t stop… I struggle against him but feel his grip tighten even more. His large incredibly muscled form too great a match for my considerably lighter one, and despite my attempts to push back against him and free myself I become trapped the against the floor and the body that holds me firm. My mind spins as I feel fingers groping me, roughly kneading and squeezing my breasts to the point they go numb with pain. He mutters in my ear and I feel violated for the first time in a very long time.
“I’m going to make love to you till you bleed and beg for me to stop.”
I want to scream but it dies enroute from my lungs and all that I muster is a small whimper to show my anguish.
Using his weight as a restraint, his left hand travels to my thigh, touching and groping me. Scratching and pulling with haste that echoes the image of vigorous sex but lacks the emotional attachment. I am trying with everything I am to put my wall up and just go with the flow, but I am brought back to earth with the feel of his dirty hands squeezing each cheek of my ass, separating them the point of pain then releasing them to repeat the process.
I’m….
Ohgodohgod….
IwillnotcryIwillnotcryIwillnotcry!!!!!!!!!!!
It hits me then full force, this is rape! The end is now inevitable. I have seen it before, and although I did not want to believe it, it is here. My voice is weak, my vision blurred but I find from somewhere the reserve to try and reach him one final time before he hurts me.
“Stop….please.”
That cost me everything. How deeply had I hoped to never feel this weak again.
“No. I am sure you are quite familiar with that word. Especially at this very moment.”
He touches me, one hand on the inside of my thigh, the other positioning himself at my entrance. He is hot and slightly wet, a stark contrast to the cold, dry expanse of my body. I freeze, unable to do anything else but admit defeat and succumb to my fate. Maybe my subservience will make the experience less uncomfortable. I no longer care. Every hope and belief I ever had that I was wrong about an omnipotent and loving God is erased at this moment as the full force of his sin is thrust strongly upon me, penetrating my body, ignorant of its resistance. Shameful and worn I scream long and loud knowing that the depth of this act will go unheard and unanswered.
It hurts. Like fire, every movement burns and stings as he fills me, stretching my protesting muscles beyond their limits. I have felt pain like this before. Helpless, feverish, fatal pain.
I hear strained sounds coming from above me and with yet another wave of despair I realize they are coming from him. Evidence of his pleasure. NO! Not his, it’s pleasure. Soft grunts echo each thrust as he drives relentlessly in search of his goal. I am hit with a wave of revulsion as I contemplate the way this will end. I do not want to feel his pleasure. I do not want to have his cum invade my body, the very thought of it makes me sick.
It will scold me, brand me and scar me for life.
I was impatient and over confident. This is all my fault. All my faul…
The hand around my waist pulls me back, lifting me upright and pinning my back to his chest. This time he drives with a new level of force that tears the delicate flesh around him as he pounds me with abandon. I release a guttural howl at the sensation of being ripped and slowly I feel the slight trickle of blood begin to descend from my core down my leg.
I thought being rape hurt bad as a child. Well, it truly and cruelly did. But this pain is even worse. I can’t stop him. Can’t get away. And it hurts so bad. He’s raping me, jack hammering his cock inside me and I just can’t get away.
Just let me live….
Just let me live….
Just let me live….
Suddenly shoving forward and settling still, he climaxed inside me. Without warning, dizziness overwhelmed me, as I slumped forward onto the dirt, with him slipping out of me. The warm cum and blood leaked down my thighs. I felt dirty and used. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but one I haven’t felt in a very long time. How could I have allowed this happened?
I am beside myself, Furious, cold, filled with self-hate and hate of him and hate period. But I live…..
“You were adequate, young one. I enjoyed the release. You should feel proud.”
He’s still talking, and though I am battered and beaten, I’m still thinking. I get precious seconds to store up my hate. One shot left before the buzzer sounds. My knife lies on the ground just out of reach. But not that far…
“What to do with you now? That, I will have to ponder. Perhaps I will arrrgghhaaa!!!!!!”
I will never, ever be able to explain where I found the strength to rise to my feet. I don’t know what unseen force possessed me, pushed me, enraged me. All I know is that with everything I had left in my body I ran at him and drove my knife straight through his throat the second before he looked up and noticed I was coming at him.
My knife came out the back of his neck.
He didn’t think I had anything left.
Over confidence fucked us both tonight.
Wordlessly, I withdrew my blood soaked blade, then shoved it in the side of his neck as far as I could, tearing his flesh apart. Blood shot out of him so fast he couldn’t do anything but gasp, fall over and die. I straddled his waist….
And just went nuts!
I drove my knife into his chest at least a hundred times, slashing and carving up his flesh until he laid in a pool of his own blood that circled him from head to toe. I stood to my feet, stumbling backwards, using the wall behind me to hold myself up.
I survived.
My mind was a blur for the next few minutes. I pulled on the shreds of my clothing, then ran out of the cave as fast as I could. The second I got outside my body switched back on. That’s the best explanation I could give you. I felt my body slowly healing even in those short minutes afterwards. And I welcomed the rain outside.
I ran to my bike, grabbed some change, and rode to the nearest payphone. I don’t remember the number I dialed. But I know Xander picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“I need you.”
“Where are you?”
~~~~~~~
My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, every baring and ever concealing. Beneath lies no complaisance, beneath lies fear and confusion, and aloneness. But I hide behind a nonchalant, sophisticated, facade to help me pretend. To shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation. From the barriers I so painstakingly create. It’s the only thing that will assure me of what I can’t assure myself…that I am worth something.
But I don’t tell you this. I don’t dare. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and it will not be followed by love, and I’m afraid you’ll think less of me…that you will laugh. And your laugh would kill me.
~~~~~~~
3434 West Lane
The apartment of Faith Williams
Friday, May 4, 2004 11:30 PM
Sunnydale, Ca
He knows.
He knows and I never even told him.
Xander didn’t buy my story that I was just impatient and ran straight into a brutal fight that saw my clothes torn and face battered. He didn’t believe me when he first saw me, and I know he doesn’t believe me now.
Xander drove through a storm to where I was after I’d only said three words and gave him my location. He exited the car, saw my face, and pulled me into his arms, asking what happened to me and was I okay. Five by five was my reply, as well as ‘wait till you see the other guy’.
I led him into the mine shaft, explaining no more than I found the killer, Slayed him, but got my clock cleaned good in the process. I hoped he didn’t notice the way I couldn’t look him in the face, or that my legs trembled as we reached Rainman’s cave. Xander unfortunately did. He watched me closely and damn him for having done so as much as he had in the last seven months. He knew I wasn’t okay. But as long as I kept up the charade that I was just in a really bad fight and no more, I was okay. No way was I letting him know I allowed myself to be raped.
No fucking way!
We reached the cave. I walked behind Xander as he approached Rainman’s body. Upon a second look, I see that I went motherfucking OJ Simpson on his ass. Xander asks for the full story and I give him 50% of it. He’ll live with that better than I will. Together, we drag the body out of the cave and the mine shaft.
Just down the road we dumped the body in a huge trash dumpster and set it on fire. I stood in the rain, watching it burn, hoping the sight would bring me some satisfaction.
I still felt broken.
Xander wanted to take me to the nearest hospital. He was clearly worried and knew I hated that. I brushed him off as usual. My shame was my own. I was damaged goods as it was, but now I….
I need to get drunk.
Really and truly fucked-up drunk.
Maybe even high.
I told Xander I was going to go home and clean up. He refused to allow me to go alone. Told me if I didn’t let him come he was going to call all the Scoobies right away. He was making a deal with me and I didn’t know why.
Now I do. He’s smarter than I give him credit for. Smarter than a lot of folks give him credit for. Look past the natural silliness that is part of his personality, and you’ll find a very perceptive man with his eyes wide open.
I head straight for my bathroom as soon as I hit my front door, yelling over my shoulder he could have some left over pizza in the fridge while I took a shower. Yeah, I kept acting like everything was everything. No big deal. Even while on the inside I had never felt as vile, or as dirty as I did tonight.
Xander’s hand gripped my arm before I could shut the bathroom door stalling me.
“What happened to you tonight, Faith?”
His eyes are full of caring, but I was gripped by fear, and fear won out. “Look, I took a mean ass whipping tonight, okay. I’m not my normal cover of a biker magazine self right now. Shit happens. The life of a Slayer ain’t flowers and candy, you know.”
“Why is there blood on your inner thighs, Faith?”
He was calm and detached, but serious. I shrugged, paying him no mind. “Xander, we fought like cats and dogs. He got in some good hits. More than anyone’s gotten in a very long time. You need to let this go!” I snarl at him, hoping he gets the picture.
My rising anger only spurs him on. I should have known it would. “I found your panties on the other side of the cave, Faith.” Now he looks almost like he’s about to cry, but that won’t break me. He approaches me slowly, as if I’m a rattle snake ready to strike. Why won’t he just let this go? “You can tell me anything, Faith. You know that.”
Not this, Xander. I can’t tell you this. I can’t have you see me any more damaged than I already am. I can’t look that weak in your eyes. Anyone’s eyes. “Look, if you’re going to keep giving me shit, why don’t you just leave.”
“I’ve seen those torches before, Faith.” The air suddenly vacates my lungs. I’m forced to look away. “Willow was once considering using them around Buffy’s house when the First had just appeared. We decided against it, but I know what they can do. When Willow lit one Buffy all of a sudden couldn’t lift one of her heavier axes over her head. She had to use both hands and couldn’t even swing the thing.” He stands right in front of me and I’m about to crumble before his very eyes. “I know what sex smells like. I know that all of your clothes are ripped to shreds. And I know you weren’t wearing your panties at some point. I think I know what happened. And I want to be there for…”
I shut the door in his face.
I can’t deal.
I’m pacing my bathroom with my hand covering my mouth, shaking my head. I want to be alone so I can get drunk and forget this. Forget the dried up blood and semen still on my legs. Forget the way be made fun of me, humbled me, made me feel like I was only worth the strength in my hands. And without it, nothing at all. Zero. Less than that. I want to forget the stink of that monster all over me. Forget how that he came inside me, all the while calling rape an act of making love.
“Faith, please open the door.”
“No….” Jesus, was that me? Was that my voice sounding so fragile, like a scared little girl?
“Faith…”
“JUST FUCKING GO AWAY!!” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, sweating, my hands shaking at my sides.
Xander is quiet, but doesn’t do as I asked. “I’m not going to leave you, Faith. What I’m going to do is go into your bedroom, and pack some of your stuff up for a few days. Then I’m going to wait for you in the living room.”
I can’t hold back the tears, sobbing quietly as it hits me without a shadow of a doubt he knows I was raped. He’s put the pieces together just that fast. Well I don’t know what he expects from me. I’m a mess right now. A filthy mess. I just want to….
I never answer him, deciding to decide in the shower what I’m going to do.
Even with my accelerated healing I am still sore. Fuck that, I’m in pain. I can barely walk because of what that bastard did to me. Stopping in front of a mirror, I finally get a good look at my face.
Is it possible to look as ugly on the outside as you feel on the inside? I may be living proof of that tonight. My tongue rolls around my two loose teeth. They seem to be holding for now.
Somehow, I manage to get into the shower and let the hot water wash over me. I’m lathering soap over my exhausted battered body, letting the suds sting the bite, the scratches, and the pain. I can barely bring himself to touch my bruised and swollen sex. The throbbing pain there reminds me of Rainman’s cruelty. The water just keeps getting hotter and I just don’t care. I’ve watched movies in the past when a girl gets raped and how she stays in the shower forever.
Now I’m a fucking made for TV movie with a horror twist. Great.
I’m catching stray images in my head now. I can feel myself clawing at his arms, pushing my legs together, shifting, spitting in his face, doing everything in my power to get him off of me. And failing…..
I find myself watching the pink suds swirl away down the drain. In the back of my mind, I realize I’m still bleeding, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. There isn’t enough hot water or soap in the whole world to ever make me feel clean again.
I’m leaning against the slippery tile, allowing myself to slide down to the bottom of the stall. After awhile the water starts to turn cold, but I’m just crouched there, dizzy, spinning with the memories that are swallowing me alive.
It takes way too much energy to turn off the water, too much energy just to breathe. My arms are wrapped around my chest as the uncontrollable shaking began. To finish it all would be so easy.
And there it is.
The first suicidal thought I’ve had so far. There will be more, but that’s the first one. And the first is always the special one.
I’m out the shower and drying off without even remembering getting out of the shower or turning the water off. My body still hurts, but not as bad. Even the swelling on my face is beginning to go down already. Inside of two days my body won’t show even the smallest mark from the rape. I used to read a lot of girls could barely even bring themselves to accept that it happened. Even acknowledge it with words. Well my first rape took place when I was twelve and a virgin, of course. Since then, several other times, all by men my mother trusted to look after me while she was gone.
I had been raped eight times by the time I was seventeen.
But none since I was old enough and able enough to fight back. That’s what makes this one the worst. Fuck, I’ve got issues. And the worst timing ever. Xander and I are just starting to get over this wall we’ve been dancing around for the past three months and now this happens.
How dirty I must look to him….
Fuck it! Whatever! Me and him will just be friends. I know I can swear him to secrecy. But I can’t ever get him to look at me the same way again. And that hurts so bad.
I wrap myself in a towel, not caring in the least about my appearance tonight.
At least I killed the Rainman.
I did it no matter the cost. Judge, jury, and executioner. I took justice into my own hands and at that moment, became the instrument of a wrathful God and righteously sentenced the Rainman to death.
I am still blank, expressionless. I feel frozen, moving in a time that has no beginning and no end. I was raped. I was raped. I was raped and I couldn’t defend myself.
I want to cry, so I do. I can’t stop it anymore than I can stop the sun from rising in the morning.
I let myself out of the bathroom. One more room that will have to be exorcised.
Xander follows me into my bedroom. It is an absolute mess, but par for the course in my crib. I grab some clothes and throw them on, just jeans and a shirt.
“I packed you about four outfits. Unmentionables to,” he tells me, and the tone of his voice says, ‘come home with me. I will look after you.’
I need to let him. I just don’t want to. But for tonight only, I just might. I am just that broken. “You pick out the sexy underwear?” I manage a smile.
“All of your underwear is sexy, Faith”
“So you’re saying you went through all of it?” I catch him off guard for a moment, but his eyes quickly lose their playfulness.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Did you say no and tell him to stop?”
“…yes.”
“Then it wasn’t your fault. He attacked you. He hurt you. You did nothing wrong.”
“I don’t want to tal…”
“Okay…” he stops me immediately, giving me my space. Or at least as much space as he will allow me to have. He’s not going to leave me alone even if I ask him to.
Suddenly I am weak and I sit down on the bed before I fall down. “Thank you,” I manage to keep my voice fairly level. For that small measure of strength, I am grateful.
Xander’s keen gaze bores into me, measuring me swiftly, but there is no condemnation in him. “I would do anything for you,” he offers quietly.
“Could you see me again as the woman I was?” I ask him without any conscious thought, “And not the woman I am now?”
Xander gazes at me, seeing the price my internal struggle is exacting in tears. There is nothing but solace and the promise of warm comfort in his gaze as he wipes away my tears with the gentlest of fingers on my face. It occurs to me in the darkest manner possible how unfamiliar a gentle touch is to me. “Faith, I know you,” he declares solemnly, and I close my eyes, unable to bear the utter conviction in his voice, blinded by the power of his belief in me. “You are precious and innocent to me. You have lost none of that.”
Like a father confessor, he has released me to my penance and I am lost. In my desperation, I can only reach forward to cling to him, as if he is my lifeboat in a stormy sea. Xander gathers me to him as though I weigh no more than a feather and sits next to me, pulling me onto his lap so that I can lose myself in his arms, if only for a moment. He whispers calming, nonsensical things in my ear, as if I am a small child, and I sob quietly against his neck. I cannot believe I am allowing myself to lose it like this. But I need him so badly right now.
No woman is an island unto herself.
Xander allows me just enough time to get out the first wave of my delayed reaction. “Come on, Faith,” he says, raising my chin to gaze into my tear-filled eyes. I hiccup softly and manage to pull myself together. I want my tough girl armor back, Dammit! I want my confidence and my ego and….and…Godamnit! I hate what happened to me!
Xander raises his eyebrows, reassuring me without words that he will look after me. “We should get out of here. Okay?” He doesn’t want me in my own home tonight. He wants my home to not have the memories of a rape. He’ll place those on his. He wants my home to remain pure. I know him so well.
“Okay.” I wince at my own weakness but it doesn’t bother him. Xander is always stalwart and brave, my own knight errant, and the emotion that wells in me nearly undoes me again, but I push it away with the last shred of my control. Not here, not now.
Xander bends forward to press a mute kiss of love and consolation on my forehead. “Let’s go.”
With a strength born of the desire simply to get away, to leave behind what happened, I climb to my feet. Xander grabs my overnight bag. I can bear the physical pain. It is the mental pain of my carelessness and stupidity that makes me want to fall asleep and hide for at least three months.
We’re out the door the next second. Three neighbors watched us walk in my place and no doubt saw the condition I was in. They are so fucking nosy they’re still in the hallway when we leave. I notice that two of them are exchanging raised eyebrows even if they won’t say anything to our faces; we get that a lot, Xander and me. We’re being as discreet as we know how and still something between us betrays us to the world. But I am past caring how we appear to other people anymore.
Xander buckles me into the front seat of his car like I am the most precious object in the world. Normally his natural tendency to want to coddle me pisses me off, but today I welcome his chivalry. I haven’t been able to stop shivering since we ventured outside; he turns the car heater on full blast and tunes in some soothing classical music that I hate but doesn’t make me think much.
Good choice.
One of the best things about Xander is that sometimes he seems to know instinctively what I need, before I can even voice it. And now he knows that I need silence and respects this as he drives the distance to his apartment. I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest, huddled into my coat. I try to empty my mind of all thought, except I am drawn back into the nightmare of not long ago.
Rainman’s hands all over me… Taking my clothes off. Pushing inside me when I was so dry… So much pain… Tearing me, hurting me, and not caring… Stealing my pride, my self-worth, my everything…
My hand clutching my knife. The madness that raged within me as I repeatedly stabbed a man already dead. How I cut him up like a butcher without a second thought. Blood…. So much blood….
“Faith? Are you all right?” Xander’s voice is low and urgent against my ear.
“I…what?” I am stunned into opening my eyes, blinking in the darkness and seeing familiar landmarks. We are almost at his apartment. “I’m….I’m just really tired.”
“You’re sure?” I cannot bear the concern and caring in his eyes and close mine against it.
“Xander, I was raped tonight.” I say it to him with as much flair as I would ask him for a piece of gum. “I’m not okay. I’m not going to be okay for a while. I just need rest. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
He knows I’ll talk about it when I’m ready. But only to him. “Okay.”
“I’m doing good. No sweat.”
Xander accepts this, but I can see that he doesn’t believe me. At least he is not willing to press the point. I force myself to remain upright and awake until we reach his apartment building. Then I am glad to allow myself to fall into a stupor that makes me move robotically forward with Xander’s arm supporting my weight as we lurch inside.
His apartment is blissfully warm and safe, and I can at last allow myself to relax. At least I have another place to find shelter. And I know that Xander would never begrudge me a temporary stay here. Beyond that, we have no words to describe our future, what it means for us to be together. We only have the now, and at least for the moment, we feel free enough to inhabit it.
Xander takes my overnight bag into the bedroom and I follow him, stumbling behind like a drunk. I’m still shivering and I don’t think I’ll ever be warm. He turns to me and takes my coat from my shoulders, throwing it to the floor and folding me into his embrace. “Are you hungry, Faith? Thirsty? I can get you something if you want it,” he tells me, brushing my hair away from my eyes, caressing my face with light flutters of his fingertips.
The thought of food makes my stomach roil in horror. “No,” I murmur against his chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat so soothing to me, like a lullaby. “Jus’ wanna sleep.”
Xander smiles at that. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll just be in the other room…”
I wrap my arms tighter around him. “Don’t go,” I plead, unable to prevent him from seeing my need, hating how vulnerable it makes me, yet completely unwilling to let him go. If this is what loving him and allowing myself to express it means, then fine, I will be honest, I will admit my weakness.
Xander moves to the bed and throws back the covers, then comes back to me. His gaze is direct, open; in his warm brown eyes lies the promise of solace and a love so deep that I am drowning and it is wonderful. I don’t know who I am tonight. I only know that I need him. The rest will just have to come to me. The sheer fact that he even wants to touch me at all nearly has me in tears. I have cried more tonight than I have since I was twelve.
Ironic, isn’t it.
Wordlessly, I try to meld my entire body into his and he presses me into the bed. He is mine, and he will watch over me. He makes me safe. In Xander’s arms there are no monsters; in his kiss the world melts away, and there is only me and him, and love.
I am ready for us to be here, like this, but thought we were still a little ways away. Accepting what he is to me now is something I’m still getting used to. This romance is as backwards as the two poeple involved in it.
But I am so tired. I shake my head against his questioning kiss. He acknowledges my decision with a nod, draws me close to his shoulder. I curl up inside his arm like a cat, burrowing my head into the place between shoulder and the curve of his neck. I inhale deeply of his warm, familiar scent and feel drowsily satisfied. He is the haven that I have only recently allowed myself to find, the shelter that I have sought for so long. It is in him, and he is in me.
The road ahead is long and painful. A nights relief won’t get me back on my feet. I’ll worry about that in the morning.
I am released into the relaxation that precedes sleep and snuggle deeper into Xander. He whispers, “I love you, Faith,” against the top of my head.
I had expected, having long since known his feelings for me, that the first time I would hear those words come out of his mouth would be over a food fight, or during a heated argument, or while we were fucking each others brains out. How sad my life is that the first time I hear those words from the man I love it is on the night I am raped.
~~~~~~~
I’m afraid that deep down I’m nothing, that I’m just no good. And that you will see this and reject me. So I play my game…my desperate pretending game. And with a facade of assurance without and a trembling child within, so begins the glittering, but empty parade of masks. And my life becomes a front. I idly chat to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything of what’s everything and nothing of what’s everything of what’s crying within me. So when I’m going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying. What I would like to be able to say. For survival, what I need to say, but what I can’t say.
~~~~~~~
27 North Lake Street
The Adler Museum
Tuesday, June 12, 2004 8:00 PM
Sunnydale, Ca
Okay, here’s the sitch.
Take a newly arrived golden scepter, part of an ancient relics tour courtesy of the Peoples Republic of China. Add in a legend about the scepter being the key to unlocking how a secret sect of super-old vamps were able to move around in the daytime. Then toss in a New-Age Vampire cult known as ‘Thenine’, and what do you have?
A typical night for the Slayers!
Willow got the heads up on the big theft two days ago from some chicks uptown. Wicca detectives who also do some Behavioral Science mumbo-gumbo for the Fed’s. Wills new informants told her about the legend of the Sune Scepter. A relic used to give vampires the ability to withstand sunlight. Fucking Daywalkers like that Blade movie. Supposedly, a very old group of bloodsuckers over in the land of Kung-Fu at one time could walk around during the day. What happened to them, no one knows. But the legend of the Sune Scepter lived on.
The undead searched for it all over the world, hoping to find a way to cure their greatest weakness.
Fast forward to present day and it appears the scepter has been found. It’s on a freaking tour across the states along with a bunch of swords and shit. An out of town group of bloodsuckers known as ‘Thenine’ have decided to come to Vampire Hell aka Slayerville, USA to get this artifact. They have to be nuts or desperate. I’m thinking it’s the latter.
X-Man still knew the security codes for this new state of the art museum. He and I were part of the crew that worked on this seven month construction job.
We had two days to prepare for this attack, and prepare we did. We allowed the four van fulls of ‘Thenine’ members to enter the parking garage and watched as they went about their plan to steal the scepter. It was obvious from the jump that they wanted to avoid the Slayers at all costs. They didn’t even enter into Sunnydale city limits until just over two hours ago, and we’ve had a car tailing them ever since.
Oh yeah, the Scoobies got their shit together now.
So here we are. Me, B, JFK, the new chick, Kayla from Queens, New York. Xander’s our back-up. Tonight should be fun. I’m gonna get my jollies, then go home and watch re-runs Melrose Place with Xander. I love my trashy late-night soaps.
All of us are above the main floor where the scepter can be viewed by the public. We are looking down from a balcony on about 35+ vampires, all dressed in black robes with strange markings on their faces. I look to B, who usually has a witty line to say before we jump in and kick ass. See, we’re so good we let them know we’re coming before we attack. The Hellmouth is gone and the Slayers rule here. We’ve got at least five available at all times, and could call as many as seventeen if needed.
Ain’t nobody fucking with Sunnydale anymore!
So we’re still looking down at the bad guys and I’m waiting and waiting and waiting and for the love god will somebody get this motherfucking ball rolling!
“LET’S DO SOME GOOD!”
My honey has been waiting since he saw The Untouchables three days ago to use that Kevin Costner line. Corny as hell, but whatever. I get to kill shit now and that is of the good.
We will all rag on Xander later. Especially me.
The Slayer’s and I jump down from the balcony, while Xander runs down the stairs, axe in hand. We engage the enemy and start dusting them left and right. They are your typical vampires. Try as they might to truly utilize any training they may have, as the frustration builds and the bloodlust grows, they turn animalistic. And in doing so they become stupid.
Sometimes I wonder if I held my stake out would they just run into it.
I’m dusting the vamps. B’s dusting the vamps. JFK’s doing her job. Kayla, who has the best pair of natural tits ever, is getting her shine on. And may I just compliment her tits again. Okay, I’m not dyking or anything, but shit. B and JFK ain’t got much in the rack department. I’m all good, and I rock in a push-up bra. But this bitch… Her tits are natural and incredible.
Xander doesn’t seem to notice.
Good boy.
Speaking of my boy, I watch him while I fight. I’ve been doing that more and more since I was…. Whatever. He’s holding his own. More than that. He’s taking care of business. While us Slayer’s rush into battle, Xander lays back and waits. He let’s the fight come to him. Without super strength or speed, he fights smart.
My boy’s a poor mans Inspector Gadget now. He’s got these wrist thingies that hold Holy Water. With just a wave of his hand he can spray it out about five feet in front of him like an aerosol can. He always aims for their faces, hoping to blind them, or maybe burn their hands so bad as they try to cover their faces that they can’t throw any punches. Then it’s off with their heads, or staked from behind. It’s not a perfect strategy, and it doesn’t work all the time. But it’s effective enough and it gives him an edge.
That’s the whole point.
How do you deal when you are a normal person? I can’t help but to feel that if I hadn’t done exactly what Rainman accused me of, being overly reliant on always being stronger and faster and more invulnerable than everyone I face, would I have stopped him from raping me?
I’ve made myself sick from thinking about that so much.
Every insecurity I have ever had concerning my role as the Slayer, and to a lesser extent, though true, a teacher to the young SiT’s, has come into question. I’m still me. I still fight the way I fight. I break necks and cash checks. It’s what I do. But I need to think more. I didn’t think on that one night and I got….
Rainman took from me something I can’t seem to find again. Something I can’t honestly name, though it has to do with confidence on many levels. I can’t say innocence, cause that’s been gone since forever. I know that on the outside, to everyone I know except for Xander, they see the Faith they have always seen.
But behind closed doors, things are drastically different.
I’m a shell of who I used to be and don’t know where the hell to find myself.
There are about seven vampires left, but with their cult leaders dead, they’re running for the exits. We have four SiT’s waiting for them outside. First kills for the new chicks. Shouldn’t be to much trouble. Over my shoulder I hear Xander breathing heavy, leaning against a wall. None of us Slayers are even winded in the least.
Xander is Batman and all us Slayers are Superman. I don’t read as many comics as he does, but that’s what I think. Both Batman and Superman are heroes. Superman’s enemies are vastly mote powerful, as he is. Batman’s enemies tend to be more on his level. They both have the same job and do the same things. But there is one piece of separation between them.
If Batman had Superman’s powers, he could do Superman’s’ job. But if Superman lost his powers all of a sudden, could he do Batman’s? I think of that only because when my powers were gone I became nothing. I was worthless, used, and discarded. I had nothing resembling a game plan outside of always being able to over power my attacker.
Batman’s a thinker cause he has to be. One good bullet and he’s dead, so his every move, his every thought is to insure he never gets hit. Superman can withstand just about anything. He doesn’t have to think as much, or be clever, or plan out how he will fight or in which way.
I watch Xander more these days during fights because I need to become a person who thinks during fights, learns, and depends on only my mind and not my fists. If I had done that sooner I would never have been raped. I would have noticed the torches on the ground and recognized them instead of just knowing they were there. I was focused on verbally sparring with Rainman, killing him, and telling him how it was going to be. I should have known after that first punch something was wrong. My back was to the entrance of his cave. I could have sprinted ten feet and had all my powers back. I didn’t think, and it cost me….
God, it cost me.
I would never have been damaged.
The fight’s done. High-fives all around and a few Advil for Xander’s headache. He likes my massages and I’ll give him one when we get ho…. to my place. I walk over to him, giving him the once over. “How they hanging?”
“Why are there three of you Faith?”
“You’re going home with the one in the middle.” He probably has a slight concussion. Still, he dusted at least five vamps that I saw with my own eyes. He handled his side of things very well.
Because I know he likes it so much, I ruffle his hair a little, sending him a sincere smile. I know B and Kennedy are watching us. Everyone knows that we are together now. A couple. Dawn even thinks we are cute together. Wills was slow to come around, but me and Big Red are cool peeps.
Xander and I always arrive at B’s house together and patrol together and do a whole lot of shit together that people see us doing.
I overheard Kayla just the other day whisper to an S.I.T. that she bets we go home after patrol and I screw his ever loving brains out. That’s why he doesn’t pay other women any attention at all.
If only…..
It’s been five weeks since my attack. Xander and I have done little more than kissing. Maybe kissed 15 times period. We’ve never had sex. Never even came close. I can’t think about sex. Can’t have it. Can’t feel it. It detests me. I can only stomach sex on a very non-graphic level such as Melrose Place, my guilty pleasure. But for me personally, I can’t watch Skinimax, or movies with a lot of sex in it.
I used to love sex. I mean, I really, really, really did. I’m so fucking good at it. I’ve got a killer bod, tight pussy, give the bomb ass head, and don’t even get me started about the way I ride. Can’t no man handle what I can do. I’d put money on that.
And boy do I miss the release.
Slaying only makes me hungry now. Killing doesn’t get my lower goodies moist anymore. Nothing seems to.
Xander ain’t getting no loving when he comes to my apartment at night. He gets food and he gets my company and he gets to hear me wake up in bed screaming at the top of my lungs from nightmares that won’t let me rest. He stays with me almost every night and holds me and I don’t know what I would do without him.
The assumptions made about our relationship are not shared by everyone. Certainly not shared by Buffy. See, I know Xander betrayed me and told her what happened. Thank goodness he did. My erratic mood swings and need to just get away sometimes would have B questioning me far to much if she didn’t know what happened. But she does. I can see it in her eyes as plain as day.
B is waiting for me to talk to her. Sometimes I forget she’s a victim of attempted rape herself. She trusts me in Xander’s care. One day I will thank her for the space she’s giving me. Hopefully, I’ll find Faith and she can do it. For now I pretend to ignore the painful expressions I catch from her when she’s looking at me and thinks I don’t notice. I hate pity to no end, but would rather deal with it than to actual talk about what happened to me.
We’re packing up and calling it a night. Xander’s re-arming the security system while Kayla grabs the security camera video. B, JFK, and I are straightening up things in the lobby. We got four new black vans to sell to some local chop shops and that money will get us a little vacation in August. It’s something to look forward to.
Goodbyes later, I’m in Xander’s car, heading toward my place. We’re stopping at Wendy’s on the way home. A couple of triple-cheeseburgers will do the trick tonight. Alcohol would too. I just don’t drink anymore. Yep, I haven’t touched the sauce in five weeks. No sex, no drinking, no sleeping.
No Faith.
Thirty minutes later I’m on my couch in my sweats watching Amanda lie to Jake about sleeping with Billy. Fucking slut!
Xander’s watching me and wanting me. I swear I have a Spider-Sense when it comes to his erections. I just know when he’s thinking about us going at it like animals. I know he will never, ever push for the sex thing. But he wants it. Fuck, if I was a guy I would want me. Every morning he wakes up with my bare ass, cause I sleep nude, nestled against his hard cock. I hear him moaning my name sometimes and I know what’s he’s dreaming about. That boys right hand is probably as strong as mine these days. I wish I could help him out. But I get sick just thinking about giving him a hand job. Months ago we would have taken a day off work and fucked till my bed broke.
Once upon a time….
“I still can’t believe you watch this,” Xander said next to me, eating fries.
“It’s bad TV. And bad TV that knows it’s bad TV can be good TV.”
“Your logic seems logical to me.”
“We gorged on Melrose Place while I was locked in the joint. I hated it at first, then grew to like it. It’s so trashy it’s great. Backstabbing and cheating and lying and trying to kill each other. What more could you want in a TV show?” He leans into me, throwing his arm over my shoulder. I shift, now laying half over his lap, just enjoying the warmth and nearness of him. “I love you, Xander.”
He kisses the top of my head, now used to hearing those words. They are all that I can give him. He can’t have what he wants. What he desires. It’s just not possible for a lot of reasons. I’m not your typical girlfriend. I wouldn’t be if I wasn’t already damaged goods. But now I’m even less than.
He has my love.
He has my trust.
He has my counsel.
He has my need of him in so many ways.
He has my heart.
And I have all of that with him as well.
“I love you too, Faith.”
And the thing is, he truly does. This man loves the shit outta me. He’s honestly the only man in my entire life I can sleep next to and relax. If I am ever whole again someday I will show him how much I appreciate his presence in my life.
If only I could say these things to him. Reassure him of what I know internally, but can’t show outwardly.
Maybe someday.
One ep of Melrose Place is off, and another is about to start. Xander and I are making small talk and laughing at the horrible acting and stupid plots. But deep down he wants to continue a conversation we had while showering this morning. One that I certainly didn’t want to have.
Xander wants me to get some help. He knows I’m not myself, I’m not happy, and I’m not whole. Not like I used to be. Hell, even I know that. I just can’t see what the big deal would be in telling anyone that I was raped. There is nothing I can do to make it not have happened. I am against talking about my shit and listening to other peoples shit.
But Xander asked me to go to this meeting, He said he would go with me. And for him, I am going to go.
For him.
Not me.
~~~~~~~
I don’t like to hide. I don’t like to play superficial phony games. I want to stop playing them. I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me. But you’ve got to help me. You’ve got to hold out your hand, even when it seems its the last thing I want. Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead.
~~~~~~~
567 Western Ave
The Peacock Building
Rape Survivors Anonymous World Services (RSA)
Rape Support Group
Friday, July 9, 2004 10:00 PM
Sunnydale, Ca
It’s hot in here.
They need donuts.
I need to buy some new socks before I go home tonight.
These chairs are so fucking hard. It’s like sitting on concrete. Do they really expect someone to want to spill their guts about the worst thing to ever happen to them after having sat in one of this hard suckers for an hour or so?
Yeah, I’m in a bad mood.
This is the third meeting I’ve gone to in the past three weeks. Xander’s sitting next to me, taking notes, almost ignoring me, but touching me every so often. He really feels listening to the counselors and the other victims, their experiences and how they have all gotten their lives back together will help me.
Fat fucking chance.
Okay, I’ll give them this. I’ve heard some truly fucked up stories since I’ve been coming here. Girls getting raped before the age of ten by their fathers. Girls raped by their boyfriends, strangers, other relatives. Horrible rapes they led to beatings, with their attackers leaving them for dead. Sad tales told by sadder women. I guess I’m supposed to relate and take something from their survival and apply it to my own shitty life.
Whatever.
I hate these women went through what I went through. Don’t nobody deserve that. But your life experience ain’t my life experience. Sitting here, hurting my ass while listening to one hard luck story after another just doesn’t seem to be helping me. I had a hard days work and Slayed tonight. What I need is a bubble bath, dinner, and a foot massage by my man. What I don’t need is to sit in The Depression Room, hungry as hell, feeling my ass go flat in this uncomfortable chair.
I still can’t get a good nights sleep.
Xander and I still haven’t banged the Gong. And I still can’t even remotely get aroused.
I’m broken and I wonder how long before Xander realizes it and decides I’m not worth the trouble. Almost two full months of sleeping next to your nude girlfriend and he can’t even get a BJ out of the deal. Bringing your girlfriend to a rape victims support group on a Friday night is far from living it up.
And yet here he is.
So I’m here as well.
The first time we came I was only able to stay about thirty minutes. I just couldn’t keep hearing the stories. Some were vastly worse than mine, especially since my body healed within 48 hours. Unfortunately, some of these girls needed surgery, were in the hospital for weeks, and were terrified about pregnancy and diseases. Yeah, I had to concede I didn’t have it as bad as some.
The second time I came Xander and I stayed about ninety minutes. We listened to one woman talk about being raped over and over throughout her marriage for several years. Even sometimes in front of her small children. For a pack of cheap smokes I would have killed the motherfucker myself. She is now a hot shot investment banker after having gotten the courage to get away from the bastard, who was eventually killed in a drunken driving accident. She talked specifically about the months after she left her husband, and how she began setting goals that led her back to where she wanted to be.
She is one hell of a survivor, but then so was I. My first sexual experience involved rape. So was my second. I was scared, hurt, bleeding, and worried that my mom wouldn’t even believe me when I told her about what happened.
She didn’t.
She loved Heroin more than she loved me.
Whatever. I’m grown now. Can’t change shit.
That second time going to the support group meeting, I can’t say I really got anything out of it. I mean, if talking helps some people cope, cool. That’s them. But for me, seeing how well you’re doing after your attack isn’t helping me deal with mine. All this mumbo jumbo about getting on with your life, trusting yourself again, trusting your body and your heart. Whatever. As long as I had Xander, he was all the support I needed.
Then, well, it kinda struck me. What they were saying to do, was what I was doing. Everything isn’t about sex. For me, it is, but not really in life. I constantly focused on my nightmares and the fact that I hadn’t taken Xander to paradise. I didn’t focus on how when it rained I didn’t feel sick anymore after a month. Or how I’ve had a few drinks in the past two weeks and thought nothing of it. Or how easily I can tell Xander that I love him. Even did it in front of B and Willow the other day.
Still, these meetings are wasting my time.
So here I am, another Friday night, listening to some black chick discuss her gang rape and how she can’t have children now because of it. Despite all that she managed to find love again, and with a man who was cool with her not being able to have kids.
Now she’s talking about how she broke the news to her friends and family about the rape. It happened at a bar. She had lost her job, had one to many drinks, and danced with one to many guys that night. Four guys all took turns on her on a dirty bathroom floor. Afterwards, they took her purse and told her if she called the cops they would find her and slit her throat from ear to ear. She went straight to her parents house, called her brothers, told them everything. They took her to the hospital, gathered evidence, and sent all four of those guys away for twenty years. She even said that if they all survive and one day get out of jail she wouldn’t even change her phone number. They were welcome to come find her. She wasn’t afraid and wasn’t gonna live like it.
Good!
Good for her.
Telling people about what happened to me isn’t something I am comfortable with. Xander figured things out on his own. He told Buffy. No one else knows. I’d know if they did. They don’t.
I actually have a few people I count as good friends now. Angel, Buffy, and Xander are givens. But Willow, because of how close Xander and her are, being a package deal as Kennedy put it, has honestly turned out to be pretty damn cool. She even stops by my place unannounced sometimes. We chit-chat about Xander and gossip and shit. She cares about me and I can tell.
Dawn is my kid sister. That’s really all there is too it. I fucked up so much in my teen years that I refuse to let her fuck up. I give her hardcore advice about school, sex, and men. No sugar coating shit. And she loves me for it. Even if it’s scary sometimes.
Giles treats me like an adult and a equal. He talks to me, not down, but to me and I need that. He also genuinely gives a damn about me. He asks about work, me and Xander, even if I even need help balancing my bills and stuff like that. He’s a good guy. Stuffy as hell at times, but a good guy.
I could tell them.
I….
Fuck, haven’t I looked stupid enough for one lifetime? Haven’t I fucked up enough and should be allowed hide all further fuck ups? I’m so sick of pity I want to strangle someone.
Good thing I can think that and not say it. Xander and I would get into another huge argument about me blaming myself for the rape. He’d yell. I’d punch a whole in the wall, throw him out my apartment, then cry in the shower like I did last week. I don’t need that right now, thank you very much.
Xander doesn’t think it was my fault.
Apparently none of the women in this support group feel it was their fault. Well that’s them. I fucked up and I got… I was… I could have been smarter… Faster… I could have called the others… Fucking stupid ass Faith and her fucking ego… Now I can’t sleep, can’t fuck my guy… Probably can’t keep him…
“I love you, baby.”
Fresh outta my self-depreciating tirade comes Xander. He does that sometimes, telling me how he feels out of the blue. Calling me his baby. I’ve never been anyone’s baby before. I hate endearments, but I love his. I love him. He deserves better, but I just can’t let him go. Everyone here is with someone, but I wonder how many are here with the person they are in love with, much less the very first person they have ever been in love with.
I admit I kinda crushed on B a bit back in the old days. I might of fingered her if we had ever got that far, just to be doing it and shit. I’m Bi-curious, but haven’t munched the carpet. Angel was a hottie, but he was a means to get to Buffy. Xander though, Xander’s all ice cream and money to me. Nothing but the good stuff.
He believes in me when I don’t believe in myself. He’s told me time and again that nothing Rainman did was my fault, and that nothing that happened that night would ever hold me back from experiencing everything life had to offer. I don’t believe these poeple here because I don’t know them. But I believe Xander and he believes in what they are saying.
Vocally, I have not even told Xander about the rape in any real detail. In the pamphlets I’ve read they speak about the sheer empowerment of confessing what happened to you out loud. About not hiding it, or being ashamed. And I am so ashamed at what I allo… at what Rainman did to me.
I take chances every day. With my life, and now my heart with Xander. Maybe it’s time I kick started my life by doing something I am afraid to do. Doing something I absolutely do not want to do. Something I’m not even sure I 100% believe in.
Xander is surprised when I rise to my feet, step past him in the aisle, and make my way toward the podium. My knees are shaking and I know my voice will follow. But I can do this. And maybe…just maybe…
I need to do this.
“Uhm, hi. I’m not to good at this, so bear with me. My name is Faith, and I was raped two months ago…..”
~~~~~~~
Each time your kind and gentle and encouraging. Each time you try to understand because you really care. My heart begins to grow wings. Very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings. With your power to touch me, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that. I want you to know how important you are to me, and the person I choose to be. You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble. And you alone can help remove the masks. Please do not pass me by. It will not be easy. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands…but gentle hands. For the child is very sensitive and very much in need…very much in need.
Author Unknown
~~~~~~~
1700 South 14th Ave.
Xander’s apartment
Thursday, July 25, 2004 11:30 PM
Sunnydale, Ca
Fresh from the shower, I walk barefoot out of Xander’s bathroom and into his living room. My steps are light, as if a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I feel cleaner, and if it makes any sense, saner than I have in quiet some time.
That’s saying a lot for me, cause I ain’t the poster girl for sanity.
Just over an hour ago, after my nightly patrol, I strolled into B’s house. I told her, Willow, Dawn, Giles, and Kennedy about my rape. I didn’t decide on tonight for any special reason, nor had I been planning on telling them. What I did in the rape support group a few weeks ago stayed there. I don’t feel obligated to do anything, and I didn’t feel obligated to tell the Scoobies what happened.
I did anyway.
Why?
Cause it was time. It was as simple as that. I’m sick and tired of secrets. They don’t cause anything but trouble, always come out eventually anyway, and you can never control things after that.
Control, you see. That’s what I wanted. That is what I have. I sat down with my friends tonight. No, my family. And I told them everything. And I mean everything that happened in stark detail. Yeah, there was some crying, though not by me. I held my shit, answered questions, took the hugs and well wishes, bit my tongue when I wanted to yell for them to suck it up already, and accepted the love they were offering me.
So now they know.
Rainman raping me is not going to rule my life. Everything I do, say, feel, express, enjoy, begin, and end will not be affected by what happened to me that night.
I got rid of some baggage this evening. I still carry…will always carry with me what happened, but it’s not going to rule my life. I’m gonna file it under Truly-Fucked-Up-Experience, learn from it, accept it for what it was, and move on.
I spot Xander on the couch watching ESPN, catching up on the days MLB baseball scores. He’s got a bottle of wine and two glasses already set out on the inn table. “You trying to get me drunk, Xander?”
He smiles as soon as he sees me and I am entirely to used to the way that makes me feel. I love the way he looks at me. I feel like I’m his and that he is proud of that fact. I’ll never be able to express what that means to me. “It’s called celebrating, honey.”
I’m kissing him before we say another word. I’ve got him down on the couch, I’m on top of him, and his tongue is being sucked by a tongue sucking expert. He’s got his hands squeezing the booty I know he wants so bad.
We still haven’t done the deed. I’m getting there, though. Slowly, but surely I’m feeling Faith come back. I’m getting that good down low tingle again, and one of these days, and soon, I’m gonna rock my boyfriends world.
Until then, I’m gonna enjoy some things I should have when I was younger. Instead of always hopping in and out of beds with guys for no reason other than I was bored, or they bought the drinks, or I just needed the release, I find myself enjoying the simple pleasure of kissing a man who loves me.
Who sincerely loves me.
I finally went to the doctor two weeks ago and was prescribed some sleeping pills. Nothing too strong, but they’ve been helping me a great deal. I have actually told Xander to go home a few nights so that I stop using him as a crutch when I can’t sleep. I need to be the master of my own comfort. He knew that and did as he was told.
That boy has so many long slow swallowing-at-the-end blow jobs coming for all the shit he’s put up with concerning me it ain’t even funny. He’s been my rock on so many bad nights I couldn’t begin to count them all. His patience with me boggles the mind. I guess he just loves me that much to stay through all he has.
Our make out session lasts long enough for me to feel Xander’s most important ‘Construction Tool’ throb against my stomach. He shifts away from me, embarrassed and hoping to not make me feel pressured. I crawl up his body and cover him completely. “Got a hard-on, huh?”
“Uhm yeah.”
“Sucks huh?”
“Do you have to use the word sucks?”
“Blows?”
“You’re not helping, Faith.”
“Would me fucking you help?”
He just smiles, looking away, and throbbing more. Men and their dicks….funniest duo ever!
“I still got issues, baby.” Yeah, I call him that sometimes. Only in private, but I do.
His eyes tell me he understands. “I’m in no rush.”
“You are horny as hell,” I laugh in his face, then rock back on his lap. Hey, I like torturing guys. That shit cracks me up. “I don’t know when I’m going to be ready.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He can read my mind at times. My insecurities are not hidden to him. I wish that wasn’t the case. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course.”
Pulling away from the sexual talk, I sit up, pulling him with me. “I cannot ever thank you enough for all you’ve done for me in the last three months.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Faith. And you also can’t give me all the credit. You pulled yourself back up. And you’ll continue to do that.”
“Your dick’s still hard.” He looks down, shrugs, smiles, then pulls a throw pillow in his lap. “Sorry, I notice that stuff.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m here. I’m breathing. I’m fighting. And I’m not gonna stop.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“The rape wasn’t my fault. Not in any way.” I say it finally, and believe it for myself. It’s not just because I know he wanted to hear those words from my mouth.
“Are you sure?”
I was right on the money. “Yeah, I am.”
“You’re a strong woman, Faith. And I love you with all my heart.”
“All that sweet talk isn’t gonna get you any pussy tonight.”
“You’re killing me tonight, baby.”
“No, I’m loving you. And I’m loving me.”
Wine is poured and consumed. All of it, till he’s stumbling a bit and we’re laughing for no good reason at all. At some point he’s dancing around with the lamp shade on his head, singing some old Prince song. I know I’m topless, just shaking my Pom-Poms all over the place.
No, we didn’t finish the night making slow sweet love.
We got drunk. Good and drunk, and fuck, I needed that. So did he.
I fell asleep on the floor, while he fell asleep sitting up in his recliner. We both had to drag ourselves to work the next morning. It was fun though. No complaints from this Slayer. I had a blast.
I have never loved anything in the world as much as I love Alexander Harris. I told him that while standing next to him at a food cart on our lunch break. It’s no often we get assigned to the same site at work. But we were today. He looked around, making sure we had a little privacy, then kissed me right there. Yeah, we were both kinda dusty, and not exactly April Fresh. Nonetheless, that kiss rocked me down to my boots. Tonight could be the night….
I survived nine rapes, almost three years in prison, and numerous attempts on my life. I’ve done all of that with a drug addicted mother and a father who wasn’t ever around. I have made so many mistakes. Horrible mistakes in fact. I’m a murderer. I know that. Live with it. Will die with it one day.
But not today.
No matter what has been thrown at me, no matter how bad things have gotten, or will get someday, I know I’ll be okay. I kick ass, I don’t take shit, and I deal with whatever comes head on.
How?
Because I am a survivor.
The End