Contact: slayage@hotmail.com
Feedback: It is *so* appreciated
Rating: PG – run of the mill angst
Author’s Note: Inspired by the Evanescence song “Bring Me To Life”
Spoilers: Season 6 (Or as I like to call it, season sex ; ))
Summary: Buffy’s POV as she is driven further into the darkness


//Wake me up inside.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run.
Before I come undone.
Save me from the nothing I've become//

“Bring Me To Life” - Evanescence


Some days I wish the world would swallow me whole.

Maybe then I’ll go back to that place I was in, where my mind was at peace and my body was at rest. Maybe then I’ll be able to feel something other than nothing, other than this numbness. But at the same time, it’s the pain that’s making me numb. How could I be in so much pain if I weren’t feeling anything? It doesn’t make much sense, I’m aware of that. But since I’ve been back I’ve finally realized how rarely life actually *does* make sense, so I don’t spend much of my miserable existence pondering it.

“Since I’ve been back.”

I can’t even say the word. Heaven. It’s still too raw. Too real. And of course none of them have any inkling of what I’m going through every second I’m awake, every second I sleep. I daydream of heaven, and as sleep takes me on rare occasion in the night, my dreams are haunted by it. You’d think dreams of heaven would be pretty sweet, but when you’ve actually been there and know that that’s where you’re supposed to be, waking up to this hell of a world is unbearable.

But I have to bear, right? I’m the Slayer. It’s what I do. Take the pain, endure the heartache, keep going. I’m a survivor.

So why do I wanna die?

I feel like some kind of horrible person for thinking that way, but it was my time. Did they hate me so much that they had to bring me back? Was it their revenge because they believed I dropped this hateful, violent world of demons and darkness into their laps?
What I feel now easily rivals the horrible feeling I constantly had in the pit of my stomach after Angel reverted to his former self. At the time, I thought no pain would ever compare to that heartbreak.

Then my Mom died, and I was forced to completely redefine the meaning of the word ‘pain’.

But what I feel now is so much worse, because I know that my mom is there, where I *should* be. With *her*. I miss her so much, more than I could possibly explain. Sometimes when I wake up from a nightmare I still call out for her, thinking back to my nights as a child when she would run into my room with her purple, velvet robe on and hug and rock me until my sobs ceased. She was the best mother anyone could ever ask for.

Sometimes I wish I could tell them all where I was. Maybe I could tell Dawny that I saw Mom. Maybe I could finally give my sister some peace of mind. Or maybe I just wish I could hurt my friends the way they hurt me.

I wish I could talk to Angel.

I wish he were here to hold me and make all the pain go away like he used to. Like he did for those few minutes when he stayed with me after my mother’s funeral. When his cold lips touched mine that night it set me on fire, temporarily melted the ice that had formed around my heart. But the second we separated the world came crashing down on me again, and I was left to face everything alone.

Always alone.

When I met with him that night, after I was brought back, I knew he was the only one that could make me feel something besides the agony my life brought. When my gaze locked with his, I was surprised to see that his eyes were not filled with the happiness and joy I hoped they would be filled with, but with sadness, grief. I felt like I was looking into a mirror.

He knew.

Before either of us spoke, I broke the excruciating silence by breaking into heart wrenching sobs. He caught me in his arms before I tumbled to my knees in front of him, and held me so tightly, like I would slip away from him forever if he let go.

He cried with me.

Neither of us said a word that night. Not one. And I was grateful. With Angel, words were not necessary. A simple glance, a whisper of each other’s scent, and we knew what the other was thinking, feeling. I didn’t have to waste any energy on giving him empty assurances like I did with Willow, Xander, and the others. He didn’t expect anything of me. He didn’t want to be reassured that I was all right. He knew I wasn’t.

So he held me.

But I broke the embrace after I could cry no more tears, and I realized the anguish I was causing him. I knew it wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to be some burden he had to bear. I didn’t want to shatter his façade of me as that strong fighter who never gave up, even when it seemed as though all hope was lost. I’m the one who told him that, aren’t I?

“Strong is fighting. It’s hard, and it’s painful, and it’s everyday. It’s what we have to do, and we can do it together.”

But we’re not together. So how can I be expected to fight? More importantly, *why* should I fight? How can I be expected to be strong? Without him, every second is a struggle for breath, and I’m defenseless against anything and everything the pits of Hell decide to throw at me. But I’m not his girl anymore, as much as I wish I were.

So I let him go.

I knew I could no longer run to him when things got rough, no matter how extreme the situation. Every time we see each other, the agony becomes that much more unbearable, and we have to face the impossibility of having any sort of life or future together all over again. So I placed a soft kiss to his sweet lips, my tears mixing with his.

And then I walked away. I didn’t look back.

I felt his eyes following me as my steps took me further and further away from him and ignored my own heart’s urgent plea to turn around. My skin itched with wanting him, with the need for release. It still does. It would be so easy to make this all go away, if only for a little while.

But I’m not his to bring back to life.

I’ll have to find another way.


FINIS