Buffy Summers-Donovan pushed a long strand of her golden hair behind her ear as she leaned over a pool of water mixed with shards of glass.
“Fuck,” she hissed as her finger slipped against a sharp edge. Blood bubbled to the surface of her skin. She sucked on the cut while pulling out a rag.
Gingerly, Buffy wiped up the spilt water, carefully skirting around the pieces of glass. Then she delicately picked up the individual large shards and tossed them into the garbage.
Taking out the dustbin, Buffy brushed the remanding slivers of glass up, dumping them into the garbage. Finally, she stood up and studied the floor, looking for missed pieces.
Satisfied, Buffy put the garbage under the sink along with the dustbin. She glanced over at the clock, frowning slightly. It was nearly 8:00; Angel was supposed to be home almost an hour ago.
Walking over to the phone, Buffy picked it up, dialing her husband’s cell phone number. Her call was instantly forwarded to voicemail. She listened to Angel’s voice and the beep.
“Hi, it’s me. I was just wondering where you are. Call me back, okay? It looks like it’s gonna storm,” she paused, “I love you.”
She pressed the END button and placed the phone back in its receiver. Buffy wandered over to the kitchen table and stared out the window.
The sky was ominously cloudy and dark and thunder rolled in the distance. A shiver traveled up her spine. She hated storms. Always had. Her mother had been the bravest person she’d ever known, but as soon as the thunder started, she’d wake Buffy up and they’d huddle together inside the car safely in the garage.
Buffy sniffled slightly and stood up, pulling her hair back. It was just the storm; it was making her feel all kinds of weird.
She went over to the sink and started washing the small pile of dishes she hadn’t gotten to last night. Scrubbing hard, Buffy let her mind go, drifting off. It was better this way sometimes, not to think about anything.
After what felt like hours later, the phone rang loud over the soft radio. Buffy jumped and set her dish down, rushing over to answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“’lo,” a voice said. It was male, unfamiliar and accented. “Angel there?”
“No,” Buffy replied, leaning against the counter. “Who is this?”
“An old friend of his from St. James. Who the bloody hell is this?” The man was clearly agitated.
“I’m Buffy Summers-Donovan. His wife,” Buffy answered, stressing the last two words.
The man let out a chuckle. “Right. Nice to meet you. Tell the hubby Spike called, yeah?”
“Fine,” Buffy said shortly and hung up the phone. Never had talking to one person for such a short period of time irritated her this much.
Well, she thought, whoever this Spike guy was, he was obviously not that close to Angel.
Pushing the thoughts of the rude caller away, Buffy went upstairs into her bedroom where her papers were scattered over the little nightstand. She carefully arranged them into a neat pile and sat on the edge of the bed. She flipped through the papers, skimming over the words.
It was a story that she’d written five years ago for her creative writing class in her sophomore year of college. A pang of regret startled her as she continued reading.
Buffy had dropped out after her fifth semester when her mother got sick, and then she’d met Angel. He’d been her savior, her rock and her best friend while her mother struggled with her brain tumor.
Two months after her mother had died, Angel had proposed and Buffy had accepted. She’d saw no need to go back to school since then, but now…maybe she should.
Stuffing the story into the nightstand drawer, Buffy pulled off her sweaty running clothes and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on hot. She stepped in, letting the water stream into her eyes, nose and mouth. After a few moments, Buffy picked up the shampoo and conditioner, scrubbing her hair to squeaky-clean perfection.
A half hour later, she stepped out feeling lighter and cleaner. She stood in front of the mirror with a fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and combed out her long hair.
Staring back at her in the mirror was a small, relatively thin blonde with long hair, dark eyes and perpetually golden skin. She was pretty, wholesome-looking, but not extraordinarily beautiful.
Buffy leaned forward, her breath steaming the mirror slightly. She examined her face, looking for any blemishes. A little pimple on her chin and another on her forehead.
Her funny-looking nose scrunched up in annoyance, and she applied some spot treatment on the two pimples. She and Angel were attending some function for his office, and there was no way she was sitting with the trophy wives with pimples.
Buffy slipped on her bathrobe, forgoing any underwear. She let her hair dry naturally in soft waves down her back. She was too lazy to dry it right now.
She walked back downstairs, her feet pitter-patting on the hard wood floor. Her eyes slid from shadow to shadow, and once again she wondered where Angel was.
The kitchen clock told her it was a quarter to nine. She picked up the phone again, dialing Angel’s cell phone number. And once again, she was sent to his voice mail. Angry, Buffy dialed his work number, getting the same response.
“Where is he?” She asked the empty house as she hung up the phone. She curled herself up on the leather couch watching the lightening and rain.
The radio was playing a song, she didn’t know what it was, but it was soft and slow and bittersweet. Her eyes stayed trained on the storm, she tried to stop worrying, stop thinking.
It wasn’t working.
Buffy stood up again and went into the kitchen, grabbing the wine and a wine glass. It was her favorite with swirls blue glass on the stem. She poured a chardonnay into the glass and took a sip.
Before she’d met Angel, she’d never been much of a drinker. A little sip of beer here another sip of wine there. But after her third date with Angel, she realized he liked having wine at dinner or a drink late at night. It’d seemed so sophisticated of him at the time that Buffy would always have a glass with him. Now it was a force of habit, and the bitter flavor had grown on her.
A loud knock at the door startled Buffy, and she set her glass down quickly before answering the door.
She opened it a crack to see two uniformed officers standing there, wet from the rain.
“Mrs. Donovan?” The taller one asked.
“Yeah,” Buffy answered, her brow furrowed.
“Your husband is Angel Donovan?” He asked, glancing down at a notepad in his hand.
Buffy could feel her stomach sloshing, her pulse racing. “Yeah, he is. Is something wrong?”
The second police officer stepped forward. “Mrs. Donovan, your husband was in a car accident on Main Street. His injuries are very severe. They’ve taken him to Sunnydale General-“
“What?” Buffy rasped, her head woozy. She couldn’t think, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “What happened?”
“Ma’am,” the first police officer said clearly, “your husband was in an accident and they’ve taken him to Sunnydale General, we’ll give you a ride.”
Buffy blinked rapidly. “Let me just…” she glanced down at her robe. “Change. I have to change. I’m wearing a robe.”
“Okay,” the shorter officer said with a calm voice. “We’ll wait right here.”
Buffy nodded and turned to run upstairs. Tears blurred her vision as she threw on a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans while sliding her feet into a pair of slip-ons.
She walked back down and took her purse off the table where she’d left it hours ago. “Okay, I-I’m ready,” she said to the officers.
They led her outside and into the police car. Her mind raced with worry and fear. Was Angel going to be okay? She hugged herself as thick tears rolled down her face.
They pulled up to the Emergency Entrance and helped Buffy out of the car. She let her feet guide her into the building and to the front desk.
“Name?”
“Buffy Summers-Donovan,” she said numbly. “My husband was…” She couldn’t say it. Tears threatened to fall again. She blinked and the tears became unstuck, falling freely.
The nurse took pity on her. “Donovan, right?”
Buffy could only nod.
The nurse flipped through the files. “Your husband was admitted twenty minutes ago. They’re operating on him now,” she looked up at Buffy. “Darling, is there anyone you need to call?”
Buffy swallowed, her eyes drifting shut. “Yes, my sister-in-law. I didn’t…I didn’t bring my phone.”
“There’s a payphone against the wall over there.” The nurse gestured and handed her a couple coins. Buffy followed her finger numbly.
“Okay, thank you,” she said stiffly and walked over to the phone. Everything ached, everything hurt. Her head pounded.
She dialed the number and slowly lifted the phone up to her ear. She answered on second ring.
“Yo?”
“Faith, it’s me, Buffy. Something’s happened, you have to come.” Buffy’s voice cracked pitifully.
“B? What happened?”
“Angel, he’s…he’s at Sunnydale General. Please come,” Buffy begged with hiccupping sobs.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be there in five minutes,” Faith said and Buffy could hear her moving. “Don’t hang up, okay? Stay with me.”
Buffy nodded her head, tears spilling over. “Okay.”
***************
Two hours later, Angel Liam Donovan was pronounced dead.
Buffy sagged against her sister-in-law, clutching her hand like a lifeline. Sobs racked her body and she pressed her palms against her eyes, trying in vain to stop the tears.
“B? Buffy?” Faith called, her own voice thick with tears. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“NO!” Buffy shook her head vehemently. “I can’t…I can’t go back there, not tonight, not now.”
“Okay, okay,” Faith said, holding the blonde. “You can stay with me, I have a pull out couch, no biggie. ‘kay?”
Buffy shivered and gave a tiny nod of understanding.
Together they managed to walk out of the hospital and to Faith’s old car. The rain was still falling, little drops biting her skin.
Buffy tilted her head up to the sky and closed her eyes. She was so tired and everything hurt.
She just wanted it to go away.
“Buffy…” Faith said softly, trying not to startle the blonde.
Buffy didn’t move, she just stood there, a perfect statue.
“Come on, B, we gotta go,” Faith urged as she wiped a rain mixed tear from her face.
What was she supposed to do? How could she go on without him?
The rain fell harder, but she just stood there, praying for it to wash the pain away.