I look back at all the times I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve said something different: when Xander wouldn’t stop berating me for not killing Angel, when everyone ganged up on me when I got back from my summer away, when Angel decided to leave me so I could have a "normal life" (how’s it looking now, Angel? Worth breaking my heart over?), when all of us turned on each other at Spike’s direction—so many times.

I should’ve shoved the truth in their faces. I should’ve used this wit I’m so good with when it doesn’t matter a damn and cut through all the bullshit. But no, I keep coming out with "You don’t understand." And "It wasn’t like that" and "You don’t know what I’ve been through." Of course they don’t care. It’s weak and it’s whiny and it sounds like I’m making an excuse.

But why did it have to happen now? Now, when a reasoned, logical argument mattered more than anything else in the world?

I have it all in my head. It’s all logical. It all makes sense, and isn’t dependant on my feelings, because Giles has hardened himself to them. He thinks he has to hurt me to help me. Tough love.

"Giles," I should have said. "You keep talking about my mother. How she did it all without benefit of super powers, how she’s taught me everything I need to know about life. Do you know what my mother did have benefit of, Giles? A college education. Alimony. Child support payments. Ownership of an art gallery. I’m not even qualified to be a secretary, Giles. Even if I could get a job, I’d lose it almost instantly because I’d either miss work for something demon-related, or something will come after me at work. I’ll never work construction in Sunnydale again, remember?"

"I can’t afford this house, Giles, and I can’t afford Dawn. I’ll never say it like that in her presence, but it’s the truth. When I ran away that summer, I only had to take care of myself, and I lived in a tiny efficiency. By myself."

"And how about taking care of Dawn?" I should have continued. "I’m not an authority figure to her. I never have been. I’m her bossy older sister. She Who Must Be Resisted. She needs a real adult, a real authority figure, because having her Bossy Older Sister, the one she remembers cutting classes and getting sucky grades, telling her to do her homework isn’t even a good joke."

If I’d said all of that, Giles might still be here. He might realize that there are very real reasons that I need his help, and that my "growing up" isn’t really a factor here.

Instead, I came out with the guilt trip and the "what I’ve been through"—just what he was expecting and braced for, in other words—and he’s on a plane for England.

I remember a phrase from French class. It means "spirit of the stairs". It means when you think of the exact right thing to say later. After it’s all over and the right thing doesn’t help you.

I should make it my motto. It’s the story of my life. Every important thing I’ve ever said, I’ve said on the way down the stairs.

end

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