"Hey, Little Girl"
Author: Starla
Email: Starla@Buffymail.com
//Well
it seemed like yesterday...
when the world was looking dark,
it felt so cold and grey.
And why the hell am I even here?
What's the purpose,
all I feel is guilt and hate and fear
Til that day you came along...
My heart was empty
like the soul was missing from a song...
and I thought I'd loved a few
no one ever made me feel
the way that you do//
A year ago, two years ago, I was alone. I had no friends, no family...just enemies. And even those couldn't really be bothered with me any more. I was pathetic...a shell of a man...alone, with my guilt, alone with my anger.
Just alone.
I wasn't expecting you. I wasn't expecting anything. I survived a life that wasn't really a life, just a routine...not even that. It was just an existence, prowling the alleys, lamenting my departed family, my friends...Wishing that I could change the fact that I'd invited them over for dinner, then had them as the first course... and then had their wives for dessert.
Not really the best of manners, I suppose...
Oh, yeah. That's the thing I should be dwelling on...the fact that I forgot my 18th century etiquette. Uh huh. Yep.
I sound like you. You do that to me, you know? You rub off on me. I'm not saying that's a bad thing or anything...it's sorta...nice. You redirect my focus, and while it doesn't go away, while I can't get rid of this guilt that plagues me, you...you make it easier. You make it lighter.
You make everything lighter.
I've been with you for what... 3 months now? More? I don't know...I stopped counting it all long ago...Time passes differently for me now... Now that I'll live for an eternity. For a long time, all I counted was how many decades had passed, rather than months or days, if I counted it at all.
You, you probably know down to the very last second how long it's been since we met. Time is important to you; I've seen it. You hoard watches, diaries, calendars...desperately trying to keep records of your time here, knowing that one day time will run out.
Recently, being with you, I've found myself doing it too. I bought a calendar, a clock... so I know how much time passes. I want to remember every moment with you, and not in the blurry, 'did that really happen?' way that I've developed since I regained my soul. You, and my years as a killer. The only things I can recall with complete clarity.
Both things that hurt... in completely different ways. I love you, so much...more than life, more than unlife, more than blood... and that hurts.
Because one day, you'll be gone, and I won't be.
What will I do then? Will it be back into that fathomless sea of guilt, so suffocating, somehow, in it's stark emptiness?
Can I really go back there, now that I know what this - what life with *you*- is like?
How is it that I, of all people came to sit, here, in a dark, cold cemetery, with the sunshine cuddled into my arms? Me. Darkness personified. The man without a tan.
Okay, that was lame...If you could hear me, you'd be laughing.
You giggle, and I look up, a little panicked... You can't have heard me, I'm talking to you in my head for god sake's...I feel like a fool when you kiss my nose and giggle again.
"I know that my day at school wasn't that interesting, but you could probably make some *pretence* of listening!"
My eyes widen...You were talking? How could you be talking, without me even noticing? I'd hear the sound of your voice if I were surrounded by a million Cordelia's, jabbering on about Barbie cars with leather interiors, or something...
"I'm...I'm sorry," I said, my eyes wide, almost stammering (I can't believe I'm stammering. Me. I never stammer. This is all your fault.), "I didn't mean to- I mean, I suppose I just got distracted, and- You know I always like to hear about your day..."
There's a glint in your eye, though, that I recognize... and then you start to laugh, tightening your arms around me, the tinkling sound of your laughter buried in my neck, my cheek...
A part of me worries that you're having some kind of psychotic fit due to my distraction, but the more sensible, clear headed part, realises that you were having me on.
"That was mean," I say, mock seriously, "I'm not talking to you now."
I turn my face away, trying not to focus on your breath stirring against my neck. Instead I read the names and dates on the markers, trying not to let the wave of sadness show as I wonder how many of those people died at the hands of vampires that I created. There'd be one at least, but the likelihood is that there are more.
I forget all about it as you let out a shriek of frustration, obviously not feeling like playing the silence game.
I am normally the one who submits in this silence thing. You're too good at it, and you always manage to look completely adorable while you're at it too.
Which was why I wasn't looking at you.
You giggle again, and kiss me when I turn to my head to finally look at you again, your lips, so warm, so soft, smelling faintly of chocolate and tasting strongly so, are brushing against mine, willing me to talk to you, but really, if you keep on kissing me, I don't care if I ever speak another word. Words be damned, this is all I need.
All I'll ever need...
You pull away from me then, looking innocently into my eyes, and then around for a moment - blinking, as if you'd forgotten where we where- and then back into my eyes, lifting a hand to my chest, sliding it down my stomach, stroking the silk of my shirt...and you lean over and press your lips to the base of my throat, just below my Adam's apple, your fingers slipping under my shirt to caress my skin.
You do this occasionally, but every time you do, I am a little shocked by how warm your fingers are, how small your hands are.
They're stroking my stomach now, almost teasingly wandering a little lower...lower than you'd ever gone before, when you'd nervously kept your hands *above* my belly button... and now you're looking into my eyes, blushing a little as your hand slips along the waistline of my jeans, playing with the button a little, not doing anything, just playing...with this little innocent smile on your face, and a lock of hair falling across your eyes...
"Buffy...."
I can't help myself from groaning out your name...you always do this to me, you make me dizzy with the desire for you, even though you know what we won't go any further... not here, not now...I won't let you...
It's not right, not yet. Even though I want to...and you want to (I'm not even going to go into how that makes me feel, but the words 'proud', 'pleased', and 'petrified' definitely come into it somewere')...It's just not right yet.
I'm a hopeless romantic, I'll admit it, and I'm waiting for the perfect moment. I don't want it to be like it was with the other women I've...been intimate with...(I can't seem to use the word 'fuck' or any of it's synonyms when it comes to you... If I was just referring to you, yes, no problem...I *fucked* them. But you...you're different...I can't bear the thought of me, or anyone else doing something as shallow and meaningless as 'fucking' you... Okay, especially not anyone else.) I want it to be slow, and loving , and tender, and I want you to be comfortable. I don't want it to be a quick roll between the headstones, or a quiet affair with your mother in the next room...It'll happen, because we just have to have it happen...
I'm almost babbling. This is what you do to me.
You look down at me, this grin on your face that makes me go all hard and soft at the same time... This happy, victorious grin that makes you look wild and innocent all at once...
"I win," You grin, smiling proudly, laughing. "You spoke first."
You push on my arms, pressing my back against the grass and sort of half lying across me, leaning your head on my chest, and all I can do is laugh.
How on Earth did I end up here?
//Hey
little girl, look what you do,
oh, I love you...
Hey little girl look what you do...//
The End