SUMMARY: Pre Anne. Buffy's POV on her life now out of Sunnydale. Her life without Angel. Written for The 144 Fic Challenge. Angst.
TIMELINE: Pre Season Three of Buffy.
DISTRIBUTION: Anyone who has my stuff, feel free, anyone else, ask. I promise not to say no.
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: All Joss Whedons.

I don't breathe. Sometimes I feel like I'm on a machine and it's helping me move on with my life. I feel like my heart doesn't beat and my mind doesn't think. It's almost like I walk around the dark streets of LA like a zombie. I can't help it, but it's how it is for me. I just don't feel anything, expect the pain.

Tears well up in my eyes as I scrunch myself in a ball on the stiff mattress with the pale sheets. The bed is small and the sheets are thin but I never feel the heat and I never feel the cold. All I feel is the pain. The pain that dwells in my stomach and roars in my brain. It whispers to me in night and stalks me in the day. And it take all power some night not to shove pills down my throat or hang myself in my dusty bathroom shower. Nothing seems worth it anymore, nothing ever seemed worth it anymore, not since he was gone.

I breathe heavily and I feel myself start heave. I do this sometimes when I think about him to much. The light reflects against the window and I don't see how the world can just move on without him, without me. I swallow harshly and try to think of better things but all I can think about is he. How I told him I loved him. How I took the sword that I had stolen from his home, and shoved it into his side. The way the blood had risen around his stomach, the way he had called out for me to take him back, and all I did was stare in horror at what I had done. I had done this, me, the woman that had loved him. The women he had loved had kill him with his own sword because the stupid world needed saving. A sob rises in my throat and I shut my eyes hard and wish it to go away. I can't cry now.

I breathe deeply and keep my eyes closed in a relaxed manner and I remember those times when we used to walk hand in hand in the cemetery and he would just stare at me as if I was something of importance's. Like I made a difference in the world. Like I was the most important thing in the world, to him. I choke back a sob when I remember how he had kissed me once against a statue of an Angel and told me all he saw in the future was me. I remember how I had come home and had hugged Mr. Gordo happily and had written Buffy and Angel 4ever a million times in my history notebook.

It doesn't really make since in my head what happened. One thing I know is that I was ready to kill him, kill his body, and move on. To tell him my final goodbye and then suddenly he had come back to me. Angel, the Angel that I had loved had come back to me. I never thought it possible, I didn't expect it to happen, he was back, the portal started to open, and I didn't know what to do. And Whistler's voice started drifting in my ear and Angel stood there with such a confused look on his beautiful face that all I had wanted to do was just kiss it away and tell him everything was going to be alright. But I couldn't because the end of the world was starting and the only way to stop it was to kill my hero. I had stood there in front of him and told him I loved him and then I killed him. Just like that, as if it was a simple thing and the look in his eyes when he felt the cold metal of the sword punch through him. He still had trusted me. He still had loved me even if I killed him. Because I could read him and I could see he still loved me even though I had killed had him.

I dream of him every night and think about what happened. I know what happened and I repeat the whole thing in my mind every sundown. It's my fault, I know that now. I know I should never have made Angel make love to me on my birthday even though I knew it would have happened eventually. But I never should have pushed him into doing it. I should have trusted my mother and told her about my secret. And the one thing that knew more then anything when I look back at it now is that I never should have trusted Xander.

I don't think about my friends in Sunnydale much. I know I abandoned the Hellmouth but something inside of me really doesn't care. I don't have the pressure of what might happen. I don't have to slay vampires anymore because I'm finally that normal girl that is on her own. I don't have to listen to peoples problems and listen to how the world might end in the next few minutes. But really the fact of the matter is I'm glad I don't need to wake up everyday and know it might be my last day.

It's quiet here in my brain, it has been for a while. Everything is always quiet, even though in the city it's always loud and the lights and traffic of LA is always noisy, it always seems to be quiet inside my head. Some days I wish I had noise and people yelling at me so I can fell my head up with anything. But most of the time, I'm thankful for the fact that everything is so quiet. Then I don't need to think about the fact that I'm a slayer, and I had killed the man I had loved.

I'm bitter now, some could say but I just live my life like any other person. I'm normal now. I've always wanted to be on my own and I am. I'm not complaining nor will I ever. I chose this life, I knew what would happen if I left Sunnydale. I knew I would be on my own and live the life I always wanted. Disappointing as it might be, it's still what I've always wanted. Not to be the slayer.

Some nights, I feel more alone than others. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning after dreaming about him and he isn't next to me, holding me, I feel this chocking feeling side of me. Then when everything is right and I can think clearly, I know that the reason he is not with me is that I sent him away. He could have been sitting with me in this dimly lit apartment room but he is not. He is in some foreign place where I cannot reach him. Some dimension where everything is pain and suffering and the worst thought of all, is the fact that I sent him there.

I get up gingerly from my bed and I walk slowly around the cramped room. I pick up the red and white waitress outfit that smells like alcohol and dirt. I slowly slip it onto my filthy body and walk slowly to mirror that stands at the end of the room. I look away at my reflection and can't help the small shudder that takes over my body. I look like a homeless person and I know I am. I might have a room, and food and clothes but I'm homeless because my mother kicked me out and my friends don't want me.

I choke back a sob and try to stay calm. I've stayed calm for so long, not once have I cried. Not once have I let my emotions take over me. The only time that ever happens is when I go into my sleep and meet him, see his beautiful face, and listen as he tells me he is all right and he will always love me. I smooth the outfit I'm wearing from the dust that is not there, grab my shoes, and put them on.

I grab hold of a brown purse, which holds my keys and walk slowly out of my room. I walk down the gray hallways and my feet slap against the plastic stairs as I go from one to the other; I know that nothing is ever going to be the same. Nothing is going ever going to the same compared to what things were ever like. Without him, it's not worth it. It's just all too simple.

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