When I came to visit you
That's when I knew I could never have you
I knew that before you did
Still I'm feeling stupid, and there's this burning
Like there's always been
I've never been so alone

"Motorcycle Drive-By" – Third Eye Blind

I was never like one of those women. A slut. A whore. You know someone who goes to bars and picks up a random guy with a hot mouth to go down on her and take away the pain. I had alcohol for that and thank God, cause without vodka I think I would've gone crazy after he left me. The summer was muggy and the air shimmered with heat rolling in from the coast.

Every day my skin would quiver and sweat and I'd slip a drink down my throat before breakfast, eating my eggs with a soft grin and whirly eyes. Everything felt a little prettier in those first few weeks, because it didn't take a lot to get me happy. And then I had to drink more. And More. More, more, more. I kept a bottle underneath my bed, close to where I could reach down with my hand and find oblivion.

It wasn't as if I wanted to forget him… fuck it, I'm lying. I wanted to forget him more than I thought possible. I didn't eat ice cream and pizza and have Willow over for slumber parties either. There were no chocolate wrappers around my room, no tear stained Kleenex's that smelled of salt and heartbreak. I wouldn't let myself be such a weak bitch- not me, not Buffy and not ever.

I guess it just wasn't like me to be a coward. Someone who couldn't face her life without a guy. I'd had boyfriends before, and broken up with them and everything had been fine. I'd spun away from Pike in LA and never really given it a second thought… (so long, sweetheart), but of course he was different. Everything about us was different.

It was when I gave in and dialed the number in LA that things fell apart. That's when I first became that woman I didn't want to be. I heard his voice, soft, uncertain and confused and something twisted in my belly. I was lying on my bed at the time and I had to lean over and throw up into my garbage, because I was breathing too hard for my lungs to keep up and red dots appeared before my eyes. He didn't know I was puking, and kept saying, "Buffy? What's wrong? Why are you calling me?" in that Angel way he did.

I felt like millions of flies were buzzing around in my brain- the roaring in my ears was too much. Buzz. Buzz… and I hung up the phone, smashed it onto the cradle with all the strength in my little fingers. Mom had to call someone to fix it.

I got on for another week, with my rhythm of slay, sleep, slay, sleep… and then one night, late, as I listened to the whoop whoop of the ceiling fan, I picked up the damn phone and called him again. He was there- sleeping I think. He was on human time now I guess. That made me angrier than anything had in a while. I wondered what other habits he had acquired. He sounded tired and sleepy, and his voice sent a rush of heat and hatred down into my veins, bubbling into my heart like something sick and malignant.

"Buffy?" he questioned, as if I didn't have the right to call him anymore, and I guess I didn't… cause ex-girlfriends lose all the privileges.

"Yes?" I countered, and shifted, the sheets pure and white over me and around me. I wanted to scream but instead I just concentrated on the sound of him.

He sighed and it was beautiful. I was beginning to think everything about him struck me, shocked me—with it's gorgeousness lately, but maybe it was just the missing part. I missed him. "Why are you calling? What's wrong?"

What's wrong? Laughing, I pressed my face to my pillows and shook, tears running from my eyes like fountains and my stomach curling in on itself, cancerous and furious at his stupid, stupid questions. That I couldn't answer. "I miss you," I said instead and then bit my lip until I saw a tiny drop of blood drip onto the white crochet of my blanket.

He kind of breathed and then said, "I miss you too but—"

I wanted to ask why there was a but after that. How could there always be a "but…" as if missing me wasn't enough. There was always something more. He couldn't just end the sentence and give me that shred of him… something to gnaw over, hang onto—something to fill up the empty spaces yawning inside me. My lips stung and I realized I was worrying through them slowly with my teeth.

"Don't say but." I let that hang and then looked up at the ceiling, it was high and so far away I couldn't ever fathom it. Suddenly I wanted to see the sun and the sky and the blueness. I was so lost. "Can I just…" for a moment I faltered and to my dismay I felt the tears and heard them, "can I listen to you… sleep? Can we leave the line open?"

He was scared. I could feel his fear. He didn't want to slip into anything that might mean something with me again. Does he still love me? I wanted to ask that pathetic question and hope that he didn't choose to shatter me all over again- show me a glimpse of the kind of pain I had found exists. "Fine," he responded harshly. And then gentler, "I understand. It hurts me too."

I wanted to believe him but I found I couldn't, so I just lay down with the receiver against my ear and listened all night.

I didn't sleep.

That sustained me for a little while. Sort of like a fix. I kept drinking though. Every sunshine morning, I'd wake up and stretch, weigh myself, test the strength of my muscles, do some yoga and then slip my fingers underneath the bed, pouring the liqueur down my throat with a practiced hand. I was so hungry for it sometimes that I'd gulp and then gasp with the burn.

Everything got quiet. When I fought vampires, it was in slow motion, and all I'd feel was the dust and a primal surge, and it was done. I started to like staking them, because I could imagine it was him and it'd be good. Killing him was good. With the wood in my hand, I was the powerful one, I could crush things and laugh. (ha ha, you don't get to hurt me anymore from your ivory tower…) Even when I crawled into bed and my stomach opened up with desperate sobs, I didn't break again and call him.

It wasn't until one night at the Bronze. I was dancing, with tight pants on and a backless top that I thought was fashionable and together looking. I felt good and sexy and everything a girl should feel. So I danced and got looked at by boys and then, I thought I felt his eyes on me and jerked, glancing over at the far wall. I thought I could see his ghost- the way he'd always lurk on the outskirts of my life and stare.

For a second, my vision blurred and I stumbled, and a guy caught me and it was all wrong cause he wasn't Angel- he could never be Angel- so I screamed and fought- scratching him with long nails--- until I realized what I was doing and stopped abruptly, wiping the fresh tears from my cheeks. Everyone was staring and I looked around with vacancy, murmuring "Sorry, sorry" as I left.

The night air hit me as I walked out, and falling to my knees, I scraped my palms bloody against the pebbled ground. Sitting back slowly, I gazed down at the streaks of red coating my skin and felt the rush of dizziness blind me. I wanted to die. I wanted Angel. Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he doing what he was supposed to… standing there like midnight waiting to spirit me away?

I wanted him to take me away.

So I drove to LA. I guess it was a stupid move. But that was me- impulsive Buffy. Never thinking, just acting and everyone would say I didn't care who got hurt in the process. But I did. I truly did. I rammed that sword through Angel so everyone could live didn't I? I guess I always wondered how they didn't appreciate that gesture… I killed my lover- my first lover- for you… so you could breathe… say thanks, please. (I told him that I loved him and I kissed him and I killed him…) (Buffy, I think when it comes to Angel you can't see straight) I saw straight enough to kill him didn't I, Will? For you; so shut the fuck up.

Thoughts and moments raced behind my eyelids as I drove there and I wondered what I would say. I knew vodka wasn't going to cut it anymore. Just having the warm slide through my blood couldn't be enough for all the months that I could see stretched ahead of me like a ribbon- endless, neverland… third star to the right and straight on until eternity…

When I knocked on the door, I guess I was sort of exhilarated. I took that leap, Angel. See? I cared enough to find you out here in this wild city of palm trees and sand… the least you could do was care back. You could love me again. Couldn't you? He opened the door, and he was beautiful- more beautiful than even I remembered and oh god, my heart hurt.

Because I loved him.

He stared at me for a moment and then motioned for me to come in and I saw the flash of feeling in his eyes before he shuttered them to me. We walked downstairs into his new apartment and I saw his new office and his new kitchen and his new bed and the new sheets were rumpled. All the new-ness in his life. All the old-ness he had thrown away. Suddenly I felt terrifyingly in his past.

"Did something happen?"

I just looked at him and wanted to say, Yes, something happened, you left me, you bastard. So come back and pick up the pieces. Instead, I smiled and leaned against the wall. "No, I was just in town and decided to pop in… you know, visit."

He rubbed his forehead as it was giving him pain and tried to curve his lips into an answering grin, but nothing came. "Visit?" he echoed and sat down abruptly, the planes of his face shadowed.

"Yeah, you know," I babbled senselessly, "don't people visit? I felt like I should… I couldn't just ignore that you're in town…"

He stopped me with a raise of his hand and said, "Don't lie to me."

(You don't have to pretend with me, Buffy. Not ever)

"Lie to you?" I laughed and felt so stupid which I guess is something that I'd been feeling for a while.

He looked straight at me and remarked, "You're cold."

(You can take it)

"No I'm not," I denied and he got up, pulling off his sweater and tugging it down over my head. It was something he used to do, and as he did it, I choked back a moan or a sob or something to get out all the clenching pain tearing through my stomach. I stared at the buttoned down shirt he was wearing as he smoothed down the sweater over my arms and I smelled him and I felt like everything was falling apart again. He was taking me again- eating me up and spitting me out.

"Angel," I protested and it was so long since I'd said his name- that it came as a surprise and I forgot what I was going to say.

He stepped away and a strand of my hair caught on his sleeve, the sting lacerating through my scalp for a quick second and I felt sick, like I might throw up right there, all over the floor. I wanted a drink. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to climb inside him- arc myself around him because my skin as hurting without his hands. I wanted them against me so badly I felt faint.

Walking towards him with determined steps, I grasped his face between my fingers and he tried to struggle away but I used my strength and I pressed my lips to his and whimpered with the taste of him. He tried to get me away from his mouth, but I needed to hear him say yes, and I needed him to reassure me that he still loved me so I swept my tongue against him and clung and then I felt his response. He muttered and pulled me tight and he devoured me like he was starving and I almost laughed. Yes, I thought, you still… you still…

I pulled him down with me to the floor, and my head spun as I tasted his sweat and his skin and we tore our clothes and the hard floor dug into my back. My hands slipped and slid over his flesh and I thought I felt sicker still and I pushed him away. I rolled over and wondered what the matter with me was. His hand was on my shoulder and he whispered, "God, I'm sorry. Buffy?"

Why was he saying he was sorry? I pulled the sweater off and my shirt- which he unbuttoned- together, my nipples raw from his mouth—and stood up, my knees wobbly. "If you want to be sorry, Angel," I said bitterly and felt the hot sting of vomit at the back of my throat, "be sorry for the right thing. Be sorry for leaving me the fuck behind when you decided your life wasn't gonna be a part of the Sunnydale scene anymore. Be sorry for loving me so completely for three years that everything is blacker now. Be sorry that you turned evil and killed my Watcher's girlfriend. Be sorry that you fucked up my life… but don't be sorry for me kissing you."

He stared at me with something akin to regret and sorrow in his eyes, but he didn't make any move towards me. I was glad cause I think I would've done something. Something like maybe pulling him to the spinning floor again and finishing what we had started three years ago.

"I'm gonna go," I commented to him, my voice void. "I won't call again, don't worry."

He sighed and it didn't sound beautiful this time. It sounded weak. I felt as if everything was shattering around me and I couldn't control it. He looked up and then reached over, his thumb touching my palm. "I'm not sorry you called. I needed…" he paused and seemed to think about what he was saying, "I needed to hear your voice."

"Listen closely then," I snarled and couldn't feel anything but fury. He looked bleak and leaned back, his finger still tracing the patchwork of scars on my palms, where I have wounded them so many times in battle. "Cause this is the last time you'll hear it. The. Last. Time."

He stood up and cupped my cheeks in his hands and for a moment, a breathless moment, he was Angel again. Not a stranger. No, he was Angel, the one that lurked and watched and made me feel like I was worth something. "It'll never be the last time, Buffy. Never. I won't let you go forever."


Something cold, like ice but even worse, lodged in my middle, knotting me and burning me and making me slap him, as hard as I could, falling backwards in my haste to get away. "You letting me go?" I laughed and laughed and laughed, my sides heaving. "I was the one who had to let you go, you fucking bastard!" I screamed and felt the tears smarting underneath my eyelids, aching to be let loose so I could let the salt wash it all away.

"Do you think I wanted to leave?" he yelled back, his eyes wild and I felt no joy in his obvious pain and rage. "Do you think I don't lie awake every night, wishing you were beside me? Wishing that I could just roll over and feel you against me? What the fuck do you think, Buffy? That I have a shiny happy life up here?"

Pressing my face to the floor, I shook my head and my voice broke as I answered, "You made the choice."

"What if I hadn't, Buffy?" he got quieter then and it frightened me more than any anger could have. "We'd have fallen in deeper. We were drowning. I had to get us out."

I didn't answer, just silently began to stalk from the room, cause I knew then that we could never go back. Not after the things that had happened and the way he spoke to me and the way I had kissed him… nothing could ever be innocent. He lived here and I lived there and there was such a chasm between us that I couldn't even fathom it. In that moment, I hated him.

"Goodbye," I intoned dully, but with finality that I saw scared him too. His Angel eyes locked with mine and I caught the glitter of tears in them, but I knew he was willing to forget all this and let me go, and that was what gave me the strength to walk from the room, down the stairs, and out of the building to the sunshine day.

As I drove home, I saw my life and wished everything was different. I told him once that when I looked into the future, all I saw was him and that I wasn't going to change. I didn't and a tightening in my belly told me I wasn't going to. I suppose I just couldn't see eternity anymore. I couldn't comprehend forever. It was too long. The tomorrows that were coming slammed against my eyes with tiny pinpricks.

They were empty.

I drove until night fell, and I don't think I ever reached home.