Some self-delusions are harder to shake than others. One of Willow's central ones had been under near constant bombardment for the past weeks. In a series of defences bordering on conscious action, Willow had done her best to cling to that central ideal that separated her from the things that had most disturbed her in others.
She closed her bedroom window at night, though the nights grew uncomfortably warm while the air conditioner remained broken. She did not look into the descending darkness while she pulled the curtains closed against the outside world.
The curtains were thin, hazy, a gentle wisp of white material. The night stared at her from beyond their thin protection. She hadn't chosen to buy heavier, darker ones capable of cutting of the light of the rising sun and leaving her room in murky darkness.
Her nightgown was a dark blue t-shirt, loose around her thin frame and hanging just above the hem of her boxers. She had drawn her hair into a tight pony-tail which jutted out in short wisping waves. White socks, lined with stripes of blue, still covered narrow feet.
In the bathroom, before the mirror, she had washed away the small vanities with which she tried to hide away her imperfections. Cool water, cucumber scented soap rough against pale flesh. A light brush of foundation, lip gloss, eye shadow dripped away. Her face was flushed and damp, fresh, shinning. Young. Vulnerable.
She clenched her eyes shut. A shaking hand blindly found the light-switch, plunged the bathroom into darkness. She fled into the light pooling in her bedroom. Light was no longer warm nor comforting. It merely held the darkness at bay, allowing her watch for it's approach rather than letting it catch her unaware.
She did not fold back the edge of her comforter, exposing crisp white sheets and a plump pillow still smelling of soap. The chair bought for use at her desk had been positioned against the wall at the opposite side of the room from her bed. She sat, watching the night through hazy curtains, arms folded against her thighs, knees held together, ankles crossed. Stiff. Unhappy. Unwilling.
One hand had escaped the other's grip, lightly tracing along her lower lip. Traitorous touch heralding traitorous thoughts. She jerked, hand returning to join it's fellow. A punishing grip, half-hearted. Her lips still tingled.
She gasped when the curtains parted and told herself it was fear. Her body trembled and she insisted that her instincts cried of escape. She nearly fell open, air brushing against inner thighs, caught herself beneath his knowing gaze.
She should have left the room. Run for the living room before night fell, cross in hand, protection circle etched out on the floor with thick white chalk. Cradle the phone to her ear, cry out for help against the darkness, banish the evil, revel in her own goodness.
And she waited, as far from the bed as her room allowed, knowing the exact amount of steps it would take to move her from her perch towards it. Imagined the feel of the mattress beneath her, his weight above her, cool lips moving against her neck. Told herself the image disgusted her, that fear of the consequences of resistance led her to remain in place.
Reached out her hands when he came to her, open palms sliding against strong, leather clad shoulders. Insisted that she tried to push him away, pulling him closer.
She stared into golden eyes, felt pronounced ridges against her skin, fangs brushing against her lips and shivered. Disgusting she thought, and moaned against his mouth. He smiled against her, reality slipping away behind human mask. She told herself that she was relieved. That her fingers didn't itch to trace the familiar alien visage.
Five steps from carefully positioned denial to her bed.
Her head lolled, neck barred, shielding veil of hair tightly secured against the base of her skull.
Tried to believe that she was struggling when she moved against the bed, hips rising, material whispering against heated flesh.
Told herself that this wasn't what she wanted as she cried out his name.
Insisted that her body reacted while her heart stood apart as she clung to him.
He curled around her, hand open against her stomach. She tried to believe that she wasn't pressing harder against him. Told herself that no sated smile touched her lips. Tried to forget that her invitation had opened her home to him.
She clung to her delusions -- good and pure and innocent -- and sighed in protest when cool lips brushed against her cheek one last time before the dawning morning drove him from her arms.
~end~