My Love Is VengeanceBy Ashley
Damn her. Damn her. She doesn’t trust me. Damn her! How dare she? I always trusted her. Always. With my life, and my heart. And she broke it. Again.
Tore it into tiny pieces, stomped on it, and carried it back to Italy with her.
She sent Andrew. Jesus. Couldn’t send Giles, or even Willow. No, she had to send a flunky, a lackey, a fool. To tell me that she doesn’t trust me. None of them do.
I’m glad they actually gave me the benefit of the doubt. That any one of them actually bothered to call me. Maybe ask what’s going on?
Not that I could tell them. That would open up a whole can of worms I can’t explain right now.
Connor. His new life. It was worth it. I think.
No, I know it was. I’m still doing good here in the bowels of the beast. Right? Right. Gunn’s got a place now, Wesley’s back in his element. Fred’s in science nerd heaven. And Cordy’s…well, she’s being taken care of. By the best in the biz.
No one bites back as hard on their anger, none of my pain shows through. Ever. It can’t. And if it does, the guilt surges up again, and crushes me with waves of pain that feel like they could rip my head off if they only had the chance.
Holding it back right now makes my brain throb, my temples pulse, and my stomach roil and twist itself in knots. Like I had drank drugged blood.
I can unclench my fists if I want to, but I if I do, the cuts my nails have made in my palms would only heal, and that’s not what I want. I want to feel something; anything. Anything instead of numb. Which is what I’ve been feeling since Andrew left with Dana, and took his candy ass back to London, him and his cadre of vampire slayers, “none of which have dated me.”
Does that mean he thinks Buffy would be easier on me? Or harder?
“Where do you think I got my orders from?”
I cannot move, can’t cuss, can’t pass beyond the impotent rage I feel for all of them. I would have died a thousand times for them. Any of them. Especially her.
And she doesn’t have the decency to even call me. Just runs with the idea that I work for the big bad lawyers, therefore I must be evil. No conviction. No heart. No understanding.
It’s funny that she would come running to me back in those days when I lived in Sunnydale, it’s funny that her heart would tell her that Angel will help me, Angel would die for me. And I would have.
But then my love for her was a palpable thing. A real thing, a living, breathing piece of energy that you could have picked up, and held in your palm, and thought you’d seen heaven just by looking at it.
And hers for me was the same. I know it was. We were fated to meet, and fated to be together. Fated to love, and fated to be apart.
My love was tangible. My love was a rocket to the moon. My love was a mouth full of life saving magical blood.
My head pounds, my hands flex, and blood runs from my palms to the pristine carpet below my feet.
I watch with detached interest. Someone will have it cleaned up by morning. And I will still feel the rage. And the mistrust. And the emptiness.
The phone stares at me, as if daring me to pick it up. Call her, call her, she doesn’t really mistrust you. It’s Buffy, of course she loves you. She just doesn’t know all the details. Tell her about Connor. She’ll understand.
No one knows what its like. To be mistreated like this. To be as defeated as I am right now.
And God help them if they ever find out.
She doesn’t trust me.
What part of “sometimes I do think that far ahead” includes trust issues? What was that whole speech, that kiss, about?
We’ve spoken once since then, and she was fine. I was fine. What turned her? What changed her mind? I know she doesn’t know about Spike. And you can bet the farm I’m not going to tell her.
I would know if he had contacted her. He might try; might try to change her beliefs about me and what we’re doing here. Knowing their relationship, he might be able to do it.
But if I believe that, then I don’t trust her either.
My love was a palpable thing. A tangent, overt, conspicuous thing.
Now?
My love is vengeance.
And I’m not biting back anymore.
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows what it’s like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
But my dreamsThey aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
No one knows what it’s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
No one knows what it’s like
To be mistreated
To be defeated
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows how to say
That they’re sorry
And don’t worry
I’m not telling lies
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
~Fin~