“This is for every damn day you spent with him instead of me.”

*smash*

“This is for every time you blew me off so you two could make out alone.”

*rip*
*crash*

“This is for everyone you showed my letter to.”

*bang*
*thud*
*snap*
*crash*

“This is for –“

The girl fell to the floor, sobbing. Clutching herself into a ball, she struggled to hide herself in her clothing. It wouldn’t stretch to the proportions she wished it to, so it just kept her huddled up closer to herself, still crying into her knees.

She blinked through her tears briefly, surveying the damage. A crystal globe laid on the floor in pieces, shattered beyond recognition or repair. Several broken bottles of nail polish littered the ground, bleeding their odiferous colors onto the floor. One of her favorite posters was ripped into three parts, one lying at her feet, its jagged edges calling her attention to the destroyed picture frame beside it. The girl knew what picture still resided within that frame – it was the picture that started her rampage in the first place.

Still sobbing, she backed herself into the wall. Thoughts raced through her mind, assaulting her with images and memories that she tried to make sense of. As she huddled there, still shuddering from her sobs, she thought everything through for the hundredth time.

What had she done wrong? She had always been the good friend. After graduation, after Angel left, after the panic ended, Oz and her had grown apart. They had both known it, and when the topic finally came up in conversation, they had decided they’d make better friends than lovers. She could accept it, and she had. So summer had continued on its merry way.

College had started. Wolfy Oz was still a ritual, only for her and Buffy instead of just her. And when the other werewolf had come to town, Buffy had made sure that the new wolf was locked up and put far, far, away. But Willow had never expected to come into the crypt one morning to see Buffy and Oz naked, on the floor in the cage, humping like bunnies.

And still, even though she felt like she had just been staked three times over, she accepted it and tried to move on.

And college kept on going. She kept studying, being the good study-research girl that she was. The witch Tara had been a brief stint as a friendship, but they had ultimately decided that their witchy ways just didn’t comply with each other, and left each other with wishes for the best. And still Willow plugged on by herself.

Xander and Anya spent all their time humping like bunnies in his basement. Buffy and Oz spent all their time humping like bunnies in the crypt. Willow still couldn’t help but shudder – impulsive sex was one thing, but in a crypt? Ew.

Willow chuckled harshly, then went back to her pain. She couldn’t help but lose herself in it. There was something about the pool of self-pity that she had discovered that she just couldn’t pull herself from. It was like an addiction – she couldn’t leave it, for leaving it would mean facing the real world, and facing the real world meant facing the fact that she was alone.

Yet, no matter how much she had thought she was hurting, it wasn’t until Buffy had confronted her that she had snapped.

The Slayer had forcefully brought her into a corner, and asked her if she was mad at her. Mad? Willow could have replied. Whyever would I be mad at you, Dearest Buffy? Could it be that you’ve forgotten me? Could it be that we haven’t even spoken to each other in weeks, and we’re roommates? Or have you been too busy fucking Oz and slaying vampires to notice that the little red-headed hacker is spending every waking minute by herself. For God’s sake, even Giles has little time for me! But what would you care, Little Buffy? You’ve got your sex. You’ve got your job. You’ve got your fun. Forget about Willow. Forget about the friend who’s been there for you ever since you moved here. Forget about the girl who has helped you for four years. Oh, you say you don’t want that? Well, that’s funny, because it’s already happened, and you’ve been too busy with your head in God-knows-where that you never noticed.

She hadn’t said that. Instead, she’d merely ducked the question and run, using the sudden appearance of Oz to facilitate her escape. That bastard, if only he knew. Grown apart, her ass. He’d probably been sniffing her rear for months. Not like she would stop him, that slut.

The result of the confrontation was for Willow to sit down and write every single thought and feeling into a letter to Buffy. She didn’t care that the Slayer would know every raw emotion racing throughout her soul. She just knew that it was the only way that she could get everything that she was feeling through to Buffy. And what was the result? Not only did Buffy accuse her of trying to make her feel bad, but she showed it to everyone she talked to. Xander, Oz, Anya, Giles…how could they call themselves her friends, then turn around and shove a sword through her back? Willow snorted. Now she knew how Angel must have felt. But at least he got it through the chest, the witch thought bitterly.

Willow ended her silent tirade by sobbing into her knees some more. But the tears wouldn’t come. She had cried them all already. Sniffling and breathing erratically, she looked around the room again. Instead of seeing a wrecked room, she saw a destroyed past, a ruined friendship. And she knew what she had to do.

Rising on shaky legs, she stumbled over to her bed and sat down on the messy covers. Pulling out her suitcase from underneath the bed, she got up and began to pack, throwing in whichever clothes she could remember putting together to form outfits. Some of the clothes were clean, some were dirty, but that didn’t matter. She was running on instinct, on short-term memory. She added her spellbooks, some magickal components, and some books. She threw in some makeup, her hairbrush, and her necessary toiletries. Then, grabbing her purse, she closed her suitcase and hefted it up and out of the room. She made sure to crush the heel of her boot into the picture frame as she exited, and shut the door tightly behind her.

Only half-aware of what she was doing, she managed to make her way to the bus station. She bought a ticket and boarded a bus. For the life of her, she didn’t even know where she was headed. She just knew that she was on her way away from Sunnydale forever. Maybe she would end up at the border. Maybe in Los Vegas, maybe in Arizona, maybe in Oregon. Only the goddess knew. And when she stumbled out of the bus and into her newfound destination, she wondered if the goddess had a very weird sense of humor.

The address was in her electric organizer, which had remained in her purse. She wandered around for a while, wondering if she would have the fortune of being turned. That idea appealed to her, in a sick, vengeful way. Then she could go back and make life miserable for all those back in Sunnyhell.

Sunnyhell. She liked that name. It fit well.

Willow walked up the steps and opened up the door. It was surprisingly unlocked, and she reminded herself to chastise the proprietor on his bad security. Dropping her bag and purse inside the door, she shut it behind her, and proceded to find her way downstairs. She was smart, she found her way quickly, and soon found the person she was looking for.

Climbing into bed beside him, she curled up into the crook of his outstretched arm and cried herself to sleep.

For when Angel awoke, he was in for a big surprise.