Stories ~ Leave Comments ~ Links

View Comments ~ Disclaimer ~ Email

 

The world is bad enough without me in it.

I have seen too much, done too much, and I've learned a little secret: life is shit. As a little girl, I knew that. Somewhere along the line I forgot. Or just got used to it.

What makes up for having to make your own meals at age six? Can't blame my so-called mother, she was probably just too tired after beating me. Although she was more of a squeezer in those days... grab my arm and squeeze 'til it bruised. Fists came later. Never knew who my Dad was–and neither did my Mom, probably. Yeah... listen to Faith piss and moan.

Well one thing that might make up for that is having a second chance at a Mom. Not everybody gets that! But I did. I was called, and she came.

Most Slayers probably dwell on themselves when they get the Big Call. Super strength, super responsibility. And the sweet smell of corpse dust. I do mean sweet. Not a Slayer? You wouldn't understand. Thunk! Bye-bye, friend. You once were shit, but now you're dust.

But for me, all that was background. The real news was my Watcher. She cared about me! I've thought it over a million times. Just her job, right? But you know, I really think she did care. She was more my Mom than the wino whose apartment I slept in!

Two Moms for the price of one. One beat me... one taught me to fight back. And yeah, I did fight back. Only had to do it once. I hurt my Mom more than I needed to, but she stayed away from me after that. Happiest time of my life... that tell ya anything? Lasted about a year. Not even. The vampire Kakistos killed my Watcher. Started killing her just before noon. Finished around eleven in the evening. Although the screams tapered off around nine-thirty. Guess who got to watch? Start to finish, every last mutilation, and not a damn thing I could do. She cried out a lot of names, begging for help. Mine especially. But nobody helped her. I couldn't, right? But I'll never stop thinking there must have been some way I could have saved her.

I barely got away alive myself. And the thing is, my Watcher wasn't the only person I lost that night. I lost... her. I ran away from Kakistos and her. Ran with just the shirt on my back... soaked in blood from cradling my new Mom's ruined head for a few short seconds. Didn't even know when I left town that I'd eventually try to find the other Slayer. Didn't know where I would go. I just knew I had to get away from the vampire and from her. I knew that being my friend was deadly, and I would not let something happen to her. In my nightmares, she was the one being tortured to death by a monster. So I dropped her from my life and never saw her again. She really cared about me, too. That's two people who used to care about Faith. For a few months, anyway. Both gone now.

She never said goodbye. We shared our only kiss, but she never said a word.

That was the night I started to go truly bad inside. Later I had a new Watcher, and made her into a third Mom in my mind. But she betrayed me and laughed in my face. I finally hit bottom when I committed my first murder. It was an accident... I thought he was a vampire! But it broke me. I became what I was born to be: broken, rotten, evil. Worthless shit. Bad.

And now I understand that bad is what I'll always be. I'll always be waiting for the next thing to break me. Break me and let all the bad run out.

After I ran from Boston, I thought about her all the way to New York–the first train I could board–and then from there to Sunnydale, where I knew the other Slayer was. Thought of her all the time when I first got to California. All mixed in with the memories of my Watcher's murder. Terrible dreams every night. I thought about calling her. But if I heard her voice after starting my new life at the Hellmouth, I knew the pain would be too much. She would be real again–too real. I guess I learned to bury her when I learned to bury my Watcher. Eventually, I learned not to think of Boston much at all. Not while awake, anyway.

Some have better luck: only one Mom, but no beatings and no watching her get tortured to death. An example? How about my dear friend Buffy Summers. She might have cared about me a little herself, but she was wrong. She learned how wrong in the end! I was broken. Rotten.

Today is only the second time in my life I've fully grasped what worthless shit I really am. The first time, I put myself into jail. Corrections, they call it? Well, if slow starvation and secret beatings "corrects" people, then yeah. Not that I had to starve. They feed you just fine if you give the guards a little something when they pull you off into a private corner. But I didn't put out: sex with strangers is great–my main hobby, really–but only on my terms. And I can take beatings and starving–plenty of experience with both.

I did learn a valuable skill in jail. Taught myself not to cry–show weakness like that and you're dead meat. It worked, too... a little too well! One day a vampire acquaintance of mine–who I'd tried tried to kill a few times–dropped by for a visit, and I put on a brave face. Afterwards, lying in my cell, I decided I wanted to cry after all. But I couldn't. Haven't shed a tear since, no matter how much I've tried.

I got out yesterday, spent most of my money on a motel room without a TV, and faced up to facts. Twenty months in prison doesn't make the world a better place, and doesn't make you a better part of it. What to do tomorrow? Find a job? Buy some food? Maybe take a shortcut and just rob someone? Or maybe there's something even worse I could get back into? Spread a little of my own special brand of shit around. Nah. I decided not to waste time planning for the future.

Bought a bottle of wine and two kinds of pills at the gas station. That was all the money gone. They shouldn't have sold it to me, but who cares? I turned eighteen in prison, but didn't even realize it until days later. My seventeenth birthday was the week I went to prison–that one I remembered.

I wonder what wine tastes like? It's not that I haven't had the chance to find out. Wine and toilet paper were what my Mom called a "grocery list." And I went to plenty of parties in my day–I wasn't such a good girl in high school. Does eighth grade count as high school? That's as far as I made it. But give me some credit: at least I did eighth grade twice. And fifth grade. And seventh. I had the brains, I just couldn't care less.

But I never would touch a drop of booze. Guess I thought I'd turn into my Mom with one sip. Might be true, too: alcoholism's genetic, right? My first drink could be the beginning of the end for me.

This drink will be.

Dumping out the warm wine I just bought. If this shithole had cups, I'd just pour myself one. But it doesn't. So I dump the extra–on the floor–and leave just one drink in the bottle. All I need. Any more and the pills might be too diluted.

I've stayed here past noon without paying again. The clerk has been knocking and yelling on and off all day... I just ignore him. Don't worry, my friend, I'll be checking out shortly.

Nothing to crush the pills with. Finally I make some headway with my belt buckle on the counter. The white ones crush easy, but not the little yellow bastards. OK. Good enough... Sweep the powder into the TV guide and fold carefully... Tip it all into the bottle. Swish swish. Sixty-four pills, all dissolved. This will work fast–maybe immediately, but twenty or thirty minutes, tops. A little recipe I learned about in prison.

Whenever I close my eyes, visions of my victims haunt me–people I have hurt... and one I have killed. But the next time I close my eyes will be different.

The world doesn't need me and I don't need it. Nobody cares what happens to Faith. And that includes Faith. I'm bad. End of story. So, so bad. Being alive hurts. Hurts everyone else, too.

I've thought that perhaps she might still care. But it's been too long, and I abandoned her.

And, you know... I don't think she's real. I've been sick in the head, maybe even sick enough to dream up a lost friend. To give myself the illusion of simple, absolute love, somewhere in my past.

I called her last night. Only went to her house once, but I still know the address, so I called Information. 8782 Charles Avenue, Boston. I used to live at 51311 Charles. Maybe my Mom still does. Or maybe she doesn't even live.

A woman answered the phone. She'd grown up in that house and no other family had lived there in over thirty years. "That's crazy!" I said. "The white house with two driveways and brick around the door?" Yes to the driveways and the brick. But blue, she said, not white, and decided to hang up. I persuaded her to put her husband on, just in case she was crazy. But he said the same thing. Apple tree in the yard? Yep. Then I was out of quarters. So no matter how real she is to me, I don't think she ever was. Conclusive evidence: life is shit, and nobody cares. Maybe that is the real reason I never called her before. Maybe part of me knew the illusion would die... and I couldn't let her die.

Why wine? Why not just water? In honor of my dear old Mom, of course. And they say it works faster with alcohol.

I take a seat in this dump's one broken-down chair and raise the bottle. A toast! To my two Moms! To the new Slayer who will be called today, somewhere in this shitty world, and lose her innocence forever. And... to her.

A small swallow. Oh that's nasty! But I choke it down. I raise the bottle to my lips again, already feeling dizzy, and fill my mouth with death. Vision blurry. Gotta finish it fast or I'll pass out... just a couple big gulps.

So heavy. Heavy and hollow. No air in the room, but I don't need air. Room's spinning. No, of course it's me spinning. Spinning in the wind without any air. Drop the empty bottle on the carpet. But it doesn't hit, just tumbles slowly forever. The roar of the wind is too loud to hear.

I knew you'd come.

Don't know if I'm dead and this is Hell, or if I'm still on the way and you're just the final effort of my damaged brain. Either way, I knew you'd come for me. A beautiful angel with the light behind your flowing hair.

Don't cry, angel. Don't cry. You're making me want to cry. If only I could, we could cry together. One last time. But that would be too much like Heaven, and that's not where I'm headed.

You fall into my arms, but I can't even tell if my arms are obeying my will. I'm so heavy and you're so light... you should be the one floating away into the sky, not me. Let me sink into Hell... You belong somewhere else.

You were my first and last real friend, little angel. More than a friend. Only person I ever opened up to. Only person I ever loved. Only person who ever loved me. My Watcher cared, but not like you. I hid things from you, things you shouldn't have to worry about, but I also told you stuff I'd never have told my Watcher, much less my Mom. You were just a little girl at the time, we both were, but you did as much for me as my Watcher did. More, maybe. God, I really buried you deep. Snapshots coming back to me now... We're laughing on the roof after dark. I do a tightrope walk along the edge and you yell for me to stop it. So I stop it. I think of you doing the same stunt, and I stop at once. Then later, we're sleeping over in my room. Curled up warm and safe. I whisper that I'm sorry for scaring you, but you're asleep. Never happened, though, I guess. You're just something that bubbled to life inside my broken mind after I let my Watcher die. Maybe you were a way to believe that someone still alive cared about me. But every day with you is crystal clear to me even so. In a way, you're the most real thing in my life.

I can hardly see now, and the wind just keeps getting louder, but still I hear you crying. Vision coming and going as I swell and shrink. Now I'm tiny on the floor... pick me up and hold me... Now I'm bigger than the room, the building, the city. Crushing everything. Crushing myself. Sinking into the ground and then floating away. Blind and then I can see, and then blind again. As I shrink and swell the wind pulses too. Beat. Beat. Beat. Pulsing slowly but so loud I could scream and no one would hear.

My chest is cold. Hands and feet are cold. But I'm a cloud, I have no hands or feet. Your hands are so warm on mine. Your tears are so warm on my neck.

Waves of dizziness. There are words in the tears. You're gasping for breath. I don't need air, why should an angel? I can almost make out the words over the wind. "F... F... Faith... Faith.... Faith..." over and over.

I stroke your hair. So soft on my cheek. Longer now than when I knew you. You seem older. Your hair smells the same. Don't cry, angel. I know I let you down. I know I am bad. I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

More choked words between her sobs. "I'm... not... real.... You.... can't be.... real...." You're crying because you know what I know. You're all in my head. And you're too good to be stuck in here with me.

"You don't... know me... do you? You... don't... know... me!"

Of course I know you. I made you up. But I can't speak since there is no air. You keep sobbing the same things over and over. "You don't... know who... I am!... Faith... Faith.... Say... my name!... Say... my... name... Faith!"

But I can't do that for you. I can hardly even hold your shoulders and run my shaking fingers through your hair. Because I am so tired and I have no hands.

You are so sad. Crying for me because I can't cry for you. Now I know this is Hell. You only want to hear your name, but my voice won't work.

One night in prison I did something to myself, just because I needed to feel the pain. I wanted pain to burn your memory into my flesh. Now I do the only thing I can do for you. I pull my tank top away from my shoulder to show you the homemade tattoo on my collarbone.

"DAWN."

You stare and hold your breath. Now you're shaking. Unless it's me that's shaking. "I don't believe it... Faith...! How can you know me?!"

How could I not know you?

"Boston..." The voice is hoarse, a hiss... it must be the voice of the wind. But it came out of me.

It's you shaking. "Faith! Tell me about Boston!"

Of course, my angel. If I can make the wind speak again. "We were... together... in Boston... for almost a year... almost... every day... I loved you... and you loved... me. We were... forever.... Forever and ever."

Now you're crying again, almost screaming. "I have never been to Boston!"

You have, though, in my mind.... Go back there, little Dawn. My angel. Go back home to Boston and be happy and safe.

You slide to the floor to sit before my chair, staring at me. It looks like neither of us knows what is happening. I feel very peaceful and calm with you now. I try to take your hand, but my body is heavier with every passing second and I cannot move. My head is slumped on my shoulder. My thoughts are becoming quite clear, though, and I think the wind will let me speak them.

My vision keeps coming and going, and the dizziness too... but you seem very, very real.

"Dawnie... are you really... here?" Hard to speak. Makes me dizzier just to try.

"I'm really here, Faith... This time it's real." A dazed whisper. You look as confused as me.

"How... can you... be here?"

"I went to see your Mom... She shut the door in my face but I said I was going to find you no matter what it took. So she gave me a bunch of mail. She... Oh, Faith, she never opened any of it!"

"Mail..."

"A letter from you, and stuff from a lawyer, and stuff from the courts... she never opened it."

Why does that hurt? Why does anything to do with my Mom still have the power to dig into my heart like this?

You see my expression. "But she did save it, Faith. At least she saved it. Your letter... it made me so sad. It was so bitter and awful. But it was for her, so I put it under her door. And the other stuff... I just cried and cried at what had become of you! I couldn't tell exactly what you had done but I knew you weren't OK. I tried to see you in prison today, but you just got out! They said this was the only motel around... and the guy at the desk was mad at you... he gave me the key, and.... I can't believe I really found you!" You're crying again. My poor Dawnie. I want to cry with you. I want to cry instead of you. But I can't cry anymore.

"You came... all the way... to California... to find me?" I don't know why I'm trying to understand. You're not real. I made you up and now you're my angel.

"No, I went to Boston... I moved back to California a year and a half after... after you left. But I couldn't forget you... even though I know I wasn't even created yet when we were together. So I ran away and went back to Boston to prove to myself that you weren't real. Get you out of my heart. Kinda blew most of my savings."

"Alone? That's... so... dangerous!"

"I'm fifteen now, Faith. Almost sixteen." You're very quiet. Stunned and confused, like me.

Wow. Fifteen already! Two and a half years later. And I bet you're the same sweet person I fell in love with when we were both just kids. But I'm not the same person. And it's still too dangerous a trip!

You notice my slurred voice and ask if I'm drunk. I don't answer because I can't. And what's all this about you being created? And me not being real?!?

"I don't... understand... Dawn..."

"Oh, Faith, I have a secret you won't believe!"

I think I might have a few of those myself. "What... is it... Dawnie?" There's something in your eyes that I can't bear to see. Somehow I know that you, too, have watched someone close to you die. Not your Dad–you weren't that close. But you had a Mom and sister in California. I hope they're OK. No... why should I worry? I made you up, and your family, too! But it sure doesn't seem that way now.

"I'm... I'm not real!"

No secret there.

But then you tell me a very, very strange story, and I am too heavy and dizzy to ask many questions. You tell me you aren't human. You're the Key to a hell dimension, and you remember being with me in Boston... but you were never there. None of this makes any sense... but in my state I don't expect it to. It gets worse: you insist that you were made human, by some ancient monks, about a year ago. That's when you became real. And they gave you fake memories... a whole lifetime! You even remember Boston. You remember me.

"I wish it was all real... but it wasn't!" Your sobs look like they hurt. You look like you're about to have a breakdown. I want to comfort you but I can't move. And... if you are real... then how? Why?

"I... made... you... up... When I was... broken... My head... was broken... Why... would they take you... out of my mind... and make... you... real...?"

Black out for a moment. Not long. You're still explaining. "...didn't come from your mind. They made me up. And they gave other people fake memories too... like you! I thought you were just a fake memory, Faith... but you're real!"

"I... called... your house... last... night... you were... never... there."

"I know... My house was white, right? Only I went to see it. It's still blue, and it hasn't been painted in years and years. It's a wreck. My Dad never fixed it up... he was never in Boston either. Somebody else lives there really."

Some monks I never heard of gave me memories of a lost love? And made you real, out of thin air? It's getting harder to speak but I make you understand my doubt about all this.

"I don't know why, Faith... I mean, I know why they made me, and the fake memories... but I don't know why you got them too."

"Why... did they... make you...?"

"To protect the Key. To make my sister protect me. Buffy. She's a Vampire Slayer, super strong and stuff. But that's a big secret–you can't tell anyone! You probably think I'm nuts. But I'm not making this stuff up! And Buffy... she figured out I'm not real. But she loves me anyway."

Your sister... Buffy? Impossible. This makes no sense at all. I feel tingly all over and short of breath. I feel myself blacking out again but I force out a question. "Your... sister... is... Buffy?"

"I know, it's not a warrior kinda name, but don't let it fool you, she kicks major butt! She's always saving everybody!"

I need to think. I can't process this. You are Buffy's sister. Or... fake sister... something like that... No way. I think I am hyperventilating now, but still getting no air. I stop breathing to see if it helps. Or maybe I just stop because I can't breathe anymore.

"Are you OK, Faith?" You are worried about me. Well, you should be! I am suffering from an acute case of death. "Faith? Do you believe me? I want you to still be my friend... I want it to be like I really was in Boston."

I search my poisoned brain... what did you say about your sister when we were in Boston? You fought a lot, didn't talk about her much... but you missed her. She lived with your Mom. Sometimes you would fly out there to L.A. to see them. Or... no... maybe your sister left L.A. just like you did. But what was her name? I come up blank. I swear, you always just called her "my sister"...! Tackle this from the other end... After I left you and went to Buffy... she had a sister, too... someplace out East... and she came to visit once or twice, but I was never there to meet her. And her name?? Buffy just called her... "my sister."

Summers. Dawn Summers... Buffy Summers! Maybe that wasn't just a painful coincidence! And wasn't Buffy born in L.A. too? Same as you and your sister? And if you never told her about me... cause the two of us were kind of a secret, after all... Oh, my God. It could be you. You could be Buffy's sister! Oh, my God!

"You... and Buffy... Buffy's... sister!" I can't speak coherently. Another wave of dizziness hits. The strongest yet.

"Do you know my sister?" You look just as confused as I am. Then your eyes get really big and you start to slide away from me. "You're.... Faith!"

With every sentence I think I understand less. "Yes... Dawnie... I'm Faith."

You keep backing away. "You're Faith the Vampire Slayer! That's your big secret!"

Gotta focus. You're saying something important. You've figured out that I'm a Slayer. I kept that secret from you for your own good, you know... Well, that and I felt guilty. Buffy would laugh, but... I used to feel bad about slaying. Still do, every now and then... Even demons and vampires have thoughts, and feelings, and friends, and... dreams... Even if they are evil, and so I have to kill them, at least I shouldn't enjoy it.

But Slayers love to slay. Me included. I used to live for that. So that first year when I was called... I had a lot of guilt about slaying. I wasn't sure you would still even like me if you knew I was a Slayer. I wasn't sure I liked me anymore... Not that I thought much of myself to begin with.

Well... if you were Buffy's sister, then I guess you wouldn't have judged me for the Slayer thing. Wouldn't hate me just for that. But I've done far worse things since then. To people who were not evil. "How... did you know... that... I'm... a Slayer?" Harder and harder to force words out. I don't even want to think what you might have heard about me from Buffy.

You look at me, horrified. "Buffy talks about you sometimes. And Willow, and Xander... you've done terrible things! I never thought they were talking about you! I was alone in Boston for a year and a half, crying over you every day! And the whole time, you were out here with Buffy! And then helping the Mayor... and Buffy put you in a coma...! You! I can't even believe you could do all those awful things! ...I almost came back for Buffy's graduation, Faith, and you would have been the big baddie my sister was fighting! Now I know why you went to jail!"

Busted. I feel like shit. Of all the people to learn how low I can go! You stare at me in disbelief, looking like you're about to stand up and leave, and I feel myself shrinking. Feels like forever before I can think of a single thing to say. "Oh, Dawnie.... I have done... terrible... things." Black out for a second. "That's why... I turned myself in... to the police.... That's... why... I... want... to... die." I feel utterly ashamed. I am so bad... I'm glad I'm dying.

"What?" You've gone pale.

"I... don't... deserve... to live... Please... try to... forgive me! ...I'm not... the same person... who did... those things.... Not evil... Not good... I'm just... empty... now... My mind... broke... I was... bad... So... sorry... Dawnie.... I didn't know... she was... your sister... I would... never... hurt... your sister..."

You just stare at me for a long time... and then you leap onto me and squeeze my dying body, crying so hard...

"Oh, Faith! I know, Faith! I think you're the same person you were in Boston!"

I'm feeling a lot closer to that since you showed up. "Do... you... forgive... me...?"

"Yes, Faith! I know you were sick! I know it wasn't you! I forgive you! Poor Faith! Faith, Faith, Faith!"

I didn't think anyone's forgiveness would mean much after what I've done. But then, I never thought I'd ever see you again to be forgiven. No words for what I'm feeling now. You feel really good, clinging to me. It's almost as though being alive doesn't hurt.

Except for the sudden, wrenching pain in my gut and my head.

"Faith... when you left me... is that the night your Watcher died?"

"Yeah... you know... about that?"

"I know a little, from Buffy. She must be the nice lady who picked you up after school. I'm sorry she died."

"I... saw it... happen... It was... so awful.... Kinda... messed me up... inside." I feel dizzy all the time now, and I can't see at all. "And... something else... messed me up... too."

"What?" You pull your head back and your forehead crinkles up, worried about me.

"Leaving... you." Another wave of pain. Oh, God! It passes slowly. Really, leaving you didn't mess me up at all, 'cause it never happened. Instead, my Watcher died and I never had you at all. I'm glad I don't remember it that way: that's even worse. I guess I should thank these mystery monks for giving me something good to remember.

You're real quiet now. For a long time. I black out again for an instant I think. Your lip is trembling. "That messed me up, too, Faith."

Poor little Dawnie! Gotta hug you back. But I can't. "So... sorry! ...I was afraid... to have you... near me... But still... I thought about... coming back for you... I thought... about you... a lot.... But... stuff happened... Sunnydale... such a bad time... for me... My head... wasn't... right."

"I know, Faith. Shhh.... Just rest... you've drunk too much and you just need to sleep." But I can hardly hear you now. The wind is a roar, beating in my chest like I'm gonna burst open. Beat beat beat beat... I wish I could see your sweet face one more time as I go. I wish I didn't have to go.

A wave of blinding agony. It hurts so bad! Please, make this end! Can't see, can't hear... I can only feel!

"Hold... me... Dawn..." Hold me, my angel... as the beating wind takes me away from pain....

You're gone. The world is all black and the beat of the wind has stopped. Time has stopped. Pain has stopped at last.

 

---

 

I'm crawling through the dark and the dark slowly becomes light. My hands are cold. Something wet. Wine on the carpet where I dropped the bottle. I thought I drank it all... but some is on the floor, and some still in the bottle. And on my shirt... my chest isn't so cold and wet now, but I think maybe I spat a lot of it out. And I had... a dream... the most amazing dream... about my long lost Dawnie.

I feel so sick I just want to die, but I don't have the guts to find out if there's enough left in the bottle to do the job. Crawl to the bathroom. I need to vomit but I can't. I give up. Pull myself up by the shower curtain. Too bright! Stagger back out of the bathroom. Gotta lie down. So tired.

An angel is curled up on my bed, asleep, her pillow drenched with tears. My God... you're real.

I stagger over to the bed, impaired more by shock than by the lingering effects of the drugs. I curl up around you, my chin on your soft sleeping head, and think about what you've told me as my head slowly clears. You're real... but what happened between us in Boston was not. You and I are strangers.

I don't want to believe that. I want it all to be real. It feels real. But it's just not. I know in my heart you've told me the truth. So... my life did not happen the way I remember it! All those days with you... really I was doing something else, and I have no idea what! Crying in my bedroom alone, I suppose. And the same for Buffy, and my Mom... people close to Buffy and me... everyone who remembers you! Fake lives all around!

And it has to be so much worse for you... everything is fake for you! Up until a year ago, everything was fake!

You wake up. Confused at first. That's how you always used to awaken. Next you'll do your squint. So cute!

"Faith..."

"Dawnie... I can't believe you're really here..."

You drape an arm over my neck without even thinking. "Are you OK, Faith? I thought I should let you sleep. You were pretty drunk."

"I'm OK, I think. I wasn't drunk, though–I don't drink. I told you I needed to die... but I only drank a sip..." my eyes fall on the bottle lying beside the bed.

You jump up, eyes huge, and grab the bottle. You almost trip running to the sink to pour it out. Flashback: at age eight I went through a phase of doing that to my Mom's wine. It was a short phase... I was the only suspect when the booze went missing. I think that's when the fist thing started.

You return, tears running down your cheeks, and lie beside me, holding me for while in silence. "You saved my life, Dawn. You came back to me just in time." If I'd actually swallowed that second big gulp, instead of letting it run down my front, that might have been enough to kill me.

Fake memories or not, you feel perfect in my arms. You kiss me on the cheek. "Faith... don't leave me again!"

That cuts pretty deep. "I won't, Dawnie... I promise!" I feel so much like crying, but it's a thing I can't do anymore.

I close my eyes. The haunting visions I've learned to expect are there, the faces of those I hurt when my mind was broken... but only if I probe deep down. They're the past. The only thing I can see behind my eyelids now is you. Perhaps you could be the future.

Another kiss opens my eyes, lips brushing mine for an instant, and then we fall away from each other and simply lace our fingers together. It will take a long time to fully grasp all this. I can't believe that you are here! One moment I'm committing suicide, and the next, my high school sweetheart and I are together again?I am loved? Guess this means no more sleeping around... and, you know, I used to think that kind of thing made me feel good about myself... but it wouldn't make me feel so good now. I got into sex when I couldn't have love any more. That's a pretty shitty trade.

"I guess you know how I've been, Dawn... how about you? I heard Buffy died again for a while... I was sad to hear that." I'm afraid to find out what put that subtle haunted look in your kind, innocent eyes.

You tell me about the past year and my blood runs cold. You've been in such terrible danger! I should have stayed with Buffy–I should have been there to protect you! You were going to kill yourself to save everyone–and you were thinking of me!–but instead you watched your sister die for you. And afterwards you couldn't even grieve normally... you had to pretend the Slayer was still around and act as if a robot was your sister! And... your Mom died. Oh, no. Please, no! Buffy's Mom was such a good person. I'm glad she was your Mom too. But now you have no parents at all.

Your best friends Willow and Tara became almost like your parents after your family was dead... and then they split up, just like your "real" parents had! Now your sister has come back, but there's something wrong with her... she hates being alive. Poor B! And all the while you had to deal with learning that you're not even real! All your relationships and friendships a total sham! Poor Dawnie!

Something's wrong with me... I'm crying. Bawling like a baby! Like riding a bike... I guess you never really forget how. "Dawnie... Dawnie...." I can't bear to think that my sweet friend has been going through all these terrible things. You sound so tired and lonely, and I feel so helpless. I can't believe how strong and brave you've been to survive all this and stay sane. You didn't break. You should have been the Slayer, not me.

If only this could be Boston again, where just talking and cuddling could make things better for a while! There isn't much I can say to such terrible pain. Talking is no comfort. We're giving the cuddling thing a try, though. I know it makes me feel better. We hold each other and sob until there isn't any more left. Just like old times. Our favorite pastime.

After a while we both feel better, and I wipe the tears from your cheeks with the backs of my fingers. "You know, I would have told you I was a Slayer... eventually."

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad that's what your secret was... it's too weird that my sister and my girlfriend were both Slayers! That year I was with you was the year Buffy called me and told me about being the Slayer. I didn't believe her at first, but it did explain her burning down half our school in L.A.... If you had told me too, I would have flipped!" Listen to us talk like that time was real.

"I guess I didn't know what you'd think of me. And you were so nice and good, while I was fighting monsters and learning about spells and weapons and everything... I didn't think you should even have to know that that kind of stuff existed!"

"Faith... I am that kind of stuff."

I guess you are. "But I still don't get it, Dawn. It doesn't make sense! If all this is true... if you're not real, then why me? Why did the Monks give you to me? And me to you? Why not just Buffy?" But as soon as I say it, we both know the answer. I see comprehension in your eyes. The Monks wanted both Slayers to be ready to defend the Key. Just in case something happened to Buffy. Guess I was just the backup plan. Fair enough... I am a couple years younger than B, with a truly shitty track record, and I was in prison when you were created. And they knew Buffy and I didn't get along. That's why they didn't give me memories of hearing Buffy or you mention each other by name. Buffy and I were supposed to know about you... but not know about each other knowing you. Loving you. I only wish you had been real when I was in Sunnydale–Buffy and I would have had something else in common. The most important thing in the world. You.

Only I let the Monks down and you too. My first thought when I got out of the pen should have been to find you, no matter what it took. Not to mix a drink that would stop my heart.

"It's all true, Faith. We never were in love. Never met before today. It's all a trick. Just like the trick they pulled on Buffy." You're speaking very quietly and calmly. I can tell you're trying not to cry again.

"Dawn... you're probably going to think this is silly, since none of it was real, but... I think I love you even so. You're not the kind of friend a person forgets. No matter how hard I tried." I guess I've reached the same conclusion about you that Buffy did: the truth matters less than the feeling.

You breathe a sigh... of relief? "I know I love you, Faith. I loved you even when I thought you weren't real!"

"It's been years, Dawn... and everything I've done..." It feels like I've lived ten lifetimes since I was with you.

"I know all of it, Faith. You're still the same person. I love you." Ugh! That's a tight hug!

"Forever and ever?" That's what we always used to ask each other.

"Forever and ever," she whispers. I hold her and rock her gently. I never thought I'd hear those words again.

But it's so strange. In reality, I just met this girl an hour ago! Girl? You're not even a human being, apparently! I'm not sure what to feel about this whole thing. But I think we really needed to find each other again. We've both lived through too much pain alone. It's a miracle that you are here.

"So, um, Faith... I guess you've had lots of girlfriends and boyfriends by now."

You look hurt, and I know you've heard about me from your friends. I've been a very bad person. "I haven't had a boyfriend, I've just... been with men.. But I have never been with a woman, not even one kiss. Because you were... special. I still knew I was yours, deep down." It's the truth–even in prison, no matter how tempted, I would not spoil what we had. I do confess to having had a crush–only a silly crush–on your sister. I got over it the hard way–lots of blood.

I can tell by your smile that you're OK with what I've said. You tell me that there was never anyone after me. Well... except for kissing a vampire... and a brief engagement as a demon queen. And a few silly crushes of your own, on Xander, Tara, and Spike, who is somehow... a good guy now? But even when you thought I wasn't real you still felt like you were waiting for me. I know the feeling. You went to Boston to get that out of your system once and for all, and look where you ended up.

You rub my tummy–just like back in Boston–and tell me I'm beautiful. That's nice to hear–I know I've changed a lot since we were together. But I'm a little embarrassed about my revealing tank top and dark lipstick, which is a far cry from the patched and ragged rebel look I went for when we met. I am too ashamed to admit that I did go out and look for a man last night after I was released–but my heart wasn't in it and I came back here alone. I should probably get a new look before I show my face in Sunnydale again. But I like dressing this way.

I haven't eaten all day, and you just grabbed a snack on the train from Salt Lake. Time for dinner–your treat, since my life savings amounts to eleven cents. "How about we just send out for a massive pizza?" I suggest.

"Five by five!"

I just have to grin. "What does that even mean, Dawn? You still say that all the time?" She used to say that so much she even got me saying it!

"Nah, I broke that habit when I moved in with Mom and Buffy. First time I said it, Willow dropped a glass of milk and everybody gave me this weird look."

We eat the whole pizza and talk for hours, about old times and new, good times and bad. I don't like to waste, so I eat the crusts you don't want. Close my eyes and we could almost be in Boston again, in my little closet of a room that was the only sanctuary for both of us. And I find myself smiling more and more. Haven't done that in a while.

"Remember how you'd always make me do my homework, Dawn? Remember, you said you weren't going on to ninth grade without me?" You did, though.

"You knew the stuff, you just wouldn't do the work!" Hearing that lecture again–that scolding tone–starts me laughing and pretty soon we can't stop!

You insist that I should take the test–I'm eighteen now–and get my diploma, with your help to study for it. Cracking a book with you again... now that's turning back the clock! Maybe I will let you help me, too. Does that count as my first plan for the future? If so, I know my second: I'm going to be a Slayer again and work like no Slayer ever worked before. I have a lot to make up for!

"And then you can go to college with Buffy and Willow and Tara!" Yeah... I can just see me up late studying with them. Don't think so. "Or you can go with me in a couple years, we can be roommates!" But college is a little too far in the future. I'll take the planning thing slow for now.

We get sleepy as we talk into the night. Piled half on top of me for warmth, you remind me how we always daydreamed of living together in a mansion on the ocean. "With a big pool, right Dawn?"

"No, two pools." You smile sleepily, head tucked beside my neck. That's right–two pools. You like to dive, but I'm afraid of deep water.

But there is no mansion for us yet. We'll sleep here tonight and then catch the bus to Sunnydale tomorrow. Fortunately, you have money. You paid for another night here so that the clerk would give you the key. And after we get to Sunnydale, what then? Maybe I'll stay in your room for a while, if we can convince your sister, until I can find a job and get an apartment. I know how to live cheap.

I pull the blanket over us and we turn out the lights. "I've been thinking, Faith... nobody even knows I had a girlfriend in Boston. I think there's going to be kind of a scene when I bring you home to Buffy. She's already mad 'cause I ran away. I called her from Boston, but she's really worried. I think she might get pretty mad about me and you."

"You're not kidding!" I guess I've got some serious groveling to do with my former friends. I need to make my peace with them. Maybe Angel can help. I think he knows I've moved on from those days, and Buffy trusts him. Nothing will make it easy, though.

But I'll face what's coming to me. I'll face anything for you, Dawn. Even being alive. So, our history never happened? All a big mystical lie? I never loved you and you never loved me? But I can have love, if I choose to believe. I can be whole again. I can have a little happiness, maybe. I can give you a little happiness.

I choose to believe.

 

 

~ The End ~

 

This story is complete, but I have since added a new sequel: The Box.
 

I would be grateful if you would give me your comments and rate my stories in my Guestbook, or email me. Reader responses will determine whether I publish more stories, and will help improve them! Thanks for reading! (If you'd like to be notified when I post new stories, let me know.)

If you enjoyed this story, try Witch's Faith. Feeling rejected by Tara and Buffy, Willow finds herself helping Faith get out of prison–and falling in love. When the dark Slayer's plots turn deadly, Willow must betray someone she loves. But who will she choose?

Willow felt very exposed. "Thanks for leaving me my socks." Everything else she had been wearing was now in shreds scattered to the four walls. Faith's passion had been downright scary at times. There had been no question who was the natural predator and who was the willing prey.

Stories ~ Leave Comments ~ Links

View Comments ~ Disclaimer ~ Email

www.angelfire.com/grrl/wyndgyrl