I'm holding it delicately between my forefinger and thumb, my gaze shared between it and the chipped nail polish on my fingers. I know what the ring means. Had one myself, once upon a time. Suspect it came from the same man for both of us. Mind you, she got it out of love. I got it out of dominance. Bloody poof.
I swallow hard and slip the ring in my pocket. I know I shouldn't be here, going through her things, but I also know that the only other one who could have possibly pulled himself together to do it is drinking himself silly. I did that for a while, but when I passed out, all I could see was her face. Accusing me. So I stopped passing out. And now, here I was, doing the thing I thought I'd never have, never WANT to do.
I shouldn't be taking the ring, or the pictures, or that damned stuffed toy. What the hell do I want with something like that? I'm not some bloody wanker. But I knew why. Because it was HERS. She'd touched it, felt it, been close to it. I just want to feel her. I can't feel anything else.
The old ring cuts gently into my thigh in my pocket, and the pictures and the stuffed pig are clutched tightly in my hand as I trudge down the steps. I don't have to worry about making noise. Nibblet's staying at Harris' place, and Buffy's...Buffy isn't here anymore.
I know you'll never love me. Oh god, her face. So beautiful, so weathered and innocent all at once.
I know that I'm a monster. My chest is heaving. I don't need to breathe, but I can't catch my breath.
But you treat me like a man. Suddenly I'm sitting on the floor, crying. The pain is so intense, but I should be used to it by now. I can't bloody take it. I can still taste the rawness of it.
The robot is gone. The robot was gross and obscene. It bloody was. How could I have thought it could replace....
What you did for me and Dawn. That was real. Yeah, it was. I did it for you, Buffy. All of it.
The harshness of my pain starts to let up a little. I know that life, or unlife, as fate would have it, goes on. It's just harder to go on without her.
Pain is...Pain is a desperate thing. Pain is biting the bullet and begging for the rejection and the loathing and the burning hatred, and eating it up like bloody candy. Pain is laying your whole damned heart on the line, wishing you had a soul so that maybe, just maybe, the woman you're supposed to hate might start to love you the way she'd loved the others in her life. Her family, her friends. Even the Poof. I just wanted to be in there, somewhere, when she listed the people she cared about. Pain sucks.
And when I finally stand up, the dry sobs silent now in my throat, and the night sky still deep and unforgiving, I feel the ring continue cutting into my thigh, and I fleetingly wonder whether I should give it to Angel. Pfft. Not bloody likely. I step into the night, the pain still there, but numbing a little, the way I like it.
And I'll never forget it. No, Buffy. Neither will I.
