I didn't think it would take me all night to get here. The drive itself was only a few hours. But I had to keep stopping. It was as if, the closer I got, the more pain I felt. Not that I've never felt pain, before. Just never this much.
The aching void...it's worse than anything. I step through the threshold of the house where I was invited five years ago, and re-invited two years ago. The house is quiet. But I can smell the people who've come to mourn her. Willow, Xander, even Spike. No one else. Guess Giles and Dawn couldn't handle it.
Willow told me the whole story a few days ago. She was in L.A. when we got home, and I was actually close to happy for the first time in a long time. But she destroyed my world. I don't blame her. I don't blame anyone.
Well...that's not entirely true. I blame myself.
I keep thinking about where I was, and what I was doing when she was dying. I was helping my friends. I was walking in the sunlight, smiling, laughing, telling stories and looking at my reflection. I was doing things I didn't think I would be able to do, when I should have been in Sunnydale, doing the only thing I ever wanted to do. I should have been keeping Buffy alive.
I wish she'd called. I hadn't heard from her since the thing with Faith. Was that really over a year ago? No matter. I wouldn't be hearing from her again.
I look around her bedroom, only slightly surprised that I had found my way to it. I hadn't really been paying attention.
Her closet. Messy, of course. Not surprising. She was never very organized, and with everything that had been happening in her life lately, she wasn't going to clean.
Her desk. Pictures on it. They've been touched. Two of them are missing. But I smell only Xander's scent lingering here, so I guess he took them. There's another picture here. Of me. I didn't even know she'd had it. She'd kept it. Somehow, that made me hurt more.
Why had she kept it? The only thing I can figure is that she wanted me here, helping her. But I'd failed her in that. Again.
I don't take any pictures of her. I have many. And her face is permanently etched in my mind. I'll leave the pictures for Dawn.
Then I find what I want. I'll never read it. Not ever. It was hers, her trust. But I want it. I can smell her on it. Her journal. Every thought she ever thought deserved to be preserved on paper was written in her girlish scrawl on these pages. Everything she wanted, felt, desired, was outlined in perfect detail. I hold that in my hand, and I knew that one day, I would open it. I would read it. But not today. So I tuck it into my jacket. Then it finally hits me. I've known for three days. But it just hits me now. Buffy is dead. The love of my life, my soulmate, my dearest, is dead. I'll never see her laugh, cry, I'll never kiss her, smell her, touch her hair. Her life has ended.
I collapse. On the floor, shaking, needing something but I don't know what. I can hardly form a coherent thought. Only "Buffy." The pain is so intense. I loved her so much. More than I even admitted to myself. And the one thing in my life that ever made any difference was gone. It was because of her that I began helping people. She changed me forever. I never thanked her. And now I never can.
It's not enough time! That day...so long forgotten. No. I never forgot it. It wasn't enough time. It never would have been. I couldn't...I can't ever have time with her again.
I almost lost you tonight. No. Buffy, you could never have lost me. But she did. Twice. First, when I lost my soul. Then, when I left. How could I have left? I loved her.
My love. My soulmate. My reason for being. She's gone. Here I stand (how did I get standing again?) knowing she's gone forever. My heart is broken. I'm sobbing, and I can't feel my hands. There's nothing but this crushing pain deep in my chest, spreading to my appendages like fire. Burning, aching pressure. It won't let me go. I can't swallow, I can't stop crying, and I can't think. All I can do is stand there, sobbing, knowing she's dead. I can't move.
I love you.
