Gone
by Finding Faith
Rating: R

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. They are Joss's blah blah blah.
Author's Notes: No spoiler action. Just alternate universe stuff. Buffy's POV.
Dedication: Kristin, who keeps me warm and makes me smile, even from miles away.
Feedback: As of now I have no idea where this is going. Or if it should go anywhere at all! So, let me know what you think.

How did this happen?

No, not this. I know how -this- happened. All she had to do was run her fingers across my stomach. All she had to do was nuzzle her nose and lips against my neck, and breathe her hot breath against my skin. And I was hers. I let her slide on top of me. Let her do with me what she will.

But that's not what I'm thinking about. As she kisses my face and chest, and presses her body into mine, I'm not thinking about it. I'm not feeling it. I'm wondering how it happened. When. When did her touch stop feeling as though it was reaching beyond the boundaries of my skin? When did her eyes stop gazing into mine as though she were penetrating my soul? When did the words she whispers to me at night become less, and start to sound fake and forced? They are the same words as before. How can the same words lose such substance? When did my heart stop fluttering just from her walking into the room?

I'm brought back to what's happening by a ragged breathe in my ear, and a soft hand on my breast. She is gentle with me, like she's always been. And I can't deny that what she does to me feels good. But her eyes don't look into mine when we love, when we speak, when we dance. Maybe I'm being picky. Maybe I'm making something out of nothing. Maybe this is how it always goes.

Maybe I just want us back to the way we used to be.

She enters me and my body responds. But just my body. I run my nails up and down her back, and nibble on her shoulder, because that is what's expected. I feel tears behind my eyes and I don't want to cry, because that will bring up questions that I don't know how to answer. So I hold them back like I've gotten used to doing.

I feel climax approaching. Climax to what? Sex? I hate this. I hate how my body will allow itself to feel good even when I'm feeling so sad inside.

Faith begins trembling above me and her hands do things to me that she knows will take me with her. She knows how to touch me, and where, and for a moment I can drown in pleasure. But I am alone in it. And so is she. We come together, but we are separate.

I stare up at my ceiling as she peels herself from me. My thigh is warm and sticky between her legs. She lays a kiss on my collarbone and as she's lifting up our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds for the first time this morning, and it is agonizing. Why? Because at first, before, up until a few weeks ago even, afterwards we would lay locked together. I would wrap my legs around her hips and my arms around her shoulders and hold her tight to me. Her weight covering me, keeping me warm, making me safe. She would put her hands in my hair and kiss places on my face, like my eyebrows or the tip of my nose, and we would smile and giggle. Our eyes saying the things that didn't need to be put into words. We would lay for hours sometimes and saturate ourselves in the sweat and the scent and the love of one another.

But now she rolls off me, and the silence that surrounds us is as heavy as the sadness in my heart, and in her eyes, which I didn't miss just now, when she looked at me.

I need to get out of here. A shower is sounding like relief to me right now. I can't believe this. Usually I love the feel, and the idea of her being on me, on my skin. And now I'm wanting to go wash it all away. But I can't stay in here any longer.

As I sit up and swing my feet the the floor, I keep the sheet wrapped around me. And I don't know why. It's not like she hasn't seen me naked before, and after what we just did you'd think it wouldn't even be a thought to me. But for reasons I can't fathom I keep myself covered, as I reach down to grab a night shirt that is on the floor.

I can feel her eyes on my back. And I can practically hear her thoughts, as she wonders what I'm doing, where I'm going. But she doesn't ask. Not because she doesn't care, but because she is just as confused as I am. I look at the bedside clock. I never get up this early. But I can't stay in here any longer.

I throw the shirt on over my head, and stand up to make my way to the door. My legs feel strange, my whole body feels strange, and I can feel my lip start to tremble as I walk away from my bed, from her.

Then her voice floats out to me, into the emptiness of the room. It sounds absurdly small.

"Buffy."

I turn, and she -looks- absurdly small, sitting there on my bed, leaning back on her hands. The sheet is wrapped around her waist, she was never modest, but that doesn't change how young she looks. She continues.

"I love you."

I give her a small smile. A sad smile. The words are honest. I know she means it. That's what makes this so hard. Because...

"I love you too, Faith."

And the words sting me. They hurt me. Not because they are a lie.

But because they are true.

How are we going to fix this?

...continued in Searching...