Roses
by JaHo
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from any of the characters in this story. Just having a little fun. Nor do I own the rights to the song.
Author's Notes: I heard an old song on the radio on the way to work and suddenly the lyrics took on a completely different meaning, in my perverted little mind. So here it is. ::::denotes lyrics::::

Fuzzy. Everything’s kinda muddled. The events of the last 12 hours running together into a long blur of dancing, fighting, drinking, more dancing and finally…other things.

I remember spots and pieces like flashes from an old movie, though they are actually recent events in my own life. God, did I have that much to drink last night? What am I saying, of course I did. That’s what I do nowadays.

I open my eyes slowly. Ouch. Sunlight streaming through the blinds of the window in my cheap motel room falls across my bed, catching my eyes and sending small bolts of pain through my hung over head. My vision is still blurry but, after a few seconds, it starts to clear.

My head is still kinda fuzzy, but I distinctly hear the radio. Still on from last night, and still blasting the same radio station that I had tuned in before I passed out. I immediately recognize the song that’s beginning to play. I think I was 12 when it first came out. I still remember the other girls from middle school running madly down to get the album, when the single hit. All swooning over the longhaired lead singer.

My mom didn’t have the money for me to get one. Well she did but why would she have given it to me? Hell that was money that could be well spent on the finest quality crack. Why waste it on the foolish happiness of her 12-year-old daughter?

So, I stole a copy from one of the girls that did have one. I learned to get by, on my own, pretty early. I still remember sitting in my room back in Boston, listening to the cassette tape over and over, with the volume turned way low, until it finally wore out.

I know this song from the first power chord, even through my ever slowly clearing head. Unconsciously, I start to lip sync along with the lyrics as they begin. Pausing briefly at how prophetic some of them are.

	::::'Cause a bottle of vodka 
	is still lodged in my hand.
	Some blonde gave me nightmares, and
	I think she's still in my bed. 
	As I dream about movies 
	they won't make of me when I'm dead.::::

I look down at my hand, feeling the coolness of the now empty bottle that I held when I had finally passed out. Hey, even a Slayer can only take so much alcohol, though it may be more than most can handle.

Then, while I am still singing along with the song I look to my left.

Yep, she’s still there. Heck I don’t even remember her name. But I do remember the name that I called her when I finally climaxed along with her. Fortunately the radio had been loud enough to mask my voice into an unintelligible moan.

Not that I would have cared if she had gotten pissed and stormed out. Hell, I probably would have thrown her out myself, last night, if I hadn’t passed out.

Why do I always go after blondes? Stupid question to ask, even of myself. I lose myself a little more with every anonymous encounter; I lose myself in the memories. As it turns out, my dream world is a lot better than real life.

I’ve been out for four months now, and this is all I do. Lose myself in a tangle of bad booze and petite bodies with blonde hair. Because, it’s so much easier than real life. In my own little world, I can make everything nice and blurry. Enough so that I actually believe that I’m…with her again.

Sometimes when desires are an impossible reality, believing for just a little while is enough.

	::::With an ironclad fist I wake up and 
	French kiss the morning… 
	while some marching band keeps 
	its own beat in my head,
	while I’m talking.
	About all of the things that I long to believe,
	About love and the truth and 
	what you mean to me.
	And the truth is… baby you're all that I need::::

My head is pounding. Feels about like a marching band is running through. With soccer cleats, no less. But that doesn’t lessen my ability to let my memory drift back to a better time. Only now, I’m not drunk. I’m in the real world and reality is seeping in, painfully. Like it’s being pushed in with a hundred razor blades. What we were, what we had, and how all of it now lies broken into the rubble that I have made of my life.

I deserve this. I hurt you, the one person that I swore I would never let any harm come to. But as it turns out, when I made my own silent vow to see to it that no harm ever came to you…I wasn’t even thinking that harm could come from myself.

You’re the only one who could possibly make it better. Ironically enough, you’re the one person who could never possibly forgive me for what I did to you.

I understand. I wouldn’t forgive me, either.

I continue to sing along with the song that takes me back so far, just losing myself in the music with my eyes closed once again.

	::::Tonight I won't be alone,
	but you know that don't 
	mean I'm not lonely… I've got nothing to prove 
	for it's you that I'd die to defend.::::

I’ll lose myself again tonight; another woman probably. Small, pretty, blonde. It’s never been that hard for me to pick up people to sleep with, of either sex for that matter. I’ve always been able to sniff out people who were just as emotionally needy as I am, and exploit that need for my own uses.

Sounds really bad, doesn’t it? Hey, I’m the darker one of the two of us remember?

The hardest part is that I know what you’re going through back there, and I should be there to help. Fuck, I’m the Slayer anyway. Not you. The line runs through me now. That’s why no new Slayer was called when you died last year. I remember when Cordy came to the prison and told me the news, I felt like I was going to die myself. I think I wanted to.

No one had to come and tell me when you were brought back, though. I knew. I felt you. But when I saw Angel’s smiling face looking at me through the visitor’s glass, it just confirmed what I already knew.

But still, no new Slayer. Just me. There won’t be another until I die.

Is that what this is all about? Sometimes, in my clearer moments, I think to myself that my downward spiral of self-destructive behavior is actually my own attempt to finish myself off for good. Then there would be another Slayer, one that could actually be of use to you and help you. My one last gift to my one love.

I look over at the girl who’s stirring to my left, finally waking up, herself. She brushes her hair from her face and looks at me through squinted eyes. I can tell that she’s feeling kinda crappy too. She’s a pretty little thing; I’ll give her that. But she has one major glaring flaw. She’s not you.

I look down at her, expertly keeping my eyes from showing any emotion. I’ve honed that through years of practice.

“You need to go now.” I say flatly.

“Huh?” she squints up at me through eyes that are slightly more than slits.

“You need to go.” I repeat. “I have things I need to do.” I can see the slight hurt in her eyes.

“Um…ok. Will I see you tonight?” She asks hopefully.

“Probably not. So don’t look for me.” I get out of bed and begin gathering her clothing for her, not bothering to look back at her to see the tears that are forming at the inner corner of each eye. I still know that she’s hurting.

I’m hurting. So, I hurt her and she’ll probably hurt someone else someday for no other reason than what I’m doing to her right now. It’s a cycle. Do I feel bad? Maybe. I probably do, but I’m too emotionally numb now to know whether I feel bad or not. Most likely I’ll feel like shit about it later, but that won’t change a thing.

I have gathered all her stuff and placed it on the corner of the bed. Then, I rush to the bathroom to get showered without even meeting her eyes.

Eventually, as I feel the hot water cascade over my body, my heightened senses hear the front door to my room open and then close. When and only when I hear that, I begin to cry.

Shit. Why do I keep hurting people, B? Is that what I’m born to do? I’m supposed to be helping people for fuck’s sake. I need you. I need to be strong like you. Fuck, why did I ever leave you?

I finish my shower and walk out into the actual room, with a towel wrapped loosely around me and using another to dry my hair. You always told me that you loved my hair. You used to make it a point to spend a little time every night brushing it and telling me how pretty it was. I never believed you. You were the first one who ever told me that anything about me was pretty.

But I always pushed you away, didn’t I?

Stupid asshole! She could have loved you, if only you had let her in! STUPID ASSHOLE! That’s my own head talking again. Sorry.

You were so awesome, B. So full of goodness and love and…forgiveness?

Oh my God. Why not?

When I killed Alan Finch, you came to me and told me that you forgave me, and that we should go see Giles together. I didn’t believe you, of course. I was so used to being set up and let down, that I thought you were plotting to get rid of me. But you did forgive me, didn’t you?

But would you forgive me now? Hell, I have no idea. I don’t even forgive myself; why would you?

How could anyone as good as you, not forgive?

I finish drying and pull on my black tank top and jeans, then shrug on my denim jacket. I need to go out, maybe clear my head.

That’s what I tell myself. But in the back of my head, I know where I’m going.

I’m going to Sunnydale. Even if you don’t forgive me, B.

I’m gonna be there for you.

	::::I wanna lay you down, on a bed of roses. 
	For tonight, I sleep on a bed of nails.
	I wanna be just as close as…
	The Holy Ghost is…
	Lay you down…On a Bed of Roses.::::

The End