One
by SwaySlayer
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Faith? Not mine. Buffy? Not mine. Alanis Morissette? Not
mine. What is mine? My overactive imagination which gets me into all sorts
of troublesome situations.
Author’s Notes: Every once in a while, I rediscover Alanis Morissette and
smack my forehead thinking “Duh! That is SO perfect!” Then I write, finish
and wonder what the hell I was thinking. *shrugs* Song is called One off her
album, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. Not pretentious at all, is it?
LOL. Enjoy.
Dedication: To the strongest person I know. Your faith and belief in the,
admittedly, confusing emotion of love, makes me realise that there are
factors out there that cannot be classified. I love you.
Feedback: You know how some people plead modesty and humility in the case of
praise? I’m not one of those people. Gimme gimme gimme!
Faith’s eyes fluttered open and the sunlight streaming in through her window burned her sensitive skin. Releasing an audible moan, she rolled over and gathered herself up in her sleep-tangled sheets. Burrowing her head into the pillow, Faith caught the unmistakable scent of herself. A mixture of tears, sweat and pheromones stained her bedding and she found herself longing for someone’s arms to be wrapped around her. (I am the biggest hypocrite) Faith scoffed at her impulse, perceiving it as a moment of weakness, only these moments were becoming more frequent, appearing at inopportune times where she had to fight to retain her apparent craving. For so long she had looked upon people who needed others as weak, yet here she was, alone, in pain and undoubtedly miserable. She could easily justify her sacrifice in terms of leaving behind the responsibilities of a lover or a companion, but the loss of her humaneness still haunted her.
Flinging off the covers, Faith trudged to the bathroom, running her hands over her naked form, just to make sure that she could still feel. Her capacity for tenderness seemed to her, a distant memory, one that she chose to look upon with apathy, but lately, her heart had begun to gain the upper hand in the battle with her mind. Snippets of her past flashed through her head. She saw the horror on Buffy’s face as she tried desperately to stop Faith from killing Angel. The disbelief on the blonde’s face mirroring that of her own. (I’ve been undeniably jealous) Weakness again. This time mutating into an emotion that she was unaware she could feel anymore. Hate was easy. So was anger. Lust the easiest of them all, but jealousy? This scared Faith. Jealousy suggested that there was some level of compassion or caring involved, and this did not fit in with how she lived her life. Covering it was the simplest task. (I have been loud and pretentious) Stories of wrestling alligators while completely nude, relating numerous sexual exploits, they all created a firm wall around a very sad, lost and lonely little girl.
Faith was about to turn on the faucet when her own reflection caught her eye and demanded her attention. Reaching up to her face with a calloused hand, Faith traced the contours of her face, brushing stray locks of hair out of her face and running her thumb over her full lips. This initiated another wave of longing and Faith fought it with as much power as she possessed. She distracted herself by contorting her face into various positions, hoping somehow to rid herself of the monstrous image she had seen too often. No one had ever told Faith she was beautiful, and even though her wide, smoky eyes, porcelain complexion and lithe figure suggested otherwise, she believed in nothing but her complete and utter run of the mill appearance. Then again, Faith was anything but ordinary. (I have been utterly threatened) What normal person shies away from human affection and understanding, while throwing themselves head first into a pit of vampires? Faith chuckled at herself, remembering the expression on Buffy’s face as she leapt into the sewer, the blonde’s last words hovering around her “You’re just going to go down there? That’s your plan?”
Gone. That’s what happened. It was all there, and then it was gone. Faith rinsed her mouth out with water, trying to recall what it was, and why it was, that she stayed here. (I have gotten candy for my self-interest) Jackshit. Diddly-fucking-squat. These words swam around her head as she grabbed a towel and wiped her face. It was common knowledge that no one had ever understood Faith. Sure, some of them had tried, but no one had ever made it past the stereotype she projected. Laziness. Her life was shit because people were lazy. She found it ironic, in an extremely weird way. She, the shirker of all responsibilities from the school of “I’ll Do It Later”, screwed over by sloth in other people. It would not have mattered to her if she did not care – but she did. She cared because someone else did too. Fighting the overbearing mask (the sexy treadmill capitalist), Buffy had fought harder than anyone else to infiltrate the body and mind of Faith, but that’s what Buffy did. Buffy fought for everyone. The weak, the helpless, the disturbed, the lost, and that’s why Faith pushed her away. The brunette had always suspected that the reason why Buffy hated her so much was because she failed to help her. (Heaven forbid I be criticised) No one ever questioned Buffy. She was the be-all and the end-all of slaying. And Faith? (Heaven forbid I be ignored) She just wanted some fucking recognition.
And with that, came the evil. Violence and pleasure intermingled as Faith twisted and played with people’s emotions, using her wiles to turn Buffy’s happy little world upside down, on its head and kick it in the teeth. She was happy. She was happy because she could no longer feel other’s pain, but what made her even happier, was that she could no longer feel her own. Then came a roof, a knife, a stomach and nothing. Somewhere in the recesses of her fevered mind, a voice repeated itself over and over (I have abused my power forgive me. You mean we actually are all one?) Waking up 8 months later, Faith regarded this inner mantra as nothing more than some hippie-esque bullshit she had picked up in her earlier days, and setting this thought aside, set out in search of what she had lost. Even so, as she stood across from Buffy, provoking her, urging her to engage in battle, she sadly realised that it was impossible to regain something that she had never possessed originally. “I’ve been looking for you.” (I’ve been out of reach and separatist) “I’ve been in a coma for eight months. How hard did you look?”
Fists, feet, bared teeth, feral positions, hair whipping in the wind, two girls fought each other. Revenge staining each action, combined, respectively, with anger and pride, yet one concept failed to register within the two fighters. Both craved acceptance, be it in the present, in the past, from others or from each other (Heaven forbid average, whatever average means) Unbeknownst to them, they were fighting for each other, battling against stigmas that had been placed on them in the past. The materialistic prom queen lashed out at the down-trodden tough girl, laying to waste injustice, prejudice and emotional hell. Though one fled to fight another day, one thought remained with both as they attempted to put together some semblance of a life (I have compensated for my days of powerlessness).
The sun was weak, and Faith realised that it was all but disappearing already. Had the days begun to move faster, or had she just slowed down? She felt sluggish and her constant state of lethargy had begun to infringe on her life. The nights that she used to live for, now remained as nothing but an evil extension of day. Fat lot of good it is being a Slayer when you can’t even pull yourself out of the shit and act like a human being. Another thought. (I have abused my so-called power forgive me) It meant nothing. Nothing meant nothing on the greater scale of having someone to tell you to shut the fuck up, to touch you until every pore on your body was filled with their spirit and to leave an imprint of their body on your skin. Faith understood wanting, desire, the urge to take someone beneath you and create fire from nothing more than pure craving, but love had been a foreign concept, until the Chosen had become Two. (You mean we actually are all one).
And then they had danced. (Did you just call her amazing?) Music had been their tutor, guiding them in the dance of repressed emotions and unfulfilled desire, teasing and tantalising two souls that would never find peace unless it was with each other (Surely we both can’t be amazing?) There had been friendship, camaraderie and understanding. (And give up my hard earned status as a fabulous freak of nature?) Fun, laughter, comments that turned pink cheeks red, actions that turned white skin flushed and electricity that set eyes ablaze. And then came the stake, followed closely by blood and resulting in the end of the world. Faith’s world. Nothing made the pain go away. (I have abused my power forgive me) Nothing would ever bring back the feeling of making her feel human again (You mean we actually are all one) Everything had been lost, that had never before been gained. So why did she feel so hollow? Faith had accepted feeling empty – it distracted from feeling anything else. Discarding any inclination she might have had to leave her room, Faith assumed her position as a filling in her sheets and closed her eyes, a fresh batch of tears wetting her pillow. (Always looked good on paper. Sounded good in theory).
Tears gave way to fatigue and fatigue opened its arms to apathy, swallowing Faith into a deep abyss, where there was room for only One.