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To: Willow Rosenburg
6305 Westminster Place
Sunnydale, CA
From: Faith Wilkins, posthumously or in case of extreme injury
Dear Willow,
Yeah, I know how this looks, especially after everything that's gone down. But the way I see it is, one of us might die on Ascension Day, and I'm just prayin' that it isn't you. Because the thought of this world with you not in it makes my chest cave in a way that I can't really say is all bad. Because, then I wouldn't have to worry about you.
Because then I wouldn't have to love you.
Or maybe I'd love you anyway. And who can tell with this sort of shit, you know? Love is fucking tricky, and I only hope that I never get another taste of it, because that I would not be able to fucking survive. Get some, get gone, that was my motto. Before you fucked me, that is.
And in case anyone but Willow gets their hands on this letter, that's figuratively, not literally. Little Miss Pure-heart was too much of a pussy to do much of anything with dirty little me. But she fucked me all the same, with those big, sweet eyes and wet lips. That demure expression and the bulky clothes covering what has to be a beautifully thin, boyish body.
But back to talking to you, Willow. Back to explaining exactly what I hope doesn't happen.
I can still remember the first time I saw you. I mean, really saw you, with my Slayer eyes. Seeing just...fucking through you to everything that was inside. Me and B. were on patrol (God, don't make me remember that) and you and your little wolfy boytoy were having a walk outside. That little mutt...
I'm getting off-track. Anyway. This vamp came up to you two, and pushed over Dogboy in about ten seconds flat, no scuffle whatsoever. Your boy has no fight in him. But this vamp, he was completely fixated on you and your pure blood, which had to've been pumpin' underneath your skin by then. Buffy gasped and took off in a run, but I just kinda stayed there, in the bushes. I wanted to see what you could do.
I wasn't disappointed. You were wicked freaked, I'll give you that, but you just hauled out a stake and stuck it in him, wrist bent awkwardly. But as he was dusted...you made this delighted little squeaking noise, and I could see it in your eyes. The joy of the kill. Baby, if you were a Slayer, the fun we would have had...
But you weren't. No, I get Buffy, protector of the fucking innocent and too self-righteous for her own damn good. That's gonna be her downfall, you know. She'll think something is just plain wrong, and it'll end up being the one thing she has to do to save the world. Or her own fucking ass, at least.
Me, I'm nothing like that. But you know that, don't you? Much as you'd like to deny it, you know me, inside and out. I protect myself, and I protect what's mine, and that's that.
You know, the Mayor promised me that killing you would be easy. He said that when you really love someone, and they hurt you, rammin' a knife into their gut is like...poetic justice. Ripping their heart out just like they did yours. But when I was alone in the Mayor's office with you...all I wanted was to grab you. Fuck, there's just no way to say this without sounding weak. I wanted to hold you. I wanted to hold you until I could stop shaking and until the world was all better again and until my head would stop aching from my betrayal of you guys, who were my fucking family.
And then you said...you said those things, and I hit you. It wasn't that you said that I was nothing. I fucking knew that already. It was that you said them.
But fuck it. If you get this letter, just it, because I know that I deserved it. But I have to tell ya honestly, Red, my first instinct at that moment was to stick that knife so deep into your flesh that it would come out the other side. To see your pale pink skin flush red with blood and finally break under the pressure of this thick, cold, hard piece of metal inside of your body.
And yes, I see the Freudian undertones of that. You don't have to finish high school (which you're unlikely to do, by the way) to know that a knife in your flesh is not just a cigar. Fuck, look at those cheesy Victorian vamp stories. All penetration and going into chicks' bedrooms late at night. I know what a metaphor is.
So. Sex. That's kinda what I was tryin' to avoid with this letter, and look how well I succeeded. Look, I don't think I have to say that I'm sorry about Xander. I mean, hell, I tried to strangle the guy.
Shit. I tried to scratch that out, but it won't. I'm sorry, you know that I really fucking truly am. I didn't mean to fuck him, and I didn't mean to try and kill him. But I'm not used to someone...caring afterwards, you know? And I think it was the only sexual encounter I've had where we were both thinking of the same person. That bein' you, if you hadn't figured that out.
But mostly I'm sorry about...God, what I did to you. I hit you. I became my fucking Mom, if only for a sec. Beating on the person that I fucking...love. I'm so sorry that I've become this bloodthirsty, cold bitch . But at the same time...it makes it all easier.
The shit the Mayor has me doing...I hate to tell you this, but I enjoy it. Not as much as I enjoyed being able to research with the gang, watching you giggle and occasionally throw me a shy glance, but still enough to keep doin' it. I miss you guys.
I miss Giles with his strange British ways and his hot old-guy bod.
I miss Xander and his sarcastic sense of humor and strangely heroic ways.
I miss Angel and the way he's like everyone's guardian, everyone's big brother.
I miss little miss Cordelia-bitch, who is the only completely fucking honest one among you. God, I love that in a girl...
I miss Buffy, who used to be my sister. I miss Oz, who has the only thing I want and takes care of her for me. Hell, I even miss the pedophile from the council, Wesley fucking Wyndam-Price.
But mostly I miss you. I miss talking to you, in those few moments we had alone, where you threw off this shy little hacker veil that everyone has pinned on you, and you were so honest and free and beautiful. I hope that, if you survive the Ascension, you get that back. I miss being able to look at you, if only when no one could notice.
Shit, Red. You broke down my defenses, and for that I want to kill you. For that I want to save you from Doomsday and lock you in my room, keep you in bed with me forever. You confuse me, Red. Fuck.
I keep having memories of that night that we spent together. Maybe it was nothing to you, but it was everything to me.
It was only a little while after Wolfy had broken up with you. Over Xander, of all people. Like he hasn't fucked a few groupies in his day...
Shit. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on your boy, there.
Anyway, I was patrolling (alone; B. was with her own personal boytoy) when I saw you walking the streets, forlorn. My heart felt like it was beating a mile-a-fucking-minute, partially cause it was you at night, unprotected, but mostly just cause it was you. As soon as I got my breath goin' again, I yelled out to you.
"Hey, Red! Don't you know it's dangerous for little girls to be out at night?" My voice was teasing, but I meant it. I didn't want you out there in the fucking darkness, where the monsters were. I had this overwhelming urge to protect you.
You looked up, like in shock or somethin', but when you saw me your face relaxed into a grin. "Faith," you said, voice relieved. "What're ya doin'?"
I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant while the hand holding the stake was trembling. "Patrol. But I'm done now. Ya wanna walk me home?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively, grinning a little as you giggled and blushed.
"Uh, yeah, I guess it is kind of late. So I will go home. Right now." God, I love how, when you're nervous, your speech patterns get all fragmented. I love that I am able to make you nervous like that.
I shrugged again. "No way. Come on, we're two, young, free women." By this time I had strode up to you, throwing my arm over your shoulder. You looked up at me, a strangely hopeful and nervous gleam in your eye. Like you wanted me to take you into my world, but you weren't sure what would happen to you there. "Lets have a night on the town."
You ducked your head, cheeks flushing this petal-pink color. Pure. "I guess one night out won't hurt."
I know how feral my grin was. It made your eyes widen, but at the same time darkened them to a forest green. That was lust in your eyes, little girl. "That's my girl."
I don't remember much of what happened in the bar I took you to. It took a damn lot of coaxing to get you in there, but once I did it was worth it. With a little alcohol in you...you were so free. So beautiful, such a wild thing. Like me.
We sat on the barstools, and we both drank like fucking fish. I'm surprised that the guy let us get away with it, seeing as we were both obviously underage: you in your green sweater, blue tights, short skirt; me in tight black jeans and white tank top, tat out in the open air. We were a strange fucking combo, I'll give you that, but you'd never know it from the talk we had. Vampires. Fighting. Men. Sex, which you had yet to have I have plenty of experience in. Your frustration with Oz. Your memory of the time you walked in on him and his little band buddy goin' at it.
We also talked about us. About the fucking Scooby Gang's perception of you, and of me.
They see both of us wrong, you know. They see you as some ultimate, pure, naïve being, and me as this sexual Antichrist. Bullshit, but that's the easiest way of looking at us. I mean, check this out. We've both sort of shared Xander. But when he looks at me he thinks: sex. bed. throat. choke. breasts. lips. All very random thoughts having to do with sex in some way. And I'm sure that he sees some fucking succubus, come to town specifically to seduce and strangle him.
But you...well, just like everyone else, I'm sure he sees this little girl he's known his whole life, and she's now just starting to get this kind of glow in her cheeks and this look in her eye. You're this pure and radiant shining creature. (Note sarcasm.)
And you are, I'm not denying that at all. You're like this night-light I used to have in my room as a kid. It was in the shape of a train, and it glowed bright blue. But it can be this sort of dark glow at times, this look in your eye that is pure sex. Those times, you're like a black pearl. That was the look I saw in your eyes, that night in the Mayor's office. That was the look I saw that night in the bar.
After we were both throughly drunk (with you giggling a lot, so I could tell you'd never been drunk before) we stumbled back to your house. God, we were lucky we didn't meet any vamps on the way, or we?d be dead right now. I wanna kick myself for that stupidity, for putting you in danger.
Anyway: we went back to your house and just collapsed on your couch, laughing and watching some old movie on AMC. You got us some cookies, and we were just like kids for awhile. I missed being innocent.
And then, just before we fell asleep on each other, draped on each other like blankets, you turned your face towards mine, closed your eyes, and kissed me softly on the mouth. A pure, sweet, liquid kiss that made me want to bleed into you; become part of this wonderful glowing entity. And then you fell asleep, with this soft little sigh that made me want to burst into tears.
The next morning, I took off before you could wake up, and we never talked about it again. Not about going to The Fish Tank together, and not about that kiss. I'm not sure if you even remember it. But if you do, I hope you remember the instant, right before you fell asleep, or right after. I mumbled into your hair, "I love you. Love you, Red." I was drunk, okay? I was stupid.
But I do. Love you that is, which is so fucking corny because I never even believed in love before. I thought it was this shitty excuse to sell candy, or just another way for people to fuck each other. And now I'm in love with this pure little straight girl, and I'm the one getting fucked.
And now we're not even on the same side. Enemies, or something like that. One of us might die in a couple days, and you might never get to know.
But I hope that you do.
Love from the dark side,
Faith
