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There.
I can see it in her face, the exact moment she wakes up, jerking to awareness and seeing her boy's face, grinning that sharp-toothed tiger grin right at her. That slight tremor of disgust, the look of anguish in her eyes, and yes, the bone-deep terror I'm beginning to love, the look of a person who knows that something is going to happen to them, and that it is going to fucking hurt.
Twinkie. Miss Polly Perfect, princess of Sunnydale. Well guess what, baby, I got what's yours and I'm not giving him back, no matter how much you beg.
And trust me, girlie, you're going to beg.
But forget about that now, he's talking to her as he adjusts the chains, tightening them around her tiny, birdlike wrists. Speaking to her in a low hum, voice like whipped cream. "Morning, sleepyhead." She tries to back up; figures out that she's chained to a wall, and panics, rage beginning to enter her eyes. Angel lowers his voice even more, until that sensual purr begins to cut into her well built up Angelus-defenses. Mockingly concerned, mockingly Angel-ic. "You know what I just can't believe? All of our time together and we never tried chains." She's barely containing a hiss, but he just smirks, shrugging. "Well, can't dwell on the past. Especially with the future we have ahead."
Yum. Fucking dangerous bastard. To speak in that low chocolate-growl to this piece of bleach-blond cheesecake that he loves, cause lord knows he loves her because who could resist beautiful magnificent perfect Buffy? And even if this Angelus guy, who I'm beginning to like a hell of a lot more than Angel, denies it, he just can't get enough of Miss Thing. He loves her more than blood and bondage.
And now he's gonna cut her apart like a fucking lab experiment.
That last thought, and Angel's last statement, make me grin, looking at Buffy all sweet and helpless, chained to the wall. Running my eyes over her, checking out the goods. I nod my approval. "Bondage looks good on you, B. The outfit's all wrong, but hey." I can feel the implications of that roll off my tongue, see the panicked little sparks of 'I'm a good little straight girl' begin to show up in her eyes. Whatever. She can deny it all she wants, but there's a charge between us, something stronger than anything between her and Angel or me and Angel. Something deep, like in our blood.
She tried to talk me out of it. "You don't know what you're doing." Sure I don't, Twinkie. Because that would make me a killer, right? That would make me the person who rammed a knife into some poor, though not exactly innocent, schmo who happened to be in the way of the Boss? books. That would make me the girl who ripped Angel's soul out of him in one fell swoop, laughing as he fell to the knees in pain. Sure, baby. I'm not that girl. I'm just an innocent bystander.
But instead of saying all that, I just shrug. "Really? Weird, because something about all this just feels so right." And it does. Something they never tell you about murder is that it has a rhythm, a flow. Its like breathing. Slip the knife in, give it that 180-degree twist, then pull it out, wipe it on the rug. Watch the life fade slowly-or quickly, depending on the case-from the guy's eyes. Buffy would love it, if she ever tried it. It's like sex. But then, with the way her and Angel?s relationship's been lately, maybe sex isn?t exactly up her fucking alley, you know? Maybe the slaying metaphor is more her thing.
Because she knows the pure, primal beauty of slaying. I've seen the heat in her eyes. I know that she loves it: the rush, the kill, the victory. We're like those ancient warriors, the ones who drank the blood of their foes to absorb their strength. The Sisterhood of Jai, almost. Yeah, I like that, a sisterhood. Only difference is, we don't need to drink the blood to gain their strength. We just need to see the life slip from their eyes.
But moving on: I go on with my little speech, trying to explain the ease with which I contemplate cutting her up-should I go for a main artery, or just take out a minor vein? Bleed her out slow, or cut something off? I look down at the knife in my hands. "Maybe it's one of those unhappy childhood things." By now I'm just thinking aloud, trying to explain myself. Like I have to. Well, fuck her. Fuck Buffy and fuck my mom. Instead of letting this expose my fucking weakness, because I feel so fucking weak sometimes, I just decide to turn it around. Onto her. Onto Buffy.
"See, when I was a kid I used to beg my mom for a dog." Calculated shrug as I slink over to Angel, loving that I have both his and Buffy's eyes on me. "Didn't matter what kind. I just wanted, you know," reaching my arms up to Angel, "something to love."
Our mouths meet like something is torching us. Hot. Feral. Completely fucking carnal, and I'm thinking about throwing him down on the rug like I did earlier today. Just jumping on top of him and
wriggling, just like he wanted...
No. Fuck that. I was in control of that situation, whether Angel thought so or not. It was going the way I wanted no matter what. Just like it is now. I'm completely in control.
To show her this (because I just know that Buffy's eyes are eating us up, not knowing whether to be angry or aroused) I pull away from Angel and continue on with my story while Angel places swift kisses on my neck. Not enough to be a threat, just enough to be affectionate. I turn back to Buffy, accepting the knife that Angel hands me; shrug. "A dog's all I wanted." I reconsider: "Well, that...and toys."
Oh yes...this is going just the way I want it to, and that look in her eyes when she sees all the sharp shiny metal things turns me on in a way that even Angel hasn't been able to achieve. The power inherent in this is like sex. Heady. Addictive. And me on top, just like always.
"But mom was so busy-you know, enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life-that I never really got what I wanted. Until now," I purr.
Twinkie's still not getting the big picture. She's trying to reason with me. "Faith, listen to me very closely," she says, all earnest and wise, like she wants to save me. "Angel's a killer. When he's done with me, he'll turn on you." Yeah, no shit, blondie. One thing I've learned about your boy here is that all he wants is the power. And since I have a direct link to that, I'm a hot little piece of ass now.
But even so, Angel's voice surprises me, saying "She's right." I look back at him and he raises an eyebrow, looking up from the glinting metal in his hand. He's testing me. "I probably will."
Motherfucker. But instead of getting angry, I act unsurprised, like I thought this was the drill all along. "Yeah? Huh." I mean, I probably should've. A vamp would probably get a high out of fucking a Slayer for awhile, but having someone around, someone you're in bed with, who's stronger than you can't be a vampires idea of fantasy. I grin at Buffy again, cat-like. "Guess we'll just have to keep you around for awhile then."
As if that wasn't the plan all along. I still have the Mayor's words ringing in my ears, that Daddy-tone that I just seem to obey automatically. 'Be a good girl, Faith. Just let daddy's friend touch you a little, it won't hurt. When I hit you, it's only because I love you so much.' Fucking drunken asshole. The thought of him makes me grit my teeth, and I'm striding over to Buffy before I know it. Her chin in my hand. soft, silky pale skin. "Before we get started, I just want you to know...if you're a screamer, feel free."
I see her lip begin to shake, those green eyes fill up. Classic pre-crying jag posturing, trying to deny the tears that are creeping up behind your eyelids. Her voice, so frail, but self-assured. "Why, Faith? What's in it for you?"
I shrug, vehemence coming out in my voice. "What isn't?" She just doesn't get it. This is beginning to turn into a lesson. Re-educate Buffy, integrate her back into the world as someone with eyes wide open. Well, as someone dead, actually, but I'm just the moral support here.
Angel's gonna be the one that cuts.
"You know, I come to Sunnydale. I'm the Slayer. I do my job kicking ass better than anyone. What do I hear about everywhere I go? Buffy." That's right, I can see that good-girl look come back into her eyes, 'It's all my fault.' Yeah, whatever. I'm just getting started. "So I slay, I behave, I do the good little girl routine. And who's everybody thank? Buffy." I'm clutching that knife in my hand, sweat beginning to make it slip, heat heat heat steaming up the metal. I'm itching to put it inside her when I hear her denial.
Voice so broken, not so self-assured anymore. "That's not my fault."
But I'm off on a rant here, fingering the hard piece of metal in my hand, pacing and talking. Loose tongue, that's what I've always been accused of. ?Everybody always asks, 'why can't you be more like Buffy?' But did anyone ever ask if you could be more like me?" I point the knife at her, watch her recoil.
"I know I didn't." Angel's cold, amused voice behind me, and this time I bristle a little, but I don't have the time to get angry. Angry at him, anyway. Besides, I'm in too deep on railing about Buffy and her fucking perfect existence.
Even I am surprised at just...the fucking rage in my voice. The jealousy. "You get the Watcher. You get the mom. You get the little Scooby gang. What do I get? Jack squat. This is supposed to be my town!" I'm shaking her, the knife is right next to her face, and she's curling back into herself. Goddammit, goddam her for making me feel like this!
But she's yelling at me, she has some of her spunk back. Well, what's that movie line? 'I hate spunk.' "Faith, listen to me!"
No! Fuck you! "Why?" I sneer, curling my lips. "So you can impart some special Buffy wisdom, is that it? Do you think you're better than me? Do you?" She does. She thinks she's superior to even her little fucking Scooby friends, and she'd be dead without them. She?d be dead without me. She's just one more blond baby-cake, only this time she has superpowers. So if she can't be proud of her manicured nails and her bouncy hair anymore, she'll be proud of her kill count. Not like me, baby. I was never like that. Straight steel, through and through. always.
I point my knife at her in triumph, that I've cracked her little shell. "Say it. You think you're better than me."
She straightens up, and her voice comes out soft. Cold. Authoritative. "I am."
I straighten up, and she meets my eyes. Voice even and calculated. "Always have been."
No, no, no! This isn't how its supposed to go! I screw her, not the other way around. So I do the only thing that comes to mind-grab Angel by his shirt and gloat as he wraps his arms around me. "Um, maybe you didn't notice. Angel's with me." Ooh...that look in her eyes should be sold in stores.
But almost instantly she becomes pitying. Mocking, even. "And how did you get him, Faith? Magic?" She sees me stiffen at that, and seizes on. "Cast some sort of spell? Cause in the real world, Angel would never touch you and we both know it."
Our eyes are locked on each other, and then I'm out from under Angel's arm; backhanding her, feeling her cheekbone give a little under my fist. Soft lips being driven against teeth, and there has to be blood.
I know it, bitch. I know that I'm not you. I'm not the blond perfect angel of sweetness and fucking light; I'm some trampy waste-case who'll be dead in ten years. But fuck her. This is my game, and I can have Angel if I want.
She's still not giving. Her mouth is bleeding, but she talks through it. With no difficulty. "You had to tie me up to beat me. There's a word for people like you, Faith." I lean closer, needing to know exactly what I am, in her eyes anyway. "Loser." The word jumps, venomous, from her mouth to my ears in a second, shattering my ear drum, it feels like.
She's still recovering from the hit when I drive the hot piece of metal into the wall right by her head. She jumps, almost bumping her head against mine. We are close enough to kiss. "Uh huh. You're just trying to make me mad so I'll kill you." I shrug, telling her that I'm not gonna fall for her plan. "I'm too smart for that. Stick around." I grab her chin in my hand in some sick parody of affection. Or in real affection, maybe. I don't know anymore.
As I'm heading back to the table, to all the knives spread out silver and bright against the black tablecloth, Buffy's voice calls out from behind me. "For what? Your boss's lame Ascension? Like I couldn't stop it."
Uh-huh. So fucking self-assured. Well, she won't be when we're done with her. I'm back on track: me and Angel, one fucking crazy Bonnie and Clyde pair. Only in our version of it, we end up on top.
I turn back to her, still fingering my knife. "You can't." That much I know for sure, at least. If I can't be sure about this big hunk of undead flesh standing behind me, at least I can be sure of the Mayor.
Blondie's voice is low and dangerous. "I will."
And me, I can't help but laugh at that. "Keep dreaming." Cupcake hasn't quite got it yet. She doesn't know the kind of power the Boss has; hell, even I don't know. But I do know that he's gonna level the town. "No one can stop the Ascension. Mayor's got it wired, B. He built this town for demons to feed on and come graduation day, he's getting paid. And I'll be sitting at his right hand." I stop and consider that. Umm... "Assuming he has hands after the transformation. I'm not too clear on that part." I'm really not. But I do know one thing, and I'm fucking reveling it as it hits her hard, in the belly. "And all your little lame ass friends are going to be kibbles 'n' bits. Think about that when your boyfriend's cuttin' into you." I twist the knife a little to emphasize. Not that I need to. Her eyes look dark and defeated.
"I never knew you had so much rage in you."
What? She's worrying about me? No, fuck it. My rage is justified, girlfriend. I turn to Angel instead, giving him a sweet little smile. "What can I say? I'm the world's best actor."
As I turn back to watch Buffy squirm, Angel's voice hits my ears: "Second best."
No.
Fuck, no, I know that voice! That low and so-very-sane Angel voice, no fucking way!
But Buffy's looking at him with a little smile on her face. "Graduation day... You think we missed anything?"
He has a laugh in his voice, like they're both in on the same joke. "I think we know everything she knows."
And I'm just left shaking my head, no way, no way. Buffy's voice is cold and hard, like steel. "May I say something?"
When I decline to comment, she pulls her hands out from behind her back, totally free. Like a magic trick. "Psych." The professional's edge that I'm used to is back in her voice. But I'm too busy freaking out, so full of red-hot rage that I'm ready to blow.
"You played me." It's not a question, it's a flat-out denial. No way could they mind-fuck me, I'm the queen of that. But that's an undeniably arrogant Angel smile on his face. No. "You played me!"
Buffy's about to say something, drive the knife in a little deeper. But luckily all her little fucking friends break in right at that moment, so instead I just grab Angel by his pansy-purple shirt and throw him in their way. If they think he's evil, he's who they'll go for first. Then he'll be dead, and I'll be happy.
Unless they know about this little scheme too...
Before I have time to figure out the possible flaws this could throw into my brand new 'Get Angel Staked' plan, Buffy's on me. Blood red, in my eyes; my blood is pumping. She's all swirling blond hair and petty anger, but I'm fury unleashed.
There's no time to figure out if I can beat her, or if she can beat me. Because we're both down on one knee with a knife to each other's jugular. Face to face. Close enough to kiss.
Instead I just smile, eyes jerking to the piece of shiny metal that she has against my throat. "What are you gonna do, B, kill me? You become me." I see that register in her eyes. She knows its true. Maybe she doesn't care.
I shake my head at her, making her reconsider that last thought. "You're not ready for that." I throw her arm off me, grab her face in my hands, then bring my lips to her forehead. Soft. Sweet. Judas kiss.
I guess Sunday school really paid off.
As I pull away from her, seeing her eyes wide and frightened at this charge that is still between us, under our skin, I grin at her. Cat-like. Succubus-sure and ready for whatever she throws at me. "Yet."
And with that I take off, running faster, faster; away from Buffy and the Super Friends. Away from her wide eyes and soft skin. A swirl of blond hair. Rage reddening my eyes. And then...
I'm gone.
THE END
