Part I – "Morning After"

The room was empty when I awoke.

Hours must've passed, and I'm still sitting motionless on my trashed bed. Looking, but not really seeing, as the sun rose and filtered in, filling the room with blinding rays of golden warmth. And I think I'm sick, because I can't feel it.

Or anything else.

But you're not here, and I don't know why I care.

I don't know why I'm a wreck. Images, like a demented picture show, flashing through my mind. You. Laughing, crying, helpless, pouting, teasing, pretending to be mad, angry, furious...

And then for the first time since I realized you were gone, I move to point my gaze down to the floor, sick of staring at the sun. Staring at the light I can't seem to feel. My eyes catch onto the shining metal lying innocently on the stained carpet.

It's the damn pistol.

All at once, last night pushes it's way into my predominating stream of consciousness... never truely forgotten. The lust. The high, assuming that I was winning. The anger. The bitterness. And the tears, mine, that poured out ruthlessly, filled with nothing but the only thing that's left inside.

Emptiness.

I can see my fingers curling around the handle of the gun now, but I can't remember bending down to pick it up. It's a pitilessly frigid block of ice in my palm.

Was it this cold inside you last night?

The metal glints in the sunlight, mocking my weakness. It laughs because you're the victor. Because you won, and I lost. Because even when I thought I was winning, thought I had control, I was losing the entire time, from the moment you walked into the cemetary. Because I was so naive.

I let you blind me.

I let you. You took advantage.

My fingers wind tighter around the gun, and for a moment, I wonder how much more it would take for me to break it, with my slayer strength. I want to know... Is it as easy to crush, as I was to you?

I study it in my hand, grip loosening. This is what you let become a part of you. You let me make it a part of you, even if for the smallest moment in time.

It still reeks of you.

A tremor travels up my arm.

B... Buffy, how could I have ever let you in? What've you done to me? I let you destroy me. I let you reach in and make me... wrong.

And I don't... I can't... don't know how to fix it.

There's a loud slam, as the door swings open suddenly. My eyes snap to the door for the intruder, all muscles tense.

"What the h - ... Red?"