Scrubbing...scrubbing the blood of my hands with an old washcloth. It's getting more worn and frayed by the minute, I've been washing my hands since I killed a man, snuffed out a life with my own hands.
What if he was married? And had two kids, and a dog, to boot?
Stop! I order myself, still scrubbing the blood away. Don't be like Buffy.. getting personal, getting involved. Don't be like Buffy... But, everyone keeps saying "Why can't you be more like Buffy?", myself included. Buffy, with her designer coats and blonde hair. Girls like her made me hate school. The kind of girl Buffy told me she used to be like, popular, preppy, cheerleader, shallow... How I could hurt them now.
How their jeweled necks would be cracked with the simplest motion, how their ringed fingers would break, and how their leather Prada bags would hit the pavement and get scuffed.
But, Buffy is different now, even though she's sort of the same, she's like, what's that word? Kindred. She is like a sister or a really close cousin, or a best friend. She's my best friend.
I said to my best friend "The body doesn't exist, weighted it, and dumped it." But it does still exist, no matter how many times I tell myself, the body does exist to the ones who loved him, cherished him, and to me. And to Buffy. She attacked me with guilt and criticism.
"..You don't get it, I don't care." But, I do so much it's killing me.
After I scrub, the blood keeps appearing again and again, which it will till I turn myself in, maybe even after, but I won't turn myself in, I can't. I would be even more an outcast in the eyes of the Scoobies. Even Xander's eyes, even though thanks to me, isn't a virgin anymore. Then again, he's always had a thing for Buffy..... The blonde thing does it for him, it does it for most men, Angel included.
"Mark, do you want to go to the movies with me? There's this wicked awesome flick playing...." I asked a cool guy who found me decent.
"Of course he doesn't want to go with you, he likes real women, Faith, not tomboys." Tina Cherry, the popular cheerleadery type said and took him away. I quit school that day.
Scrubbing, maybe the blood'll go away....or I'll enjoy seeing red stains on my hands.