i feel i took on my other fic - Circles too early, so i'm going to work my way up to it. enjoy.

Faith pushed her shoulder against the door slumping into the motel room of the week. She slid along the wall feeling for the light before lazily hitting her stereo.

Loud classic rock music vibrated through the room as she stumbled haphazardly to the shower.

She wrenched the knob, lime scale cracking at the sudden movement.

Hot that's all she wanted Heat.

Barely getting her legs over the edge of the tub she slunk down onto her knees.

She loved being a Slayer, she did, but god she wished she kept the scars.

Tracing a finger over the place Buffy's---Her knife went in with her nail she hissed. The blood ran down, dripping off the ends of her hair.

She hadn't been quick enough, it was becoming a pattern. Sighing dejectedly she pulled her soaked tank top over her head, wincing as it grazed the new cut decorating the side of her forehead.

Don't worry it won't scar.

She shook her head, brown curls swinging, head pounding before she gained control. Control- hah. That was almost laugh worthy.

Reaching over she grabbed a red permanent marker and drew a straight line vertically above her hip bone.

One across her cheek, when mommy slapped her with her rings on her fingers.

(Bells on her toes.)

One across her thigh, a red handprint, from the boss

A couple dots, mom's boyfriend's cigarette butts.

Slits across her wrists, when she failed to make it go away.

She closed her eyes letting the blood drip from her head, from her shoulder (she failed to catch her balance) mix with the red of the marker. She smiled to herself, and hugged her self and sang to herself.

"Hush little baby don't say a word, mamma's gunna buy you a mocking bird…"

She was a Slayer, full of power and she loved the feeling of being alive. But then the bad guy was killed, staked, burnt, decapitated, dead. And she was alone again, in a place where she couldn't even trust herself.

"And if that mocking bird don't sing, mamma's gunna buy you a diamond ring…"

She wrote the words across her stomach.

Whore

Slut

Tramp

Killer

Murderer

And yet she couldn't murder herself….

Ironic right? She thought so.

But of all her thoughts the last one to dance past the corner of her mind was

Help Me.