I enjoyed writing this one, I hope you enjoy reading it. It's more stream of consciousness than anything.

Note the changes from past to present.

I apologize for taking so long with this; things have been rather hectic, so to speak.

In any case, there IS a sequel to this one that will be coming up.

And those of you who read my When The Past Escapes You fanfic, I promise the next chapter's coming. Promise promise promise! I haven't forgotten you faithful reviewers.

Enjoy and review. Please. It'll get me to actually update faster. Motivation is key ;)

She never went to sleep.

She kinda wishes she did, but she's too busy lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling just thinking.

Wondering if she is in heaven or hell at this moment in time.

Wondering how the hell she even got to this point.


She knows, sorta.

That is, she remembers.

There was knocking.


She distinctly remembers the way her fingers grasped the handle and forcefully - and angrily - jerking it open.

It's fucking 2 in the fucking morning!

That's what she shouted as she opened her door.

It was actually 2:16, but she wasn't going to quibble over 16 minutes in her tired rage.

It had been a rough day.

Wait, she's getting off track.

When she opened it, there was a giggle, a stumble, and then a heavy weight falling into her arms.

The smell of booze and perfume.


Cordelia would be proud.



"Are you drunk?!"

Another giggle, and maybe a hiccup.

"Don't be silly, Faith! I'm perfectly - hic - fine!"

She wasn't sure whether to be amused or even more pissed off.

So she just stayed in an ambiguous spot.

Focused on other details.

Like the flushed look of Buffy's skin.

The way the dress hugged her breasts, her tiny waist, her hi-

She remembered admonishing herself quickly and looking away.

"How can I be of service, B?"



Arms reaching to steady her.

And no answer.

"Uh...do you need a place to crash? Or for me to drive you to the hotel, or something?"

"Nuh uh. Don' wanna go."

Buffy's head kinda lolled about in the air drunkenly.

How the hell did she get here in the first place?

And how did she even know where she lived?

"Alright then, do you just wanna take the bed and I'll just take the couch for the ni-"

She hardly remembered being cut off by the kiss.

She just remembered the kiss.

Hard, soft, in between.

Hateful, loving, all of the above.

Ugly, beautiful, everything in the world in one.

She could feel her life, her soul, her whole entire self being sucked out of her.

She remembered letting it happen.

Giving in and giving up all she swore she would not do.

It vaguely reminded her of Angel's fangs on her neck.

Pull back.

"Faaaith, I - hic - think I drank - hic - a lil too much."

She was breathless.

Almost too much to respond.

She gulped before responding quietly.

"I'm thinking maybe you did, too, B."

It went on from there.

Hands grabbing.



Sweat dripping.



They were both bruises just waiting to be formed.

Add in a trickle or two of blood.

Then the gentle caress.

The sweet and stolen kisses.

The looks of adoration and awe that were avoided.

The tears that went unnoticed.

She remembered wanting to stop it.

Wanting to go on.

Wanting to push away.

Wanting to pull tighter.

She never feels that alive with anyone else.

But she never feels so dead the minute all connections are severed.

As she contemplates, there's a stir.




"Oh my god."

She doesn't move while the girl beside her - once snuggled up to her intimately - scrambles away as if she's been burned and rushes to put on her clothes.

If she can find them.

"They're pretty much done for...you can pick what you want out of the closet."

Faith says.

Buffy hurriedly grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, successfully avoiding Faith's gaze.

Then she runs into the bathroom.

As if Faith hasn't seen it all.

Memorized it all.

Worshipped it all, even.

She sits up to lean against the head of the bed with a sigh.

Buffy comes out and leans over to pick up her purse.

Still avoiding her eyes.

Making as if to just leave without saying a word.

"Are we gonna talk about this?"

Buffy turns, and she can only flush before stammering.



All in her perfect little head.



"I was just...confused."

Sure knew what you wanted last night.

"I was...I...we were drunk, and..."

Oh, so I was drunk, too, now?

"It...it was great, and...but I'm not...it's not...I..."



"It meant nothing."


Faith just looks away, hand coming up to brush back her unruly hair.

"Sure, B. Didn't mean anything."

That dull ache doubles in her heart and she knows things are only bound to get worse.

Oh, the sacrifices she made.

Now, though, she wonders if the consequences of her actions will be too much for her to bear.

Giving up any hope of happiness, of peace; all for the sake of another's fleeting moment of pleasure.

Well, there's always suicide.

She thinks dryly.

"I...I should get going."

Running before the details of whose fault is whose can ever be distributed, leaving only the brunt of the masses.

(Or of the two.)

Who used to stay because of the chains that bound her.

Who stays now only because she is told to.

Because of who forces her to.

Not this time.

As the first foot takes a step out her bedroom door, she can't stop the words.

Doesn't want to anymore.

"When I bit you 'til you bled, did you think of Angel?"

Buffy turns around with a look of slight shock on her face.


"When I made you cry because it hurt, did you think of Spike?"

Faith sits up now, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, knuckles white, fingers gripping the blankets until she can feel the ends of her nails bite into the soft flesh of her palms.

"When I kissed you like a queen, did you think of Riley?"


"And when you fucked me 'til I screamed, did you think of your precious little Satsu?"

Now her hands let go, and she can feel the slight stick; even Buffy notes the smudges of red left on the white sheets.

So bitter.

Because she knows.

She knew.


She's up now, standing, closer to Buffy - close enough to hit, but not quite enough to kiss.

"I mean, how does it work? Is it one of those convenience things? You were in town and you just happened to remember that I lived here and - with no regard to the fact that you were probably surrounded by a bunch of hot little Slayers, Wiccans, and Watchers-in-Training, not to mention your girl - you decided to just pop on by and fuck me instead?"

Look at the way she reddens at each word.

Closer now.

Faith's lips are in a snarl.

Or a sneer.

A mix of both.

"You know you haven't talked to me since that day in England?"


"Wanna guess how long that's been?"

Buffy swallows.


Of course she doesn't know.

"A...a couple months...I mean, I know it's been a little while-"

"Eight months, three weeks, and five days."


The blonde says it so quietly, so subdued, Faith wonders if she should back down.

She looks like a child being screamed at by a parent.

Faith knows that look.

She's worn it so many times in her life.

She turns away.

"How-are-you's just don't cut it anymore, do they?"

She murmurs softly.

Then she chuckles before facing her again.

"Not for the piece-of-shit Slayers, huh? Those are just for the good fucks now and again. A good old-fashioned pick-me-up when the times are right, yea?"

Buffy still can't say a thing.

The lies are stuck in her throat while the truth simmered towards the surface.

She doesn't want either there.

Doesn't matter.

Not to Faith.

Not if they go unspoken, like they have for years and years and years.


"You've ruined me, B."


"What are you talking about?"

Hey, a reason to speak.

"It's a fine line between hate and love, and once in a while it gets blurred like nobody's business. You know as well as I do. But I haven't had to walk that line in months. Haven't had to worry about it. Now..."

Faith shakes her head and stares out the window.

Buffy is in true shock now.

Except she isn't.

She kind of already knew.

She just never expected...never really thought...

And therein lies the problem.

"Didn't think about how it was gonna affect me, did ya?"


"Yea, I figured you wouldn't. Not like you to be concerned anyway, plus you were drunk."

Back to facing her.

Eye contact.

It fuels Faith.

It burns Buffy.

"I'm gonna say this once, B, and just this once, cause it's gonna be the last time you ever hear me."


Giving Buffy that slight second's chance to interject...

But nothing.

So she keeps going.

"I'm packing up and I'm leaving. Don't know where yet, doesn't matter, cause you're never gonna know anyway."

Another pause.

Come on, Buffy.


"There's a lot of shitty things that's been done to me, Buffy, but I really think you're the cream of the crop. Hope you feel that you've finally settled whatever score you were keeping, cause you sure as hell are never gonna see me anymore to even it out for yourself."


"Don't look for me, don't even bother trying. I don't want to see you again, and I'm sure the feeling's fucking mutual. Live a good life, cause one of us has to be the winner, and so far you're a million miles ahead of me."


Buffy can only find timid words.

"W-what about...your clothes...?"

Faith's anger resurges.

All this, and she asks about clothes?!

A hand points to the door angrily.

"Keep the clothes, burn them, I don't fucking care. Just get the fuck out of my house."

The heat of her words literally shoves Buffy out the door, who dashes out with broken dignity.

A tearing Buffy.

Holding a purse, wearing her


She turns.

Almost hopeful.

"I asked if you were thinking of them while you fucked me..."

"But I gotta wonder; when you fucked each and every one of them...were you thinking of me?"


"Yea yea, I know."

Faith has a hand on the door, and one against the doorway.

She pierces Buffy's soul with that accusing and mournful stare.

"It meant nothing."