AN: I don't own Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, nor the characters within.


She could feel the pain all over again. The swelling of emotion that choked her throat and made it hard to breathe. She watched over and over again the second that she made her mistake. Why had she done it? Why couldn't she have moved on and listened to her? How had Tara come to mean so little to her? In refusing to change for the person who meant the most to her, she had lost herself. Lost all sense of what was important to her. Had she somehow fallen out of love?

Looking around the room she had shared with Tara, Willow realized the feeling that had crept upon her. She hated herself. Why, through her insecurities, did she need to prove those insecurities right? She picked up the hand brush she had used earlier that morning. Looking at the insolent spikes, she drew back her arm and threw it at the wall. Then, in a frenzy, she lurched up and grabbed the bureau she had shared with the woman by the corners and wrenched it away from the wall. With a barely satisfying crash, she knocked it violently against the floor. Screaming in rage, she flew around the room, throwing everything she could pick up against the wall.

Nothing satisfied her. No cracking and splintering or shattering sound could quell the torrid self-hatred that engulfed her. Hands grasping and body twisting, she tore the mirror off of the wall. Barely watching it shatter, she grabbed the photographs that had tumbled off of the dresser and threw each, one by one. Each individual drawer splintered against the painted surface that had begun to be covered with dents and broken plaster. The framed paintings split in half against the corner of her desk. Nothing was safe. She cut herself from all of the broken glass and wood and plastic. As her boots crunched against glass and scattered chaos, in confusion, she tried to topple her bed.

Heaving against it with all of her strength, salty anger stung her eyes. Her lips bled where she had gnawed them with clenched jaws. Labored breath punched out of her mouth, urgent howls tearing from her throat. Four iron feet scraped against wood, but the bed suddenly slammed against the fallen bureau, stopping her mania. She couldn't give up. Her arms pushed for longer than her muscles could stand, the bed and dresser not budging.

She needed to wreck the bed. She needed to destroy the solidness. Everything else in the room was broken. Why, damnit, wouldn't it obey her?? With a scream, she tried once more. Her body suddenly went limp. The bones in her knees slammed against the wooden floor, her hands grasping onto the torn bed sheets. Incoherent sobs escaped her mouth, muffled against the mattress, and she finally grieved.