Warnings: A pretty intense look at depression along with suicidal thoughts. Skip if you think it'll be trigger-y for you
Setting: S6. Sometime around Flooded and Life Serial
Word Count: 673 words
Summary: There are times when even a shower can't clear the mind.
Buffy's body obstructs the downpour of water from the showerhead, causing it to detour around her on its way to the tub. Shouldn't the water know she's not supposed to be here? Vampire food flows down her leg.
The Gillette razor holds three flexible blades. One two three, jump! The blood surging out of the thin slash on her knee is bright red. Blood doesn't really look like that. When Buffy turns the wound towards the spray of water, it stings.
She turns her knee away, waits for it to bleed down to her ankle, then turns it back to the water. Sting.
Spike had saved her every night and her friends were so happy she was back but every second she spends in the shower takes money from them. Cash going down the drain. She should get out of the shower now. She's gotten her hair wet. That's as good as a shampoo, right? Lather, rinse, repeat is too much work.
Knee away, blood to ankle, knee to water. Sting.
Cuts on the knee are harmless. Doesn't hurt near enough. If she tries, those three flexible blades could prove their worth $13.59 with a coupon and unbury a major vein or two. Something about streets...down, not across?
That'd be a nuisance. After everything they had sacrificed to bring her back. She sacrificed everything to save the world. Dawn would be alone. Why did the monks saddle her with this responsibility? The world needs a Slayer. Fuck the world.
Knee away, blood has stopped, money spins around before falling down the drain. Still stings, but she wishes it hurt more.
Love is pain and the Slayer forges strength from pain, but Buffy doesn't feel any of it. Is there something beyond pain? She sucks in air that should go to someone who isn't dead. Vampires...they're not wasting anything. She was a burden while dead and now is a burden while alive and would be a burden upon death again. Someone's rigged the damn game. The love that is pain that is strength that is her should make it all better, but it doesn't. Which one of those got left in her coffin?
Her legs are still unshaven except for the front part of one knee. The razor already has blood and has become too heavy for her to wield. Weakest Slayer ever. The water has turned from hot to lukewarm and is quickly becoming cold. Dawn will complain if she uses all the hot water.
It's supposed to end when the blood stops flowing, but it all began again. Buffy wants more blood and pain, smashing tiles and breaking bones and jagged bits of wood put to new, creative uses against those who ripped her from paradise with screaming and crying and laughter - from her; not them. She'd told them to live for her, but now they want her to live for them. Be their Slayer Bitch and take care of all the demons for them and the money woes and oh no! Buffy's not happy! But who wouldn't be happy to be alive? They don't know that death is her gift, to give to them and to herself and they fucking threw it back at her and won't let her go and be at peace and it is always all her responsibility for everything. Every. Little. Thing. She isn't just the Slayer she is the Mommy and Protector and Sister and Friend and All Things To Everyone and they think they've done a good thing. Greedy, selfish, arrogant fucks. One good day and she could rid herself of them all. Of it all. Of herself. All of it. Gone and over with. Down the street. They deserve it.
But they need her they need her they need her they need her they need her they need her they need her they need her they need her need her need her need her need her need her need her everything's so cold.
Buffy shuts the water off. God, the tub is filthy.