Cordelia sat with her fingers to her lips, staring into the mirror. She barely blinked, barely broke eye contact with herself. Her fingers started to move across her lips, the pink gloss that had once been there now marred and fading into her fingertips. She caressed her lips and swore she could feel them tingling.

A kiss sat there. Still and silent. The last thing she had to grasp at when it came to him. She rubbed her lips harder this time, trying to get the feeling to go away. She pushed her fingers further, ignoring the painful bite of her teeth into the tender flesh. She rubbed. Faster this time, as if getting it off, all of it, the lip gloss, the kiss, that spark, and the light would make everything rewind and go away.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and blurred the eye contact with her mirror self. She let the tears fall, working now with both hands at her mouth. She knew the skin was turning red and irritated but that didn't matter. Looking pretty didn't matter right now. She was in a house with a ghost, working for a vampire, lacking money- and now- now he was gone. It seemed everything eventually slipped away from Cordelia and it was all her fault. She never paid it all enough attention.

She could fix this though, she could rub it all away as if it had never happened. She didn't need it to happen. This wasn't the life she was supposed to lead. She was Cordelia Chase! The world was supposed to bow at her pretty, perfectly pedicured feet.

He was nothing to her. He had been nothing to her. He was just Doyle, a demon, something else that was supposed to be below her. And now he'd gone and died, leaving her with a cursed kiss.

She dropped her hands and gave into the sobs that were growing in her chest. Letting her head fall atop her hands on the sink top, she cried. She didn't want these visions of his. She was just a girl from Sunnydale, and irresponsible at that. Why had he given it to her?

Why had he kissed her?

What if she had paid more attention to him? It wasn't as if he wasn't cute, in that drunken Irish sort of way. It wasn't as if Cordelia was on some high pedestal anymore and shouldn't have not given him the time of day. Perhaps, just perhaps, things would have been different if she had let him take her out one night. Something more could have been done for him if maybe, after that dinner they'd gone back to his place. Of course, she'd have made him clean it first. But maybe, things would have gone differently.

She'd never know now. All she had left was a kiss that couldn't be rubbed away and some head splitting visions given from on-high by the Powers That Be, the powers that be to fuck up everything you ever strived for.

Cordelia wanted, more than anything, to have one more try at kissing Doyle.