Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to the
wonderfully insane people who created them, and apparently
to some other people who paid lots of money to own bits. I'm
just borrowing them.

Spoilers: S2, Lie to Me and S3, Anne.

Rating: PG

Summary: Chantarelle's musings upon leaving Sunnydale

Feedback: just like Eliza Dushku, more gooder! ^_~

Author: cheebs!

Email: chbkamen at optonline dot net

improv # 47 - Ryan Adams song title challenge


Nobody Girl
--------------------


California. Land of sun and surf and plenty of places to get
lost. Right now, I want...no, I /need/ that more than
anything. I need to be somebody else. Anybody. Nobody.

I can't believe I wanted to be a...a...I can't even say it;
it makes me sick just thinking about it. And what was I
thinking, calling myself Chantarelle? It's a mushroom, for
crissakes, a mushroom! Just another fine example of how
stupid I am.

I know I'm stupid. I have to be, everyone says so. It's why
I left home; I was too stupid to stay and get beaten. I was
too stupid to let my teacher 'keep me after school' more
than once. I mean, I'm so damned stupid, I just grabbed what
filled a bag, threw a few layers of clothes on my back, took
Mom's good jewelry and took off for the bus station. Ended
up in Sunnydale.

Sunnydale. Sounds like a nice suburban utopia. I suppose it
is, during daylight. Night is another matter entirely. It was
in Sunnydale I learned Anne Rice didn't know what she was
writing about in respect to Lestat and his kind. Lonely Ones,
my ass. There were a lot of them in the club, when Ford set
up the ambush for the Slayer...and the rest of us. See, we
were naive enough to believe we'd all be turned and it would
be this incredible epiphany. It was for me; I woke up from
the fantasy when their leader sank his fangs into my neck.
If it hadn't been for the Slayer, I.../we'd/ be dead.

The Slayer is a pretty, petite blonde girl who is around my
age but has this way about her that makes her seem so much
older. She's incredibly fast and strong, and lives to kill...
to kill...no, still can't say it. She saved us all, in spite
of our foolishness. Well, not quite all.... Ford stayed,
thinking...I think his name was Spike...thinking Spike would
honor their agreement when the rest of us, Slayer included,
had escaped. Even I knew better, so how idiotic does that
make him?

Buffy -- that was the Slayer's name -- looked me dead in the
eyes -- oh, that was a bad choice of words, wasn't it? -- and
made me promise not to throw away the life she had just saved.
I argued that that was a hard promise to keep. Then she said
something that will stay with me forever:

"The hardest thing in this world," she told me, her eyes
suddenly looking impossibly old, "is to live in it." She gave
me a sad smile.

I returned the smile, and vowed. She understood, I realised;
she understood and kept fighting the good fight anyway. The
least I could do was go on living.

I'm at the bus depot. It's getting to be a familiar scene.
This time I'm heading to L.A. A guy told me earlier I had
skin like a lily...maybe I can find a job as a cosmetic
model or something....

Maybe...I can find myself.

~end~
7/22/02