Title: Through the Day

Author: Brooke

Email: yabbadabbadome13@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Joss, Mutant Enemy, UPN…I don't know who else, but they own 'em, not me.

Rating: I'll give it a PG with a language and theme warning.

Summary: Buffy POV about some abstract happenings of seasons 5 and 6. Rely on your own recollection of the seasons events because I didn't put in a lot of detail.

Distribution: Take it…(makes fist and glares angrily)…TAKE ITTTT!!!!!!!

Author's Notes: B/S happened, Anya and Xander called off the wedding, like in the show, and Anya still slept with Spike.


Nine times out of ten I hate myself more than anything else in the world. I used to think that the bane of my existence was vampires…no wait, scratch that. I used to think that the bane of my existence was my little sister, and then I thought it was the couple month long return of the bell bottom, then vampires. But all that was wrong. I was so wrong.

It was me.

It was always me.

I never thought of myself as being one who thought things through too much, but this. This nagging, restlessness that I can't seem to shake no matter what I do is ripping me apart from the inside out, and I don't know how to fix it. I know I have problems. Tons of t hem. And for all the time I've spent trying to pin point them; I've come up totally empty handed each and every time.

 As much as I'd like to pretend, I'm not perfect. I'm hardly perfect. I'd like to be; maybe that's why sometimes I can fool myself into believing it so easily. But no matter what I can talk myself into believing, it eventually all come rushing back in…all the darkness and the fear and the hurt…I always come rushing back in.

Sometimes I just want to keep me out.

Sometimes, when I lay in the dark it feels like I can just float out of my body and watch myself. I can see myself laying there and I think. I think, ya know, like if…if I were to…not…be here anymore…where would I go. I doubt it would be the same place I went for sacrificing myself for the good of the world. It'd probably be the opposite of that completely.

Thinking like that makes me selfish. Yeah, well, I'm a selfish person. I hardly ever think of others. I'm a bitch like that…I mean, and listen to this, cuz I'm going to admit something to back myself up here…I like hanging out with Willow sometimes because I like the idea that I'm better than her. I'm prettier, have the ability to make more friends, a hell of a lot funnier…everything is going for me. Shit, I might even be smarter than her…I know I am…Sometimes I know I am…I'm a total bitch.

Hate me yet?

You should. How dare I put that much thought and effort into demeaning one of my best friends.

That's the thing though…

For all that thought…for the evilly callous grin that I get when I run that chain through my brain, I've spent an equal amount of time making myself that way. Making myself better than her-better than her in my own eyes, at least. I've worked so hard to compete with everybody, not just Willow that I don't even know who I am.

I don't know who Buffy Summers is anymore, and it's been so long that this might be her and I don't even know anymore.

I don't want this to be her. To be me.

I hate the way I feel right now…I hate that my throat hurts and my eyes sting from crying here in the dark. I hate that I can't stand to look at myself…and at the same time I can't stand to run away.

Nine times out of ten, I'm a coward.

I know, I know, I'm and Slayer. That's not what I'm talking about. The dark I can do. I don't think anything physical could even phase me anymore.

See, I've got no reason to run.

The way I see it is if something can beat me, well, they deserve the victory…and I deserve the defeat.

I like putting myself out there. I want to be in harms way…

That's were the coward comes in.

Xander always thought himself the coward for running. I've outwardly disagreed with his assessment of himself over and over again, but he's just as fucked up about himself as I am, I  guess, cuz he never believes me…but that's something else…

I'm a coward because I stay.

Ah ha…now you're thinking…

I stay because I…because I…I want what COULD happen.

If I died fighting the good fight and what not, that's a hell of a lot easier than doing it myself.

I'm a coward for even thinking of doing it myself. I'm a coward for not doing it myself. Huh, I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't…very literally in both scenarios.

Nine times out of ten I want to be dead.

I don't want to feel anymore and I can hardly tell the difference between the good and the bad…beyond the obvious…the obvious being live demons. I think I'm numb. At least once a day, I think I'm just here, going through the motions and living each day for the end of each day. Sometimes it's easier not to talk, and sometimes it's easier to just live in the world I've created in my mind…

The world where I'm free to rip myself a new one all day long…the world were, I suppose, I learned to hate myself the most in.

Nine times out of ten I just want to sleep. My thoughts shut off then, and I can't hate myself or anyone else. I can spare everyone with my unconsciousness.

What can I say…I used to think that I was fucked up before; after my Mom…but that was nothing…I'm damned near schizo since I came back. I've got my whole little tryst with Spike to back that claim up. I'm just walking around trying to make sense of this puzzle by connecting the dots, but that's just it…it's not a connect the dots solution, it's more of a crossword or a jigsaw, or the furthest possible thing from a goddamned connect the dots…but I'm still trying to solve it by drawing lines.

Nine times out of ten I can count on one other person to be trying to connect the same dots I am. One other person to jump into my life and try to make me feel anything at all, and in turn be able feel because I am. I can take the smallest amount of comfort that I may have found the one person in all the world who might be as screwed up as me.

And the funny thing is, he was fucked up back when I thought the bell bottoms were the bane of my existence.

They say misery loves company, but the truth is when you're miserable other miserable people see it and take comfort in it. They know you know what they're going through. I knew what Xander was going through. He knew what I was going through. And to top that off some of the stuff we were going through was the same – what with Willow and all…







We knew. Better than anyone else, we knew. And we can fill that great sucking void for each other…in each other. And, yeah, we found each other because we both hate the world. But we also found each other in spite of that fact, and because, no matter what, we'd die for it. We…Xander and I…Me, Buffy, and him, Xander…are together…yeah, that's right, we're together, because in the end we are all we really have left.

I've been to hell…heaven…and back. I want to be able to fight the urge to go there again…and he wants to help me. I want to let him. I am letting him. He's letting me do the same for him. And I gotta say I was just as surprised as he was that I wanted to help…don't forget I'm pretty fucking selfish.

But Xander doesn't seem to think so. For every time I contradict one of his opinions about himself, he contradicts twenty seven of mine.

And he's holding me.

Even when he's unconscious he's holding me, and the deeper he falls asleep, the tighter his grip around my waist gets. I wonder if he knows that?

Sometimes I think he can hear me hating myself. Like he can read my thoughts if I think them too loud, or the room is too quite, or he's standing…or lying…to close. But maybe that's the way it was meant to be…that maybe everybody is supposed to have one person that can do that for them, and maybe they never find them, but…but maybe sometimes they do…Maybe Xander is that person for me…

Nine times out of ten that's all I really need.

When I think about it, that's ALL I can think about…all I want to think about because there's no room for anything else…anything bad…anything but the me that he sees…the me that he wants. And it gets easier…its gotta get easier because you can only fall through the bottom so many times.

Nine times out of ten that's all that gets me through the day.

The End