The Soulmate Series

Leave-Taking (Chapter Eighteen of Soulmates)


It’s the third morning since she was raped, and it follows another night where Willow’s sleep has been so fitful and restless that it barely qualifies as sleep at all. She’s almost feverish and everything seems oddly hallucinatory, rather what she always pictured getting drunk or stoned as being like. She’s not enjoying the feeling, but then again, she wouldn’t be hale and hearty no matter what at this point in time, so she’s not really sure it matters.

Of course, she also realizes that last night’s visit from Angel is no small part of the reason she is currently teetering on the edge of rationality. It was confusing. Oh yes, it was certainly confusing.

Still, she isn’t quite sure why she found it so, because in the main it seems to have been very straightforward. Angel was hoping somehow that she’d forgiven him because he still didn’t quite grasp the magnitude of what he had done to her. Not much grey area in that. So distressing, yes; provoking, certainly...but confusing?

A part of her, maybe, is befuddled because she hadn’t expected the hint of capitulation that his later words had offered. He’d seemed so single-minded before and now...now he appears willing to consider the possibility that, his feelings aside, there might not be a future for them after all. Could it be that his mind is finally returning to normal? Is there, perhaps, even some hope that as he recollects himself his twisted passion for Willow will fade away altogether?

Or was he prevaricating? Is he, even now, still clinging to his delusions and plotting against her...and against Oz? But no, she’d have sensed that. She could feel his emotions through the bond when he was there and, while she certainly picked up jealousy and resentment, there was nothing violent or terrifying, other than his version of love, which was, as always, an oppressive and sickening thing.

She’s got the evidence of her senses and his words, then, supporting the notion that the immediate danger level in her life may well be diminishing, but she’s still uncertain and she cannot put her finger on why. Of course, she has to consider her fatigue in all of this. It’s so hard to be reasonable and logical when your mind is racing just to function at all, when your body seems to require so much will just to be put into even the most ordinary motion.

Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps none of this would be nearly as disorienting if she had just been able to get at least an hour of true, restful sleep. At any rate, one thing her moments of unproductive rumination have illuminated is the need for her to think about something else at present. Further reflection on this topic would only continue as useless as ever.

The doorbell rings and Willow’s heart sinks. It’s Oz, she knows it. He’s the only one who would be here. Despite Angel’s visit and the strong possibility that Oz is no longer under threat, she knows she still has to let him go and she is desperate to put off that painful eventuality.

But it’s not to be. He’s here and she has to go through with it. Why couldn’t he have been a more dedicated student? At least then he might have put class attendance first, given her more time to prepare for this, though she’s not sure she’d ever really be ready to break her own heart.

She straightens her robe, smooths down her mussed-up hair, and goes downstairs to answer the door. She breathes in and tries to calm herself before turning the knob and letting him in.

“Oz, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh.” How bad off was she that she had not even known what day it was?

“And anyway, there isn’t anything as important going on there as you.”

Don’t say things like that. Please don’t say things like that. Don’t make this even harder.

“Oz. I’m kind of glad you’re here, because I’ve been thinking and...we need to talk about something. Or really, I need to talk about something and you need to hear something and...can you just come in and sit down before I can’t say it?”

“Okay.” He looks worried, and Willow figures that’s pretty appropriate even though she’s actually doing him a really big favour, although he probably won’t see it that way right now.

He sits, straighter and more tense than she’s ever seen him and she nearly bursts into tears. He’s always so relaxed, even when he’s not...except for now. Look what she’s done to him. There’s one good thing, however. At least this tells her that breaking up with him really is the best decision. She’s no good for him. Not now, never again.

“I know you think you want to stick by me and be there and I...I’m really, really grateful. There’s no way I could ever have gotten through the last two days without you. So I don’t want you to take this the wrong way or think that I don’t appreciate you and all. But Oz, we can’t be like this.”

He looks confused, and upset, and still so tense. Maybe it’s her bond with a demon that has heightened her senses, but she can almost see the wolf. She continues on in spite of it. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Oz becomes the wolf and tears her apart. She wouldn’t blame him and a part of her isn’t even afraid. Her desperate love of life in spite of all it never gave her has vanished. One more thing she misses now that she realizes it’s gone. No, not gone, stolen. At this moment, she feels crazily like a burglarized house. What more will she search for in vain?

Now is not the time to think of those things.

“Like what?”

“Like this.” She gesticulates wildly, hoping she’s conveying...something. “Me being all broken and you being the white knight and me leaning on you without touching you and taking and taking and not giving anything back, maybe never being able to give anything back ever again.”

“Willow, I know it will take time, but...”

“But what? It will get better?” She stops him before he can assert that for himself. “You don’t know that, Oz. You think you do, but the truth is, you can’t for one moment be sure that I will ever be better, that I will ever be able to let you even hold my hand for longer than two seconds. You don’t know. Just like I don’t know. And I can’t deal with the pressure of you expecting me to recover. I just can’t.”

It’s funny how true all of that is. A part of Willow had truly believed that her only real reason for breaking up with Oz was to keep him safe. But now, as she’s talking, she realizes that she is too tired, too weak, too raw for anything but honesty and that’s exactly what she’s giving him. There’s a bizarre sort of solace to be found in realizing that maybe she would be saying these same words even if she had been raped by a strange man on the way to school instead of by Angel.

“Willow, I’m not putting any pressure on you...”

“Yes, you are. You don’t realize it, and you don’t mean to, but you are. And I can’t cope with that on top of everything else. I can’t go on every day knowing that I’m keeping you from being with someone who can give you all the things that I can’t. And I’m not just talking about sex, okay? I’m talking about everything. Because right now, I can’t give you anything. All I can do is take and I can’t bear to take like that from you.”

She almost blurts out that it would make her feel like the vampire who is responsible for her suffering in the first place, but she has enough presence of mind to hold that back. She hasn’t enough fortitude to manufacture any new falsehoods, but she’s grateful that at least she can control how much truth she tells.

“Willow, I don’t care about any of that stuff. I don’t. And you wouldn’t be taking, I’d be giving and that’s a way different thing, believe me. I love you, okay? This is what people do when they love each other. They stand by each other. You stuck by me when I found out I was a werewolf. How many people would have done that? You have always been there, never giving up on me. Let me do the same for you. Please. Please, Willow. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

He’s pleading with her, once again sparing her more words than she was ever used to hearing from him, and there are tears in his eyes as well as in hers. This hurts so much more than she’d thought it would. Why? Why, no matter what, has every moment of her life become a unique and agonizing experience of pain in all its varieties? What did she do to deserve this? It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

A moment later, as she’s crumpled to the ground, she realizes those last words were wailed aloud. Oz is kneeling beside her, his arms stiff with the effort of not surrounding her, of not enfolding her in his embrace. All he can do is murmur, “I know, I know.”

It’s funny, she thinks, that though she’ll never be able to tell him, Oz really does, in a way, know. Out of everyone in her life, he’s the only one who knows what it’s like to be violated by a demon. To have that violation become something that lives within you always.

For one second, she considers telling him. But she can’t and she knows she can’t, for more reasons than her mind can even cope with enumerating right now, let alone analyzing. That, too, makes it important to let Oz go. How many days could she spend with him before she would break and confess? He would hate her then and she couldn’t bear that. Better to end things this way. Better for both of them. So she just cries and tries to bring herself under control enough to finish what she started.

Her sobs gradually quiet and she turns and looks at him. He looks helpless and her heart breaks in a brand new way. Amazing that something torn and bleeding can be wounded all over again.

She gets up and speaks - quietly, more quietly than she has during this whole exchange. “I’m not shutting you out, Oz. I’m letting go. Not the same thing. This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

“Willow, I...” Oz is standing now, as well, facing her. Tears are still falling from his eyes and she wants to console him now. She reaches for something - anything - to give him and it isn’t there. One more item to append to the list of stolen property. One more log of hatred for Angel added to the roaring fire in her heart.

“Oz...please, okay? Just go.”

“I’ll go, but...I just want you to know that I love you. I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but Willow - I’m not going anywhere. Because there isn’t anyone else in the whole world I want but you. And maybe you’ll never hold my hand or kiss me or anything ever again. But I don’t need any of that. I just want to be with you, whatever that means.”

“I know you think you mean that now, but...”

This time, he is the one who interrupts. “I don’t think I mean it. I do. But I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, so I’m going. But just promise me one thing, okay?”

“What?”

“Promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, you’ll call me. Promise me.”

He’s opened the front door and the sunlight is shining, surrounding him with its warmth. Willow has never seen anything as pure and as beautiful as his face at this moment and it’s all she can do not to cry out that she’s changed her mind. He looks like an angel, a real one, not that godless blasphemy who defiled and degraded her. But, she reminds herself, he’s not, not really. He’s no match for the evil that threatens to devour her whole and she must stay the course she’s set.

It’s funny, but this isn’t the first time in her life she’s wished she were selfish, and that’s the second odd bit of comfort she’s found this day.

She nods and he leaves, though he looks dissatisfied at not hearing her say the words. Still, he trusts her honour. If only he knew.

She closes the door, goes back upstairs to her bedroom, and lays across her bed. He’s gone. Oz is gone. She feels the ache of sacrifice already and finds herself almost hoping he meant what he said and that he’ll be pining away for her forever. There should be some self-hatred at that, but she’s too empty to begrudge herself some beggarly crumbs to feed her hungry soul. Funny how much different she feels about devotion depending on whose heart is being pledged to her.

Xander was right: she has too many thoughts, and her mind is far too fatigued to bear them right now. Her eyes close as her body slackens. She’s so utterly exhausted by the events of the morning that, for the first time in days, she falls deeply, dreamlessly asleep.


Tbc...