Ten Months

Chapter Three
Previously:
“Faith,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. I looked into her eyes and she looked right back. “Faith, please don’t leave me.” I wanted to tell her that I would make her happy, if she only gave me a second chance. I knew I didn’t love her anymore, if I ever truly did, but at least we could be there for each other. All I needed was to understand what she was feeling and I wanted to be a part of her life again, the way I used to be. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself say it all.
**

“You’re happier without me.” She said persistently, her demeanor ascending into indifference. I knew she was shutting down her emotions, she always did when things got too hard for her to handle.

“No, I’m not. I need you.”

The silence that followed lasted far too long in my opinion. Faith stared at the floor as if her eyes would burn a hole through the carpet (it wouldn’t have been noticeable among the cigarette burns). I searched her face for a sign of what she was thinking, feeling. I didn’t want to beg because I knew if her leaving would make her happier than being with me, then she should leave, no matter how badly I needed her. But I wanted her to stay long enough to give me a chance to do things right. I wanted to show her that I could make it better, and I could love her the way that I used to. These thoughts raced through my mind while I waited for her to say something, anything at all. I watched as her eyes darted in the direction of the door and I inwardly prayed she wasn’t about to walk out it.

She looked at my face but not in my eyes, and then reached out to wipe away my tears, gently, with the side of her thumb. Her hand was trembling and all of me was trembling, but I relished in the sensation of her touch that I hadn’t felt for so unbelievably long. I waited to hear her tell me that she needed me, too, and when she opened her mouth, those were the words I was expecting.

“I…” Faith began to say, stammering. “I need… to go to work.”

Simply enough her hand dropped away from me, and she was gone before I had anything to say about it. No kiss goodbye, no promise that we would talk more when she returned, and I didn’t totally understand. I thought she would be happy to hear me say that I needed her, and things would change. Ok, they did change, but they left me in the dark and with no idea of what she was feeling.



August, 2003
Detroit, Michigan

We’d been living in the studio for three weeks before we had our first official fight as a couple. Of course fights had been numerous prior to our relationship (physical and verbal) but this one really struck hard because now was the time we were supposed to be loving and supportive. It had started when Faith came home from work and I was sitting on the bed watching a movie.

“Hello gorgeous.” I said, like I had been saying every time she came home from work.

“Hey.” Faith grunted and walked into the kitchen, not bothering to take her boots off, but I ignored it.

“What happened at work?”

“Nothing. Do we have anymore of those cheese bagels left?” She called out while rummaging through the cupboards and slamming the doors shut.

“I don’t think so. I can pick up some more tomorrow if you want.”

I probably should have paused the movie and gotten up to talk to her. But I didn’t. I just kept watching it because I cared more about the plot at that exact moment than finding out what my girlfriend had been busy with all day long.

She slammed another door shut and walked into the front room with her arms folded across her chest, staring at me.

“What?” I asked, sharing a glance between her and the TV set.

“I’m hungry.”

“So eat something.”

There was a brief silence, one that would have made me uncomfortable if it weren’t for the fact that I was listening to the characters in the film and not to Faith’s apparent need for my attention just then. But evidently my lack of interest frustrated her, because she abruptly turned and slammed her open fist down on the kitchen counter. I think I probably jumped and might have cursed at her, and when she looked at me, it was like evil old Faith coming back to haunt, without a purpose in her anger.

“Why the fuck are you watching this movie?!” She yelled, pointing violently at the TV screen. “Why the fuck are you so absorbed in all this bullshit? That’s not real, B, OUR life is real, and you don’t seem to even give a damn about us. But you care about what happens to those little fuckers. You don’t care about what happens to me? Is that what this is?”

“Fai, this isn’t anything, I don’t know what-”

She stepped towards me and even though she was driven by an inward rage, I knew she wasn’t going to hurt me so I didn’t back away or cringe in the least. “I know my life isn’t glamorous to you and maybe no interesting, but I thought you wanted to be a part of it! Now I don’t-”

I couldn’t let her rant on like that. I jumped off the bed and grabbed both her arms, holding her still. “Relax, Ok? Relax. I’m just watching a movie. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention, but it doesn’t mean anything. I’m watching. A movie. No big deal. Why are you so angry about this?”

Her expression fell and she could only manage to shrug before falling into my arms. I never even knew why, she never explained. Ten minutes later she started cooking herself dinner with a smile as if everything was perfectly normal. I probably should have forced her to explain what was going on, but I didn’t want anything to be wrong, I wanted to ignore it, too. It was the first time I had seen her lose control with a total lack of reasoning in nearly five years, and somehow I wasn’t even the slightest bit worried about it.



May 2004
Gerald Ford Middle School, Detroit, Michigan

“…while my mom doesn't think that it’s totally ok, I still know she isn’t totally mad about it either, except that I think maybe she’d like it if I didn’t have any boyfriend at all. But my dad is just totally insane crazy because no one really thinks that way anymore, not like they did in the 40s or whatever. He’s old. He’s really old. He told me that he didn’t date a girl until he was 24, and it was my mom, but my mom says something about not knowing if the fish are good unless you catch and taste a whole bunch of them first. Maybe all of them, but I hope she doesn’t mean that like fish are boys because then it would be gross to catch and test all of them. You know?”

My enthusiasm was slipping dramatically. The girl was kind of a cutie but even cuteness wears off and once that happens you are all personality, of which she seemed to have far too much for her own good. I glanced down at the name written across the top of her blue file folder, trying to make it look like I was concentrating on the best possible answer, while really I couldn’t remember who she was. All junior high girls have kind of that same look about them and I knew she was either Sarah or Jessica…

“Well, Jessica,” ah I’m good, “what do you think would happen if you asked your parents to decide together, instead of each telling you something different?”

She smiled shyly and looked at the floor. “They don’t decide anything together.”

I waited for a me toe to see if maybe she would voluntarily elaborate, but instead she pushed down her cuticles, scraping away some of her sparkled pink nail polish in the process. It was in accordance with her pink shirt that said “Prom Queen” on it, which was amusing considering it would be five years before she d god go to Prom.

“Do you want to talk about them?” I asked softly.

Jessica shrugged and feigned interest in something on the wall, but of course there was nothing in the room to look at.

“Can you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

She thought about it before giving me an answer. “I don’t want my parents to tell me that I can’t see Eric anymore. I mean it’s not like we are totally serious or something, we just like to go to the movies and sometimes we hang out at his house after school. But I like Eric. I think my dad will tell me I can’t see him.”

“Would you stop seeing him then?”

“No.”

She looked slightly uneasy with that answer. She probably didn’t blatantly defy her parents much. As far as my experiences with middle school went, I never had any need to defy my parents before then, so of course when a world of possibilities popped up, I was (hesitant) game. I could see a little of that in her thoughtfulness and her voice reminded me of myself. Tiny little potential slayer that I was. Just realizing that I was in control of myself and no one else was, just realizing that some of the things we believe to be “bad” aren’t all that bad at all, so I tested the waters every chance I got.

I was about to ask Jessica another question, but the bell rang. I hadn’t realized that we had been talking for so long. Well, she did most of the talking. She looked at me as if not sure whether or not the bell meant we were done for the day.

“Do you need to catch the bus?” I asked her.

She nodded.

“You’d better hurry then. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer, but we’ll get all caught up next time, I’m sure.” I stood up and walked over to her, extending my hand. I would have given her a hug but I wasn’t sure how the other staff at black and blue Gerald Ford would feel about that. She shook my hand with uncertainty. “You’re a smart girl, Jessica. I know you’ll do what’s best for you, but
don’t be afraid to ask your parents why they decide some things the way that they do. Maybe they have a really good reason that will help you to understand their point of view. You could be surprised.”

“Thanks Ms. Summers.” She said quietly. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

I returned to my desk to get my papers in order before it would be time to head home. It didn’t seem like home at all without Faith, though, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be there, but I pushed the thought aside and tried like hell to think about the files I was organizing. She had been gone three days. I didn’t know where she was staying or if she was still in Detroit. That old familiar slayer sense didn’t work to find her anymore, with every city packed full of them since Willow’s famous spell. Yet still when Faith was close enough to me, I knew, because the feeling that came over me was a warmth that only she could give.

I cursed under my breath, none of those thoughts were helping, I had to get her off my mind before I broke down into thoughts of pain and self-pity. Quickly I finished filing, said goodbye to the other staff members in the counseling center, and headed out towards downtown, not bothering to wait for the bus. Besides, the bus would only take me back home, and was was the last place I wanted to be.

By the time I found myself downtown the sun was setting and Detroit had become dark, a swarm of activity, the after-hours crowd beginning to show their faces and wander out to pace the sidewalks. Most of them were in groups, threes and fours, girls walking with their arms linked and the strong boyfriend-types along as protectors. It was obvious the way they stayed close and eyed every alleyway suspiciously that they took their job seriously, while around them the females chattered, oblivious to the true dangers of night that I had come to know so well. Vampire, in the alley, two in the park, one outside the book store. I could smell them, could recognize them, could sense them without even taking a good look, but I didn’t bother to chase and slay them. Giles would probably say that my lack of interest in dusting a few each night is reckless and should be considered endangering the lives of others, but Giles isn’t here, and he wouldn’t see the other shadows I see lurking in the streets… the shadows of slayers just yea year into their calling, still trying out their duties like a new pair of leather boots. They are the ones leaving body-shaped clouds of dust against the sides of buildings in Michigan, Illinois, California, Australia, Guatemala… the list goes on for every place there is a vampire or demon, there is now a slayer.

I’m used to seeing it, just as I’m used to the hive of the city, and I know how to get to every store and club downtown and how long it takes to walk there. I’m captivated by the reflection of a neon sign in a puddle, trickling out of an overturned paper coffee cup on the sidewalk, and I stop to look at it. I wonder where Faith is.

Just four more blocks to the club, the one I always wanted to try out just to see what it was like, but Faith would never go with me. I saw it the first night we went out in Detroit, andled led her arm, begging her to take me, but she refused and said that it was “too trashy a place for classy gals like us”. Now I might as well go, right? She may never come back.

The security in front pats down every guy before me in line that enters, and when I turn around and spread my arms expecting him to check me, he just grabs me by the waist and slides me sideways into the club effortlessly. I think he’s giggling at me. Apparently they don’t believe in small blondes being capable of violence in this place, which as I know from firsthand experience, is incredibly unrealistic of a theory to have.

It’s low-lit, smoky, the music is pounding… just like all the other nightclubs I’ve ever been in. Round tables with metal chairs, a quirky gay bartender, strobes hitting a dance floor that’s nearly emptve fve for three indulged couples. I wish Faith were beside me, laughing at me the way she used to when we went to the Bronze, bringing me paper cups of rum and coke, groping me under the table just to see if she could get away with it while Willow’s head was turned.

In light of that I order rum and coke then make my way to a table in the corner where it looks like I will be the most unapproachable. Maybe after a few drinks are in me, I’ll be more in the mood to dance with strange women, or men, whatever the alcohol decides.

But they always jump the gun, don’t they.

“Hey, don’t I know you from someplace?”

“No.” So leave me the fuck alone.

“Yeah, I do. You went to OSU, right? Remember me? I’m Charlie Tatter.”

He extends his hand, which is a dead giveaway that he’s full of shit right there. If I’d met him before, he wouldn’t be introducing himself. Normally I would point this out and tell him to stick his sweaty palms in some other girl’s face, but the music is so loud I know he wouldn’t hear me and I’d have to repeat myself… it just doesn’t seem worth the effort. Saying the least amount possible in such a scenario really does pay off. So I offer him my hand in return, only with one finger more prominent then the others, extended gratefully to match the broad, somewhat cruel grin I’m flashing before I take a gluttonous swig of my rum and coke.

“You’re a bitch!” He informs me before storming off. Yeah, as if I didn’t know that already.

Ten minutes later it occurs to me that I actually did know the guy, or at least had seen him before, he's one of the grease monkeys from the garage Faith likes to hang out in, working on cars and bullshitting about engines all day. I never understood why she enjoyed that so much. The thought crosses my mind that I should ask him if he’s seen her lately, but if he had, he probably wouldn’t tell me now.

I feel my senses begin to tingle just slightly, the effects of the drink, but I’m going to need several more before I’ll be able to dance and relax. That’s just the way my slayer metabolism works, I guess, or maybe it’s just an acquired tolerance. Either way, I order another and glance towards the door at two girls as they come in, arms linked, eyes darting around, nervously laughing. They look no older than seventeen, dressed like Malibu hookers with sparkled, flashy halter tops drawing attention to their flat chests. Still, they’re kind of cute. That’s something I never would have thought when I was in highschool (or even college), but after growing used to the idea of my relationship with Faith, I’ve allowed myself to occasionally check out other girls. Especially ones that send out a certain… vibe. The kind of vibe that puts blips on my internal gay-dar.

Between my seat and the door there are two other tables, one of them occupied by what appears to be a couple. Rather mismatched, since guy guy is nearing two hundred pounds (half of it in his midsection) with broad shoulders and a military haircut, spitting what I assume to be chew into a Snapple bottle, and the girl is about my size in baggy jeans and a button-up shirt. Her hair is only a few inches longer than his, and that vibe I was talking about is coming off her like someone painted it on. In three coats.

As soon as the underage Malibu hookers get past the bouncer, the girl at the table in front of me is on her feet, going over to them with little or no resolve, and making some ridiculous hand motions while she talks feverishly. It seems to work, whatever she said to them, because in a few minutes they are on the dance floor bumping and grinding, while the military boy leans back in his chair to watch indifferently. Without knowing why, I move to the seat next to him. I guess he looked lonely.

“Hey.” I mumble. Of course he didn’t hear that but the message came across.

“How you doin’.” He responds.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Not like I care, but it’s something worth asking.

He laughs and empties his lip into the bottle. “Hell no, she’s gay.”

I nod in response and look back out towards the floor, the lights seeming brighter than they did just a second ago, and the movements appear smoother, almost in slow-motion. It’s time for another drink.

**
2:32am.

Well intoxicated.

I decided to leave the club after finding myself on a couch in the corner with the body of a complete stranger on top of me, dry-humping my leg. That seemed like a prime time to start walking home, and to get some cold, sobering air on my face.

I’m not sure who she was except I recognized her from being the one who chased the Malibu sluts from earlier on in the night. Apparently I was easier than them, but I have no memory of ever saying yes, or no, or anything; it doesn’t matter either way because now the most important thing to me is crawling into bed and praying that the hangover gods are not cruel to me when morning comes.

When my hand touches the doorknob, I know something isn’t right. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be… or maybe it is the way it’s supposed to be, but I can’t recognize that because I was wasted five drinks before I quit. Maybe six… and that would make the grand total exactly… I have no fucking clue.

The door swings open and my apartment is dark, which seems right enough, only it smells like Lucky Strikes unfiltered and Polo Sport.

It smells like Faith.

I ignore that and stumble in and shut the door, grateful for the first time ever that the bed is in the living room, just a few feet away from the entrance as I fall forward, collapsing happily. I don’t care if she’s been there, I just want to sleep for days if it’s possible, and I do believe that it is as my body instantly goes limp, the only sound my breathing, and my heartbeat echoing in my head.

Hours pass.

I dream about Faith, I dream that I am holding her, and she is holding me. I dream that she is crying… shaking into my embrace, and letting me in. She is pushing my hair back, and touching my face, kissing me gently, and I can taste her tears. I see her and feel her so clearly it’s like she’s really there beside me.

I hear the phone ring, or is that part of my dream? The phone is ringing… in my head or maybe for real, and I’m answering it, and I’m talking to Dawn. I’m telling her about Faith, and she’s so upset by it… sounds like she’s crying. Now I’m going down a waterslide at a theme park, still on the phone, only Dawn is behind me and we are on the phone with Willow, who is calling collect from Heaven. I don’t remember Willow dying, why would she be in Heaven? So I ask her, and she explains, she’s there during visiting hours, spending some quality time cuddling and chatting with Tara. It makes me think about cuddling with Faith, and I hear a voice that sounds like Faith’s voice, only I think that it’s really my voice, because it’s talking on the phone and I’m asleep, trying to wake myself up.

No, I really am asleep… as I realize that shit, I must be dreaming, and my eyes spring open to search for the phone as I’m positive that I missed some important call.

“…calm down, it’s all right. No, we’re both fine.”

I can’t answer the phone, because Faith answered it. I think (or maybe hope) that I’m still dreaming now, but it’s useless, she’s standing beside the bed. She’s in our apartment, talking on pho phone, and I don’t know if I should jump up to shower her with pleading kisses or backhand her, demanding to know why she left me when I needed her so badly. But she’s here, she’s finally back, and I feel such a wave of relief like the tide that finally breaks after a three day wait.

“…no, she’s awake…” Faith says.

Her voice sounds lower than usual, more strained. I wonder who she’s talking to but I kind of wish she would just get off the phone so we could talk, but instead I sit there staring at her silhouette, which is all I can see in near-absolute darkness.

“…yeah, I love you too… ok… I’ll tell her… ok I’ll tell her… yes I promise… right. Bye.”
Faith hangs up the phone and then she stands there, totally still. One arm is hanging at her side and the other is bent so it hovers awkwardly in front of her stomach as if she has some use for it there that hasn’t presented itself yet. Maybe she’s expecting a need to defend herself, but I already dismissed the backhanding idea.

“Hey.” She mumbles.

I reach over to the desk and turn on the lamp, causing her to jump a little in surprise. Now I can study her face, the same way she is studying mine. I probably look like shit, but there’s no way I can look worse than she does. The part of her eye that is typically reserved for a color white in nature is now occupied by a shade similar to cherry, her standard black eyeliner has gone MIA, her lips are dry and chapped in several places. The dark garage-style outfit she left in is still on her, only it looks like she took it to five or six bar fights then rolled off a cliff and possibly jumped into a tank full of cutlery just for giggles. And her hair… I’m not sure I want to know the story there. It still has some wave to it, here and there, but it’s been dyed black and nearing the experimental stage just before graduating to dreadlock status.

“Hey.” It’s all I can think to say back, only it doesn’t come out as a real word, and more of a failed attempt at making a word, as though my voice has forgotten how to form sounds.

Faith clears her throat and starts to look around nervously. I don’t want her to do that, it’s what she does when she wants to find an exit.

“I just came to get my stuff.”

“You… your stuff?” I feel my eyes beginning to burn and literally pray that the tears won’t come. “You’re leaving fo-for good, then?”

“I’m sorry but it just isn’t working an-”

“Are you sure? Are you sure you’re leaving? Because before… I mean I knew you left, I knew you… were leaving,” my lip is trembling and I can’t stop it, my eyes are filling with tears I can’t stop, I can only look away, my throat catching and none of it will let me put my mind over my heart in control. “Y-you didn’t come back and I thought maybe it was forever but it didn’t hurt, Faith, because I didn’t believe it, but now I have to believe it.”

The words sink in and the feeling is indescribable. The closest thing to it I have ever felt was when Warren shot me through the heart, and it burned, and ached, but my mind seemed to escape from my body and it was as though I was looking down on myself, surrounded in a white ball of excruciating pain that my mind wouldn’t be acknowledging. Only my body would feel it. That’s it now, only this time, I am feeling it, and I feel it in every nerve as they all tell me that it’s killing me. So why are her eyes so full of compassion? I’ve set bet before, because this is almost exactly the way we were three days ago, when I begged her to stay, and she said she had to go to work. It’s the same room, we’re in the same places, I’m crying with no control and she’s standing there, full of confusion. I can almost see events repeating themselves, as if now I have a second chance.

Faith eyes the door again, then looks at the floor as she tells me. “I know, it hurts now. I’m sorry. The last three days gave me time to figure out that I should have left such a long time ago, I should never have even gone back to Sunnydale or even been with you the very first time. But I was stupid, and I did it anyway because I wanted to have you, and I never thought about what would happen… what it would do to you, the way I would destroy you, the way I destroyed everything else. I never could have hurt you then, if I never even started. It’s too late now.”
She moves, and I don’t know if she’s moving towards the door, or just leaning back to look at something… it doesn’t matter. All that I needed was her to move away from me and I’m up off the bed in an instant, my hands briefly touching her shoulders before I step forward into her body, knowing she can only choose to hold me or choose to leave, but this time I won’t let her walk away without her knowing how I feel. It’s the second chance I’ve been longing for, the one I’ve replayed in my imagination but haven’t been given up until now. No fucking way I’ll pass it up.

Faith stiffens at first as I’m against her, but then her arms instinctively, comfortably respond to embrace me. I forgot how much strength her hands impressed in their touch, as I feel their warmth against my back, the only part of her that truly seems to be letting me in. It’s as if she is allowing me to be close, and not receiving me there, but it’s more than I had just seconds before so I’ll accept that, and I bury ace ace against her neck.

If I weren’t shaking so hard, maybe I could hear her breathing, or feel her chest rising and falling against miI knI know she must feel my tears against her skin as they fall from my treacherous eyes, and I wish I knew what she was thinking.

I don’t want to push her away, I don’t want to do anything that will scare her out the door now, so I move slowly, gradually sliding my hand along her shoulder to her hair and holding still for a moment to see if she pulls away from that. She doesn’t… so I let my fingers trace lazily under her auburn – no… black curls that fall across both our shoulders.

“Faith… if you’re going to le-leave me, for… forever, then please wait until morning. Please, it’s the only thing I have to ask just please don’t go yet.” I tried hard not to sound like I was begging, but this was clearly unsuccessful.

“Can’t you understand it? I’m doing this for you?” Faith whispers against my cheek.

“If you do anything for me… stay.”

She pulls away putting me at arm’s length. “I know it’s hard, but it’s only hard… because we’ve been together for so long, you don’t know how to be without me. I don’t know how to be without you, either, but that doesn’t mean that we’re happy together. I can’t stand to make you miserable anymore, I really can’t, and it’s all I ever do. Once I’m gone for a while, you’ll get used to it, and the pain will go away.”

The only thing I can do is ask her again.

“Please. Please stay.” I whisper, seeing the reflection of my desperation in her eyes. I don’t know what it is in the end that convinces her, but I’m forever grateful to it, because Faith silently nods her head in submission to my pleading, and my fears drop aside, knowing I have until morning to change her mind.



November, 2001
Sunnydale, California

I closed my eyes and imagined she was there.

Falling all around me, gracefully, emotionless, yet her moans a whispered lover’s poetry against my skin.

I imagined we might laugh together, the way we… well, we never really had. But there would be a first time for it, and a first time for me to tell her that I had forgiven her, if only she were close by.

I felt so alone that I started thinking about Riley, wondering if maybe he wasn’t really all that bad, and making up my own distorted excuses for all of the senseless crap he had done just so that I had the possibility of not being alone. No one else was alone, Xander and Anya had each other, Willow and Tara had each other. Giles has always been too old and too British to qualify as single or taken when in either regard so that left me the only one alone.

As I laid there in the darkness I thought about her, wondering if she was all right, if she was surviving the pain that came with being in prison. I tried to imagine what she might look like in orange coveralls with her head shaved and an excessive amount of sloppy tattoos. Somehow I didn’t think that they would make her shave her head, but it was a fun image to try and create anyway.

I remembered again the first night we had been together, it was something I had been thinking back on more and more frequently since Willow brought me back. It was so painful knowing that she had felt nothing for me, and we had shared such intimate moments, yet somehow it brought me a twisted sense of comfort to think about how our bodies moved as one for the first time, as though we had been lovers for eternity. Each time I envisioned it, I embellished a little more, making it seem a little more personal, imagining that Faith had kissed me, or whispered that she needed me. I had even imagined that she whispered “I love you” and it scared me, yet I knew that I needed to hear it, because the depression would not subside, and the thought of her made me a little less empty.

But this was a night that I couldn’t get lost in longing and sentiment, so I settled once more for the memories of how her mouth felt against my chest, her breath rhythmically pulling me in. She captivated me with her fingertips and I was willingly seduced, innocently trembling as I tried to search for confirmation that my touches were equally pleasurable for her. All this and more was on my mind as I came, believing that it was her body sweating on top of me, even though it didn’t smell like Faith. I believed that it was her fingers inside of me, even though, I knew it wasn’t… the thought of her was still enough.

So as he finally pulled out, he grinned madly, as though his cock had some sort of power over me, the miserable fuck.

“See slayer,” he growled, “I told you I would make you come.”

I closed my eyes but the images of Faith would not return. It was over and done with, spoiled, disgusting. I grabbed the remnants of my clothes and literally threw him across the room.

“Oh don’t be mad at me, I only gave you the best orgasm you’ve ever had in your life!” He yelled after me, looking rather ridiculous naked in a corner, more scrawny and pale than usual if that were at all possible.

“Second best, and fuck you, Spike.”