Ten Months

Title: Ten Months
Author: Jane Shadow
Rating: NC-17 but don’t expect much juicy bits
Disclaimer: No profit was made when I borrowed Joss Whedon’s characters for my own personal nocturnal pleasure.
Warning: Somewhat dark, but not too bad.
Feedback: Yes please


Chapter One
May, 2004
Detroit, Michigan

Ten months.

I think that’s the longest relationship that I’ve ever been in. Well, you know; the longest real relationship… and I don’t even know if this is one. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it sometimes.

When I was a little girl I had a perfect mental image of the way things were going to be, I had everything all planned out. I was going to get married at twenty four because I had once overheard my mother saying that was an age of sensibility and excitement and discovery. I was going to marry a tall man who would be gentle like my father but more loyal and would love me more than life, and we would have two children, two girls. Then he would be a doctor or a firefighter or maybe even something that didn’t pay all that well but it was heroic and important and we would be so perfectly happy together in our little three bedroom house somewhere near Malibu.

But what really happened is I grew up to live in a studio apartment, downtown Detroit, waking up to the sound of air wrenches from the body shop across the alley every morning. It smells like bacon grease and gearing grease and everything is a far cry from white picket fences. My tall dark and handsome husband somehow transformed into a not-tall-but-taller-than-me sultry slayer with a soft spot for Jack Daniels and a job carrying auto parts on crates in a warehouse, which isn’t heroic or important, and doesn’t pay well at all. Oh yeah, and we’re not happy.

Part of me wants to know just how I let something like this happen, but I guess that’s just the denial taking charge because I know damn well how it happened, down to the very last detail. Really we’ve been together longer than ten months, but she says that then it was just fucking, and when we kissed for the first time without lust we were truly a couple and truly dedicated to each other.

I hate it when she says the f-word.

But I guess that’s what it was. The first night I met her, seeing her pound that stake into a vamp outside the Bronze just like she’d been doing it since she could crawl ignited a flame in me that I had previously only felt for Angel. Then when she started flirting with all that “hungry and horny” crap… it irritated me beyond all belief but I still went back to a motel room with her that night under the guise of “getting to know my fellow slayer better”. I remember everything about that night, and every night. The way she breathed, the way she clawed at my shirt, the way her fingers felt inside me for the very first time. We both felt the slayer connection even through our vigorous denial of any emotional attachment, and just claimed that it was good sex worth having. Maybe that’s why it bothered me so damn much when I used Spike the same way… because it wasn’t the same. It was like sex with Faith without the Faith.

I told myself when she came back from jail that I wasn’t going to allow it to happen anymore, and no matter what she said to me I would never touch her again as long as I lived.

That lasted the whole of what, two, three hours?

Even then she was special to me, and I believed that behind all of her struggles with darkness she was truly capable of giving me her love and being all of the most passionate and dedicated woman that I could ever need.

I wish I had just backed out when I had the chance.

Now I sit in our apartment holding a chipped coffee mug and staring down at a newspaper from last week. It’s the only thing I have to read and we sold the TV so that Faith could pay for her car to be fixed. I’ve already read every single article so now I start with the comics again, wondering if they will be funny the second time around even when they weren’t the first. Nothing seems funny anymore.

In two hours I will need to put on something other than just my underwear and head out for yet another job interview that I will undoubtedly foul up just like the previous twelve or thirteen that I’ve had in the past two weeks. This one is as a junior high guidance councilor, or, something that I at least have experience in even though I am totally unqualified for.

Faith should have been home hours ago, she works a night shift on weekends and it ends at eight am. It’s nearly noon now.

Ten months with this girl and I still can’t trust her. Ten months believing that she is mine but never truly knowing, and definitely never trusting. Maybe this isn’t the longest relationship I’ve ever had, but it sure as hell feels like it is, and everything else (everyONE else) in my past has gone down the drain for her, forgotten just as easily as what I had for breakfast four days ago. Though knowing how things have been going, it was probably coffee and only coffee.

I hear her boots in the hallway outside the apartment. She’s either dead tired or dead drunk, and neither is something I want to deal with today. As she unlocks the door I practice my best stoicism and prepare to look incredibly interested in something I’m reading, which is really a salad recipe in the Home section of the paper. Without a word she shuts the door, tosses her jacket on a chair, kicks her boots off and heads straight for the refrigerator as thought nothing is wrong with her coming home three hours late. I want to ignore it. I want to pretend like I don’t care where she’s been since obviously she doesn’t care enough to explain herself, but that little girl fantasy of having the perfect life and perfect lover are surfacing as if to mock me, and I want to prove them wrong for once. I want to hear a legitimate excuse leave her lips and feel foolish for even thinking that she was someplace I wouldn’t approve of, someplace that would threaten our crumbling fantasy of happiness.

I want to turn and yell at her, but I don’t, I keep my eyes focused on an article I’m definitely not reading and mumble my words. “You’re late.” Is all I manage to say.

She responds with a clearly agitated sigh and slams the door of the fridge shut. “Yeah well I put in overtime.”

I don’t need to turn around, I know she’s holding a beer. The words “happy hour” don’t mean jackshit to her. To Faith it’s more like “happy day” and it lasts all day, every day, until she passes out and then the next day begins when she wakes up.

”Are they paying you extra for that?”

There’s a long silence. I don’t even know if she’s still behind me but I don’t want to look.

Finally she replies. “They’ll start giving me time and a half when I take over Hank’s spot on the floor. I’m going out. Need to get some groceries.”

That’s it, the end of the discussion. She kisses the back of my head and is out the door again, and I don’t know where.


October, 1998
Sunnydale, California

“You can come up if you want, but the place looks like shit.”

I tried not to allow my nervousness to show, wiping my sweaty hands against my jeans as subtly as I could manage. “Ye-yeah. Sure, you know, we have a lot of slayer catching up to do and there’s only one way to do it. Well, two ways to do it. Oh god, not do IT, I mean, to catch up with-”

My words were dead in my throat when I looked into her eyes and saw the deeply hungry gaze, staring into me like a challenge. I wasn’t sure if I should run into the hotel room or down the street, but something in me pulled me closer to her until our bodies were grazing, her hands on my waist, her breath hard against the sensitive, exposed skin of my neck. Even now I’m not sure what initially caused me to give into it, but as soon as I was laying back onto that squeaky, stained mattress and she began to undress me I knew that this was the only kind of life Faith would ever live, and I wanted this piece of her to be mine.

She was surrounded by situations exactly like that one every day, and maybe I just pushed the thought away and allowed myself to be captivated by her beauty and the heat we shared because it seemed so romantic, but that would take it’s precious toll on the both of us.

Her hands were shaking when she pushed her middle finger inside me, and I moaned, but I didn’t moan her name the entire night. Likewise she didn’t say mine, and we never kissed. A few weeks later we would kiss for the first time in the Sunnydale high girl’s bathroom during homecoming, but that was an accident. I guess I had just done it completely out of habit, and she didn’t stop me, but she wasn’t very responsive to the kiss either. The first night we had sex together I had tried to brush my lips against hers but she pulled away and had this look on her face like “what the hell are you doing?” I have to admit I felt ridiculously stupid, although now I don’t think I was stupid, because it’s not stupid to expect some kind of emotional union when you go to bed with someone. No, what’s stupid is thinking the opposite is possible, especially for two people as driven by our feelings as Faith and I are.

After I had used my hand to get her off that first night in the hotel, she told me that I could stay and sleep or go home if I wanted, but she was going for a walk. I didn’t realize that this was actually a groundbreaking and rare post-sex invitation from her. Of course, I went home, hurt and used, and vowing never to speak to her again, and definitely not to have sex with her again.

/>May, 2004
Gerald Ford Middle School, Detroit, Michigan

It used to be that the Watcher’s council took care of their slayers, sending them checks or giving them a place to stay while they fought against vamps and demons, but things just ain’t how they used to be. Now we have to get actual jobs and go to them and we can never call in with the excuse of “oh I’m sorry I’m covered in demon’s blood do you think I could take the time to shower?” That’s the kind of shit that Faith and I pulled when we first got to Michigan, because we didn’t think that anyone or anything would stand in our way, not even being broke. Then the bills poured in and we quit making fun of life and enjoying it. Of course I still slay, that’s something that I’ll never stop doing. But I do it alone and I do it methodically and only when the vamps around city really start to become cocky enough that I feel the need to smack them back down to dust.

If I get this job at the middle school it might be harder to creep around graveyards until four o’clock in the morning during the week though.

Everything about the place is totally sterile. No pictures on the walls, no banners, nothing. Just a hallway of uniformed blue lockers and several maroon doors, one that opens up to the superintendent’s office, which is where I’m headed. I try my best not to space out when he tells me about their level of quality learning and preparing children for the future, I’ve heard it eight dozen times but the coffee is that expensive stuff straight out of Seattle and the chair is comfortable so I grin and nod myself into a frenzy.

Then the questions. Your basic interview questions designed to get to know the candidate and more or less back them into a corner until they admit something that will allow you to disqualify them. No wait, that’s just what the questions become every time I am the one being interviewed.

He’s entirely passive. He doesn't even indicate if the answer is good or helpful in terms of the job, he just nods and goes on to the next one, making my time in his office slowly evolve to torture. He asks me why I left Sunnydale, and what am I supposed to say? “Gees, the whole town kind of imploded when hell literally sucked it into oblivion.” No I didn’t say that. I told him that the school was now shut down for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with me and I was forced to be out of a job along with that shutting down.

Again with the passive nod. Next question.

And so on and so forth until I’m standing up and shaking his clammy hand that feels like a dead fish (remember to smile and make eye contact), then it’s over.

No matter how bad that was, I still would rather sit through the whole thing again than go home to face Faith.


April, 2003
Sunnydale, California

I guess I should have been happy when she came back from jail; came to help us with one final big bad and one more impending apocalypse.

But the only thing I could focus on when I saw her was the first night that we had sex and the look she had given me when I had tried to kiss her. It was burned into my mind, burned in along with her brown eyes staring straight into mine as we both clutched the knife that I had forced into her. Maybe it was guilt that made my heart change, or maybe some twisted form of sympathy, but we had sex the night she arrived in Sunnydale after her being gone for around three years. I hadn’t planned for it, in fact I had planned AGAINST it, but I couldn’t sleep no matter what I did and when I heard footsteps in the hall outside my door I hoped maybe it was Willow or Xander; they always seemed to have the right thing to say that would help me put things into perspective.

Of course I had to get up to see, and of course it had to be Faith.

She said that she had just gotten up to use the bathroom, and I knew she was lying but none of that mattered. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for what I did and I knew she was sorry for what she did and that I had forgiven her and I wanted to slay with her again, but instead I pushed her against the wall and slid my hands up her shirt. Faith was surprised but not enough to stop me, and I bit roughly at her neck and shoulders while groping at her breasts under her tank top, pulling at her nipples so hard she sucked in a breath and bit her lip to keep from moaning in pain. I didn’t care if I hurt her, because it wasn’t making love that way. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t any of the things that made us feel too much or think too much for each other or even whisper lies in the darkness.

It was just fucking.


May, 2004
Detroit, Michigan

When I got home from the interview Faith was sprawled out in our bed underneath an obscene amount of blankets, eating a turkey sandwich and staring at where the TV used to be.

“How wuff the innerview?” She mumbled through a mouthful of hoagie.

“Could have been worse I guess. Did you take a shower after work?”

Faith rolled her eyes. I was constantly nagging her to take showers after work because otherwise she would smell like motor oil for days and general car engine smells just drove me nuts.

“Why the fuck does it matter?” She called out to my back as I walked to the bathroom. “You never come close enough anymore to know what I smell like anyways!”

I ignored her and turned on the bathroom light. There were clothes all over the floor, wet towels thrown on the side of the shower, and a few random rolls of toilet paper that appeared to be wandering aimlessly through our bathing zone. But no work clothes. I reached down to pick up a red bra that caught my eye, wondering for a minute if it was mine or hers or someone else’s, but the thought was disrupted when I heard the distinct sound of Faith’s open palm slamming hard against the doorframe behind me.

“Whatcha doin’ babe?” She growled.

I turned around and stood as tall as I could, still not as tall as her but close enough to make me equally intimidating. “Maybe I wanted to use the bathroom without your supervision.”

“Maybe I wanted to watch anyway.”

“That’s disgusting, Faith.”

Both of us stared angrily at each other like a tiny show-down happening right there in our very own trashy bathroom. Seems she couldn’t think of a comeback.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you think I’m cheating on you again.” Faith finally said with a sneer. “It’s about the right day of the week for it. In fact you may just be a little past schedule, so go ahead and accuse me twice.”

“Fucu.”\ru.”

This only made her smile.

“What was that baby? I didn’t hear you… I thought for a minute that you said the f-word but I can’t be right, I must have heard wrong.”

My senses kicked into overdrive and I could literally feel my pulse in my neck, which was not a good sign, because that only happened just before I did serious damage to something or someone. “I said ‘fuck you’.” I repeated coldly, stepping forward to exit the room but she held me up in the doorway, not moving aside.

“It’s funny you mention fucking me, because that hasn’t really been the subject on your mind for quite a while now, has it?”

“Move out of my way.”

Faith leaned down so that our faces were less than an inch apart, her dark eyes penetrating mine and her amusement quivering at the corners of her mouth like she was about to burst into uncontrolled laughter any second. “Don’t change the subject.” She emphasized each of her words sharply and slowly before her gaze lowered, scanning my body and licking her lips. I couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath, could only smell her, and I knew just how aroused she was, but I was pissed off and didn’t want to make love.

Without looking down I reached out and grabbed the front of her pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly, staring steadily into her eyes with a vicious glare that I know could melt daisies if I stared at them long enough. She didn’t even seem the slightest bit uncomfortable as I forced my hand into her briefs and pushed two fingers up inside of her without wasting time. Her breaths became short and hard but her expression was one of rage, almost as if being fucked and hating me were one and the same, and maybe at that moment, they were.

After a few minutes of this methodical, passionless fucking she grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand out from inside her center then pushed me back lightly before walking into the kitchen. I didn’t even bother to push the issue, I knew it was worthless, and we both knew that this wasn’t about having sex with each other, it was about proving a point. Of course I haven’t a clue what my point was, but I was standing by it just the same.

The problem with a studio apartment is that you can’t just go into a bedroom and read a book while the other party is in the living room if you want to get away. No, the bedroom is the living room and really there is no living room or bedroom at all. It’s just one big room with a kitchen and sometimes an area with a dinner table but we didn’t even have that, we either ate in bed or on at the kitchen counter while sitting on stools. So our fight couldn’t really end, because as long as were both stubborn and in tiny quarters with one another we were going to continuing being angry. So I looked for something to distract me and found the answering machine.

“You have two new messages” the robotic voice informed me. I heard Faith coughing in the kitchen.

The first message was Dawn, saying that she had gone to some concert at her college and wanted to tell me about it because she was sure that I would have enjoyed it. She asked me to call her back but it had been ages since I had actually called Dawnie just to chat.

The second message was from the body shop telling Faith they had accidentally left one of their jacks in her trunk and could she please return it. How the hell they managed to leave a jack in her trunk, I will never know, but the guys at that place have always been stoned off their asses so it’s something I’ve come to expect.

Then like clockwork, Faith is pulling on her boots and stepping out the door. She mumbles that she needs to return the jack but I don’t know why she bothers because we both know it’s a lie. I lay down in the tub when she’s gone and I turn on the shower to feel the warm water and try to forget where I am.