Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Fragments	By : neytirijade Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > FemmeSlash - Female/Female > Buffy/Faith Views: 5197 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. He also continues to get paid for it. I own a Washburn acoustic guitar and deathly adorable Pomeranian, and get paid through nothing but Social Security benefits.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
The prompt table I've been working on can be found here (Table B; haven't decided on doing the other two yet): .
If you guys want to request from any of the prompts/tables, go ahead. :)
This chapter will be a combination of #4: Regret and #5: Discovery. There was also a Buffy/Faith Oralfxations challenge a few years ago called "Faith Finds Out" that this will fall into, though it would be an official "entry".
Angst and self-harm ahead.

Your blood boils; a cauldron of rage bubbling under your skin. Your breath, already a slightly visible plume of smoke, is now a thick white heat escaping your lips and into the Scottish air. And your heart? It burns among the ashes of what's left of it.
Looking toward the castle walls, you don't hear Kennedy next to you, asking what you're doing. Don't feel her smacking at your arm. You don't see her follow the direction of your sight.
"Dude, what the fuck? You pissed Buffy is fucking Satsu and not you, or something?"
You hear that, and the sarcasm in her tone of voice. In a flash, she's pinned to a tree, and your hands lift her and tighten around her throat.
Kennedy's shock is visible in her eyes before she raises her knee and jabs you, hard, in the ribs. It makes you step back and double over for a split second, then you rise and slam her to the ground with a right hook before walking back where you came; away from the castle, from Kennedy, and from the woman who just broke your heart.
How many times have you placed your heart in her hands, only to have her crush it and smile as its blood drips between her fingers?
Apparently not enough for you to learn. You're a fucking idiot, and you're done allowing Buffy into your heart. Your life, your thoughts. No more.
You're sobbing the moment you know Kennedy be out of earshot. You didn't hear her follow you, and silent tears had slipped down your face until you were far enough away. You keep walking, and you keep sobbing.
It's raining; not too hard, but enough that, by the time you've walked another 10 minutes into the woods, your clothes are drenched and strands of wet hair fall over your face.
You stumble further and further away, rain mixing with tears. Hate mixing with heartbreak.
It's probably been a good hour now. They're probably all wondering where you are; ha, what a fucking joke, you think to yourself. Nobody gives a shit about you. Nobody wants you here. You're the murderer, you're the dark one. You were always the second string Slayer, the fuckup, the slut. Now, you're probably bottom of the fucking barrel according to Buffy and her band of Slayers.
Screaming violently, brutally; lashing out at the closest object. Your blood is faintly visible on the tree trunk you hit, but washes away in the rain. Your voice is hoarse from your screams, and most of your knuckles are broken and even protruding from your skin.
You feel yourself break another knuckle and collapse against that same tree trunk, sobbing into your bloody hands.
Time passes. You and Kennedy went in search of an arrow that went awry during target practice at barely 4 in the afternoon, and now the full moon brightens the darkness, just a little.
Doesn't brighten yours, though.
You smoke eight cigarettes, one after the other. The rain has stopped, but it's colder now. You shiver as you unsheathe the dagger from your boot.
Sucks, 'cause these are new jeans. You've cut through them on your thighs, and you've probably cut through several layers of skin, given the amount of blood running down your legs.
If you hadn't been such damaged goods, Buffy could have loved you. If it weren't for Angel, you'd have jumped through hoops to get her to love you. You bruised and battered each other because she didn't want you to kill him. Because she wanted him, and not you.
That was the first heartbreak by her hand.
She looked at you like you were a killer after Alan. Like you were the lowest piece of garbage in the can. Like how everyone else looked at you.
Then she made a half-assed attempt at "helping" you. And when she discovered you had been in league with the Mayor, she didn't do a goddamn thing. She and Angel tricked you into revealing your plans, the boss's plans. Didn't even care.
Second time, it wasn't a break. Instead, she'd rammed a stake through your heart; guess she figured you should know what it feels like, too.
The knife in your gut didn't hurt as bad as the knife in your heart. Third.
Nobody, not Giles, not Wesley. Not Buffy. Shethey didn't visit you at the hospital. They killed the Boss; the only person to love you other than Diana.
Fourth time.
Didn't care to try and talk some sense into you when you came looking for revenge. Five.
She refused to see the tears in your eyes as you told her, go ahead, put me out of my misery. Wouldn't listen when you poured your heart out to her on Angel's rooftop, and told Angel that he shouldn't allow himself to get arrested over you. And she didn't say a word, or even look at you when you approached Kate to tell her you wanted to confess your crimes. She walked away. Six.
Never visited you. Your letters to her were returned unopened. Didn't want you when you came back to Sunnydale for the battle on the Hellmouth, or care that you tried to stop everyone from kicking her out. Hit you just a few hours prior. Didn't thank you for helping.
The list goes on, and so does the amount of damage you endured by her hand.
As much as you regret the people you hurt, the people you killed; mostly, you just wish you'd never met Buffy Summers.
Your legs are stinging; you've stopped counting the times you dug the dagger into your jeans and into your skin. You wipe the blade on the wet grass, sheathing it into your boot again and lighting a cigarette as you watch the blood soak your jeans and the grass beneath them.
On your third cigarette, you sigh because there's one left and you have to walk to a shop and get some. No way are you going back into that castle.
"Faith!"
No. No, no, no. No fucking way.
Buffy is at her feet, tenderly pulling away the tattered strips of your jeans to reveal the halfway healed cuts; and the countless number of previous scars that line your skin.
"God, Faith, why did you do this to yourself?" She asks, and you almost fucking laugh at the lie of concern on her face.
But you stare ahead, Hit your cigarette. You don't acknowledge her presence.
She sits next to you. "Kennedy told me you tried to hurt her. She said you were angry."
"Mm." A frustrated noise is all you can reply with.
"She said it was because you saw me and Satsu kiss. Why did it bother you?"
Finally, you look at her. Because I fucking loved you, B. You don't say it, but the look in your eyes does. Hers widen, and she looks down. She knows.
A few seconds go by. You hit your cigarette. Throw it to the ground.
You stand, and you walk away, feeling the pity in her eyes as she watches you leave.
- 3
- 4
- 5
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