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Somewhere in the shadows of your mind, you know you wanted me to be here.
It’s not uncommon for her to get up in the middle of the night and there’s no alarm going off or spidey sense going whack. She’s just thirsty and she wants a drink of water so she puts on her robe and pads into the kitchen barefoot. She can hear the neighbors next door and she thinks they’re fighting but the rest of the apartment is quiet. Outside on the street there’s the usual noises, a siren going past, horns honking and the ever present white noise of people. Even in the early hours of the morning, there are people awake in New York City. The wood floors are cold and slick under her feet. They remind her that she wanted to look at rugs next payday. The floor gives way to linoleum and it’s a little bit tacky because she mopped the day before and she thinks she used too much cleaner. She’ll have to mop it with water tomorrow, she thinks as she opens the fridge door. She grabs the orange juice out and drinks straight from the carton then stands there and shakes it trying to decide if there’s enough to put it back in the fridge or if she should just kill the carton now and buy more on the way back from work. She sighs and tilts her head, her mind just about made up to drink the rest. That’s when she feels his breath against the back of her neck and she knows from the way he feels hovering behind and the cool against her skin that it’s not Danny. Her throat closes and her heart hammers. Her lungs refuse to push air out of her body.
“You can’t be here,” she says, breath rushing out and leaving her empty.
“You leave your window open, Buff. You always have,” he tells her. His breath is almost cold and it shivers down her spine. His hand goes to her shoulder and drifts up to her neck, fingertips grazing over the curve and down to the place between her shoulder blades.
“And here I thought you’d take my lack of invitation for what it was. A keep out sign,” Buffy quips with a bravado she doesn’t feel and he knows it. That knowledge pools in the pit of her stomach and straightens her spine. His fingers drift over her back, hard and unyielding against the silk of her robe. She doesn’t move until his hand reaches the small of her back and then her elbow is shoved back into his ribs hard enough to crack one. She goes to grab his wrist and break his arm but he skitters out of her grasp with a smirk.
“You know you wanted me here, Buff. In some corner, some shadow of your mind you wanted me here.”
“No.” Her voice waivers and she wants to kick herself for it. When her eyes meet his her gaze is firm and she wishes she’d brought a stake in here with her. Her hand reaches back but all she feels is metal. He gets closer and her back presses against the counter. His hands are on either side of her and then she’s shoving the butcher knife into his gut and all she can think is that it was easier with Faith. The blade catches on bone and his blood is cool rushing over her hands and then it’s on the linoleum and she’s going to have to clean this up before Danny wakes up.
She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe but she’s sitting straight up in bed and gasping for air. She looks at her hands, white and small and smooth. They aren’t covered in blood at all. Danny is asleep next to her and the apartment is quiet. She slips out of bed and grabs one of his shirts from the hamper just so that something about this changes. She shuts the window first and she knows she won’t sleep with it open again for a long time. She gets a stake from her bag and goes into the kitchen. It’s empty. It’s empty and there’s no blood on the floor. There’s not a man in the kitchen that doesn’t belong and the OJ carton is full. It’s just a nightmare and he was wrong. She doesn’t want him here. Not in any corner or shadow of her mind.
It’s not uncommon for her to get up in the middle of the night and there’s no alarm going off or spidey sense going whack. She’s just thirsty and she wants a drink of water so she puts on her robe and pads into the kitchen barefoot. She can hear the neighbors next door and she thinks they’re fighting but the rest of the apartment is quiet. Outside on the street there’s the usual noises, a siren going past, horns honking and the ever present white noise of people. Even in the early hours of the morning, there are people awake in New York City. The wood floors are cold and slick under her feet. They remind her that she wanted to look at rugs next payday. The floor gives way to linoleum and it’s a little bit tacky because she mopped the day before and she thinks she used too much cleaner. She’ll have to mop it with water tomorrow, she thinks as she opens the fridge door. She grabs the orange juice out and drinks straight from the carton then stands there and shakes it trying to decide if there’s enough to put it back in the fridge or if she should just kill the carton now and buy more on the way back from work. She sighs and tilts her head, her mind just about made up to drink the rest. That’s when she feels his breath against the back of her neck and she knows from the way he feels hovering behind and the cool against her skin that it’s not Danny. Her throat closes and her heart hammers. Her lungs refuse to push air out of her body.
“You can’t be here,” she says, breath rushing out and leaving her empty.
“You leave your window open, Buff. You always have,” he tells her. His breath is almost cold and it shivers down her spine. His hand goes to her shoulder and drifts up to her neck, fingertips grazing over the curve and down to the place between her shoulder blades.
“And here I thought you’d take my lack of invitation for what it was. A keep out sign,” Buffy quips with a bravado she doesn’t feel and he knows it. That knowledge pools in the pit of her stomach and straightens her spine. His fingers drift over her back, hard and unyielding against the silk of her robe. She doesn’t move until his hand reaches the small of her back and then her elbow is shoved back into his ribs hard enough to crack one. She goes to grab his wrist and break his arm but he skitters out of her grasp with a smirk.
“You know you wanted me here, Buff. In some corner, some shadow of your mind you wanted me here.”
“No.” Her voice waivers and she wants to kick herself for it. When her eyes meet his her gaze is firm and she wishes she’d brought a stake in here with her. Her hand reaches back but all she feels is metal. He gets closer and her back presses against the counter. His hands are on either side of her and then she’s shoving the butcher knife into his gut and all she can think is that it was easier with Faith. The blade catches on bone and his blood is cool rushing over her hands and then it’s on the linoleum and she’s going to have to clean this up before Danny wakes up.
She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe but she’s sitting straight up in bed and gasping for air. She looks at her hands, white and small and smooth. They aren’t covered in blood at all. Danny is asleep next to her and the apartment is quiet. She slips out of bed and grabs one of his shirts from the hamper just so that something about this changes. She shuts the window first and she knows she won’t sleep with it open again for a long time. She gets a stake from her bag and goes into the kitchen. It’s empty. It’s empty and there’s no blood on the floor. There’s not a man in the kitchen that doesn’t belong and the OJ carton is full. It’s just a nightmare and he was wrong. She doesn’t want him here. Not in any corner or shadow of her mind.
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stillacrime
