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[Messiahs need people dying in their name]
(Tori Amos – ‘Pancake’)
She gets the call in the middle of the night and quickly slips out of bed to avoid waking Danny up. She closes herself in the bathroom and she finds it ironic that this is one of the few times she’ll voluntarily shut herself up in the small space. At first she listens, committing all the details he’s giving her to memory. They’ve been through this before and he knows how she reacts, what she needs to hear. They’ve been through this so many times before 174 times to be exact.
Her head bows as he finishes, her chin nearly touching her chest. “Have you contacted her parents?” she asks, even though she’s aware he calls her first. “Or do you want me to?”
“No. Willow is going there tomorrow to talk with them. They were…very honored by Asaiko’s destiny. I expect they will handle it as well as anyone can.”
Buffy swallows hard, the word honor sticking in her throat. She wants to protest and she wants to scream. Dying isn’t an honor. It’s just death and rotting corpses and so many things she doesn’t want to think about. When words finally struggle free from the knot in her chest and the mountain of grief in her throat they aren’t the one she wants to say at all. “Send me a copy of her journal and her file.”
There’s a safe deposit box in the bank with her name on it that’s waiting for things like this. She rented it weeks ago in anticipation of being so far from Scotland and Giles and the files he keeps on the girls. It’s not much of a memorial and it’s not the one she’d like to have but it’s the only one there will ever be.
Giles apologizes and assures her he’ll send her what she wants. She finds it ridiculous that he’s apologizing for the phone call but she doesn’t say anything. It is the middle of the night and somehow she knows that’s not what he’s apologizing for.
“I’ll let you go back to sleep,” he says and they both know she won’t but then neither will he.
“No. I need to know,” she tells him and the words she chooses are intentional. Girls are dying because of her, for her, because of a decision she made years ago. She needs to know.
They hang up and she folds the phone shut, her hand wrapped around it. Her knees are tucked close to her chest and her head is bowed, forehead resting on her kneecaps. There aren’t any tears but everything inside of her burns and it aches. Thoughts, ideas, questions and concepts tangle up in her head until she thinks she’s going to scream but never, ever cry. It’s like a pressure dam, building and building and it hurts but there is no release. She wants to ask Giles what will be done with the body and where it will be sent but she knows that Giles will follow to the letter everything Asaiko and her parents want.
The room closes in, tighter, darker, closer and for once Buffy doesn’t bolt. She lets the room shrink around her until it is a coffin and she is six feet under. Her breath comes short, shallow and fast and she doesn’t want to forget how it felt there. For just a little while she doesn’t run from the claustrophobia. Asaiko is dead and closed up somewhere in a box like this. It’s a memorial of sorts, a ritual and a remembrance. It’s also purgatory, hell and punishment for the things she’s done and the girls she has sacrificed. A dry, brittle chuckle rises up in her as she thinks about all the times she’s chastised Angel for his self flagellation. Now she understands and she thinks she might have always but she just never had a sin big enough. Until now, until girls in rows and shut in boxes.
She’s not sure how long she sits there in her own private hell before she finally reaches up and turns the knob on the bathroom door. There’s just a crack but air rushes in and Buffy gulps it like its water. Several more minutes pass before she pushes herself to her feet and moves silently back to the bed. She slips between the sheets, knowing she’ll never sleep {ever again} then curls up next to Danny {as close as she can get}.
“Next time I die, cremate me,” she whispers.
(Tori Amos – ‘Pancake’)
She gets the call in the middle of the night and quickly slips out of bed to avoid waking Danny up. She closes herself in the bathroom and she finds it ironic that this is one of the few times she’ll voluntarily shut herself up in the small space. At first she listens, committing all the details he’s giving her to memory. They’ve been through this before and he knows how she reacts, what she needs to hear. They’ve been through this so many times before 174 times to be exact.
Her head bows as he finishes, her chin nearly touching her chest. “Have you contacted her parents?” she asks, even though she’s aware he calls her first. “Or do you want me to?”
“No. Willow is going there tomorrow to talk with them. They were…very honored by Asaiko’s destiny. I expect they will handle it as well as anyone can.”
Buffy swallows hard, the word honor sticking in her throat. She wants to protest and she wants to scream. Dying isn’t an honor. It’s just death and rotting corpses and so many things she doesn’t want to think about. When words finally struggle free from the knot in her chest and the mountain of grief in her throat they aren’t the one she wants to say at all. “Send me a copy of her journal and her file.”
There’s a safe deposit box in the bank with her name on it that’s waiting for things like this. She rented it weeks ago in anticipation of being so far from Scotland and Giles and the files he keeps on the girls. It’s not much of a memorial and it’s not the one she’d like to have but it’s the only one there will ever be.
Giles apologizes and assures her he’ll send her what she wants. She finds it ridiculous that he’s apologizing for the phone call but she doesn’t say anything. It is the middle of the night and somehow she knows that’s not what he’s apologizing for.
“I’ll let you go back to sleep,” he says and they both know she won’t but then neither will he.
“No. I need to know,” she tells him and the words she chooses are intentional. Girls are dying because of her, for her, because of a decision she made years ago. She needs to know.
They hang up and she folds the phone shut, her hand wrapped around it. Her knees are tucked close to her chest and her head is bowed, forehead resting on her kneecaps. There aren’t any tears but everything inside of her burns and it aches. Thoughts, ideas, questions and concepts tangle up in her head until she thinks she’s going to scream but never, ever cry. It’s like a pressure dam, building and building and it hurts but there is no release. She wants to ask Giles what will be done with the body and where it will be sent but she knows that Giles will follow to the letter everything Asaiko and her parents want.
The room closes in, tighter, darker, closer and for once Buffy doesn’t bolt. She lets the room shrink around her until it is a coffin and she is six feet under. Her breath comes short, shallow and fast and she doesn’t want to forget how it felt there. For just a little while she doesn’t run from the claustrophobia. Asaiko is dead and closed up somewhere in a box like this. It’s a memorial of sorts, a ritual and a remembrance. It’s also purgatory, hell and punishment for the things she’s done and the girls she has sacrificed. A dry, brittle chuckle rises up in her as she thinks about all the times she’s chastised Angel for his self flagellation. Now she understands and she thinks she might have always but she just never had a sin big enough. Until now, until girls in rows and shut in boxes.
She’s not sure how long she sits there in her own private hell before she finally reaches up and turns the knob on the bathroom door. There’s just a crack but air rushes in and Buffy gulps it like its water. Several more minutes pass before she pushes herself to her feet and moves silently back to the bed. She slips between the sheets, knowing she’ll never sleep {ever again} then curls up next to Danny {as close as she can get}.
“Next time I die, cremate me,” she whispers.
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