(Un)Disturbed

by Lilyme

Copyright © 2008

lil_redsfaith@yahoo.de

Rating: R
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series, characters, plots and dialogues belong to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt and Mutant Enemy ("grrr argh"), The WB and Twentieth Century Fox. "Every time" belongs to Britney. Neither author nor site make any profit of this.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Just ask.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Spoilers: BtVS Season 3 and 4.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my great betas – Wil-Lehane – and K.
Pairing: Buffy/Faith

This has been the best night of my life.

Okay, it's not that hard for a night to earn the title 'best night of my life', since most of the nights I can remember are really situated on the other end of the scale. But this one – simply wow.

And I know why. It's because of her. She's what makes my nights good. Not just this one - many previous ones, already. But somehow they're getting better and better. We're getting better and better.

I'm not talking about the sex – we had that down to perfection pretty much from the beginning. Is that bragging? Maybe. But it's still true – the sex is perfect; though here and there, I still teach her new stuff and she takes it all in…excitedly. Heh, sorry, the 'takes it all in' distracted me a little. I didn't mean it like that…or maybe I did. She's a quick learner, my girl.

So, anyway, when thinking about us getting better and better, I don't mean the sex, though it's a fun topic itself. I'm talking about the rest. Couple stuff. Like…I can't believe I'm saying this …cuddling and snuggling, for example. I don't do that normally…I mean, I've never done it in the past…it always seemed too clingy, girly and, well, mushy to me. I never liked people touching me in a way that was not at all sexual and wasn't a lead-in to anything possibly sexual. Maybe because I've never learned how it is to be touched in anything but a sexual way…Uh, well, no need to think about it now.

With her it's all different. She taught me how it is to just lie or sit somewhere together and do barely more than snuggle and smooching. And it's amazing!

Sometimes we spend entire weekends just doing that. Well, and watching TV. We don't need anything more, really, or anyone. Because, honestly, I like to have her all to myself. And I know she feels the same way about me. I mean, she's the one, who always has her arms drawn around me protectively and watches me as I fall asleep watching TV – I do that a lot.

And then, when I'm in the state of still being awake yet almost asleep, I notice her lips softly kissing my forehead. Every time.

That's a great way to start your nightly dream journey, huh? Dreaming is almost as great as being awake, because I dream about her most of the time, anyway.

Yeah, I got it bad. She's on my mind 24/7, and it doesn't bother me.

Oh, is there someone out there, who's still waiting to hear the real reason for why this was the best night of my life? Well, simple. It's because of…Honestly, I don't remember what exactly happened last night. Weird. I don't have amnesia…hm, as far as I remember.

Am I being silly? Sorry, I'm just happy…for whatever reason. And the reason for this reason has just opened her beautiful green eyes and looks at me lovingly. "Hey, you," she grins at me and uses the opportune position of her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Hey, yourself," I smile back at her and lean forward to kiss her. She's lying almost on top of me and I have no idea how that happened. Maybe I do have amnesia after all. Or she simply decided to jump and/or crawl on top of me while I was already asleep.

We're lying in her bed, in her, for my taste, a little too colorful and girly room. She has butterflies pinned to her wallpaper, for God's sake. But…since it's her colorful and girly room, I'm not complaining…too much.

Her favorite stuffed animal is keeping watch from the bedside table; the alarm clock next to it says 7:30. Weird, I could have sworn, it showed the exact same time, when I looked at it the last time.

She buries her face in my neck and kisses it, as I draw my arms around her tighter. See? Snuggling and smooching, that's what we're good at. We don't even talk much while doing that, we don't need to.

Well, but sometimes we talk, anyway.

"Where's your mom?" I ask her. You'd think I'd know, huh? Maybe it's selective amnesia. Everything that happened or might have happened last night is lost on me. If her mom had been here and/or still is here…or how we even got here. Actually we spend our nights together at my place usually – she loves my PlayStation, loves beating me at all kinds of games even more…though she'd never admit it, of course. Oh, right, could be that we're here because of the broken window in my apartment – still need to get that fixed.

"Haven't seen her in a while," she replies, and somehow that doesn't sound like she's seen her at all in the last months. Oh, well, I'll never get those mother-daughter-dynamics.

We lie like this for what feels like hours, before she decides it's time for her to get up and take a shower. She's wearing clothes, so I guess we didn't have sex last night…I really wish I could remember, though. Her wiggling butt disappears into the bathroom, and I grab her stuffed animal pig from the bedside table and look at it. Anyone wants tell me what "Gordo" means? I don't speak Spanish…I never knew that she does. Doesn't matter; me and my friend, Mr. Gordo, don't need to know everything about each other to get along.

I know that not even I and she know everything about each other either, and we don't feel the need to know everything – little mysteries are the spice in relationships, aren't they?

She comes back in and takes my piggy-friend out of my hands and pulls me into her arms…which is only an excuse to get me to get up, though. It's not weekend, so we can't spend all day in bed.

I don't need long for my shower and the rest of my morning routine, but still, in this short time she has already managed to blow-dry her hair into something presentable and change from her bathrobe into loose-fitting dark-blue pants and a white blouse with a black top underneath. Plus she has laid out clothes for me. Blue jeans and a shirt that is…well, I don't have words for it – an assortment of pink and purple flowers on the back, knitted, black, look-throughish sleeves, and the front is…hm…rhinestones on some weird pattern…enframing three doves on yellow background.

I really should have brought my own clothes. I can't leave the house like this…

However, I put them on; but I have a feeling I won't go anywhere where someone other than her would see me, anyway.

And when I'm done, she puts her arms around me and kisses me again. But something feels different now, and I can't say what it is.

"Wanna make the bed?" she asks with a smile that almost makes me think she means something else, a different bed-related activity. Huh, seems like I have needs…But then I notice that she has also stripped the bed of covers and sheets, and that a new set of bedclothes and the equally stripped pillows are sitting on the nearby chair.

I nod, and she squeezes my hand, before she walks over to the chair to pick up the clean sheets. Walking around the bed, she looks at me again. The smile has morphed into something…uncertain? No, malicious…? No, something…I can't place...

Or maybe I'm just paranoid, because now the smile is back to normal. I'm talking as normal as ever, not as normal as before the morphing happened. The morphing that didn't happen. Or did it? I'm not sure anymore.

"They smell good, don't they?" she interrupts my thoughts.

"What?"

A loving smile that doesn't make me paranoid. "Clean sheets. Like summer."

Only now I notice that I have already started to help her drape the sheets over the bed. "I wouldn't know," I respond and have no idea where that comment came from.

Why wouldn't I know? The amnesia thought comes back to me. Maybe I have a cold and can't remember having it? And having a cold would mean I can't smell…

She stops smiling. "Right. I forgot."

"I noticed," my mouth replies again, before I can even so much as try to think about it. Could be that I should just stop with the wanting to understand what's going on here. After all, my face still seems to smile, even though I'm confused.

Things are definitely worth getting paranoid over; and now I'm almost convinced that her smile has changed back there. It's no wonder that I don't know, where her mom is or how I got here, because maybe it doesn't matter.

I'm losing control of what's happening here, what we're doing, what I'm saying. Almost like…it's a dream I can't wake up from, as funny as that sounds.

She looks over at the alarm clock. "I-I wish I could stay, but…"

"No, you have to go," I agree, looking at the clock myself. Still 7:30.

"It's just with…"

"Little sis coming, I know…" If I would have been in control of my words, I would have said something like 'I know, it's time to go to class,' maybe. I have a feeling she goes to school…I won't say I know she goes to school, because I don't know anything anymore, really, but…oh, you get what I mean. But 'little sis'? Who's that? Oh, wait…Willow? Willow's younger than her, right? So…maybe. Maybe she's picking her up. "So much to do before she gets here," my mouth adds, again on its own accord.

We walk to the foot of the bed and meet in the middle to finish tucking the sheet under the mattress. "Now I really have to…," she starts, almost sounding regretful. Maybe sounding regretful – I can't be sure anymore.

"So go," I interrupt with a smile; again, not my fault. "Don't let me keep…" But then I hear something. Something wet, dripping on…I look down and see stains on the otherwise clean sheets. Fresh stains. Red stains. Blood stains…"Damn. Just when we made it so nice"... I say, before looking at her to see how she reacts.

There's a look again. Not the one I think I have seen before. This one is…almost stoic. But also…angry, but you only notice that expression, if you know her.

She's angry…with me. I did something wrong. I know that look. I can't remember what I did, though. She can't be angry at me for bleeding. Which I do. The blood on the sheets is mine. There's a knife sticking out of my stomach. A knife she's holding in her hand.

That knife…I can't place it, but I've seen it before.

I'm supposed to feel pain…right? I don't. I don't feel shock about suddenly having that knife buried in me either.

I don't know how it got there and why…but I somehow feel that I deserve it.

I always deserve it. The knife, the blood, the look. Because this scene suddenly seems very familiar to me – as if it happened before…for some reason that is my fault. I must have done something really horrible to make her react like this.

I wish I could do something about it, make it better somehow, make the knife go away. The knife that I know is supposed to hurt, but doesn't…since I can't remember, why it's there.

"Are you ever gonna take this thing out?" I ask finally, thinking that if the knife was gone…things could go back to how they were.

I want her to smile at me again.

I want her to cuddle and snuggle with me again.

I want to feel her lips on my forehead again.

I want her to look at me with those loving eyes again.

I want her to love me again.

She grips the handle of the knife, and for a second I think she is following my request. Then she janks the blade upwards, until it reaches my heart. She pulls the knife out, and all I can do now is fall to the ground unmoving.

I'm not dead. I'm not in pain. I don't feel my heart beating.

The room changes, and suddenly I can see the broken window in my apartment. Reflected in the bloody blade that is lying next to me on the rooftop.

I'm lying on my stomach; I can't see her. But I can feel her eyes on me, for long moments…until she climbs down the ladder and leaves me.

For now. Forever.

And I just lie here. My blood mingling with the dirt on the roof.

I wish I could die. I want to. But I can't. Something won't let me.

There's something I'm supposed to be doing. I think I've heard those words from her, but it feels like they equally belong to me.

It's a riddle I need to solve…to make her love me again. To make her pick me up and help me. To make me stop bleeding.

Will I ever find the solution? Or will this – this rooftop with a bloodied view on a broken window – be my reality from now on?

A reality that somehow feels more real to me than any of her caresses.

The End

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