Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I'm concentrating on the simple rhythm my Sire has set, rocking me back and forth, back and
forth, back and forth. He's stopped speaking comforting words to me, but the low rumbling I
hear coming from deep in his chest has gotten louder. I'm still blubbering like a soddin baby,
hiccing and sucking in shaky gasps of unneeded air. I can't seem to grab hold of myself.
I'm so bloody pathetic.
I can feel the blood drying on my face, my tears running through the mess, making it itch. It also
hurts like soddin hell where the bloke in fatigues hit me with his spiked knuckles. The same
spiked knuckles my Sire used to rip a hole in the dead git's chest and...
Oh bugger, here come the bleedin' sobs again. My entire body shakes, and Angel's arms tighten
around my waist slightly, but he doesn't speed up his rhythm. He just keeps rocking back and
forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
I should have let the military guy have me.
I just can't believe the poof did that. He was a bloody human, for fuck's sake! A. Fucking.
Human. A living, breathing, heart-beating mortal!
Angel isn't suppose to be able to do that. My Sire has his soul. He can't do that. He has his
soul. His bloody fucking soul! He's the poof! The pansy! Broodboy! The nancyboy with the
hairgel and the soddin heart of gold! Saint Angel! Batboy, the soul-filled wuss!
My hysterical sobs are echoing around me, loud and uncontrolled. Nothing is what is should be.
Angel has his soul, is a pussy, is in love with the Slayer, broods a lot, and is on the good guy's
team. My soulful Sire protects mortals, he doesn't fucking kill them!
He. Just. Doesn't. Do. That.
I suck in a high-pitched wheeze of not-needed air, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. I
need to calm down. I need to stop crying. I need to grow a pair and JUST FUCKING STOP!!!
I press my lips together tightly, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough that blood fills my
mouth. The coppery taste of it manages to pull me away from my hysteria after a moment, and I
force myself to listen to that soothing sound coming from my Sire as he rocks me back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth...
"Okay now?" Angel asks me softly when I finally manage to stop my pathetic behavior. I nod
slightly and raise my chin. Opening my eyes, I find that in my mad scramble to get away I
managed to make it almost all the way to the door.
"We need to get you patched up," he says, his voice still low and quiet, as if he's talking to a
skittish animal. I guess that's what I am now -- a bloody, pathetic, fixed 'fraidy-cat who was
kidding himself about being better.
What happened to me? I've lost myself, turned into something that despises me. I cry, I'm
afraid of others, I can't kill or hunt, I like the Slayer, I'm living with my Sire who I've hated since
he disappeared on Dru and me without a word, I've allowed myself to let him take care of me,
protect me, help me, love me like a father does...
...and now I'm bloody scared shitless of him. Of my Sire with his soul.
Angel releases me and scoots back on the floor in order to free his leg from under mine. He
stands and holds his hand out to help me up. I avoid looking at him as I get to my feet. I release
my inner cheek from between my teeth only to chomp down on the other side, filling my mouth
with blood once more. If I didn't, I may bolt in fear.
Fear of him.
He leads me past the torn body, and I feel my stomach turn at the sight of the ripped chest and
the shriveled heart lying on the floor beside it. Blood has pooled under the dead bloke, spreading
outward and undoubtably staining the hardwood floor. His eyes are open and sightless, but I
swear he fucking looked right at me when I walked by.
We go into the bathroom and Angel drops my hand to gesture at the closed toilet seat. My towel
is still on the floor where I'd dropped it. I wonder if he's going to scold me? My Sire is neat to
"Sit down," he tells me. He pauses and I know he's looking at me with concern, but I'm not
going to look up to check. "Will you be okay in here alone for a few minutes?"
"Yeah," I croak out, my voice raw from all that stupid crying I did.
He's silent for a moment, and I know he's assessing me as if I'm an unstable loony having been
taken off my meds for the first time. I don't look up, though. I just go sit on the closed toilet
seat, my shaking hands clasped between my thighs, my clammy palms pressed together.
"I'll be back," he says, then leaves, closing the door behind him.
A shudder wracks my body. A shudder of fear of my Sire and of relief that he's gone. I slide off
the seat onto the floor, wedging myself between the toilet and the wall as far back into the corner
as I can get. I lean the side of my head on the hard brick and shut my eyes tightly against the
cold, silent tears that begin to fall again. My hands are still smashed between my thighs, which is
uncomfortable, but I don't care.
My Sire with a soul viciously killed a human without remorse.
What if I'm next?