I hate waiting, yet that's all I do. I wait to get up, I wait to go to sleep, I wait for the next vision or
case, I wait for the first strike, I wait for the final breath, I can't wait to go home. My life is one long
waiting game and, sometimes, I don't think the wait is ever going to end.
Will you be here when they're gone? Is it then that you will come to me? I sit, I stand, I lay in bed,
staring at the ceiling; I work, I read, I brood, hiding in the shadows; and the days becomes nights,
and the nights become days; and still I wait for you. I am *still* waiting for you.
I swear I hear you calling for me. In my dreams. In my heart. I ache to go to you, but I know that
is not what you want. What you would hate. I am not a part of your life. Not anymore, and not yet.
So, I wait.
I fill my days with mundane tasks, like cleaning, doing laundry, and paying the bills. I go to "work"
at four o'clock -- though I'm on call twenty-four/seven -- and I allow someone else order me to do
this and do that and, my all time favorite, don't. I know how you felt now. How you probably still
feel. I won't treat you that way again.
My nights I fill with killing. Killing demons. Killing dangers. Killing time. Killing myself slowly.
It's repetitive and boring, and do you know you can't get blood out of anything? Not really. The
stain might be gone, but I still smell like I massacred the Snuggle bear.
Some nights, I wonder if it's worth it. Putting on my Dark Avenger clothes (don't think that I don't
know you that call me that), hiding weapons in places that chafe, pretending that I am all gung-ho
about fighting the good fight... it gets tiring. And I get sloppy. And I get bloody. And I have to do
laundry again. Worse, now I have to listen to my *boss* lecture me about getting sloppy and
Did you ever imaging wrapping my tongue around my head to get me to shut. up.? If so, I won't
hold it against you.
I'm still waiting, though. Waiting for you to come and change the tedium of going out night after
night after night after night after nightnightnight, ad infinitum. Waiting for you to make this hell
And, boy, it would be *fun.* The violence and pain and, heck, even the blood stains, would be fun
with you here. You wouldn't have it any other way, and I could enjoy myself while still doing the
good thing. *Really* enjoy myself. And I wouldn't have to worry about the disgusted looks or the
fearful Is-He-Angelus? ones. I can easily picture us having a sword fight using some demon's torn
off limbs. I can't wait.
I get to be Indigo.
If you ever come.
Just before dawn is the worst time, when the waiting is the most... not fun. The sun is coming up,
and all good little vampires are hunkering down for a good morning's sleep, and my bed is very big
for only one person.
I would like it very much if you would think about arriving early. I know you're busy playing the
game with The Others and that they actually say that they need you now, but... I don't want their
deaths to be what brings us together finally. I don't want to be the person you go to because there's
no one else. I want to be the choice, freely made and without remorse. I want to you to want to be
here. I want... you.
I hate waiting.