|Buffy Summers (slayer_comma_b) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2013-07-10 02:19:00
|Entry tags:||buffy summers|
WHO: Buffy and Damon
WHAT: Buffy does something she will regret.
WHERE: Lawrence Kansas. A party. A street.
WHEN: Forward dated to this weekend.
Of course Buffy was gonna leave. She'd explained exactly why she had to, to Spike, and she already had everything she really needed in her little pack. She could leave any time she wanted. She just...hadn't yet.
She returned her volume of the Watcher's Diaries to the Magic Box. Returning what she borrowed, that was full of the virtue, right? And it took a while because she waited around, infinitely patient, until the shop was sufficiently busy so she could slip in without being noticed and leave the book on a random shelf where it looked out of place and was sure to be found. Not in a talky mood (never in a talky mood), so it was easier that way.
After that, there was nothing else she needed to do. She told herself she wanted to say goodbye to Dawn. But she really didn't think Dawn would appreciate it much...if she really tried, it was sure to go badly, so that wasn't really the reason.
She told herself she wanted to...no, actually, she really didn't even have any justifications. The simple truth was that as much as she hated Lawrence, she just didn't have enough hate to send her walking down the highway with her thumb out for a ride. It was easier to wander the places she'd got to know, listen to her favorite buskers downtown, rest in the shade during the heat of the day and pretend like she was saying an extended goodbye to this place that she hated. (Hate was such a strong word.) She'd leave...soon.
Because she had to leave. It was the only thing that might help. Maybe it wasn't very likely, maybe Spike was right and she would hate any place just as much. Maybe the problem was with her, and nothing would help. (The problem was with her.) But maybe Spike was wrong.
So she'd leave tomorrow. For sure.
* * *
Tomorrows came and went. The only victory she had in terms of doing what she wanted (if she really wanted anything) was that she didn't return to the complex. If she did, that would be it, and she knew it, so she stubbornly stayed away.
That was probably why she went to the party. She'd been at that club she went to sometimes, and listened to that band that she listened to, and the drummer (they'd met under unusual circumstances, like she ever met anyone under any other kind) invited her to the party, and she had nothing better to do. She hadn't really been sleeping much, so she still had hours of wakefulness ahead of her.
In the early hours of the morning, something different started the rounds. She had no idea what it was, she wasn't the sort of girl who knew much about drugs. And she definitely wasn't the sort of girl who did unknown drugs at random parties.
She was wrong about a lot of things lately.
* * *
Some amount of time later, Buffy left the party. She wandered in a blissful but uncoordinated haze, knowing it was wrong, what she was feeling was unnatural -- but not caring even one little bit. Everything was good. Even the things that weren't good were good. She'd thrown up, and that was good too. Good was everything.
But gradually, the bliss wore away, and all that was left was a feeling of nausea, a heaviness in her limbs, and the harsh world that seemed to be laughing at her.
This was hell, nor had she ever left it.
She sat down on the curb and buried her head in her hands.