Part Of The Job
© Krysta
It plays over and over in my mind. My private little hell. It's like I'm strapped into a chair with my eyes being forced open watching a movie play over and over. But I don't just get pictures. I get the pain, the fear, the high. Everything. But not just of the victim. I can feel the power the thing hurting them is feeling.
I know the feelings of a killer. Which scares the hell out of me. I know the high they get as they thrust that knife, as they pull that trigger, or as they puncture the skin with their sharp, white teeth. I've been in the mind of a killer. And their thoughts and feelings scare me more than anything. So much hate. Hate from being rejected so many times by so many people. The hurt from being put down. And most of all the loneliness. They're so damn hollow. So blank. Just nothing.
And I can feel it all. I feel that knife. I feel that bullet. And I feel those fangs puncturing my neck. I feel it all as though it was happening to myself. And it hurts. Oh god it hurts.
And when you feel the killer's and the victim's physical and emotional pain at the same time it's just too damn overwelming. It's more than you can handle. More than I can handle. It's like getting hit by a train. And with every vision that train hits a little harder. I'm wearing down. Thus it hurts more. Both during and after.
I take so many painkillers both perscribed and over-the-counter I'm scared. Oh god, if Angel knew how many I'm taking he would freak. And that's a major understatement.
Angel. I'm not exactly sure how he's handling this. I mean, I can tell he feels guilty. *Really* guilty. Which makes me feel guilty. I don't want to be another reason for Angel to brood. I don't want to be the reason he sits in his dark room thinking. And that's all I seem to be lately. The reason, the cause of his brooding. I want to be the cause of his happiness. His laughter. His smile. That's what I want to be.
He assures me that that's what I am. That I light up his life. Maybe, a little. But he can't deny that he worries. That he broods over it. Cause that would be lying. And ever since Darla, Angel has made it a point not to lie.
I can see the worry and guilt in his eyes as he holds me after a vision. His eyes just pleading with me to be all right. It's ironic actually. I always had a crush on him and would have done anything for him to hold me. Well, be careful what you wish for. Cause the only way I get my wish to come true is for me to be in blinding pain and spazzing out. But hey, I guess it's worth..I guess.
But I also think Angel is in denial. Denial of what these visions are doing to me. What they will ultimetly do to me. I take that back. I think he knows. I think he knows all too well and it scares the hell out of him. So he pretends. Pretends it'll all be okay. Ha. I used to pretend too. Then I faced the inevitable.
Wesley. Wes knows. I've caught him researching, and I've seen his results. He doesn't know I have though. All of his conclusions are the same. A human simply can not handle "the burden". And that it doesn't end pretty. He just sugar coats everything around me. Assures me I will be fine when he knows I won't be. He treats me like a child. Like he's afraid of what might happen if I "find" out. Well Wes. I know. And I haven't lost it. I haven't done something rash. I'm not lying on the floor with slit wrists. I haven't overdosed on pain killers. Nope. I've been a brave little soldier. Fighting the battle. But I'm loosing. And I know it. I can tell. I too notice how thin I've become. And I do notice Angel trying to stuff me with food. And Gunn offering to 'go get a burger or something'. Or something. And I notice how pale I seem. And the little circles under my eyes. I notice more than you think.
Tea. That's Wes's solution to it. Like giving me tea after every vision will make everything go 'poof' and disapear. If only.
Gunn. I'm still trying to figure him out. I can see his concern beyond that "manely exterior". I know he's trying to be helpful. Trying to make me comfortable. Trying to make me healthy. Trying to do anything that might help. He even offered me tea. Ha. Gunn making tea. Now that I gotta see. But honestly, I think he has faced reality the most out of all of us. Maybe more than myself. But now I'm just contridcting everything I've said about everyone else. That tends to happen when your brain has been ripped out of your head, tossed around, and put back in. That and rambling. Which I am doing.
The vision I just had took so much out of me I'm starting to get scared. Really scared. And I can tell the guys are scared too. I actually blacked out. Remember how I said that when you feel everyone's physical and emotional pain at the same time it's just too damn overwelming? Well it got so overwelming my brain just like shut down and I blacked out. Not before I managed to knock my head on the table though. Pretty nasty cut. I told them that was the reason for my blacking out, the cut that is. But I honestly don't think it was. I hit my head at the beginning of the vision. The cut hurt and all, but didn't knock me out. It wasn't till that train hit that I shut down. I woke up with a somewhat blood soaked towel on my head and in Angel's arms. With his concerned eyes beaming down on me. Then I started freaking. I remembered it all at once and I became hysterical. I lost control. I, Cordelia Chase, lost control. I never loose control. I just don't. But I did. I did, and I don't know how.
Angel held me whispering things in my ears. Slightly rocking me and rubbing my back. But through the haze I saw the glance shared between the three guys.
It was all kind of a blur to tell you the truth. Maybe I blacked out again cause the next thing I know I was calm with a few muffled cries. And I was telling them the what, where, and when. And I somehow managed to convince them they all needed to go and that I was fine. Took forever to convince Angel. Forever. The only reason I got him to go was because I told him it wouldn't stop hurting till he went and slayed. Till he killed that nasty gooey demon. Well, at least most of it would be over. But I left that end part out. He doesn't know that it still hurts even after we solve the case. He doesn't know that the faces haunt me every night in my dreams. Everyday when I wake up. Everytime I sit at the computer. Everytime there is a quiet moment. Basically all the time. He doesn't know. Neither does anyone else. And I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible. Cause I accepted this. I chose to keep them.
After all.
It's part of the job, right?
Fini~