After I killed Angel, I had bruises on my chest. Only I saw them. But they were there. When I left the mansion I felt the weight of the cross he had given me burn heavily on my heart.

Traitor it breathed. Bitch

I wasn't sure what to do. Should I fall down and die? Should I cease to exist? Shouldn't something be happening…shouldn't the world get a little darker? Anything. Anything to let me know that his death did not go unnoticed.

I want to throw up. But I don't have anything left in my stomach. Nothing but flesh and bone. If I could get rid of that I would. I'd tear it away and leave myself open…leave myself bare. So bare. Without him, all I am is a wasted thing. Waiting to be blown away by the wind.

I wish the wind would blow me away. But a gun would do just fine as well.

The bussride is long and hot. The woman sitting next to me looks like she's running away from something to. I'm not sure what. There's a bruise on her inner elbow. It's not small. It blankets her skin and is mottled purple and yellow. I think she knows I'm staring at it.

The sun shines when I reach LA. Is that a welcome? Maybe I should say thank you or something. Twice, before I can leave the bus station, I go to the washroom and throw up. It's like my body wants to rid itself of anything that could sustain me. That's good. I pat my stomach, and feel the concaveness of it. My ribs are sticking out and I don't smile.

Something tells me I should look for work. The sensible part. If that still exists. I trail from place to place until I finally find a coffee shop that's hiring. The manager doesn't even notice me. Just hands me an apron. But that's all right, cause I don't want anyone to notice me. I don't want to exist to anyone. If I don't, maybe I can pretend that it isn't happening.

I'm not Buffy anymore. I'm not that blonde bitch who killed her lover. I'm Anne. That sounds like someone who could get lost. Someone that doesn't slay vampires. And I still don't smile. Cause I wonder who I am now.

Working as a waitress isn't fun. And I think my boss hates me. But that's all right. What do I care? People who come in ignore me. They've had their dreams bruised to, and all they want is a decent cup of coffee. I can empathize and so I make sure to bring the liquid hot. No one likes cold coffee.

When I sleep I have dreams. They're full of light sometimes. I like it there. And so I sleep more and more. That isn't hard, since I haven't been eating much and opening my eyes is an effort. Sometimes he comes to me then to. When my eyes are closed and the room is cloaked in shadows. They speak to me. Tell me I'm lost.

Nights are when I walk the day with him. We don't say much. What else is there? But his arms are warm and strong and the sun kisses us sweetly. And so I like it there. In the dreams. Cause its where he is. Sometimes I want to go there. Where he is.

I'm not sure why. Maybe so I can say I'm sorry. Which seems ludicrous now that I think about it. Sorry for killing you honey? But then again…maybe that's all it would take. For him to forgive me. So I wouldn't have these bruises on my chest.

I don't wear the cross anymore. It burned so I took it off. The weeks are going by but I haven't been thinking about time much anymore. Or about anything else.

Maybe if I could just say I'm sorry,

…Forgive me love

then he wouldn't hate me anymore. He does hate me. I can feel it in the dreams. He holds me but his breath is hot. His voice murmurs things. And I listen. I have to. I owe him that much at least.

The nights have changed. They are so dark, so dark. I don't like to sleep anymore but I can't help myself. I would go anywhere…to be where he is. My hand burns and I stick a sword in his belly. I do it every night. Without fail. Sometimes I try and stop it but it comes back. The metal is in my hands and I have no choice.

…Close your eyes

He does and I kill him. It's funny that I can't stop doing it. I should stop. Maybe if I pinched myself I'd wake up. But I don't.

And so the blood is all I see. He bleeds now. He didn't when I killed him. But in the cage that is my mind…blood spurts from his flesh and drenches me. It's not coming from his stomach though. No. It comes from his chest. His heart bleeds on me and its crying red tears but I don't move. I don't scream or weep or whimper. I just see his face change. It becomes cold. And then he's gone. My lover's gone. But I don't cry and I don't smile and I don't shout. Will it bring him back?

I'd kill myself if I thought it would do any good.

It's silent in my room lately.

Does he hate me? I think he does. I know he does. I wonder where he is. If he's safe. But that's just a sweet dream I comfort myself with. No, he's not safe. He's in Hell. But then, so am I.

Sometimes I laugh at the way my mind works now.

And I don't laugh at much. Anymore.

END.