It's morning. The sun shines through my window and blankets my hair and face with golden splashes. I thought I closed the curtains. Last night, if I remember correctly. Absently I turn over and look at the branches of the tree outside. They sway to the breeze calmly, the curved tentacles arcing through the air like spears. Nothing really looks different. It's open a little and I can hear kids playing. Shouting and running, their little lungs pumping air.

(Mommy…can I play outside? Dad says I can't

Of course, Buffy, don't listen to your father. Remember to wear your jacket and stay off the road

Don't worry, Mommy…I'm just going to take my dolls for a walk.

Ok, sweetie…you're going to be such a good mother one day

Thanks Mommy)

I sit up and my head feels dizzy. It would make sense, considering no food has gone into my body in a while. The duvet is cool around me, but I know I have to get up. Make Dawn breakfast. Force her to eat. She doesn't eat anymore either. Every time I see her she looks a little more wasted away. Her arms are so thin I can barely feel them around me when she hugs me at night. At night. I never realized how silent a house can be when there's no mother there. When you don't hear her brushing her teeth and washing her face before bed. When you don't hear her pulling back the covers and settling in with a book. When there's no one there to tell your little sister to get to sleep, cause she has a test tomorrow. When there's no one there that makes you feel safe.

I haven't been in her room lately. Except once to get one of her shirts. I've been sleeping in it. The nice Mom smell wrapped around me helps me to pretend she's still here.

Something is dripping down my neck. I'm not sure what it is. Tears? I've cried so much lately I don't even feel them anymore. Salt is second nature. The burning has become a part of me. Wobbling slightly I go over to the mirror and take a glance at myself, my eyes disinterested and wilted.

My neck is bleeding.

I touch the red holes with thumbs that tremble. His bite is weeping blood. The twin marks where his fangs went in, clean and deep are crying red tears. How can the scar tissue have opened up? I thought that didn't happen unless you…poked a fork through it or something. My stomach lurches as I gaze at myself. My ribs are visible through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. I wonder if I could count them.

Finding a band-aid, I place it firmly over the bite mark and go downstairs.

Dawn is staring off into space, her eyes red and swollen and huge. She looks like death. Like someone who has seen too much. Her hands grip something and I realize its Mom's pen. She always had this one pen she'd write down the shopping lists with and Dawn is clutching it.

I don't say anything to her at first. My throat works trying to speak but I suspect it might make things worse, so instead I reach for the coffee and scoop some into the canister, filling the holder with water. All normal movements that feel empty. That's nice. I like feeling like it's a normal morning. Sometimes I pretend it is, but the memories are getting fainter.

(Dawnie…would you please get the paper?

Sure Mom

Damnit, Dawn, quit taking the milk…

Shut up Buffy

Girls, really…I have to get to the gallery. Don't you think you're a little old for this?

No!)

All I know is that on these mornings…Mom's there. Mom's safe.

But she's not right now so I stand in the middle of the kitchen, my limbs strangely weak.

Dawn looks up and her eyes flash with horror. “Buffy…” She points to me and her lower lip trembles.

“What?” I ask and my voice is scratchy. “What is it?” I look down and that's when I become aware of the blood. It's dripping down my legs and pooling around my toes like a macabre red fountain. Pressing my hands to my neck, I feel the soaked bandage and the twin holes…bleeding, bleeding. For a moment I feel woozy and grab the counter with shaky hands. What is happening to me? For a moment I don't care and hope this is the end, but then I look into my sister's terrified face and realize she'd be all alone.

(You have to promise me you'll look after Dawn… if anything happens to me. Love her as much as I love you

Mom…

Buffy, please…promise me…

I promise)

“Call Giles…” I tell her, gasping a little and trying to stop the flow of hot, thick blood. Magickal blood that I gave to him once. That filled his throat and pumped life into his dead heart. “Tell him to come over…”

~~~

Giles is gentle with me. He sits me down and examines my neck. It's stopped bleeding heavily, but little bits flow out sometimes. “When did this start, Buffy?” he asks me.

“This morning, I think, “ I answer him and am surprised that I sound so calm. “It could've been at night and I just didn't notice.”

He nods sympathetically. “I see. Well I must admit, I'm not quite sure what this means. Have you had an trauma to this area lately?”

I shake my head. “No…nothing has even really touched my neck. I mean, it wasn't even like this after he…bit me.”

“Hmm…” Giles murmurs and tapes a new bandage over the re-opened cut. “I'll read up on this… did Angel…well, did he ever say anything to you, about the dangers of this?”

“What do you mean?” I inquire and ignore the way I hate the sound of his name. Ignore the way I wish more than anything that he was here, with his dark eyes and cool skin. With his duster and strong arms. With that heart that doesn't beat. I wish he was here to hold me and make this all go away. Make it all a dream.

“Did he ever say…that there could be repercussions from his…biting you?”

(It is never over! I won't let you die! Drink…drink from me…)

“No…” I murmur and rub my forehead, which is slick with sweat. I still feel like I might throw up. Dawn paces by the door. Her sobs are quiet, like little catches in her throat. My eyes don't look at her, but every so often I touch her hand and smooth her fingers with mine. It's a sister touch. Everything's going to be ok…I'm not dying like Mommy… “No. I don't think so. He didn't mention anything. Just sort of…left, you know.”

“I know,” Giles utters sympathetically and his hand curves over my shoulder. My bones must poke out into his palm. He stares at me for a moment. “You haven't been eating, have you?”

I shrug and almost laugh. “I really just haven't been hungry.”

He looks concerned and takes off his glasses to clean them. “Buffy…you may have to go to LA.”

“For what?” I play dumb and hope he'll retract that stupid statement. Go to LA? Yeah, right.

“To ask Angel about this,” he gestures to my neck, and the soaked bandage. “I'm worried…”

“I can't,” I say implacably and murmur, “the funeral is in two days.”

“You can be back before then,” he says and helps me stand. “You're going, Buffy.”

My eyes are large as I gaze up at him. His voice is firm but not cruel. He's not backing down and I don't want to fight so I go upstairs and pack a bag. The bandage and blood mock me in the mirror.

to be continued....

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