I’ve only been back once before. The morning after, when I had to come back with Xander to check on Acathla. Even then, I stopped here, almost in this spot, while Xander moved on. The pain was too fresh. Time will make this moment easier.
Or so I thought this evening at the library. Now, when I face the physical reminder of what he did to me that night, I’m not sure. The screaming isn’t coming from the walls, it’s coming from me. It’s my screams. The reminder of wave after wave of pain, of my weakness. And soon all I will hear is the noise of my own voice as they cart me off to the assylum. Oh yes, I understand exactly how Drusilla feels.
But if I allow myself the luxury of giving into my emotions, what will Buffy do. In the end, it comes down to Buffy. Right now, she needs me inside that building. To join her in her vigil and her fight to save the man she loves. The man I despise. I suppose, after such a good acting job the past few months, I’ll be able to carry this off. It’s only for a few hours.
Take a deep breath old man, that’s it. It’s only a few inches. Once over the stoop, you’ll be home free. I know. Shut your eyes. That way you won’t see the darkness loom in on yourself. Steady. Lift the foot up, that’s it. Now move it forward, put it down. Good. Now lean all your weight on it, and lift the next. Almost there. Dear god, almost back into my worst nightmare.
Thank the Lord she wanted to meet in this room. As I face onto the garden, I can lessen the screams in my head. After all, I’m not witnessing the room of my destruction. My eyes aren’t drawn to the stain of my blood on the floor. The sunlight and the flowers almost wipe away the stench of my fear and my bodily fluids. At least physically.
We say nothing, she and I. What is there to say? Her lover, the full centre of her being, lays in the other room dying. And she, the full centre of my being, cares nothing of what I feel or go through. God I sound bitter. I’m not. I’ve accepted my role in her life, and hers in mine. I just wish that sometimes she would get a clue.
Footsteps in the passage. Good, Wesley’s back, hopefully with the cure for Angel. Then I can leave this unholy place?
Not helping? They’re telling her to let her lover die? What fools. One day she’ll....
No! Not now. I know your pain, Buffy, and your anger, but don’t throw them away now. Wait until after the Ascension. Don’t sign my death warrant until we know the Mayor is destroyed.
Look at them both. Turning to me for my final decision. Only one realises what is being asked of me. But, there is no choice. And so, I let my actions speak instead of my words.
“I have nothing to say.” But note, Wesley who I stand beside. Who I will always stand beside. Note, and tell the Council, that the slayer deserves absolute loyalty, and she will have it from me. Note, that I go to my death willingly. Note that I happily give up whatever sanity I have remaining.
Stay here? Alone, with him? In the room that has so many memories between us? Are you that oblivious to what I am experiencing? Or is it that you trust me that much. Which is it Buffy? And you know I dare not ask, for fear of your answer. And my responce to your request?
“Of course.”
We are alone now, he and I. Once Buffy left, Wesley and I knew there was nothing more to say. The next time we meet, it will be as adversaries. A shame really, I was beginning to almost like him. With a bit more seasoning, he may have made a fine watcher.
The flames rise, bathing me with heat, yet not managing to temper the chill within my body. Without her distraction, the memories come crowding in on me. The first realisation of what he had in mind, the pain of each finger as he broke it, the humiliation as he....
No, I won’t go there. Not even in my mind. As with my physical wounds, that has a scab that will stop the infection from growing. Nobody will know, except he and I. That is our secret.
Does he remember, I wonder? Every moment, every humiliation? Or is it all one large memory for which he feels remorse, but which he has been able to move on from. A noise in the other room. He’s awake. I wonder if he needs anything. Other than blood of course. That he won’t have from me. And comfort.
If I recite some poetry, I should be ably to block out his moans. After all, he is several feet away. There, that’s better. I’ll stay until I’m relieved. And I won’t think about my hands around his throat, squeazing the life out of him. I won’t have to worry about the shock and betrayal on Buffy’s face as she discovers I’ve killed her lover.
Why must he moan like that? Why can’t he die quietly, as I did? The noise is adding to the screams in my head. Whoever’s going to relieve me, hurry, hurry before I do end up in that assylum. Before I take a life, his or my own.
What am I doing here? I can’t remember leaving the living room, and yet, here I am in his bedroom. His fever is high. He calls her name. Must I cross this threshhold? Must I enter the room of death?
Why do you sleep here Angel? Is it part of your penance? Or do you get off with the memories? Is it truly Angel dying in that bed, or is Angelus coming out again? Shall I put us both out of our misery? Why did I forgive you, allow you back into our lives? All it ended in, was with your breaking her heart again. Shouldn’t you die for that? If you were lucid, what would your answer be?
He’s looking at me. Can he see me, or is it the fever? Am I imagining the pain, the grief in his eyes? Am I looking for contrition where none is, or is my rage and hate blinding me to the truth? I don’t know, I haven’t known for months. I only know of her love and need for him. And for me. And so I continue my balancing act.
Buffy. In the end it comes down to her. I pulled myself from the brink so many times. What is one more? For in the end, no matter that we don’t talk about it, she needs me. And so, these memories won’t destroy me. And if the screams inside my head seem even louder this night, well nobody else can hear them. They are my penance. And in a strange way, my sanity.
He moans again. Her Angel. Her Heart. My Nemesis. My worst nightmare.
“It’s alright Angel. She’ll be back soon with the cure.” And one day, hopefully, she’ll be back with mine.