From Angel's Eyes

Running, running, I've got to keep running. The thought is speeding through her mind as she races away from the madness. Where is she going, it doesn't matter. Anywhere, as long as she doesn't have to think, doesn't have to feel; as long as she can keep at bay the emptiness she feels inside. If she lets it take hold, it will never let go. It will swallow her up, take away what little she has left of her heart. Destroy her.

Angel is gone, the demon at last returned to hell. The last of her hope dying with him. She held out as long as possible, refusing even to acknowledge to herself how much she had prayed for his restoration. To hold him in her arms again and then have to give him up. Oh God! A cry of despair nearly causes her to stumble. Now there is no turning back. Before her eyes her world has been destroyed.

There are no words to describe the pain she feels. A vise clutching at her heart, tightening its grip with each turn of the screw. She's numb, detached, aware of the world around her but removed from it. Everything before her is flat, devoid of substance, unreal. Angel is dead. Her reason for living.

This isn't the hurt of a little girl, who's comfort is easily restored by a mother's kiss. This is the agony of a woman who's heart is breaking; irreparable. Tears blind her as she stumbles and trips, falling to her knees as the pain finally takes hold. She can't breath, she doesn't want to. Let me die, please, let me die. A silent plea to the heavens.

Angel floods her mind, a multitude of pictures suddenly flashing before her eyes. His smile, his laughter, the way his eyes devour her face. He's before her asking her to dance, pulling her into the shelter of his arms, holding her like fragile glass, promising safety, offering love.

Clenching her fists, she fights for control, raising a wall to keep out the pain. Her eyes search the last remaining shadows. A shadow moves and her heart leaps expectantly. He had been her guardian, her protector, giving her shelter from the storm. Reality rushes in. She is riding a roller coaster of emotions.

Drawing a deep breath she struggles to her feet, swaying slightly, finding strength. Her eyes are blank as she stares into space. "I don't know where to go. There's nowhere to go."

The streets are deserted and Sunnydale lies in peaceful slumber before her. The emptiness is fitting somehow, making it easier to say goodbye. Before her house she stands, a stranger, the walls no longer offering her the safety she has always counted on. Too much hurt and anger.

She creeps into the house, silent, like so many times before; this would be the last time. Her eyes remain straight ahead as she climbs the stairs, pausing momentarily outside her mother's door. God -- how she longed to be a little girl again, safe in her mother's arms, reading her favorite bedtime story from a book of fairy tales. But the fairy tales of yesterday were all too real, a nightmare she now lived with daily. She lays her hand gently against the door, wishing she could make her understand. One last chance. Her hand slips from the surface, dropping to her side. Life rarely gave you second chances, you had to make the most of the first.

Walking to her room, the latch turning easily beneath her hand, she stands in the doorway, savoring the moment. She could stay, she knows her mom's words were spoken in anger but at what price? To destroy her mother's life along with her own? She deserves better than that.

She pulls a bag from her closet then turns and places it on the bed. How do you pack a life in one bag? How do you leave behind the past when there seems to be no future? How do you say goodbye?

There comes a time in every parents life when you realize the child before you is no longer a child. She's grown into a young woman before your very eyes, a woman with secrets and a heartache of her own. Where does the time go?

Her eyes survey the chaos of the room, while her mind replays her last words to her daughter, spoken in anger and haste. Joyce's eyes fill with tears, for the yesterdays she can't take back, the tomorrows that may never come.

She recalls the look in Buffy's eyes, her desperate plea for understanding, the quiet look of resignation as she walked out that door. Tears spill down her cheeks as she sinks to the floor, Buffy's letter still clutched tightly in her hand. "Oh Buffy, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Please come home, come home." Silence.

Without thought she moves in the direction she has always gone, moves towards the one haven that has always brought peace. Moving down the steps, emotions held carefully in check, she pushes open the door. For a moment she merely stands in the darkness, finding shelter in its welcoming arms. Her hand reaches for the light switch, hesitating briefly, then flips it on.

Darkness gives way to light.

He is before her; everywhere.

He had always been waiting for her when she had come to him in need. Driven to him in fear, grief, or love, his arms had always been open. Wandering around the room, she touches each item with reverence. So many questions she never felt the need to ask. They had always believed they would have more time. Even though neither had put much faith in a tomorrow, aware of how precious each moment of time bestowed on them was, they had still believed there would be more.

The aimless path she has traveled has brought her before his bed and she staggers back, the breath catching in her throat. Biting her lip to stop the trembling, she relives again their night of love. If only she had known. The tears spilling down her cheeks cannot ease the pain or heartbreak deep inside. If anything they seem to only intensify the agony. A sob breaks forth and she claps her hand across her mouth, afraid of letting go. It is of little use, a heart breaks no matter what the obstacle before it. Unable to hold back any longer she gives way to her tears. Moving forward, her fingers trace the softness of the velvet, caress the pillow. Sinking to the edge of the bed she pulls the pillow into her arms. Laying her head against it, she lets the tears fall. No one can hear her heart wrenching sobs, no one is aware of her grief.

It is time to go, find the strength to heal. Time to find a road to follow without Angel by her side. With one last glance from the door her eyes are drawn to his desk. Cautiously she approaches, holding her breath. The surface is scattered with books and papers, pens and pencils and a stack of drawings. Curious she pulls a drawing from underneath the pile and gasps, her hand going to her throat in shock.

She stares back at the image of herself. When it had been drawn she can't tell but only Angel could have captured the moment with such tenderness. Angel, a last gift from Angel. He had been talented, a talent she had been unaware of until he had become Angelus. He has caught on paper, her every feature, every nuance, the very essence of her being. But what is most captivating, the image riveting her attention, is the depth of love shining from her eyes.

Those eyes fill with tears once again as she whispers, audible only to a vampire's ears, "I love you Angel. I will always love you." Pulling his ring from her finger she lays it gently on top of the drawing, then walks out the door.

Standing outside the school, Buffy watches emotionless. The ability to feel anything has been wiped from her being. She is outside herself, in a cold dark place, alone.

She has never been a part of their world, always the outsider, in spite of their acceptance of her as the Slayer. There is no place for her here. Having friends, being in love, those were things she had fooled herself into believing she could have. A normal life.

"Angel" her mind cries out for him but she pushes the agony aside. It is better this way. Her world is gone, there is nothing left and nothing can bring it back. I took away his soul and then I sent him to hell. For a moment her careful control threatens to slip.

Time to move on, put the past behind her. She would miss them. The small moment in time when her world and theirs had intermixed. Those memories are priceless. She will cherish them forever. But the price is too great and she couldn't go through it again. Kendra had been right, being the Slayer isn't a job, it is who she is.

The countryside sped by, taking her away from Sunnydale. Where is she going? Was it so important? Maybe someday she'd come back, maybe ... someday.

From the bowels of hell ... an angel's soul screams in agony.

go on to From Angel's Eyes: Part 2