Author: Gem
Rating: 15
Disclaimer: Aren’t mine (not all of them anyway, you can use your extreme Buffy knowledge to figure out which ones aren’t). The song is Geri Halliwell’s. Don’t ask me why I chose it, it just seemed to fit.
Authors Notes: This is my first fic posted on this board, so please, I’d really appreciate some feedback.
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/ky3/er_fan
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Betrayal, Part 1a
There’s a river of tears I need to cry
Been holding on for years
There’s a mountain so high I need to climb
To wipe away my fears
Solitude and loneliness have been friends of mine
Now I’m turning my back on yesterday
Gonna leave it all behind
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I wish the dreams would stop.
I’ve had them for so long, these dreams. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on counselling, though I never really told the entire truth. No-one could ever know everything. No-one deserves to know everything but us.
On the outside, I’ve moved on. That day, faced with that betrayal, I just had to get away. I remembered all too well the day that I had forced Danny to face up to his faults, and I remembered his hatred of me, continuing into my twenties and it still simmers now. If Willow had hated me that way, I don’t think I could have lived any longer.
As it was, my heart felt for years as though it might never heal. I’d met Willow when I was nineteen, still fresh from Ella’s betrayal. She’d healed me, slowly, patiently, taking her time. Eventually, I had to make the real move, she was too afraid of scaring me off. Scared that I wasn’t interested.
That first time. The dreams always begin that way. I remembered slowly unbuttoning her shirt, drinking in the sight of that beautiful flesh. I’d stared for so long that she began to blush. I didn’t know that it was possible for a person to blush so hard that their breasts turned red. Willow’s had, and I’d laughed, gently leaning down to kiss the heated, silky flesh. She’d lain there, running her fingers through my hair, and moving down slowly until my shirt was open. That was when I fell madly, wildly in love with Willow Rosenberg. That look of rapture on her face, like a child opening a precious toy on Christmas. Despite all the terrible memories that she had, all that she had suffered, she looked so blissfully happy that I just had to share it. So I leant down and gently traced her lips with my own. She’d drawn back, a little, and then moved forward, the tip of her tongue flicking in between my lips.
I looked at her, blue eyes meeting green, and said with every ounce of my soul, “I love you, Willow Rosenberg.” She hadn’t looked startled, or scared, or upset, just nodded and moved her hands down until they were pulling my skirt off.
That’s where the dream ended. That first moment of passion was replaced by endless fights. Willow wanted to bring back the Buffybot, I didn’t. The fights about magic, and the worst one – the one I couldn’t remember. I’d often lain awake at night, trying desperately to remember, and knowing that I never could. Finally, the dream always ended the same way. With me leaving. Looking up, just as I left, and seeing Willow at the window with her tear streaked face and the same look of sadness and horror mixed with the realisation that you have just died and no-one around knows how to do CPR.
That very night, I moved. My father, though he seemed cruel, was rich and certainly not stingy. I checked into a hotel and spent nearly two weeks there. By then, I had found and bought a house in England.