Drunk (Afterwards)
by Wendy

We never seem to connect like we used to. I suppose it's something to do with me being dead.

No shiny lights. No blank nothingness. Not even the eternal pain and flames that my granma threatened me with when she heard I was a lawyer. But then granma was always a bit of a mad old bitch. She was evil, and my mother was crazy. Makes sense that I'd end up somewhere between the genes.


Fucking Wesley wasn't crazy at first. It was evil. It was like this little bit of light was still shining in his heart and I wanted to snuff it out completely. I wanted him to know that no one loved him, not even me. That no one cared, especially not me. But guess I wasn't evil enough to see it through.


He told me to leave. To save my own skin, and I suppose that I tried. It's always been apparent to my co-workers that my skin was the most important thing in the world.

Perhaps he believed in miracles. Perhaps he thought, despite all his protestations and all his attempted descent into debauchery and dishonesty, that he could fuck the evilness out of me. I don't want to sound ungrateful - I mean, he was a good lay. And he kept the bed warm during the winter. He was fun. Maybe he even loved me a little.

I was so tired of being frightened. The fact that the sun seemed to have been snuffed out wasn't helping either. The good bars were closed and the stupid ones just stayed open constantly. There was no night time, so I suppose it was a get-out of licensing laws. I stopped trying to drink alone after the first nightmare. What was it?

I was back in the office, wandering about and he was coming for me, and everywhere I turned it was a dead end. Until one with Wesley showing me the way out - in reality I showed him the way out - and before I can reach him he gets me.

It's as if that beast had put a mark on me. He knew where I was - I had escaped him once and it was not going to happen again. So it was safer to keep moving from bar to bar. One up one down. And of course, a drink in each. Sometimes fast where the patrons eyed me with disdain, and so very slowly where they eyed me with everything my mother warned me about.

I let a couple of them take me home. Sure.

My skin isn't the most important thing in the world to me. The number of times that I've sliced and diced to give some blood to some demon, or allowed some newer client to sweat all over me. Before he could be warned off, or knew quite what he was getting into. My skin is quite disposable thank you very much. My soul is also quite disposable. But I'm an incurable romantic, and my heart isn't for sale, no matter how much Gavin tried to spread that rumour.

So I'm sprawled back in some stranger's chair, in a rather attractive block, with the newest and keenest of the women I'd picked up that day between my legs working me towards the orgasm that will drive all the fear and thoughts of Wesley and being crazy and being evil from my head. When the window shatters, and I think I'm fucked. Here's the beast come to get me.

So I push the girl aside, stand up, and get ready for the end. But it's not the beast, it's just this guy looting all he can before he leaves. And he doesn't know where to look because he breaks in and there's these two gorgeous naked women fucking. You'd think he'd know better after living in LA, but I guess that's a guy for you. So I laugh and he goes away, and the girly gets up and I leave (but not before taking note of the address - just because the world is ending doesn't mean you might not want to blackmail someone).

And it was probably that point that I decided that this running wasn't getting anywhere. Which leads to the beheading and my being back here, dead. And not getting any.

Wesley? We're so fucking head over heels in love that he doesn't dare touch me in case something falls off. I guess that being dead has brought us closer together.


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