Touch Me
Author: shrinkymojo
Summary: From
hell to Sunnydale; lives torn apart, lives renewed.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:
I own nothing but my imagination.
Word
Count: 4,204
Author’s
Note: I know this has been done at
least a hundred times, but I’m a new writer with my own interpretation.
So indulge
me. Thanks!
**
His world
was screams and pain, howling and cries, torture and torment.
Every
moment a cacophony of ghastly sounds, all repulsive and terrifying. He wasn’t allowed contact with the others he
could hear crying and screaming. The
kept him isolated, deprived of contact with anyone or anything. That wasn’t what bothered him. He was used to being alone. What tore at his soul was the deliberate
eradication of his life’s memories.
Angel
tried to remember pleasant sounds…voices, laughter, music, anything to drown
out the horror, but he couldn’t. They
wouldn’t allow it. The good things he
knew, things he held dear, were slowly being taken away.
In the
beginning he retained some moments of happiness, but those, and the remnants of
blurred faces, melded together, eventually obliterated as though they’d never
existed. In some part of his fractured
mind he knew they did. He’d had a
lover, a home, and a purpose, but he’d forgotten what it was.
The memory
fragments he cherished the most were what sustained him at first. Her face, her smile, her beautiful
eyes. How much he’d loved her. But he also the remembered the shock when
his lover’s sword pierced his body. The
rest was a disjointed blur until he’d found himself in hell’s clutches. He knew he must have done something bad to
be here, regretted whatever he’d done that led to this. But he didn’t blame Buffy. If she thought her actions were justified,
what she believed to be the only thing she could do, he knew it must be
so.
It wasn’t
long before hell ripped these loving memories apart. They were waning faster now, disintegrating before his mind’s eye
as he desperately clung to them. He
tried in vain to keep some small treasured moment in time. It was getting harder to do. They made sure of it.
Then the
torture began. Defiantly he fought them
off like a caged wild animal, struggling against the relentless assaults
ravaging his body and mind, but bit by bit they wore him down. His futile attempts to retain his sense of
self, all the things that made him who he had been, only gave them reason to
torment him that much more. You get to
keep nothing, they told him. You
deserve nothing you once knew.
Leathery
claw-like hands came for him again and again, dragging him out to tear at his
flesh and break his bones, even before they’d healed from the last time. Forced to visualize his sins, they filled
his head with the strangled cries of his victims, their faces twisted in agony. The guilt ate at him. To relieve the shame, bury it deep down, he
hurt himself, desperate to feel something besides the guilt. He gnawed on his arm, tore away the flesh,
biting down to the bone. Then he’d
watch the blood drip rhythmically, slowly pooling on the filthy, blood-red
floor. It helped sometimes. But when that didn’t work he threw back his
head, over and over, slamming it against the stone wall, nearly blacking
out. But nothing eased his suffering
for more than a fleeting moment.
Growling
and roaring as they tortured him, his guttural utterances eventually grew weak
and faint; his own voice becoming unrecognizable, reduced to raspy grunts and
whimpers. Then he shut down his voice
altogether, his throat raw and bloody.
Yet sometimes when the agony was excruciating, the stifled howls bubbled
up in his throat, bursting forth unwilled.
Nothing
touched him but pain.
Many times
when he was huddled in his solitary corner, they offered him an odorous liquid,
telling him it was blood. It tasted
like blood, and he gulped it ravenously.
He’d forgotten it would make him violently ill. Within moments he was doubled over, his arms
hugging his body, agonizing spasms washing over him, until he was forced to
spew the foul substance all over himself.
Afterwards, when he’d expelled every drop possible, he was weak, his
chest heaving, as the waves of pain subsided until the next time. They erased this memory, too, leaving him
incapable of resisting when they offered it again.
Endless
darkness prevailed here. Deprivation of
light a torture in itself. Even his
keen sense of sight was nearly useless in the presence of this blackness. Frequently they used light as torture,
shining shockingly brilliant flashes inches from his eyes to watch him
cringe. He vainly covered his sensitive
eyes to shield them from the painful light.
When it was withdrawn, the darkness was even darker.
They’d
stripped him of clothes, thrown him to the bare stone floor, with nothing to
ward off the bone-chilling coldness.
Hell dimensions were supposed to be an inferno, a blaze of scorching
heat, but not this one. This hell was
freezing cold, jarring and constant. He
tried to remember what it was like to be warm.
Once they allowed him a glimpse, a memory, of what it was like and he’d
nearly cried; a short-lived reverie jerked out of his mind, leaving him craving
more.
Often he
thought about going mad. He wondered
how long it would take before his mind stopped functioning rationally, eroded
into insanity. Would madness ease his
suffering? If he was out of his mind,
then hell couldn’t hurt him, could it?
They
laughed. It wasn’t that simple.
When his
will to survive ceased to support him, he begged them to end his existence,
strip out his soul and set it free.
It’s not my soul you want, it’s the monster, he cried. They snickered. It amused them that an evil creature believed he could be
released from suffering. Your soul
serves a purpose, they told him. It
enhances your torment, which is, of course, the point here. You exist to suffer never-ending
misery. There is no hope for you, vile
thing.
Relentless
hell took its toll, reducing Angel to a mute, trembling mass of scarred flesh
and bone, devoid of all he had ever been.
He’d fought harder than anyone, but their victory over him was
inevitable. Such a fool, they said, to
believe you can survive our world without losing all you know, all that you
were. They beamed with pride at their
accomplishment.
Angel gave
them no further resistance, too weak to fend off their incessant
persecution. Damned and defeated, he
numbly bore his punishment, retreated to his corner and waited for it to start
all over again.
But then
it happened. Unexpectedly, without
warning.
Something
new and different came for him. Gentler
hands held him, forcing him to stand while cold water was sprayed over his body,
washing away the blood from his wounds.
Angel shivered. They were
taunting him, no doubt conjuring a new torment. Any second the ruse would be exposed, new wounds inflicted. He waited.
Nothing happened.
Silence.
He didn’t
remember ever hearing so much silence.
It
unnerved him.
Silence
wasn’t part of his existence here.
Left
alone, trembling from the icy cold water dripping off his body, he knew there
would be a price for this peaceful lull.
But what was happening? Where
were they? They always came.
Still, he
waited in the dark.
So it was
shocking when the faint light began sifting down over his body. He screwed his eyes shut, tried to block out
its jarring presence. Confusion clouded
his mind. This wasn’t the bright light
they used for torment, but a soft, filtered light emanating from the rocky
ceiling, its origin impossible to pinpoint.
Instantaneously,
the light grew in intensity, enveloping him completely. Miraculously, he felt his body being lifted
effortlessly from the floor, slowly, suspended in the light, part of the light,
captured in its pulsating journey out of hell.
Freefalling.
Impossible
speed and velocity dragging him downward.
The
immeasurable force tore at him, nearly wrenching him apart. He almost blacked out from the tremendous
tug and pull on his body as he descended into the emptiness of space.
The beam
of light increased ten-fold, blinding his eyes. He felt his body slowing down.
Sensing his ordeal was nearly over he knew the fate awaiting him was
bound to be horrific. Bracing for
hell’s wrath, he steeled himself for the blows that would follow. But he kept falling, decreasing in speed,
floating toward a new death.
Abruptly,
his body made contact with a hard, cold surface and he briefly lost
consciousness.
When he
came to with no sense of time’s passage, he listened for them, waited to be
snatched away. But no claws grabbed at
him. Everything around him was
disturbingly calm and quiet.
The
silence had returned.
Pure
silence.
Glorious,
peaceful silence.
Angel lay
on his side, grateful for the interlude, however fleeting. The torture would come. It was only a matter of time.
When it
didn’t return and the quiet remained, it scared him to think what they were planning
next. It must be worse than anything
they’d thrown at him before. But how
could that be? They’d done everything
possible. They’d won. What more did they want from him?
He waited,
but nothing touched him.
Eventually,
he risked lifting his head and opened his eyes, struggling to focus on his
surroundings.
There was
light. Dim, faint light. Pleasant and soothing.
And there
were walls, a spacious room. So much
bigger than his corner of hell.
He moaned,
imagining this was just another torturous site in the guise of his earthly
home; one that feigned welcome, but offered nothing more than a new form of
hellish and unspeakable things.
In the
shroud of silence, his mind began to clear little by little. Thoughts he’d long ago given up remembering
came back; thoughts of his world before hell flooded his head.
He
winced. They were letting him see and
feel things he’d been forced to forget.
But he knew any second they’d only take them away again. He’d be left with nothing.
Yet,
strangely, the memories lingered and new ones formed. Images appeared. More
recollections of his life were shown to him.
He almost
laughed, thinking how crazy it was to believe he’d get to keep these
memories. They’d come and rip them out
of his mind. But why didn’t they just
get it over with so he could go back to his corner of hell? What was taking so long?
Soon the
tension began to wear him down and he gave in, too exhausted to care
anymore. Whatever they were going to
do, he would endure as he always endured.
Final death always near but never rewarded.
Suddenly,
movement broke the serenity. Footsteps
echoing faintly in the dark.
Angel shut
his eyes. Whatever was approaching, he
didn’t want to see. He pretended to
sleep, hoping against all odds it would pass him by, yet knowing his thoughts
were foolish. It amazed him that even
after all this time, he still held out a tiny measure of hope that, just once,
they’d let him be. Hope wasn’t
something they flaunted in his face.
Where had that thought come from?
The
footsteps grew closer.
A
familiarity bombarded his senses. A
reassuring and soothing tingle snaked up his spine. He didn’t understand why, but his fear lessened as the approaching
steps grew louder and closer.
Unexpectedly,
shivers ran through his body as someone touched him, but then quickly withdrew,
leaving him bewildered.
A gentle
touch with heavenly warmth.
Had he
dreamed it?
His hopes
dashed when he heard the footsteps leaving hurriedly, fading. Whatever had touched him was gone and his
despair returned.
Moments
later, the footsteps came back. His
heart leapt to his throat and a whimper formed in his mouth. Would there be warmth again? He begged to feel it one more time before
hell came back.
Abruptly,
he felt something placed carefully over his body. It felt like a soft blanket and smelled like the sun. A tear slipped from his eye. He remembered that smell. But it was the warmth he coveted, so incredibly
comforting. Another tear stained his
sunken cheek as he gave thanks for this blessed moment, thankful not to be so
shivering cold.
He waited
for the cover to be cast aside and their laughter to follow. This was all a setup. What else could it be? But no one took the cover and it kept him
warm.
Whoever
had touched him was still here. He
didn’t know why, but he trusted this person; felt in his heart this was someone
good, with no intentions of harming him.
His mind eased.
With
nervous trepidation, Angel opened his eyes.
He caught a glimpse of his benevolent benefactor. Big, soft, endearing eyes stared back at
him. He blinked several times to clear
his foggy mind. The figure took on
defined shape and form.
He
remembered. He smelled her heavenly
sweet essence. He knew who she was!
He tried
to speak, but his neglected voice murmured nothing more than a faint, raspy
moan as he felt loving arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly. Frustrated, Angel tried again to clear his
throat, willing it to say her name, even if he never uttered another sound.
He gazed
into the tearful eyes of his beloved and whispered…
“Buffy”
***************
Silence.
So much
quiet here.
Nothing
but ear-shattering, cover-your-ears silence.
She
remembered when it was different.
So very
different.
Countless
times she came here to be comforted, to be kissed, to feel love.
All of it
gone now.
No arms to
hold her, no hands to touch her.
She was
left with nothing but heart-wrenching sadness and guilt.
The
ever-present guilt.
*
It was her
duty, what she was chosen for. To rid
the world of evil was her destiny written in the winds of the ages. She accepted her calling, slaying as no
other before her. But she hadn’t
expected the twist; the love that swept her off her feet, unbidden and
forbidden.
The
unforeseen blindsided her, caught her up in a whirlwind romance, like those in
fairy tales. Dreamy stories of the
beautiful young lady who meets the handsome young man, and they live happily
ever after. It was the fantasy of every
young girl.
But Buffy
knew fairy tales didn’t exist. Not
anymore. Once she’d believed them. When she was younger and innocent she would
lay awake imagining what her prince charming would look like, how he would kiss
her and love her forever. She thought
she’d found her shining knight; the dark, handsome prince with sweet kisses and
words that melted her heart. But he’d
turned into a monster.
Disbelief
wracked her mind, how something so wonderful could go so wrong; how the man she
loved and who loved her could transform into something evil, someone she didn’t
recognize.
Damn those
fairy tales and their happy endings.
With no
choice but to destroy the demon who stole her lover, she vowed his demise,
urged by friends to put him down for the sake of all. For a while she held out hope that by some miracle her true love
would return and vanquish the demon.
But it wasn’t to be. His killing
and taunting only reinforced her decision.
He had to die.
Fueled by
grim determination and the cruelty of fate, she carried out her duty, but it
tore her heart to shreds. But she’d
saved humanity again, and that was all anyone would remember. Her friends told her to be proud; encouraged
her to forget she’d sent her lover-turned-evil to hell. It wasn’t that easy.
Because of
her everyone was still going about their day, leading their normal lives. They were completely unaware their fate had
rested in the hands of one brave young woman who’d destroyed her hope of ever
being happy with one swift blow. Her
sacrifice was their salvation.
To save
the world she gave up her fairy-tale dream.
The days
and weeks that followed were a massive blur of emotions. She shoved the gut-wrenching memories deep
in her heart and mind, afraid to let them out in the open. They would devour her whole if allowed to
escape and roam free.
She hid
them from the world, the thoughts that kept her awake at night; the scenes she
replayed over and over as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tears
streaming down her face. How could
anyone know how she felt? They didn’t
know what she’d done; the horror forced upon her at the last moment as she
drove the sword through Angel, not Angelus.
All they saw was an evil thing.
No one but her saw the last loving gaze from his eyes. They didn’t hear his whisper I love you he
so devotedly gave to her as she gripped the sword tighter and kissed him, knowing
in a moment he would be gone forever.
How could they understand what it was like to be a hero and a murderer
in one terrible, agonizing moment?
She’d been
ready to kill Angelus, but she wasn’t prepared to look in Angel’s eyes and lie
to him.
Every
morning she would dry her tears and start her day, fulfill her obligations, pretending
she was untouched by tragedy. She got
away with it. People passed her on the
street, never looking twice, not seeing the debilitating loneliness in her
hollow eyes.
One
Saturday afternoon she slipped away from her friends and found herself standing
inside the mansion. She didn’t
understand why she was drawn to it, but she’d had to come. It was the second, most difficult thing
she’d ever done.
The
deafening stillness and emptiness tugged at her fragile heart as she wandered
through the rooms. She touched his
clothes, his books, swiping the dust away here and there with a soft brush of
her hand. Absently, she tidied up, made
the bed, hung up shirts, and folded unused towels; busyness to keep from
bursting into tears. When she finished,
nothing else to do, she stepped back and admired the neatness. It was eerie how the rooms seemed to
anticipate, as always, the return of their owner. They would wait forever with her.
The tears
finally came, unabashed, when she eyed his sword lying in the dust, knocked out
of Angelus’ hand during the fight. With
trembling hands she picked it up, ran her hand down the blade, disturbed dust
fluttering to the floor as sobs wracked her body. Her fight against Angelus fresh in her mind, the moment she
realized he was Angel, all came rushing back in a frenzy of memories more vivid
and frightening than ever. She cried
out and flung the sword across the room, running out as fast as she could.
*
She tried
to get over him, faked smiles and feigned laughs at friends’ jokes,
small-talked and flirted with boys at school.
She led the life everyone wanted her to have. They thought she was getting better. It was what she wanted them to believe.
More empty
weeks passed.
Nothing changed.
Nothing
touched her.
Nothing
could.
She’d
killed Angel.
*
Sometimes
she dreaded sleeping, knowing the nightmarish dream waited to haunt her.
He came to
her with an adoring smile and a kiss, expressing his unwavering love, absolving
her from guilt. Always forgiving. Grasping her hand he would slide the ring
off her finger. You’re free now, he
whispered, walking away. She looked
down at her naked finger, watching blood oozing from where the ring had been.
Her
anguished cries always woke her up.
As the
weeks turned into months, she tried not to think of him; the only way to
protect herself from madness. Torturous
thoughts of an unfulfilled love were pushed down deeper where they could linger
untouched and safe. And the tick-tick
of time stole her heartache and memories, one by one. Eventually, the tears dried.
Disconnecting from those memories gave her some peace of mind. She practiced every day.
The time
came when she knew, for her sake and sanity, she had to move on, focus on the
future. With renewed determination, she
shook off the tattered threads of guilt and remorse, threw herself into slaying
with a vengeance, proving to herself she wasn’t a weak-kneed, sniveling mass of
heartache. She reminded herself of that
every day.
Once in a
while she entertained the thought of having someone in her life; someone to
fill the empty space by her side, the fathomless void that followed her
everywhere. Boys asked her out and she
obliged, but none moved her, touched her heart. She gave up the notion of filling that space, left it empty.
That space
would always be Angel’s.
*
It was
finally clear to Buffy she had to put an end to that part of her life; the
haunting past that cried for resolution, once and for all. Mustering all her courage, she went to the
mansion for a last farewell, to unburden her heart and lay to rest with undying
devotion, that which she would never have or behold again.
Stepping
inside, she fantasized she would find him waiting for her. Even after all this time, she pictured him
grinning as she entered, standing up, his fingers holding his place in the book
he’d been reading by the fire. It made her smile the way it always had.
The
soothing memory faded as she glanced around the empty, silent room. But if she listened carefully, she could
hear the echoes of his voice imprisoned in the stone walls, smell his lingering
scent, and they strangely comforted her.
His ghostly presence was everywhere.
Shaking
her thoughts back to the moment, she nervously fingered the Claddagh ring in
her sweaty hand as a tear paused in her eye.
She’d wanted to keep the ring he so lovingly gave her, his heartfelt
gesture of devotion that meant the world to her. But its presence tied her to him, bound her to his love that was
never more. To truly begin her new life
she had to let go of him and everything he’d touched.
With
hesitating steps she walked slowly to the center of the room and gently placed
the ring on the stone floor, whispering her goodbye, and turned to leave for
the last time.
She’d
barely made it past the garden when a tingly spider sense overcame her,
rattling her resolve. A feeling long
since gone but so eerily familiar. She
stopped walking and cocked her head to the side, listening to her heart. It vibrated wildly with every heartbeat,
grasped at her mind for attention. She
shook it off as wishful thinking and tried to make her feet move towards home,
but they resisted. A few more steps and
the sensation magnified, whirled through her body like a turbulent wind,
beckoning her back to the mansion.
And then
she saw it out of the corner of her eye.
Its brilliance lit up the night sky; every window in the mansion coming
to life, bathed in pure white. Wincing,
she turned her head away and shut her eyes against the blinding glow, until the
light faded and was no more.
She’d half
expected the mansion to erupt in flames, but when the silent darkness returned
and all was unscathed, she relaxed. For
several long, torturous moments, she stood debating with herself what to
do. Did she dare walk back in
there? And if she did, what did she
expect to see? Whatever had caused that
mysterious light was bugging her.
Finally, her curiosity won over fear, and she headed back inside.
Nothing
could have prepared her for what she bore witness to, what her eyes
beheld. Frozen in disbelief, she stared
at him, holding her breath, emotions running wild, consumed by astonishment and
awe. Her knees nearly buckled as her
eyes drank in his form, just a few feet in front of her. A profound and shocking vision of Angel.
She
thought there would be wounds, scars from torture, but he was surprisingly as
handsome as ever, lying on his side with his head cradled on his outstretched
arm. His eyes were closed. His naked body glistened in the dark, fresh
from hell.
Blinking
rapidly to clear the hallucination, she couldn’t make him go away, no matter
what she did.
No, it
couldn’t possibly be!
Buffy’s
heart pounded so hard it frightened her.
Torn between rushing over and holding back, she was uncertain what to
do. The sight of Angel overwhelmed her. Yet she had to know if he was real or her
imagination gone awry.
Apprehensively,
she approached him. Slowly bending
down, she extended her shaky hand to gingerly touch him. She gasped at how ice cold he felt, pulling
her hand back quickly in shock.
Jumping up
she ran to the bedroom, grabbed a blanket from his bed, and lovingly covered
his body. She stood back, nervous
anticipation screaming in her head.
She waited
for him to move, terrified that hell had sent back his corpse to torment her.
Her fears
dissolved when Angel’s eyes fluttered open, staring at her with forgiveness and
love. She smiled her first real smile
in months. Immediately all the sadness
and pain ebbed, giving birth to a joy she never expected to feel again.
Buffy
flung her body over his and hugged him, tears spilling from her eyes, as he
moaned in her arms, and she whispered...
“Angel”
~end~
November
2011