She slammed the door. Hard. The frame rattled slightly from the force of her wrath.
Buffy ‘I-couldn’t-be-more-dramatic-if-the-world-was-ending’ Summers was not a happy camper. Having just arrived home from a tedious day of schoolwork, she’d been surprised to find her mother there early.
The elder Summers had summoned her wayward daughter into the dining room for a serious talk. Buffy had known right away she wasn’t going to like the conversation. Dining room chats always equaled bad news.
Forcing herself not to take her anger out on her bedroom wall, she slung her shoulder bag into a corner and flopped onto her bed. As childish a mannerism it may seem, she was awfully tempted to bury her face in her pillow and scream.
The newest world-crushing revelation kept replaying in slow motion through her mind. First there’d been screaming and then came the tears. She’d yelled obscenities at her mother that would normally have her grounded.
She wasn’t prepared for this and she certainly wanted no part of it.
Buffy wasn’t a typical ‘popular’ girl, but she had friends she didn’t want to part with. Now, in the face of moving to a new city to live with a man she didn’t know, she had no clue how to cope.
One of her “regular buyers”, her mother had said; a “charming Englishman” who had won her heart.
Buffy didn’t think any amount of charm could convince her to like her mother’s soon-to-be husband.
She sulked for the entirety of the afternoon, ignoring several calls and texts from her friends, until her mother forced her downstairs for dinner. She would’ve fought her on it, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her laptop if Joyce’s threats turned out not to be idle.
Pregnant tension permeated the room as the Summers women shoveled food around their plates. Buffy felt her mother’s eyes boring into her and she began taking meager bites, despite her lack of appetite, hoping to placate the older woman.
After a time Joyce cleared her throat and began laying out the moving arrangements. Buffy tried to tune her out to no avail.
It wasn’t like she could run away. She was sixteen, unemployed, she had no money saved up, and she had nowhere to go. The ugly truth pranced in front of her gleefully and she was forced to adopt a grudging modicum of acceptance.
She retired to her bedroom after the lengthy one-sided conversation concluded, and she took in her surroundings with a wistful eye. Within a week all of her worldly possessions would be packed in cardboard boxes, and her comfortable Los Angeles life would morph into something foreign.
She’d lived in this house her entire life. The walls held her secrets, both good and bad.
Her somber mood only lightened marginally at the prospect of getting a fresh start. Perhaps change might fare her well in the end.
She hastily retrieved her art supplies from the closet and set up a station in her usual corner. Tonight she wasn’t in the mood to bother with canvas, so she opted for her thick sketch pad instead.
It didn’t hold the harrowing task of stretching, stapling, and priming. She wanted to vent her emotions quickly and the Gesso alone would take far too long to dry. She propped her makeshift canvas on the easel and readied her palette and rinse cup.
With a careful hand and a critical eye she applied thick brush strokes to the paper, creating a plethora of flowing colors.
She found herself starting in the lower left hand corner, using darker hues which gave a melancholy feel. As the painting progressed it slowly became lighter, epitomizing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
She supposed her situation could end this way if she let it, provided that Rupert Giles was the gentleman her mother claimed. She could only hope he would treat them well.
Her reluctant resignation did nothing to ease her nerves and her wary attitude.
She stood back and allowed her brush to soak as she appraised the art she’d created. An appreciative smile graced her lips as temporary peace took hold of her. She cleaned her mess and stripped down before crawling into bed, leaving her piece in the corner to dry.
Sleep claimed her quickly but it was the restless variety; riddled with tossing and turning throughout the night.
The week passed in a flurry of packing and rushing to get things done. Friday afternoon arrived in a flash and Buffy spent precious hours bidding her friends farewell.
Hugs were exchanged and rare tears sprang up in her eyes. She was usually the cold one in her social circle; the one who never cried and didn't give a shit.
In truth she did cry sometimes, but only when no one could see her. She never wanted to become the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve.
The moving trucks arrived in the evening and by nightfall everything was ready to go. Buffy stared aimlessly out the window for the whole two hours it took to reach Sunnydale.
She heaved a sigh as she saw the city limit and she muttered bitterly, “Home sweet hell.” Her mother shot her a sideways look of disapproval, but didn’t comment.
It was nearly ten o’clock when they pulled into the driveway of 1630 Revello Drive. The moving trucks lined up along the curb and the drivers awaited their orders from General Joyce.
Buffy rolled her eyes and snatched her duffel bag from the backseat. She’d shoved a change of clothes and some toiletries in it, knowing she wouldn’t get around to unpacking her boxes until Saturday.
Giles soon joined her mother in the driveway and Buffy had to turn away as they shared a brief passionate embrace. She clenched her jaw then pasted on a fake smile as introductions began.
A steady brigade of furniture and artwork was marched into the house, under the navigational command of Joyce and Rupert. Buffy fled to her room to avoid the commotion.
A large bed already awaited her there, complete with throw pillows and a goose down comforter. Upon seeing it she couldn’t even summon the energy to say goodnight to her mother and future step-father.
She dumped her bag on the floor, kicked off her shoes, locked the door, drew the blinds closed, and shed her rumpled clothing. It had been a tiresome week and she was in desperate need of rest. With that thought alone she sank under the covers and drifted to dreamland.
Saturday morning greeted the sleeping brunette with cheerful birds chirping and an impatient mother knocking on the door. She groaned in dismay as she rolled over and opened her eyes.
Her biological clock was screaming in protest. It was too early to be awake on a Saturday.
Luckily the blinds had kept the majority of the sunlight from filtering into her room. She wasn’t sure she could handle going blind on top of her other problems.
“Buffy! It’s time to wake up, honey! I’ve got breakfast ready downstairs.”
She heard footsteps retreating down the hall and she dragged herself into a sitting position. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and mumbled to the empty room, “Great.”
Ten minutes later she appeared in the kitchen, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to face the day. Her caramel-streaked locks were swept up in a ponytail and she’d dressed in her favorite faded blue jeans and a tight black tank top, which had decorative ribbons laced up the back.
Deciding not to harbor a foul mood so early in the day, she offered a slight smile to the two occupants of the kitchen island. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Giles raised his brows inquisitively as he lifted his cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?”
Buffy plopped down on the stool next to her mother, shrugged, and nodded agreeably. “Yeah. Comfy bed.”
She’d noticed upon leaving her sleeping quarters that boxes were stacked precariously along the walls, telling her that virtually zero unpacking had occurred the previous night. She wagered the adults had probably been equally as knackered as she.
Her mother passed her a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a cinnamon raisin bagel; one of her all-time favorite breakfast combos. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation as she made quick work of finishing the food.
She chased it down with a glass of milk and helped herself to seconds.
Giles watched her with an air of slight awe, obviously not prepared for her voracious appetite. She could do no more than smirk at the expression on his face.
She patted her sated abdomen when she finally pushed the plate away, and her eyes held a new sparkle as she asked, “So what’s on the agenda for today?” Something about food always brought out her positive side, even though she inwardly felt dismal about her new living arrangements.
Joyce jumped to tell her they’d be spending the morning unpacking, and then they’d leave the house for lunch and a brief tour of the city. Buffy wasn’t sure if she was distressed or relieved at the thought of going out.
Leaving the array of dishes haphazardly strewn in the sink, the three Revello residents ascended the staircase to dig into their respective stacks.
At one point Buffy came across a section of framed photos hanging in the hallway. They featured a blonde-haired woman with kind blue eyes, smiling at the camera and holding close a curly-haired boy.
Confusion struck her at first since she knew next to nothing about Giles’ life. When she questioned him on the pictures he told her they were his ex-wife and son. She didn’t interrogate further as it seemed a sore subject for him.
By one o’clock they’d made a noticeable dent and piles of cardboard littered the halls. While an edge of sadness still tugged at Buffy’s subconscious, she had to admit she didn’t hate it here. Giles was every bit the kind-hearted man her mother had promised.
She thought that maybe, given enough time, she could come to love him and accept him as part of the family.