He found her there the next evening. She was sound asleep at her desk, mouth slightly open. There might have even been a little snoring involved. In a cute and girly sort of way. He’d wanted to give her enough time to sleep and think about what he’d suggested, but not enough that she would revert to her mask and lose any ground she’d gained. Apparently she’d done more than think about his suggestion, if the pages of notebook paper scattered around the desk were any indication. Page after page of what appeared to be… free form poetry?
Where has my father gone
The gentle man who once was here
Who carried me up to bed each night
And tucked my hair behind my ear
Who laughed as he tossed me high in the air
The one who always hugged me tight
And brushed away all my tears?
There is someone now who wears his face
Hugs are gone, no words of love
Now iron hands have taken their place
Where is my father, he isn’t here
Just an empty shell with a mask of his face
Filling itself with cigarettes and secretaries
Whiskey and beer…
He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to write, but that wasn’t it. And yet, scanning through the pages, this was raw powerful emotion that had Buffy written all over it.
Fear... I feel it rolling off of them in waves.
People who previously wouldn't give me the time of day
Now scramble to get out of my way.
I didn't plan it this way. It just kind of happened. I just… snapped
No more pansy little thing that takes whatever is given to her.
I've definitely moved into want, take, have, territory.
I hear the whispers as I stalk by; the big cat, surveying her territory.
Beautiful. Enigmatic. Fucking scary as hell.
Good. A little more fear. It feeds me. Infuses me. Fills me with energy.
Pushes the bounds just a little bit more.
I see the look in their eyes. The guys. They want to reach out and touch
But they know that if they do, they risk having their arm snapped.
That's the problem with touching the flame, you tend to get burned.
And burned they will be.
It's pure power, knowing that I can draw them in.
Feed my hunger. Feel beautiful. Feel wanted. Feel.
And for someone who never had an ounce of power before in their life
It’s a hunger that is insatiable. And one that I can feed at will.
They want to be the one who conquered. But that’s not going to happen.
I’ll conquer them first.
And it feeds the fear. And it feeds the power.
And it's absolute ambrosia that flows over the tongue and fills each nook and crevice
But it never fully satisfies.
But satiety is over rated, and being filled is a hell of a lot better than being empty.
So I let the predator come out to play. She won't go back in her cage.
She's tasted freedom and will die before she surrenders it.
She's drunk on the power, the adrenalin, the rush. She loves the challenge.
The hunt.
The kill.
Most people move down on the food chain. I’ve moved up.
Aaand, that was both scary and hot at the same time. And made probably a whole lot more sense that he was comfortable acknowledging at just that moment. He continued looking through the pages for one with a little more pathos to take his mind off of over thinking that last one.
It seems so long since last we met
Though time has never dulled a single moment.
And with every passing day of the year
I never fail to feel you oh so near.
You weren't the only angels
I've borrowed all too briefly,
But certainly you are the ones
Whose presence I miss the most.
Sometimes I let my mind wonder
To things that have been
That never were
That never will be.
But only for a moment
For that world is done and gone.
Though I also know
That you've never really left.
Because I still hear your gentle whispers
Sometimes clearer than my own thoughts.
And my heart sings with the clarity
That it is your gentle wings
That have guarded the angels I now borrow.
For every now and then
A whisper makes it through.
Or I feel the gentle kissing glance
Of angel's soft and downy wings
And I know without a single doubt
You're thinking of me too.
Hmmm, pathos for sure. But not quite as developed as some of the others. It had the saccharine flavor of trying too hard, like a tween writing an dirge to her true love. But some of these were something he’d almost expect to hear at open mic night down town. And that thought suddenly gave him an idea. Maybe he couldn’t get her to talk to one person behind closed doors, but… maybe he *could* get her to talk to a crowd, in the semi-comfort of creative anonymity?
He scanned through the rest of the things she had written. Looking for just the right one. There was one she’d titled “The Basement”
Dingy, dinged, white boxes line the wall
machines holding the laundry that was supposed to be clean
White stone walls, holding back dirt and sound and safety
Cold that turns to white hot searing burning
Floor that tastes of dirt and salt and blood
Darkness that fades to darker black with each and every crack
The more he read, the more he knew he shouldn’t. He set it aside. Maybe one day she’d let him finish reading it.
He flipped through the rest, pages of poems with names like, “Four Times the Bell Tolled” which he’d assumed would be an Edgar Allen Poe inspired short about the four people he’d learned about. He’d been very, very, wrong.
One called “Chocolate” that was an oddly touching little ode to who he assumed was Angel. It had definite potential for what he had in mind. Another titled “Lapis Lazuli” that was and interesting, geological metaphor heavy, tribute to someone. He could venture a guess who. It also had potential, but still not quite what he was looking for.
Here…yes… this was the one. If she could do this one, she could do anything. And it was powerful enough, with plenty of metaphor to appeal to a bunch of poetry types. Now all he had to do was convince her to read it.
**********
“You can’t be serious?” Buffy was brushing out her mess of a mane
“Buffy, this could be perfect for you. It’s a chance to get rid of all of this stuff you’ve been bottling up.”
“Yes, because I’ve always wanted to open myself up and spill out my secret feelings to a room full of random people so they can judge me. Riley, how can I ever thank you enough for finding just the right place to do it.”
“That’s just it Buffy, they aren’t there to judge you. And they’re all spilling out secret feelings to a room full of random people. They expect it. Buffy, I’m telling you they’ll love it.”
“I don’t know, Riley….”
“Look, just give it one shot. One try, that’s all I ask. Just go in and listen to a few of them. Then, if you don’t think I’m right, we’ll leave.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” She was pretty sure he had a few fingers or toes crossed too.
“Fine,” She started, “BUT, and there is a really big ‘but’, if I see anyone at all that I know…”
“uh huh”
“OR I get a weird vibe…”
“mm,hmmm”
“OR I start to think this whole idea is full of…”
“I get the idea, Buffy.”
“I will leave, with or without you.”
“Understood.”
She sat down with a sign of resignation.
“So, what time does the Titanic set sail?”
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