Tourniquet
Death (deth), noun
1. The act or fact of dying; ending of life.
((I tried to kill the pain
But only brought more
I lay dying
And I’m pouring
Crimson regret and betrayal))
The idea seemed to be the only solution for her, even though she didn’t want to do this. To her, death didn’t seem like much. Just twist of the cords. Or the swallow of set of capsules, or the swipe of a blade. The knife didn’t even need to cut that deep, and her life would be over. The blood would flow free and everything would simply stop. It would be faster than waiting for a vampire to come and eat her up. And she didn’t want to die in the hands of one of them. Them… It was because of them that she wants to do this. It wasn’t just because Riley had a vampire on his arm, but because they ruined her life. They made her burn down Hemerys gym and have to move. They ruined way too many of her dates. There existence made her have to slay. It’s because of them that Riley left. So here she was with the blade in her hand, inches from her throat. Her eyes darted around the room, they stopped on a small figure laying carelessly on the soft white carpet. She moved the knife away and grabbed her longtime friend – Mr. Gordo, hugged him against her chest. And then she returned to her original position.
Her back leaned against her wooden dress where she and her mother had spent hours beautifying each other up. She would never get to do that again after she fufilled this task. She would never get to train with Giles.
((I’m dying, praying, bleeding, I’m screaming
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?
My god, my tourniquet
Return to me salvation
My god, my tourniquet
Return to me salvation))
Buffy didn’t even want to think about how her friends would react. Pictures flashed into her head of every one of them like a slide show. She would never get to train with Giles again. Or dance with Willow, or joke with Xander. The list went on. But one stood out. A certain bleached blonde. She told herself that it was because of him that Riley left her. If he hadn’t have told Buffy that Riley was cheating on her with a vamp whore then she and Riley could still be together. And if they were still together then she wouldn’t be in this predicament. And Riley wouldn’t have told her to choose between slaying and him. He had said that he was trying to see why Buffy liked to get bitten. She didn’t…maybe she did. Many vampires had gotten a hold of her and made their mark. Maybe this was what she disserved. Maybe she deserved every ounce of this humiliation. But she never enjoyed it, that was for sure, though she did allow it to happen. She moved the blade closer to her neck and kissed Mr. Gordo’s forehead.
((Do you remember me?
Lost for so long
Will you be on the other side?
Or will you forget me
I’m dying, praying, bleeding, I’m screaming
Am I too lost?
To be saved
Am I too lost?))
Would she go to heaven? She knew that committing suicide made a one trip ticket to hell. But would saving the world many times even it out? Would God, or Buddha, or Zeus, whoever was up there, would they forgive her? And if they didn’t how would hell be? Do vampires go to hell? Were they down there waiting for met to show up? Would I still be the slayer? Will I be just another slayer that died? Another addition on the long list of Slayer failures? Would I be just a forgotten Slayer amongst thousand others? Just like a tree in a dense jungle, where all the oldest make the new one feel insignificant? Where rank of importance lies in battle wounds and rough, burnt bark?
((My god my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation
My god me tourniquet
Return to me salvation))
The blade moved to her neck, millimeters from her throat. This was how it was suppose to be. This was how it was suppose to end. She heard heavy footsteps walking up the steps, but she thought nothing of it. She heard her bedroom door open, but she ignored it as salt tears dripped down her cheek. She felt the blade being pulled away from her hand. She looked up at the man in black armor; her knight, and she was the damsel.
“((I want to die))” She whispered.
He picked her up and carried her to her bed. He felt onto it with his back against the headboard. He held the broken girl against his hard stomach, her tears soaking the shoulder of his black tee. His duster was long forgotten on the coat rack downstairs. She held tightly onto his shirt collar, afraid to let go and slip away. Her other arm, clutched her stuffed pig who had always had the role of confidante. The hogs beady black eyes stared up at the teary blue ones.
((My god my tourniquet
Return to me salvation
My god my tourniquet
Return to me salvation))
“Spike” She whispered, “I need to”
((My wounds cry for the grave
My soul cries for deliverance))
“No, Buffy, no, you don’t” He said. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her tears stopped and her breathing slowed. Spike closed his eyes. He almost lost her. She almost lost a battle to pain and grief. He felt like a knight. Here to save a damsel in distress. His damsel, his Buffy. And Riley was the beast. The knights always killed the beasts. The stupid oaf was going to die, that’s how the story’s always end. Hercules, Cinderella, and Rapunzel ended like that. The brave god and princes always helped the girl. They always saved her from the evil beasties. That’s how this would end.
((Will I be denied?
Christ?
Tourniquet?
My suicide…))
And Buffy fell asleep in the arms of Spike…
Her savior,
Her tourniquet,
Her friend…
(AN: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did it make you cry? Did it make you angry? Did it make sense? Your reviews can make a difference…)
Author's Chapter Notes:
Feedback is greatly apreciated. ((Is the song))