I stared at the phone in my lap. I was debating whether I should call Giles or not. I would only say I was not coming to work - I wouldn’t mention how his son could be a rapist. Imagine how that conversation would go.
But what if I called and Spike picked up? What would happen then? I don’t think I could vocalize any words let alone sentences to him. Dear Seventeen Magazine, how do I know if the boy in my English class likes me? No scratch that - how do I know if the boy in my English class raped me?
I think I’m going to be sick again. If I run to the bathroom one more time, my mother is going to think I’m either pregnant or bulimic.
Now is the time that I wish I had a place that I could drive to and just start rambling off my problems. But I don’t. I think I would scare Xander to death if I just start ranting about this. Bars? I doubt I could get in - and confessing to a burly biker bartender - not my cup of tea. I’m not even religious - so church is out of the question. My mom? I don’t know what she would do with this information - but it would break her heart.
For a brief second I considered going to Spike. But that wouldn’t be too smart would it?
I reach over to my bag that I had thrown beside me. I pull my laptop out. I place it in front of me. As it loads, I lift the phone out of my lap and put it beside the computer. I slightly shift the objects in front of me - OCD like. Anything to get my mind off things.
The computer sings its happy song as it fully loads. I access the internet - upload the video - and I watch it again. I don’t know what I was looking for. Okay, that is a lie. I was looking for a flash of peroxide. Anything that would signify that Spike was at the party.
I see nothing. I start again. I watch it repeatedly. I stop. I watch it again to make sure I was right. I hadn’t seen anything - but I had heard it. Someone yelling “Spike - over here!”
Now, sure, there could be a volleyball game going on - or I could have lost my mind. But I hear it. Now if only I could adjust the volume just right. But I don’t have the computer skills for that. Sure, I can bug places, use Photoshop, but technical adjustment of audio? I never caught on.
I know of a few computer geniuses at school. But as a rule, people that hate you aren’t that helpful.
I quickly open another internet window. Is it strange that I have a crime background check site on favourites? I came across it accidentally. But you need a private eye username and password to use it. As I am not ‘officially’ one - I just happened to find myself in local P.I. office in town. After some undercover work, I managed to get my hands on the info I needed.
And the directors of the school play said I needed acting lessons? Ha!
I quickly type in my quarry. Her entire profile pops up but I only need three things - 1. The record that she is the best computer wiz in town. 2. Her phone number. And 3. Her address.
I know it would have been simpler to use the phonebook - but the Sunnydale phone book is such a joke. Everyone is unlisted unless you cannot afford it. My mom and I had to.
I quickly pack up my stuff and reapply my eye makeup. I’m off to see a wizard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I approach the house - it looks cozy. I am hesitant to step closer. I mean what if it was all an act? I barely know her. I take a deep breath and step forward. I ring the doorbell and wait. No going back now.
A tall woman answers. She looks at me quizzically. She probably recognizes me. I smile and try to make the best impression I can. But how does one do this when I have a reputation for everything from prostitution to murder?
I smile anyway and use my most pleasant, happy voice, “Hello, I was wondering if Willow was home?”
“Oh - um yes. Stay here - I’ll go get her.”
She briskly turns around. She does not invite me in. She closes the door actually. How welcoming. Yes, she defiantly recognizes me.
I stand there, motionless. I’m almost afraid to move. Willow is practically my only chance to see if Spike was actually at that party. I cannot mess this up.
The door opens after an eternity. It’s Willow. I breathe a sigh of relief. She smiles awkwardly at me.
“Oh - Hi. I have a favour to ask of you,” I say and she looks confused.
“Computer favour - I need some help sound editing,” I explain
She relaxes and opens the door wider, “Come in,” she whispers.
We walk silently down a well-furnished hall. I can see her mother watching from one of the back rooms. A look of disdain present on her face. I continue to follow Willow.
I can hear the ticking of a clock, and it is deafening. The only sound to be heard in the entire house. The ticking of a clock. It feels as though it is counting down to something. That it is counting more than time.
I start walking to the beat of the seconds. One foot - tick - one foot - tick.
The hallway seems to be never ending. It also seems to be getting darker. Is this where I meet my untimely demise?
One foot - tick - one foot - tick.
We finally stop at a closed door. Willow opens it; she has yet to say another word. I start to wonder if she is possessed.
I enter the room and she closes the door behind me. She releases a deep breath.
“Hey sorry for the Stepford robot out there. She even creeps me out sometimes. And she’s my mother,” Willow hastily explains.
“Hey - no problem. Only slight creep factor.”
“She believes children should be seen and not heard. So if you leave this room try to make as little noise as possible. You do not want her to go off. She will rant for hours.”
“Okay then - don’t leave the room: check.”
“So you need computer help?”
“Oh ya - the video that broadcasted my talents to the world? I need some help with making it to motion picture status,” I joke even though it still bothers me to speak of it.
“Oh…okay. Let’s see what I can do,” Willow says happily.
I pull my computer out of my messenger bag and hand it to her. She sits comfortably onto her bed and I take a seat on the floor leaning against it.
“So what are you looking for in the audio?” she asks me.
“Oh - the scene where I say ‘no’ but no one seems to care? Ya - I want to hear the audio clearly. I thought I heard something earlier,” I explain.
Willow has an unreadable expression on her face. I just look up at her from my spot on the floor and give her a small smile. She returns it but her smile looks sad…
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what?”
“For what you’ve been through. With the video…”
“Oh it’s not your fault. Believe me - worse things have happened to me,” I try and reassure her, “Unless it was your fault. Did you happen to film me in my drugged state?”
She looks scared, “What?!? No! I didn’t! I swear! No!”
I laugh, “I was just teasing you. People think Buffy Summers is without humour. I thrive for it. I know you had nothing to do with this. I don’t even think you were at the party.”
“No…I wasn’t. Didn’t feel very welcome.”
“That’s the elite rule. Do not welcome anyone who doesn’t have their own private jet.”
She laughs and we slip into a comfortable silence. Willow begins to work on the video once more.
I sit there, looking around her room. It’s pretty ordinary. It looks like mine actually. There are no posters, only a few photos. It is organized. There is a large bulletin board on the wall across from me. I read a few things on it. Pretty regular stuff: class schedule, school dance flyers, class president flyers, more pictures of Willow and her friends - I notice Tara present in all of them. They must be close.
I move my search to the other side of the room. I scan over the contents of the top of the dresser. Basic materials; lip-gloss, bracelets, more pictures. But something makes me stop. A single picture in a blue frame. It is far away but I have no doubt what I see. I stand up and walk towards the dresser. I can feel Willow looking at me in curiosity.
I continue my walk across the room. My eyes never leaving the frame. After what seemed like the longest trek, I finally am in arms distance of the picture. I lift it up and just stare at it. Everything else just slips away.
Willow’s voice breaks me from my reverie, “Um…whatcha doing there Buffy?”
“Oh - I’m sorry. I am nosy by nature. I just saw the picture and I couldn’t help it.”
“What picture?”
“This one,” I say as a turn around holding the frame with both my hands. I am holding it lightly, almost afraid it’s not real or it will break.
Willow looks at the picture and does that sad smile again. I return my gaze to the photo. There’s Willow of course, she is not looking at the camera but at the girl next to her. Willow has a silly expression on her face. The girl next to her is laughing absurdly into the camera. The stilled laugh is infectious and I can’t help but smile myself. I can almost feel the joke they are laughing at - the laugh of the girl is so real. It reaches her eyes and she looks so happy.
Contrary to the enormous smile I have on; tears begin to pool in my eyes. One lone teardrop falls onto the frame. Directly onto the face of the laughing girl. Her expression does not falter; of course not it is a photograph. But it seems so real that she should just wipe it away and continue laughing.
I don’t bother wiping my eyes and I look up at Willow. I just stare at her for a bit and she looks at me in confusion. I finally begin to speak, “You knew my sister?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I own nothing. Hope you like it! Sorry haven't updated in a while been insanly busy. I also had writers block. So Not Fun! No Spuffy in this chapter! What'd you expect her to do - just run and go make-up with her possible rapist? lol. Not likely. So there's going to be some angst! Angst angst angst! *hits head against the wall* if you've never seen Harry Potter Puppet pals you will have no idea what I'm talking about! lol.