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Chapter 1: He loved her

She venomously slammed the front door and threw her keys at the entry table where they bounced and skidded to a halt at the base of the stairway. She was livid and nothing that he said was going to change that. If she had a gun she'd shoot him in his nut sack and then she laugh as he bled and cried for help on the floor. She hated him!

He came barging through the door hot on her heels,“Buffy! Listen to me, luv. I didn’t mean-”

“Maybe I don’t want to listen to you anymore!” She shouted as she turned around to face him and placed her hands over her ears, glaring daggers at her boyfriend.

He had had just about enough. He misstepped. Insulted her. Then he apologized profusely. It should have been over and done with but no. Nothing was ever simple when it came to Buffy. Everything was a fight. She was exhausting.

Looking at his 18 year old girlfriend with her hands planted firmly over her ears, refusing to listen to reason, apologies, or anything he said-- he lost it.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to love you anymore.” He said while walking toward her with a wicked grin.

She snorted. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

He continued to get closer to her with that stupid look on his face and she couldn't help herself she started to smile.

“Is it? You that secure baby?” He asked as he deftly slipped his arms around her waist and leaned into her while nuzzling her neck.

“Oh please.” She said and rolled her eyes. He was so darn cute sometimes. She loved fighting with him, almost as much as she loved loving him.

“Well then I’m doing my job well.” He couldn’t get enough of her, her smell, her taste, her passion, her everything. If she ever knew how much she really meant to him, how desperate and all consuming his love was for her she probably wouldn’t believe it.

She said she didn’t believe in love. She’d been burned too many times. Broken beyond repair-- he dubbed it his job to sweep up the mess and pick up the pieces. Her shattered dreams, her shattered life, her shattered heart, no matter how hard he tried to glue them back together she would always bare the scars. She'd always be mosaic. In pain there was progress, in hurting there was hope.

He wasn’t there to try and fix her. He was there to show her that being broken made her normal-- it meant that you had lived and there was nothing wrong with living.

She looked at him, a question in her beautiful green eyes. “Why?” was all she asked, the moment suddenly very serious--instead of answering he picked her up in his arms and decided to show her.

Their love at times was so complex it hurt to think about it and other times it was as simple as his body inside of hers. Moving and loving and holding. There was something spiritual about the way he loved her, the way that he was only complete when he was with her.


~+~

He woke up breathing heavily, coated in a light sheen of sweat and batting at his alarm clock settling for yanking the cord from the wall.

He hated thinking about her, waking up without her. Waking up knowing that she would never be back for him.

Waking up alone.

He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair-- waiting for the fuzziness to clear. He slipped on his glasses and glanced at his phone. No missed calls. No texts. Not that there would be.

5:00 pm.

Work in an hour.

Stumbling out of bed he started to make his way to the bathroom when he halted abruptly and turned back around. Frowning he looked at the blonde hair sticking out from beneath his covers. He could have sworn he told her to leave.

Stupid bint never listened to anything. Kinda reminded him of her in that way. Maybe that’s why he had put up with the stupid blonde for so long. She was stubborn and hard headed like someone else he had loved.

Sighing he ran a shaking hand through his sleep mussed hair. He really needed a shower. He really needed to get to work. He didn’t have time for this, for memories, for her.

He made up his mind as he stormed back toward the bathroom, taking off clothing as he went, trying to erase her from his thoughts.

Until the next night at least.

Until the next dream.

Until his next breath.

He took off his glasses and placed them on the counter, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror; shocking white blonde hair, striking baby blue eyes, cheek bones--pronounced and defined.

There was something missing though an essential piece. He felt dead, you could see it in him. An heir of desperation and despair about him. He'd do anything to come back to life.

He brushed his teeth before climbing into the shower, letting the scalding hot water wash away traces of the night before. He didn’t like what he did to women. Using them in his search for fulfillment, in his search for meaning but it never worked. Not one of them had ever fulfilled him, not one of them had ever meant anything more than a quick fuck.

No one but her only her and she was gone now so what did it matter?

Shutting the water off he leaned the back of his head against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

How could she do this to him?

Didn’t she realize that she was killing him?

Didn’t she realize that although she had moved on he still lived in those few short years they had had with one another?

He banged his head back against the wall off the shower and cursed the day he had met her.

He had gotten the card in the mail yesterday, the one announcing the birth of a baby girl, to proud parents Liam O’Connor and…

Elizabeth Anne O’Connor.

His Elizabeth.

His Buffy.

She was a mum now. To a baby that wasn’t his. Married to a man that wasn’t him. He had known when she walked away all those years ago that this would happen.

He thought he had prepared himself adequately enough but the pain of losing her still burned hot and deep within him.







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