Summary: A little insight into Buffy mid-Season 6.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just playing.
Word Count: 271
Author's Note: I arrived home from work today so bone-tired I was unable to focus on writing my WIPs. Instead I imagined that this was how Buffy must have felt on the nights she came home from working a doubleshift at the Doublemeat Palace and a grueling night of patrolling.
My feet hurt. My body aches. I fumble for the keys hiding in my pocket. My weary hands drop them on the front porch before I manage to unlock the door. The house is dark and silent. Dawn’s asleep upstairs. Willow, too. Not Tara, though. Tara’s gone.
I sigh. My shoulders slump forward. My head hangs limply. I shuffle into the kitchen and open the fridge. I should eat something. I know I should, but eating something means I’ll have to cook it first and that means I’ll have to choose something to cook. Choices. Nothing makes sense. All the plastic containers blur together. Nothing looks appealing. I should eat, but I don’t want anything here.
I look up at the ceiling then out at the back porch. I imagine him standing there smoking a cigarette and suddenly I don’t feel tired anymore. I feel hungry. It burns in my gut. The power of feeling gives me goosebumps. I want. I want the rush, the thrill. I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. The hitching sigh sounds profane in the silence of the dark kitchen.
I’m halfway across the backyard before I realize I’ve forgotten to lock the house behind me. I spin around and stride back to the door only to discover it’s already locked. The door is locked and my keys are inside on the kitchen counter. I stare at the house. My mother’s house. I could climb the tree up to my bedroom window and break in. I’ve done it a thousand times before. But why bother?
Even the house knows I don’t belong here.