I shake my head. Nothing. Not surprising really. I'm over 200 years old. You think I'd know by now that shaking my head does not make the bad images go away.
I've been hurt before but never like this. I feel like I've been doused in Holy water, pegged out in the midday sun, beaten with crosses, slowly roasted over an open fire, beheaded and then impaled on a stake. Until now I believed the Kalderash were the masters of torture. I was wrong.
How could something so bitter come from something I once beheld as the sweetest creature on earth? The poison that spilled forth now courses through my veins and I am damned to suffer its effects for eternity. I'm not that strong.
I wasn't given a chance. There was so much I wanted to say and yet obstacles were placed before me at every turn. I knew it looked bad but I needed to explain properly. Why wasn't I given the chance?
Where do I go from here? My guiding star is no more. What do I do? I am so confused.
I would go to hell in a hat if you asked me to, my love
It might be a good thing at that for me
I would catch the breeze from the trees and the stars from up above
I'd go round the world on my knees for you
I know this probably sounds pathetic. I am a warrior. I am Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. And yet I am brought to my knees by a small blonde human female. My Achilles heel. The Oracles are right; I am a lower being. Day after day I can go out there and fight demons and other creatures of the night. I can torture, torment and kill evil without a second thought but I am rendered completely helpless by the incredible weapon that is the power of love.
If my heart were alive it would surely have died. As it is I am convinced that it has splintered into a million tiny pieces, each fragment burrowing its way out through my flesh, causing me maximum anguish. If I had known now what she would do to me I would have turned Whistler away and gone back to my rats. No I wouldn't; I still love her and would do anything for her.
I would fight a great white with my hands just to see your pretty face
Ask me and I might serenade for you
I would cross the seas for a smile and the warmth of your embrace
I'd only be too pleased to die, for you
I tried so hard not to let her see the wounds she inflicted on me as she told me about him and her new life; how I was her biggest mistake and how she neither trusted nor loved me. I tried to keep a blaze of anger burning in my eyes so that she wouldn't know she had turned me inside out and danced on my spleen. And I hit her. Oh God I hit her. I know she struck the first blow but that shouldn't have mattered. I should know better. But I hit her and deep inside me my demon cheered.
I don't know where to go from here. Even though we parted and both said that we should move on I never thought it would be so...so final. Cordelia and Wesley have finally given up on me and gone home but it was a fight. I managed to convince them that I wasn't going to stake myself. Not yet anyhow.
I haven't moved for hours. I can't. All I can do is sit here and look at her picture and wonder what could have happened to change her so much, to make her hate me. All I am sure of is this. The girl that was here was not Buffy.
Shame on you, shame on you
Oh what does a boy have to do for you
Shame on you, shame on you
Oh what does a boy have to do