CoF - Laure Alexander - The Existence

Summary: This is the epilogue to The Existence, set about three months from when Xander was rescued. It's from three points of view: Buffy, Xander, and one other. There will be no sequel.

AUTHOR: Laure Alexander
EMAIL: lara@sunflower.com
RATING: R
PAIRINGS: remnants of X/A rape relationship
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters on the show. Joss Whedon and the WB Network own them (for now). No copyright infringement intended, so please don't sue.
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Three months have passed since that horrible and wonderful morning in May. School starts in a few weeks, and I'm oddly looking forward to it.

My mom disowned me when I made that deal with Spike and stormed out to face Angelus. Of course, she was contrite as soon as the booze wore off and, once we got the cops off my back, I moved back in.

Things have been tense at times, though. She doesn't want to understand the Slayer thing--that's how she refers to it--and she seems to be drinking more than she used to. But, she hasn't laid down any more ultimatums.

Mom was actually pretty good with the comfort when I finally explained all about Angel and Angelus and what I had done to him. I broke down and she held me. I really needed that.

Most people forget I'm still a kid, but mom never seems to do that. It's kind of nice, at times.

Not so great when I want to take Driver's Ed again or buy those new boots at Nine West.

One thing I haven't been able to tell anyone is that Willow's spell worked. Angel's soul returned to him, but it was too late. The portal was opening and I didn't have any other choice but to send him through it. It nearly killed me. It did break my heart, and nothing has come close to repairing it.

I sometimes wonder if I hadn't had a friend to save, what might have happened. At that time, I had no place to live and a warrant out for my arrest.

If Xander hadn't been chained in that mansion somewhere, would I have run as far and as fast as my feet could take me?

I wanted to. I really, really did. I didn't want to face anyone. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and sob myself to death.

Cordy had already rescued Giles, and I could trust her to get him to the hospital. I could have taken off as soon as the portal closed, but I knew Xander was still alive somewhere and that Cordy couldn't deal with both of them.

We found him in a horrifying condition, but alive, and we got everyone to the hospital.

I was briefly arrested, but Giles and Cordelia told the cops that a gang had attacked them in the Library and killed Kendra. I hadn't even been there. My mom was waiting for me when the cops dropped the charges and I just sobbed my eyes out on her shoulder like a little girl.

It took two days for me to strengthen myself enough to visit Xander. I'm still ashamed of my own weakness. I should have been with him from the moment I got out of jail, but...

It was so hard to face him, to face what the man I had loved had done to my friend. No matter what anyone tells me, even Xander, I will always blame myself.

Xander doesn't, though. For a long time, he blamed himself, taking it all on himself. He tried to convince us that he had wanted what Angel had done to him. None of us believed him. Okay, maybe he had even convinced himself that he had wanted the abuse, but I don't like thinking that Xander might have been seeking death.

When I first saw him in the hospital, weak and thin, bruises and scars marring his pale skin, I cried helplessly.

We've never really talked about any of the details of the nearly six weeks as Angelus' captive, but Giles got a hold of a copy of the doctor's report.

When we found him, he was dying. Abuse can kill over time, and he was dying, in pain and hunger.

He was in the hospital for nearly two weeks, recovering to the point where he could eat without being sick, and walk farther than a few feet without having to sit down. Finally, his face stopped revealing the pain his body was in.

During those two weeks, we his friends were his constant shadows. I think...I think we were all frightened that he would try to kill himself. In his sleep he would mumble about wanting to die. Willow spent hours weeping while he slept, so that when he was awake she could be her old self. Oz was her rock. I don't know what she might have done without him.

During those two weeks, Xander's parents never came to visit him, and he turned eighteen. On his eighteenth birthday, which we celebrated very quietly not wanting to upset him by too much happiness, Giles went to his parents' house and packed some of his things.

All Giles reported to me was that they had been too drunk to care about a strange Englishman rooting around in their son's room.

When Xander was released from the hospital, Giles took him in. I think he feels guilty that he wasn't able to save Xander after the initial rape.

Rationally we all know that the blame lies with Angelus, but it's so hard. He isn't here to kill again, and we live every day with what he did to our friend.

Xander will never be the same. He's in therapy and studying for his GED--not ready to face the cruel world of high school. Giles helped him find a data entry job he can do from home, so he's making money to pay for rent and food, not that Giles charges him anything.

He never makes jokes and he never says the inappropriate thing at the inopportune moment like he used to. He rarely leaves Giles' place except to be driven to therapy.

We all try to act normal around him, and he seems to be content to listen to our banter and bickering. When he adds something to the conversation, it's so startling that we often lose track of what we were talking about.

I should be the one begging his forgiveness, but most of the time I can't even look him in the eye. I try. I try every day, but guilt is a horrible, powerful thing.

We all struggle with the new Xander. He and Giles seem to have fallen into a comfortable life together and are usually pretty easy going with each other, though Giles never snipes at him anymore. Oz...well, Oz is Oz and everything is pretty normal with him. He's teaching Xander to play the guitar, and I think it's good therapy for both of them.

Willow tries, but she's pretty high-strung around Xander, and it's so sad to see, because she used to be able to pretty much read his mind, and now he's shut off from her. She smiles constantly, but it's a brittle smile. When Oz is there, she relaxes more and becomes more like normal Willow.

Cordelia's a Stepford wife. She does everything perfectly and treats Xander like a god. I can see how uncomfortable he is with her attention, but none of us know what to say to her. She's doing it from love, so how can we fault her? But, it's so unreal, it's frightening.

But, he can't hug Cordelia. When she wraps her arms around him, he stiffens and his arms hang limply. When she tries to kiss him, he turns his head.

It hurts her so much, and I know she's in therapy herself to try to accept what has happened to the boy she loves, but she's overcompensating.

Sitting at Giles' window, I look out into the courtyard and watch the butterflies flitter from one flower to another. It's hot, but the heat is beginning to wane as August turns to September.

I never say it. I know my friends worry about me, that they're trying so hard to make everything normal again, but it's hard for all of us. We can't turn back the clock.

I'd never really given that adage much thought, but it's true. Time moves forward, and, as long as we're alive, so do we. I'll never forget what happened to me. I'll probably be in therapy for the rest of my life, and I'm not sure I'll ever lead a normal life, whatever that means, but I'm alive.

And, though there are times that I pray for death so that I can stop remembering, stop experiencing in my mind all the pain and torture I went through, there are also moments like today.

Sometimes over the last three months I wondered if anything would feel good again, so I'm always amazed when these moments happen.

I wish I could share them with my friends, but I'm finding it so hard to talk to them. Yeah, it's kind of amazing. It used to be that I wouldn't shut up, and now I rarely can find anything to say.

Oz is the easiest to be around. The sympathy is there, but he rarely talks, so he doesn't expect me to say anything. And learning the guitar is...fun.

Giles and I exist in a companionable silence most of the time. He's surprisingly easy to live with, though sometimes I see him looking at me with such guilt in his eyes.

The guilt is there in all of them. Buffy feels it deeply, but she doesn't know how to talk to me about it. I'm glad. I don't want to talk about it.

None of them ever ask me any details of what happened. My therapist doesn't even press me. I wonder if I'll ever be able to talk about the six weeks of torment. I'd try, if it would bring the real Willow and Cordelia back to me. Will is...tight around me. Closed up. She tries so hard to be happy that it's obvious she's not. I don't think she realizes she's doing it. It's really painful to watch. She's my oldest friend, yet neither of us is comfortable around the other anymore. I really, really hope that changes.

She wants things to be the way they were. Oh, she never says so, but it's obvious. She's trying too hard, too, but in a different way, in a...girlfriend way.

A part of me can't help but wonder how she can even bear to look at me. Another part is horrified that she knows so much of what happened to me. And a part of me is so scared that she'll want some of those things from me. Things I can't give her. Maybe never.

There's very little guilt in her. She's angry. Behind the fake smile in her eyes, she's furious and full of hate. Not at me, not at herself, but at the world, at my parents, at...him.

And, there's nothing she can do to make it better, and she hates that the most of all.

I wish I could convince them all, that they have nothing to feel guilty or angry about, but I understand why they do. I feel the same way. Though they and my therapist tell me it's not my fault either, I still feel like I wanted the abuse, that I sought it out and allowed it to happen.

Though, I am beginning to give most of the credit to the appropriate person...thing.

I don't like thinking about him, and I never think or say his name. Sometimes I'm afraid if I do, I'll start screaming and never stop.

All of it. Every instance of torture, of rape. Every lash of the whip, every thrust of my hips. The sound of his whimpers, the smell of his blood, the emptiness in his eyes.

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Laure Alexander - lara@sunflower.com

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