Title: "To make things better"
Author: Hecate
Fandom: BtVs/AtS
Rating: PG 13
Pairing, Character: Angel, Faith
Summary: I promised Angel that I try to make things better.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made.
Note: Unbetaed

In the beginning I thought slayer strength is a good thing. But I learned it isn´t. You have all these super powers, but that doesn´t make you a superhero.

It just makes you strong physically. Nothing else. My powers just came to me and then men in suits came, telling me I´m the slayer. I´m the Chosen One.

/razor gliding over skin/

And then they left me and sent me a watcher. Someone to take care of me, to teach me how to slay. And then my watcher was killed. With my stake. Funny thing if you think about it. I don´t.

/blood running/

So I had all this superhuman powers and no watcher. And I searched someone to hold on. And found Buffy. Jesus fucking Christ. Buffy of all people.

The girl with the perfect life. And I thought I could find a place there with her. How dumb was that?

/a small pool of red on the ground/

Well, it was my fault, too. I didn´t let her help me I guess. That´s what they tell me. But I´m not listening to them, anyway. They have no idea what is going on

/razor gliding back/

Angel tells me it will get better. I guess he really believes that. But he also believes he can really help people. Poor fool.

/blood running through fingers/

When I was still out I tried to get drunk. But I couldn´t make it. Yeah, I got tipsy and all but it was never enough to forget. It all just got blurry, but it was still there. Finch, the knife, the blood. His death.

/vicious stab with the razor into tender skin/

Buffy´s face of complete horror and disbelief. And us, running. The Chosen Two running. Buffy coming to me the next day. Lecturing me, me turning her down. It doesn´t matter anymore.

/blood stops running/

And in here, there is just one way to help me, to make me feel better. But it doesn´t really help.. It doesn´t make a real difference.

/blood dries/

Because I just can´t leave traces on me. On my body. I cut myself again and again and then I lean back and close my eyes. I count to ten.

/wounds close/

When I open my eyes again the cuts are healed and there´s just dried blood on my skin. A rusty red that crackles when I touch it, is the only sign of what I´ve done.

/skin heals/

And I have to start over again.

/razor glides over skin/

I promised Angel that I try to make things better.