She was drowning. The water was so dark and deep and cold. God, so numbingly cold and thick. Dragging her down. Lashing at her legs and arms. Icy waves tossing her body onto sharp craggy rocks to be battered and broken. She woke up and couldn’t stop laughing. Lying on her side on the wooden floor with hysterical tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. The cold water had been her wet sheets, now tangled around her shins. She must have crawled into bed last night without drying off from the bath. And the rocks just the hard pine floor of her childhood bedroom. Christ on a crutch, she was starting to lose it. A glance out of her window told her it was already edging into late morning, the purple sky slowly wavering into gold. Of course, his window was closed and shuttered. But soon, soon. She was starting to live for the hours between noon and five.

The mirror was a big liar. Gah. How could her hair possibly look so bad? Why, oh why hadn’t she dried it before falling into bed? It was now hanging in half-dried clumps around her face. Oh well, it looked like a bird would be building a nest there. She wrenched a hairbrush through her tangles, trying to smooth them as best she could. It was so silly, but she wanted to look her prettiest for him. Even though it didn’t really matter. She brushed her hair one hundred strokes exactly until the strands were crackling around her head, an electric halo. All that lying about in the sun had turned it a burnished bronze. It would never be the ringleted white-blonde of her early years. It would never be the silvery gold of his hair. But she liked this shade of warm butterscotch well enough. Couldn’t help but imagine the contrast of their heads bent towards each other, in anticipation of a kiss. Couldn’t help but think they would have beautiful babies.

Oh dear god, she really was losing grip on reality. Just because he had kissed her a few times, just because he had said some sweet things, she was ready to pick out china patterns and baby names? She was turning into the worst kind of fool. It was like her mother said, no fool like a silly romantic fool. He was lonely and she couldn’t mistake that for anything more. He hadn’t been around anyone but his mother for so many years; he probably would have kissed the postman if he’d visited. She must not make too much of his gratitude and friendship. She had made that mistake before and now that she had a second chance, she would not make it again. She would be his very good friend and help him in any way she could. But to take advantage of his isolated and lonely situation to press him to make a commitment to her would be completely wrong and selfish. It was better this way. Rebuilding their friendship slowly. Planning ways to help him leave that house, his overbearing mother. The chance to see him live a real life, even if it meant she was not a part of it, would be thanks enough. And how wonderful would it be if she did help him leave and he met someone later on that he could love? Well, perhaps not so wonderful for her. But it wasn’t about her. It was all for him.

It felt really good to have a sense of purpose. She dug through her suitcase, humming under her breath. She would go into town and bring them back some lunch. He was much too thin. His arms had felt like fragile silk scarves around her body yesterday. So different from when he was younger. Then, he had been lean and tightly muscled like a greyhound. But who could keep weight on if they had to eat his mother’s cooking day in and day out? She took out the sky blue voile sundress with the pearly white buttons down the front and the matching thin white belt. It had been much too expensive, but she’d almost cried when she saw it in a display window. It looked so much like the kind of dresses her mother wore when her father still lived with them. When they were still a family. She quickly put the dress on and cinched the belt tight. She had lost weight too. The belt was tied on the last hole. She whirled around in a lazy circle, admiring the way the full skirt billowed. Carefully, she applied red lipstick. Real red, the kind pinup girls wore back in the day. She hardly ever wore lipstick and certainly not anything this bright but she was feeling kind of wild. She twisted her hair up in a ponytail and tied it with a thin white grosgrain ribbon. Slipped on a pair of canvas Keds without socks and skipped down the stairs. Almost expecting him to be sprawled at the kitchen table or on the sofa, eyes staring up at her, twinkling. His hot, lazy smile blinding her with its bone-melting intensity. He wasn’t of course. But she would see him soon. And maybe if he was very lucky, she’d bring him some strawberry ice cream too. His favorite.

She rooted around the hallway table for her mother’s car keys. There they were. The old green Buick was still there in the garage, waiting for soft, patient hands to guide it along winding roads. She would leave the top down today. Pulled back the duster sheet and sucked down a breath. Her daddy’s car looked the same. Her mother must have kept it shining and waxed. She slid into the driver’s seat and clicked on the ignition cautiously. She’d only been allowed to drive it a few times when she was younger. Even though her father had left them, it had always been ‘daddy’s car.’ It purred to life and she couldn’t help but giggle to herself. It was the same and there was still a full tank of gas. Will wasn’t the only one who enjoyed cruising.

Main Street was already awake with mothers pushing strollers, their legs tanned in jean shorts. Children were running around shrieking and clutching popsicles and ice cream cones in their sticky little fists. Old men were already ensconced in their wicker chairs on the sidewalk outside Osbourne’s Barbershop, gossiping and spitting out sunflower seed shells on the pavement. John Deere baseball caps and straw hats pushed back above their wrinkled foreheads. She could see Xander’s form moving behind the counter of Harris’ Auto Garage, through the window as she drove past. And on her right side, right across the street from the garage, she could glimpse Faith’s shiny, dark head bent over a display case in Wilkins’ Drugstore, dusting it just like her father used to do. Her presence was drawing stares from passerbys. She felt either like Miss America or a leper. No doubt her return to town had already made the rounds. She’d probably seen most of these people at her mother’s funeral. And now here she was, driving around in her father’s Buick, sunglasses on with the top down. She couldn’t hold back her grin as some of the men walking by in their faded jeans and short-sleeve button downs whistled. Some of them probably would not have given her the time of day in high school. Love had made her beautiful. She parked the car with a flourish in front of Sal’s and walked through the grimy doors.

It was like stepping back into time. Back to that summer when she would wash dishes here after school. After Will had gotten her fired from DoubleMeat. Back to all those times they had come here either together just the two of them or with the group to devour hamburgers and milkshakes. She could still see their regular table, tucked back in the corner right by the jukebox that played Elvis and the Platters. Once when her and Will had been here, she’d played “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” half-hoping, half-dreading he would listen to the lyrics and finally see. Of course, he hadn’t. No one could remember how Sal’s came to be called Sal’s. No one who ever worked there or owned the place had been named Sal. She almost fainted dead away when Harmony Kendall, waltzed out of the kitchen only to disappear into the bathroom, pregnant with what looked like the largest watermelon this side of the Mississippi. She had to bite the inside of her cheek hard when Warren Meers’ old goon Jonathan Levinson scurried out behind Harmony, wiping his greasy hands on his dirty apron. Apparently, Harmony had taken over her father’s business and poor Jonathan. She sat down at the counter and Jonathan walked over to her, squinting his eyes.

“Holy cow. If it isn’t Buffy Summers.”

“Hi Jonathan. How have you been?”

He shrugged and wiped his hands again before taking her outstretched hand to shake.

“I’ve been cooking. A lot. Do you know I now dream about bacon and eggs? Sheesh. But what about you? How’ve you been? You’re a real sight for sore eyes. Lookin’ real good.”

She laughed and accepted the cup of coffee he pushed forward to her.

“Thanks. I’ve been well. I just came back to settle my mother’s things. Sell off the house.”

His face fell and she wanted to give him a hug. He had never belonged with that hood Warren. Jonathan had always been a decent guy.

“I’m really sorry about your mother. She was a swell lady. I wish we could’ve been able to pay our respects but Harm had a false alarm.”

She winked at him and punched his arm lightly. Laughed when he winced.

“You’re really something, Jonathan. You and Harmony, who would’ve thought?”

He blushed and ducked his head.

“Yeah well, once she got it into her thick head that she wasn’t ever going to be Mrs. William Strickland James, she decided she had to settle. Luckily, I was there waiting to be settled on.”

His smile faded when he noticed her stricken look.

“Oh, hey. I’m so sorry Buffy. Me and my big mouth. I just…I just meant, well…there was always Drusilla and…and…well, you.”

She almost choked on her coffee.

“What do you mean me?”

“Oh geez, I guess I’ve wedged my whole leg down my throat now, huh? I just…I mean we always thought…you two…”

He trailed off uncomfortably and she put a soothing hand on his.

“Who’s we, Jonathan?”

“Oh, you know. Everyone at school. Warren really had a thing for you, but he figured you were off-limits. Property of Will, he used to always say.”

“Warren had a thing for me? Ick! And I was NOT anyone’s property. There was never anything between me and Will.”

Jonathan looked at her doubtfully.

“Oh right, right. After all, if there was, you never woulda left right? And you guys would have gotten married right out of school.”

She felt tears gathering in her eyes. It was so easy for Jonathan to say that. As if falling in love and getting married and staying together were the simplest things in the world. It was for other people. Not for her. Not for Will.

“It…it wasn’t like that.”

“Oh. Sure. I get it. Um…have you, you know…seen him? Um…since you’ve been back?”

She jolted and almost knocked over her coffee cup.

“No. No, I haven’t. His mother said he doesn’t like visitors. Have YOU seen him?”

He shifted awkwardly, his face turning red with embarrassment.

“Nah. He won’t see anyone. I did try to once. When he got back from that home for…for blind people. But his mother yelled at me, said he wouldn’t talk to anyone especially not a friend of the person who may have killed his father and um…hurt him.”

“But Warren Meers is dead.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“Hatred never dies.”

She shivered at the unpleasant direction the conversation had taken.

“No…I guess you’re right. It never does.”

Jonathan clapped his hands together and tried to look cheerful.

“So, what can I get you, Buffy? It’s on the house.”

“Oh, Jonathan. You don’t have to do that.”

He puffed out his chest.

“I’m the boss here and I say, it’s on the house. What’ll it be?”

She ordered a double bacon cheeseburger with the works, curly fries, and a strawberry ice cream shake for him. A BLT and fries with a Coca-Cola float for herself. Jonathan just looked at her calmly as he took her order. He had worked at Sal’s one summer in high school too. She was not surprised to see that he remembered what Will used to always get.

“I’ll be right back, Buffy. Hey, Andrew! Rush this order!”

She sipped her cooling cup of coffee and watched as Jonathan barreled back into the kitchen only to reappear seemingly seconds later, holding her order, a huge grin on his face.

“Here ya go.”

Impulsively, she leaned over the counter and pecked him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Jonathan.”

When she reached the door, he called out to her.

“Hey, Buffy?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome back. And say hello to him for me.”

She winked.

“Thanks. I will.”

As she walked out the door, she heard Harmony coming out of the bathroom, complaining.

“I could have sworn, my water broke. But I just had to pee really badly. Wait, was that Buffy Summers going out the door?”

She hopped into the Buick and headed back to her mother’s house. Back to him. A glance at her watch told her it was already noon. On her way back, she saw an old woman in a straw hat with a roadside stand, selling bright sunshine yellow lemons. She could make him lemonade. He loved lemonade. She stopped and bought a bag.

When she pulled into the driveway, she noted with satisfaction that the DeSoto was gone. Good, she could go over immediately. She ran through the house, stopping just long enough to grab some sugar and a glass jug from the kitchen for the lemonade. Getting over the fence into his backyard took some precious minutes. Finally she just gave up on being ladylike and hiked her skirt up to swing over the fence. She found the key in its same blessed place and opened his back door. Nearly dropped everything when she saw him. Leaning against the refrigerator, arms crossed over his chest, hair rumpled and dressed in a thin white tank top and blue seersucker pajama pants. Oh, shit. He should be illegal. She would call the police and report him as soon as she got some feeling back into her melting body. Those arms that had seemed so deceptively fragile yesterday were thin but corded with lithe muscles. She set everything on the kitchen table and maintained her distance. Being too close to him could cause her heart to fail. His voice was soft but petulant.

“You’re late.”

“I know. But how can you tell?”

“I’m blind, not stupid. Alright, I have a Braille clock.”

She laughed.

“Very handy. I went to Sal’s to bring some lunch for us.”

His face lighted up like it used to when he was young and it was all she could do not to kiss his still sleepy eyelids.

“Really? What did you get?”

“Your favorite. Bacon double cheeseburger with the works, curly fries, and…ta da! A strawberry milkshake.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, Summers. But you’re a genius.”

She watched him practically skip over to the kitchen table and she stuck a curly fry into his mouth. Giggled as he chewed it with his eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Oh. Heaven.”

“Yup. Fry Heaven.”

“Send me there now.”

“Not yet. I brought some lemons too. I’m going to make us some lemonade.”

He choked and spluttered. She pounded him on the back as he coughed, clutching his chest.

“Do you want to kill me? Your lemonade is practically a weapon of destruction. The last time I had it, I thought my face would stay puckered for the rest of my life so no girl would want me.”

She punched him lightly in the arm.

“Shut up. This time I promise I won’t forget the sugar. Although it would probably serve you right. And your face did not stay puckered for life.” It stayed forever beautiful, forever haunting. I’m a girl. I want you. What does that say about me?

“Hmph. You smell different.”

“I put on some perfume. Why are you still in your pajamas?”

“I overslept.”

“Good dreams?”

“Some.”

“Want to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. Be that way.”

“Oh alright. Geez Summers, I can practically hear you pouting. I dreamt about yesterday. About the cornfield. And…well…I guess you may have made an appearance too.”

“Oh. How did I look?”

“Kind of sunburnt and freckled. And huge…really enormously fat.”

She poked him in the side and grabbed his hand, guiding it to her waist.

“Shows how much you know. My waist is tiny, you big idiot.”

He set down his milkshake and spanned her waist with both his hands. Oh, she couldn’t breathe. This was not a good idea.

“God. You’re like a little sparrow. I could break you in half with one hand.”

“Hey, no breaking mister! I’d like to stay in one piece thank you very much.” No breaking unless it’s my heart.

He moved his hands away and she shivered. How could he do that? Make her feel like water with one casual touch?

“Eat up. You’re a stick, Summers.”

She took a huge bite of her BLT and chewed it loudly, while he winced. She knew he hated it when she did that. They sat there just eating in his kitchen, like they used to. After they finished she put the wrappers back in the bag. She would toss it out at home. She carefully brushed away the crumbs from the front of his shirt.

“You had some crumbs on your shirt.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Sure. I’m going to make some lemonade. You just sit there and relax, let your food digest.”

“Don’t forget the sugar.”

“I won’t, worrywart.”

It was so nice and homey. Her moving around the kitchen while he sat at the table. Like a married couple. Like a family. No, she had to stop thinking that way. It would just make her hope for things that could never be. She cut the lemons in half and squeezed them by hand into the jug, making sure to take out the seeds. Humming under her breath, while watching him close his eyes and sprawl out at the table.

“Still sleepy?”

“Nah. Just content.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

“What about you?”

“Am I sleepy or am I content?”

“Both.”

“No to the first and yes to the second.”

“Good.”

She turned back to making the lemonade. Ugh. Her hands were feeling kind of tired from squeezing the lemons.

“Need some help?”

“No. I got it.”

“Alright. Just let me know when you do.”

“Okay, I will. IF I do.”

He chuckled and she felt her cheeks flush.

Just a few more lemons to go. Sheesh, her stubbornness was really taking a toll on her hands. They ached. She wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. She could feel more sweat running down her spine, making her dress stick to her back. She reached back to unstick the cloth from her skin. Yelped when she felt his hands grab her around the waist. Lost her voice when he whirled her around to face him and sank his teeth into the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. Oh God.

He was murmuring under his breath, his hands traveling up from her waist to cup her breasts. His lips tickling her ear.

“What?”

“Was this dress expensive?”

“Yes.”

“Oops.”

The pearly white buttons fell to the kitchen floor, the sound echoing off the cold linoleum. She grabbed the counter behind her and knocked over the bowl of lemons. They rolled across the floor, sunshine yellow against the blue of the floor. His face was buried between her breasts, nuzzling her chest. His hands peeling her open dress down her shoulders. She gasped and shuddered.

“This…this is the second piece of my clothing you’ve destroyed.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

She stopped talking when he yanked her over to the refrigerator and pushed her back against it. She stopped thinking when he fell to his knees and pushed up her skirt. Just stood there, legs trembling, hands clutching his shoulders, his hair, the handle of the refrigerator door. Anything to keep from falling. Moaned when she heard his low whisper over the desire-drenched hum in her ears. “God, the way you taste…I could never get enough.”

“Oh god, Will. Stop. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

He stood up and she almost cried, she had been so close. He jerked her belt from its buckle and yanked her dress completely off, leaving her leaning against his refrigerator, clad only in her white cotton panties and bra. She blushed and covered herself with her hands. This was breaking about every rule in the Bible she was sure. She stared at him openmouthed as he took off his shirt and dropped his pajama pants. Oh God. Oh Jesus. She couldn’t believe this. And his voice, so dark and aching and tender even as he rolled her nipple roughly between his fingers. He moved her hands away.

“ Take your underwear off. I need you NOW. Let me in.”

“Yes.”

She slid the rest of her things off and helped him wrap her legs around his waist. Her head fell back and banged against the refrigerator door as he surged into her. She thought she would black out from the feeling of him inside of her. Moving with her. Becoming them. Becoming one. Her backside slammed against the refrigerator over and over. She would have bruises there. She already knew that being with him always left marks. He was kissing her neck, her collarbones, scraping his teeth across her jawline. She jerked and had to bite down on his shoulder blade to keep from screaming. He was talking to her the whole time, murmuring wicked things that made her brain spark and her spine bow.

“Oh god, your cunt. Need you so much, need to live in you forever. Fuck me. Fuck me back, hard. Show me you want me too.”

She shimmied her hips against his and squeezed down hard making him groan and shudder.

“Do you believe?”

He captured her lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue mimicking the movements of their lower bodies.

“Fuck, yes.”

She bit his bottom lip hard and he shook as she licked away his blood.

“Believe me now?”

He gasped and moved faster as he lifted her slightly, pinning her against the cold metal like a butterfly under glass.

She bent her head slightly to hear the words he muffled against her shoulder.

“Show me you love me.”

She wrenched back to stare at him, the movements of her hips stilling. Her kiss swollen lips parted in shock and disbelief.

“I thought you knew. All my life, I’ve never loved anything more.”

With that, he grasped her hips so tightly, she could feel the bruises from his fingers forming on her hipbones. Jerked her down onto himself as he pushed up inside her. After a few strokes, she didn’t need any direction. She kissed away the tears slowly trickling down his face. Kissed his mouth over and over again, wishing they could always be joined this way. Their lips pressed together, his breath filling her mouth, his tongue twining with hers.

She tore her mouth from his and cried out, biting down on his hand, as he stroked her down below with his other hand. After a few more strokes, she watched as his whole body clenched, the muscles in his arms twitching, the muscle at his jaw flickering. She bit down on his jaw and he howled into the crook of her neck, slumping against her. They slid to the cold kitchen floor in a heap, still joined. Still connected. She stroked a boneless hand over his lean haunch, admiring the way it flared like a delicate paper fan. Pushed back sweaty tendrils of hair from his forehead. And smiled as he covered her body with his and kissed her tiredly, lingeringly on the mouth.

“Tired?”

“Hmmm. A bit.”

“Just close your eyes for a while. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time.”

“Alright. Just for a moment.”

She smoothed her fingers over his pale eyelids, urging him to sleep. He closed his eyes slowly, reluctantly.

“Will?”

“Buffy?”

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

You say you love me. And I believe you. I believe everything you tell me. Because you’re the only one who’s never lied to me. Oh, you are so beautiful and strong and dear. Lying here like this, in your arms. I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I could open my eyes and see your face next to mine. Do you know how amazing you are? That you could make a blind man see?

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