Around three in the morning the sky prepared to break open with rain. She watched it building slowly, the darkness roiling quietly. The air starting to smell heavy and wet with promise. Moths were drawn to her window screen. Beating their papery wings against the iron mesh, pleading for entrance. For sanctuary from the quick and merciless downpour that was sure to come. He had been born during a summer storm. She knew so because her mother once told her the story.

We were both so large, his mother and I. I thought you would come first. You were always so restless within me. The night he came, I was sitting on the porch swing eating pickles straight from the jar. The air smelled so sweet. I knew it was going to rain. I could almost taste the droplets on my tongue. I was so thirsty but I was too lazy and heavy to move. The heat was so thick, like golden honey. Just as I was dozing off, I heard a cry. And I knew. He was coming. Of course, I didn’t know he was a he until later. Later I met him for the first time. Little William. He had such a red, wrinkly, cross face, I was afraid you would come out looking like that too. I was only nineteen at the time, you know. I didn’t understand anything about babies. I didn’t realize that when you see your child for the first time, you finally know your purpose.

She couldn’t remember the first time she met him. He had just always been there. In every breath, every tear, every laugh. Even when he was not there, he was there. In her mind when she closed her eyes. Like a negative image. Like how if you stared at the sun long enough, you could still see it burning on your retinas. Even after you close your eyes. She wondered if that was how he saw her. The way she saw him. Scorched onto her eyes like a wound that refused to heal. A wound that would never heal.

She opened the mesh screen the barest flicker and caught a silvery moth between her fingertips. It was sluggish. As if it had decided to give up the fight. She stubbed out her cigarette and held it cupped in her palms. It lay there, beating its wings feebly. Feeling so fragile and whispery in her hands. Its half-hearted fluttering opening another hairline fissure in her heart. What was it looking for? She thought she could understand. Heat, light, attraction. And ultimately…Death. A moth to the flame was always burned by the fire. She opened the window screen again and uncupped her hands, urging it to fly away. I don’t have what you seek. No heat. No flame. It finally did, leaving a trail of grainy phosphorescence on her fingers.

Lighting up another cigarette, she leaned back in her chair and waited for the storm. Half-expecting it to bring him. The way it had brought him into the world. Three weeks before she came. She relished the sharpness of the nicotine in her throat, her lungs. Making its way into her veins. The last time she had smoked was with Faith. Only a few short hours after the last time he had looked upon her. His eyes dark; teetering on the razor-edge between revulsion and something she could not name.

******************************************************

”Oh my God.”

She brushed the hair out of her eyes and rolled over onto her side, her hand unconsciously reaching for him. Only one night and her body already knew to reach for his. Her fingers met only the starchiness of sheets, warm from his body. She was warm too. When she reluctantly opened her eyes, they were dazzled by the pink and gold sunrise through his open window. Even more dazzled at the sight of his lean body silhouetted in the half-light, fumbling to tug a white sheet around the curved blades of his hipbones.

“W-Will?”

She sat up slowly, blushing when she looked down on herself and realized she was completely exposed. Grabbed a sheet to cover her nudity. He jumped at the sound of her voice and backed as far away from her as possible. She feared if he moved away any farther, he would tumble out of the open window. Maybe it was best she not talk. She didn’t want to startle him anymore. She met his eyes carefully, trying to keep her gaze as calm and free of pressure as possible. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that he owed her anything. He had already given her so much. Last night had been…she should be ashamed, but she wasn’t. It had been the best night of her life. It was as if she now knew what her body was made for. To touch him. To be touched by him.

He looked away from her almost immediately and turned his back to stare out of the window. Maybe…maybe he was afraid he had hurt her or that she was angry at him? She had to let him know that wasn’t the case at all.

“Will, are you alright?”

He whirled around, pointing a trembling finger at her.

“Shut up. Just…don’t.”

She clutched the sheet tighter. His face was so, so pale with the exception of two spots of red high on his cheekbones. He only looked that way when he was furious.

“Did I…did I do something wrong?”

“What the fuck were you doing, coming into my room last night?”

“I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I think you’ve seen plenty. Get out.”

Oh, no. No. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She didn’t know much about these things but she’d thought…she’d thought he would finally kiss her and tell her he had genuine feelings for her. Not necessarily love, but not this. At the least, she’d thought he would tell her gently that he didn’t care for her but that he had enjoyed their time together and still wanted to be friends. Even that would have been better than this white-faced anger.

“I thought you wanted…”

“The only girl I want is sleeping in her bed across town.”

She really didn’t quite know how to respond to that. None of the gossip in the girls’ bathroom ever covered what was the proper thing to do when the boy you cared for didn’t want you. He finally met her eyes again and she couldn’t help but stare at him in wonder. That he could feel so little when she was dying inside. Perhaps, he could teach her how to not feel. His voice was so composed and matter-of-fact; every word was like walking on broken glass. Cutting her feet to shreds.

“You were just convenient.”

“I see.”

“No, no you don’t. What the hell is the matter with you? Why didn’t you stop me? God, I never should’ve…”

“Why would I stop you? I love you.”

He slammed his fist into the wall, tiny bits of plaster fluttering to the floor. Making her shrink away.

“No, you don’t! Jesus Fucking Christ. How many times do I have to say it? I. Don’t. Love. You. Not now. Not ever.”

She got out of the bed shakily.

“I’m not asking you to love me back. But don’t tell me what I feel. You don’t know.”

“I know I can’t see myself with you.”

“How do you know?”

“When I look at you…I feel nothing. Nothing like love.”

He turned away and grabbed her nightgown from where it had landed on his lampshade. Where he had tossed it last night. He threw it at her.

“Get dressed and get out. Before my parents get home.”

She clasped it to her chest and accidentally stepped forward as he was trying to walk around her on his way out. Their arms brushed and she could see the red teeth marks on his shoulder blade. Her teeth marks. He jumped back and she hastily stepped out of his way. His words were like knives.

“Do not touch me.”

She nodded.

“I know. I won’t.”

He walked out and she could hear the bathroom door slam shut. She put her nightgown on carefully, trying not to wince as the stiff cotton abraded the bite marks, scratches, and bruises on her body. She dropped to her hands and knees on his cold wood floor to collect every one of her scattered pink buttons. Crawled over the expanse of his bedroom floor three times to make sure she hadn’t overlooked any. She knew any reminder that she had ever been there, that last night had ever happened, would upset him. It was a mistake. Best forgotten. Best to pretend it never happened.

But his rumpled bed whispered otherwise. She should change it. She dragged off the sheets and pillowcases, folding them neatly and leaving them on his chair. Went to the linen closet in the hallway, where she knew his mother kept clean bedding. She could hear the water running from behind the closed bathroom door. She remade his bed methodically, pulling the sheet corners nice and tight the way her mother had taught her. Left the edge of the top sheet folded back, in case he wanted to slip back in bed and go to sleep. Couldn’t help but drift a hand over the freshly made bed, where their bodies had lain last night. His head buried in the crook of her shoulder, his lips at the base of her throat. She heard him retching in the bathroom, the sounds painful and harsh. She wanted to bring him a glass of water, brush his damp hair back from his sweaty forehead and draw him a nice, cool bath. Of course, he would not want that.

She took one last look around his bedroom, at his baseball trophies on his maple chest of drawers, his wooden comb on his dresser, the large beveled mirror hanging on the wall, the blue sheets on his bed. His white, blue, and pale grey oxford shirts hanging neatly in his closet, his navy church suit all the way at the very back. She knew that she would never be in here again. She was no longer welcome. His doors and windows barred and shuttered to her. She ran a shaky hand over her dry eyes and slipped out and down the stairs.

When she was back in her own house, she put the kettle on to boil to make some tea for her mother. Her mother would be home in an hour, she would have to get herself together before then. She toasted a slice of rye bread, her mother’s favorite, and buttered it carefully all the way to the edges. Took the kettle off the stove when it whistled shrilly and poured the hot water in a plain white teacup with a tea bag. Then she grabbed some thread and a needle from her mother’s sewing basket and went up the stairs slowly, her whole body achy and tired.

She set the pink buttons carefully on the toilet lid and took off her nightgown, her muscles sore. She ran a bath and inspected her body in the mirror. Her mind was already trying to forget but her skin was burning with his brand. A tiny drop of dark crusted blood on her right nipple, lines of red down her ribs from his fingernails, his teeth marks on her left inner thigh. And almost everywhere, broken-veined purple rosebuds from his lips. On the slope of her neck, her chest, the curve of her shoulders, the soft hollows underneath her hipbones, even the sweep of her inner arms, where her flesh was still milky and untouched by summer sun. She no longer felt as if her body was her own. Skin, hair, flesh, bones, blood. They had all been taken over. She was overtaken. He had left her with nothing but the flickering flame of her possession. Her unwanted heart. Strange how the one thing she wanted to give away was the only thing he would not take. She got into the bath quickly and lay there immobile, while silent tears trickled down her cheeks and onto her lips, while hysterical laughter clawed at her throat demanding freedom. She did not make a sound. Afterwards, she sat on the toilet lid wrapped in a threadbare towel and painstakingly sewed every button back on her nightgown.

Back in her room, she dressed in her simplest pale blue short-sleeve blouse and cotton skirt. Slipped her bare feet into her canvas tennis shoes and went down to greet her mother.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her tea, leftover toast crumbs on her plate.

“Oh, Buffy. Good morning, dear. Thank you for the breakfast.”

She kissed her mother softly on the cheek. Her mother glanced up at her in surprise. “Good morning, mother.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course.”

“You look nice today.”

“Thank you.”

She sat down in the chair across the kitchen table. Her mother yawned and rolled her shoulders wearily.

“How was work?”

“Oh, tiring. But otherwise, fine.”

She leaned back in her chair and traced the ivy pattern on the salt shaker absently with her finger.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes, dear?”

“I was thinking that instead of going off to Radcliffe, I could stay here and get a job. Maybe go to secretarial school eventually.”

Her mother stared at her in alarm.

“What are you saying?”

“I just…I just don’t want you to be alone. And college is so far away…”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Why wouldn’t you go? It’ll be wonderful and William will be at Harvard. Why, you’ll practically see each other every day, I’m sure.”

She turned her head to stare aimlessly at the clock on the wall, watched the little pendulum swinging back and forth.

“I doubt we’d have much time to socialize. I would be too busy studying.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure at dances and such…”

“I’m not interested in those things anymore.”

Her mother sighed in frustration.

“Be that as it may, why would you not go to college? You have a scholarship. If you didn’t go, it would be such a waste. Such a lost opportunity.”

“You’re right. Of course, I’m going to go. It was just a thought.”

Her mother placed a hand over her heart in relief.

“Thank goodness. You had me worried there for a moment.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well…now that that’s settled, I’m going to take a nap. Could you run down to the drugstore for me? I have a list of things I need you to pick up.”

“Sure.”

Her mother handed her the list and some money. She slipped both in her skirt pocket and stood up.

“Dear?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She could feel her mother’s eyes on her back as she walked to the front door. She turned around and tried to smile cheerily.

“Well, I’m off. Have a nice nap.”

“Bye, dear.”

The mid-morning sun was so blistering on her back that she could already feel the sweat forming at her hairline. She walked quickly on her way to Main Street, waving at old Mrs. Rosenberg who was out walking Puppy and that stuck up snob Cecily Addams who lived the street over and was laid out on her porch hammock, reading a romance novel and eating chocolates. Cecily ignored her. She walked faster as she passed his parents in their car coming down the street, on their way to the white house. His father honked the horn at her in greeting and she ducked her head.

When she reached Wilkins’ Drug Store, she breathed a sigh of relief. No major disasters. No run-ins with him. No rocks falling on her head. No punishment from God for her shamelessness last night. Faith was inside at the counter, glancing idly through a fashion magazine and snapping her gum. She walked in and Faith looked up grinning.

“Heya, B.”

“Hi, Faith.”

“What’s shaking?”

She shrugged and leaned against the counter, peering at the magazine.

“Nothing much. What are you looking at?”

Faith pointed to a hideous violet evening gown and snickered.

“Can you imagine what Snyder would have said if I ever wore something like this to school?”

She laughed awkwardly. The dress was indecent. Even more indecent than what Faith got hauled into the principal’s office for on a practically daily basis.

“Well, high school is now over forever, so I guess you can wear what you want.”

Faith snorted.

“Yeah, do you think if I wore this, Harris would even notice?”

She sighed.

“Faith, Xander isn’t the only one running away. Have you even tried to talk to him since the dance?”

“Nah. Why would I talk to him? He’s a donkey’s ass.”

“But it’s been almost six months!”

“I’d rather be six-hundred years old with thirty cats than go crawling back to him. After what he did…”

“He was drunk. He didn’t mean it.”

Faith looked at her hard.

“That’s no excuse. When he gets himself together, then he can come to me and we’ll talk. But until then, he’s not a part of my life.”

She tugged on a strand of her hair in frustration.

“Fine. I guess it’s your choice.”

“Damn right it is.”

Faith stared at her closely, eyeing her up and down. She shrank away and let her hair fall over her pale cheeks.

“What happened to you, B?”

“W-what do you mean?”

Faith raised a hand and touched the side of her neck. Then grabbed a powder compact and flipped it open, holding the mirror side up to her neck. Oh, shit.

“What is that?”

Her collar didn’t quite cover one of the purple bruises on her neck.

“I don’t know.” “Bull. That’s a hickey.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Are you going with someone?”

“No!”

“Come on, you can tell me B. Did you and Angel get…you know…back together?”

“No, we did NOT.”

Faith waggled her eyebrows saucily.

“Then how did you get the hickey?”

“It’s NOT a hickey. I must have scratched myself or something in my sleep.”

Please, please, please drop this.

Faith looked at her doubtfully.

“Well…okay. Whatever you say.”

They fell silent. Finally, Faith looked up from her magazine.

“You thirsty?”

“A little.”

“Alright, let’s go over to Sal’s and get some sodas.”

“But…aren’t you supposed to be watching the store?”

Faith grabbed her hand and tugged her out the door, locking it behind them.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, B. It’s just right down the street. We’ll be back in five minutes.”

They walked down to Sal’s. She was just about to go inside when she saw his car pulling up. She shrank back and ducked behind a bush.

Faith hissed at her.

“B, what the hell are you doing?”

She watched as he got out of the DeSoto, the sunlight glinting off the chrome and shiny black exterior. Almost fell over when he helped Cecily Addams out of the passenger seat and they walked into Sal’s hand-in-hand. She watched as he nodded and smiled at Faith standing by the door. Faith just folded her arms and glared at Cecily. After they went inside, she came out from behind the bush. Faith stared at her mystified.

“Are you okay?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, I just don’t feel so good. Is it alright if I wait out here while you get the drinks?”

“Sure. No problem.”

Faith went inside and she peered through the side window of the restaurant. Watched him slump into a booth next to Cecily, his arm draped casually around the girl’s shoulders. Watched them share a strawberry milkshake. His favorite. She should feel angry or sad but she felt nothing. Not even surprise. Just a bone-deep chill. When Faith came back out with their drinks and handed her one, she took it with fingers of ice. They walked silently back to the store. She could feel Faith’s questioning eyes on her the whole way. When they reached the store, Faith turned to her and plucked a leaf from her hair.

“You had that from uh…the bush.”

She flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Faith nodded and sat down on the store’s front stoop, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“Want a smoke?”

She nodded.

“Sure, why not?”

Faith grinned.

“Yeah, why not? We’re young. Nothing wrong with living a little dangerously.”

It was relaxing, just sitting there smoking with Faith. Faith was nice like that. She never pressured for details and was content to just sit there in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. In many ways Faith was like him.

She watched as Main Street pulsed with activity. It was not exciting like she imagined cities like Boston and New York and Paris would be exciting, but it was all she knew. Everywhere she looked, she saw couples. People walking hand in hand, shoulder grazing shoulder, eyes bright with that sheen only lovers seemed to have. She had the crazy longing to stop one of them. To just run up to a couple and ask them how they did it. How it felt to love someone and have them feel the same way. Could they teach her? She thought maybe she was doing it all wrong. Everyone else seemed to find it very easy. It must be her. Going about it backwards and inside out. Even Faith knew how to do it. Because although she and Xander weren’t together, they did love each other.

“Faith? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How does it feel? To be in love? To have the person love you back?”

Faith sighed and closed her eyes, sucking on her cigarette dreamily.

“It’s not something I can describe. It’s probably different for everyone.”

“Well…then how did you know? That you cared for Xander? That he cared for you?”

“I think I knew when I saw him one day in the cafeteria, trying to catch peanuts in his mouth. He kept missing and then one hit him in the eye. Anyone else would have looked around to make sure no one had seen. Anyone else would have given up. He just kept tossing them up in the air and trying to catch them. He was such an idiot.”

She laughed and Faith let out a wry chuckle.

“How did you know he loved you back?”

“You never know. You just go on living and usually one day, the other person comes to his senses and realizes what a moron he was.”

“What if he never does?”

Faith shrugged and stubbed out her cigarette, lighting another one.

“Then you find yourself another moron.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched on. She watched as Faith blew perfect smoke rings through her glossy red lips. Suddenly Faith turned to her.

“You’re carrying a torch for him, aren’t you?”

She looked away and squinted up into the scorching sun. And said nothing. When she looked back over, Faith was nodding slowly.

“Let me tell you something, B. Boys…well…they don’t know shit. Most of the time they can’t tell their asses from their elbows.”

************************************************

She put out her cigarette. Outside her window, the rain started. Deceptively small and quiet at first. But summer storms always began that way. Creeping and slow only to burst out in a flash of lightning and thunder, clashing and splitting the sky. The eternal dance of opposites. That’s where she wanted to be. That’s where she wanted to take him. Where thunder and lightning met and twined, breaking apart the air, obscuring the moon with the result of their union.

Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe conscious thought had been overcome by careless heart. She ran down the stairs and pushed aside the heavy armchair away from the front door. Flew down the porch steps and over her front yard into his.

As she reached his front lawn, the sky exploded in a fierce collision of light and sound. As she stood there on his front lawn barefoot, the grass tickling between her toes, it began to rain in earnest. Sheets and sheets of water falling down upon her, drenching her hair, turning her white dress almost transparent. She lifted her head up towards the dark sky, trisected by jagged white lightning. Like his eyebrow trisected by the scar she had given him. She flung her arms out wide and spun in a circle, the soaked folds of her skirt tangling around her knees. Opened her mouth to catch the raindrops on her tongue. Tasting him. Stood there as the rain and wind shook the leaves on the trees, bending flowers to their will. She alone could not be shaken, could not be bent. If he would not come, she would go to him.

She climbed his porch steps and knocked loudly on his front door with a steady hand. The door did not open. She would keep trying until it did. She would stand here all through the night and into the next day if she had to. She would knock until the rain stopped, until her knuckles bled.

Finally, the door slowly creaked open. His mother peered out through the crack. She shoved her bare foot in the door and smiled cheerfully.

“Hi, Mrs. James. I’m here to see Will.” “Dear Lord. It’s five in the morning.”

“Is it? Oh, well. It’s never a bad time to see old friends.”

“William is not taking visitors. He’s sleeping. I thought after our little talk yesterday, we agreed that you would no longer disturb him.”

“I agreed to NOTHING.”

Through the crack, his mother’s eyes narrowed.

“He is asleep. Go away.”

“No. Not until I speak with him.”

She began to yell.

“Will! Will! It’s Buffy. I’ve come to see you.”

His mother tried to close the door but her foot was firmly wedged in the frame.

“Ms. Summers, have you lost your mind? You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood!”

“Then tell him I’m here and I’ll be quiet.”

His mother glared at her for what seemed like years and she held the gaze, her eyes burning back. She would not flinch away from this old woman. She was an adult now, not a child that could be cowed or talked down to. Finally, his mother looked away.

“I’ll get him but after you speak to him, you will leave. Or else I’ll call the police.”

“Fine.”

His mother moved away from the door and shuffled upstairs. She waited with held breath. Would he come? Had she made a dreadful mistake? Maybe she really was going crazy.

When he walked down the stairs slowly, one hand gripping the banister tightly, his other hand tugging distractedly on the edge of his blue pinstriped pajama top, she wanted to run and pull him into her arms. Instead, she waited patiently on the other side of the screen door, the rain falling steadily behind her. When he reached the door, he placed his palm against the mesh screen. She lifted her hand and placed it against his. They stood palm to palm, separated by the thin metal. She could feel his skin through the tiny holes in the screen.

“Buffy…”

“I told you I would come back.”

What are you doing? This is not a game.

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