Night Thoughts of a Slayer
He’s killed - I don’t know how many he’s killed. Hundreds. Thousands. He probably doesn’t know himself. No regrets, either.
Two of them were just like me. Just not so lucky. He’s proud of those. I think he may be proud of them all.
He’s tried to kill me for that matter. He’s betrayed my friends. It wasn’t so long ago.
Am I supposed to forget all that? Am I supposed to trust him?
I look at his face outlined in the moonlight. That pale angelic face. Sleep relaxes him, smoothes out the lines. You can’t see the lively, dangerous mind behind those dead blue eyes. He looks as innocent as a child. God’s gift. One hand is under his cheek, his slender, skillful fingers relaxed on the pillow. That strong, graceful, knowing killer’s hand. That angelic killer’s face.
The shadows trace the contours of muscle under his luminous white skin, so perfect I want to touch it. Even now. You’d think I’d be tired. I wet my lips and catch my hand moving towards his chest, and clutch the sheet instead. I want to stroke his nipples, watch them stand up when I caress them. When I blow on them.
Like mine when he touches me. Or when he walks into the room.
I only feel alive when he’s here. His cold flesh sliding against my body, stroking me, entering me, blinding me. I can think of nothing else then, once we start I can’t get enough. Tendrils of fire curling and flaming under my skin. His voice telling me how it feels, how I make him feel. I can’t resist that. I can’t help but answer, say what I feel too. I beg, I weep, I cry out. No wonder he keeps coming back for more.
No wonder I let him.
Nothing’s ever felt as good as his hands on my body. His cold white killer’s hands.
Afterwards I tell him I didn’t mean it. I say I despise myself. Never again, I say. That always gets a smile. It makes me want to slap him. He won’t let me though. Not now that he can resist.
I don’t want to think about that either. What it means. What if his chip is breaking down? What if the technology fails? He’s still the killer I knew.
I trusted one like him once. Or didn’t distrust him enough. Couldn’t bring myself to kill someone wearing my lover’s face. And so Giles’ love died.
And this one is worse. He’s the Slayer killer. I’m supposed to just forget that too. I’m just the third notch on his belt. It enrages me.
But then he touches me again. And I forget.
The sensible thing is to stake him now. Before the chip breaks down completely. Before he kills one of my friends, and proves that I shouldn’t have waited.
Before he kills me.
I don’t want to think about why I hesitate.
I don’t think I have a death wish anymore. I don’t think it’s that. It can’t be that. He makes me feel so alive.
I don’t want to think about why I’m here.
So help me God. I don’t know what to do.