Title: An Alternate Face 
Author: Scynneh
E-mail: scynneh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Who would want to own the pansy is beyond me, but some bloke by the name of ‘Joss’ has claimed the miscreant, so here I note that ownership.
Dedication: To everyone who wants to know why Riley was just so monumentally *stupid*...
Spoilers: Yes.
Feedback: YES, YES, MORE….uhm…I’d like to know someone besides my cat has been forced to read this.
January 2001

*

I couldn’t comprehend love so I settled for a jealous cousin by the name of Need.  Trembling fingers and sweet sweat sprung of shame, the caresses were never anything fulfilling, but the pull of necessity had its own power.  I grew happily dependent on serrated bones as they slid through aching skin and found the center of my being where a hole gaped and longed to be filled with whatever would satisfy my weakened frame.  Loneliness was kept caged with scattered confidences and frantic couplings that were not intimate despite their physical directness.

I asked for some degree of trust; for her to give me a shred of what she considered important, but I could only watch as she grew ever more brittle and then shattered, leaving pieces of innocence and normality on the floor amidst torn sheets and my elusive dreams.  All I salvaged were the shards of her affection, and these had to be held with care, as they tended to slice into my flesh, uncaring as their owner, until they disintegrated , and at last, I clutched at grains of sand and what was left of my hope.

And I wanted to be craved, as women do chocolate, or addicts their drug of choice.  Maybe love wasn’t what I’d grown up thinking it to be, but I understood one truth: there was an amount of honesty between lovers. 

The majority of romances; whether they were books or television specials were in unanimous accord about the nature of a truly meaningful love.  It had flowers and black, laugher, streamers, and the odd cemetery.  The partner I’d landed myself with was more interested in the gravestones than candles, and preferred stakes to chopsticks.  Still, that wasn’t my primary objection to her treatment of me, I didn’t mind the fact that she was able to handle herself in a fight.  What really tore me at the seams was that I couldn’t do anything to help her.  Nothing.  I was of no use to her, except for a convenient piece of meat at the end of the day, and even then she might slip out of bed and go on a patrol, just to get whatever Slayer gripe she had, out of her system.   And if I dared to ask about things that weren’t part of our mutual interest, such as killing vampires, I would be skillfully diverted to another, less sensitive subject.  It seemed to be standard procedure to keep me at a distance, and the security clearance necessary to breach her fortress was harder to obtain than any passkey I’d ever had to train for. 

And when it came down to it, I was tired.  So I did what any frustrated male would do; I found a way to get what I wanted, while avoiding the issue at hand- I took the easy way out, and got caught doing it.

-Fin