Work Text:
Heartache
by Pirate Turner
I stand at the window, sad eyes staring out at the night sky and watching the lightning streak across the sky. But it isn't the lightning that I really see. It's his face. The face that I have come to know nearly as well as my own. His handsome face, wretched and contorted by sadness. Sadness that I had given him. Sadness that I now hate myself for having given him.
Why? How could I have acted the way I did? How could I have said what I said? Just how horrible am I, any way?!
For the thousandth time since we had returned from Pylea, the memory replays itself inside my head, tears springing to my eyes once more though I had thought I had none left. I can feel Dennis hovering nearby, his concern for his roommate great, but I ignore him. The last thing I need right now is another male to complicate my life.
"Not you, dumbass!"
The words that had left my own lips rang throughout my head like a gunshot. Why? Why? Heck, why did we even have to go to Pylea to begin with? And now, there's that damn Fred to contend with... Gods, don't let her want Angel. Don't let Angel want her! Nah. There's no way he could want her. She's too geeky even for him . . . Right? Gods, I pray so.
Once more, the memory replays itself. Once more, I cry. Why had I said what I said? Sure, I liked the Groosalugg okay and definitely wouldn't have had any problems consummating our "relationship" if not for that whole I-die-and-he-gets-my-visions thing. But the Groosalugg was still only a man. Maybe not your typical man, maybe rather studly, but still a man nonetheless.
Angel, on the other hand, is most definitely not your typical guy. Sure, he's a Vampire. The only Vampire with a soul even, but that isn't it. Angel is wonderful when in control of himself and not Angelus, but that doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact, there's only one sentence that does. Angel . . is . . . Angel.
Kinda basic, I know, but still, there's just no other thing that comes as close to describing him. Sure, I didn't always think so. There were even times when I hated him. But when we left Sunnydale and came out here to L.A., it was Angel that picked me up, Angel that dusted me off, Angel that made me come back to my senses and return to being what and who I truly am -- Cordelia Chase, Bitch Supreme -- and not just another struggling, starving would-be actress. It's Angel that makes certain I eat, Angel that takes care of me even if neither of us will admit it.
I can see that now, but what I still can't see is why the hell I was as stupid as I was. I had the perfect opportunity to tell him how I feel about him, but instead, I didn't even just let it pass me by. Heck no! I had to go and screw up my chances with him for the rest of eternity. Tears run freely down my cheeks at this thought, my mascara blurring my vision of the fierce storm raging outside.
The phone rings, jerking me back to reality, but I ignore it. I partially listen to the answering machine pick it up, and there's a soft click on the other end as the caller, whoever it was, hangs up. A despairing sigh escapes my lips. Angel. Oh, Angel. I'm so sorry!
An especially brilliant flash of lightning lights up the night sky like fireworks on New Year's Eve, and for a moment, I see him, standing there on the sidewalk below, gazing up at my window with those yummy, deep eyes of his. My breath catches in my throat. Does he see me? Does he know what I am thinking, feeling? A brief space of darkness vanishes him from me, and when the lightning returns to the same area, he's already gone. I turn away from the window, walk over to my bed, and fall in. The last thoughts that I have are once more of Angel, of how I have forever screwed myself over, and then a welcoming darkness as I fall unconscious from the sleepless hours I have spent mulling over the questions that constantly haunt my mind yet always never coming up with an answer.
In my dreams, I once more see his handsome face.
"Angel! Angel, I love you!" I shout.
He turns from me and walks away, and try as I do to catch him, he forever eludes me.
The End