Look at me being all fic-writing girl.

[butterfly]

Of The Flesh

She's not sure if it'll ever sound right in her head.

"I'm not wrong."

She rolls the words around, trying to make them matter. She's right, as right as any human is.

Not wrong.

And she's halfway between crying and laughing now, but at least there is laughter, if faint.

Because if this isn't wrong, if she isn't wrong, then she's been Faith all along.

Wanting and needing and taking.

Using.

And throwing away.

Only Faith is better now, but Faith never died and Faith never had so much to be alive for.

In the end, falling is worse than never leaving the ground. Is it?

Everything in her head is a blur and every way she looks is up and down at the same time.

Because she hasn't stopped lying. What she said to Tara... it was close to true, but it didn't touch what she'd done.

Even if Spike was a monster, that didn't mean that she had to be one. And she didn't now.

She wasn't.

Spike still was.

And, she realized with a touch of shock, my birthday is in a week.

Who knows what will happen then.