Iíve been sketching her now for the better part of two hours. Her soft breathing and my pencil on the pad are the only sounds in her room. She left the French doors to her bedroom unlocked. I donít know if it was hope that made her do it, or that she knew Iíd want to be near her.
Near her is all I want to be anymore. I look at her sleeping there, in the bed of her childhood, and Iím consumed with my love for her. The sketches are good, very good. Thatís one of the traits Iím glad I share with Angelus. Iím more like him than I care to admit to anyone, even Willow. Especially Willow.
Iíve always been selfish.
When I was human all I cared about were my own wants. As Angelus,
I gave in to every sick twisted desire that had ever even briefly crossed
my mind. They all believe that Iím not Angelus, but thatís not true.
Itís like trying to say that youíre right arm is part of your body, but
your left arm isnít. Even if the
left arm is withered and crippled, itís still yours. Heís in me, maybe not dictating my every thought and move, but heís there.
It would be easy to blame everything on Angelus. But I canít. Angelus was not in control when I committed the most heinous crime of my life, the most selfish act of my life. I did the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, and only chance turned it for good. I took Willowís innocent act of trust and need and almost damned both of us by turning it to suit my desires.
Sheís smiling in her sleep. I wonder if sheís dreaming about me. All of my hours, sleeping and waking, are spent on her. She loves me. Willow loves me with a pure and unburdened heart and I know sheíd forgive me if I confessed to her, but I canít do that, yet.
Loving Willow is ecstasy. Loving Buffy was torture. I was at the end of my rope, sick with my love for her and unable to do anything about it. And not just the physical act, either. Angelus is a part of me, and it wonít be denied. Part of my being, my very fibre cried out at the wrongness of a vampireís love for a Slayer. And the part that is Angelus will always despise her for what she is and what she made me feel for her. The only thing Angelus felt for Willow was an alternating indifference or desire. And that is why I did what I did.
Iíve been alive for over two hundred and forty years now, a vampire for most of it. Iíd heard the legends and I knew what might happen. I can tell myself I didnít know it to be fact, but I *wanted * it to be fact.
So I did it. I didnít
love her then, but I knew that Willow was immeasurably loveable.
I took a chance. I knew when I tasted the blood of her innocence that the
obsession might happen. I longed for it, for something to fill my
thoughts, even briefly, besides Buffy. I knew exactly what I was
doing, what the consequences might be in the
long run for both Willow and myself, and I still did it. I tried to tell myself that I wouldnít complete the circle by biting her, but I couldnít help myself. I probably would have anyway. Like I said, Iím selfish.
It makes me ill to think what could have happened. What if Iíd fallen in love with her before my soul was bound? What if sheíd never come to love me? It was wrong. *I * was wrong. Thank God, or whoever, that sometimes, wrong things can turn out to be so right.
I sometimes think she knows that I was fully aware of what I was doing. Sheís an intelligent girl, after all. I know Giles at least suspects. I just donít know if I can ever tell her the truth, even knowing that sheíd forgive me, just because sheís Willow.
Dawn will be arriving soon. I think Iíll leave the first sketch on her pillow before I go. A reminder to her of how much I love and desire her.
Iím glad I did it,
even knowing all the hardship and heartache that will be sure to come.
Willow is going to give up a lot because of her love for me. Iíd
like to think that she might let me turn her some day, since her soul can
be bound, but I doubt it. It just doesnít seem like something Willow
would ever allow. Well, weíll grow old
together then, even though only one of us will age. And Iíll hold her hand when she breathes her last sweet breath. Even then, there will be joy still to come. The morning after she breathes her last will be the first morning Iíll have seen the sunrise in centuries.