The shower isn't helping. I've been scrubbing myself for fifteen minutes, more than half that time nearly rubbing raw the spot on my back where the creature had been attached.
I'm so sick of creatures! People who turn into bugs, psychotic robot boyfriends, now bizarres or whatever the Hell Giles called them.
I start to shiver again, still feeling the thing on my skin, and turn the hot water up. Raising my hands to brush my wet hair off my face, I bump a sore spot on my chin...
...and my memories come back.
Slowly I sink onto the bench in my shower and stare blankly at the steamy glass door.
Xander hit me.
Carefully I examine the forming bruise as I try to sort through hazy memories. I dimly recall carrying boxes of eggs. Then...pain in my face and falling...and nothing. Frowning deeply, I try to dig farther and finally see Xander.
He's...trying to stop me, trying to stop me from going back to the monster...
And...I hit him...I hit him and then he...
Oh God...
Galvanized, I turn off the water and scramble from the shower, rubbing a towel over my wet body as I run into my bedroom. Still wet, I yank on panties, a pair of jeans, a bra and a t-shirt. My hair dripping, I grab my purse, jam my feet into thongs and run out of the room.
As I speed to Xander's house, all I can think about is that he hit me.
And, strangely enough, I'm not bothered that he hit me. I know he did it to stop me because I was possessed.
No, I'm bothered because only the week before Xander had finally told me about his home life, about his parents, about...the physical abuse.
Xander never calls it that, scoffs at my attempts to get him to admit that he's being abused by his father, refuses to see that it's not right for a father to hit his son for just walking across the room.
Even though he won't admit that his father's wrong, Xander swore to me that he'd never be like that, never hit his wife or his kid. Deep inside, he DOES know it's wrong.
And I can just picture him now. Somehow, I know he's tearing himself up inside over hitting me.
Screeching the brakes, I stop in front of his house and sigh in relief. His father's truck's gone. Bounding from the car, I race up the cracked walk and ring the doorbell.
After nearly two minutes, Xander's mom answers the door. Her eyes gaze at me blearily and I can smell the scent of whiskey and cigarettes wafting from her bathrobe. Trying not to make a face, i politely ask if Xander is there. She points down the hall and moves aside for me to enter.
Standing before the door to Xander's room, I take a deep breath, then another, and finally knock.
"Go away, mom," his voice comes hoarsely through the plywood door.
I open the door and step inside. The room is dark and silent, and I know something is really wrong. Usually when Xander's upset he listens to country music.
This is so much worse.
"Xander?" My voice is shaky and light as a sudden fear pervades me. Not a fear of him, but a fear FOR him.
"Go away," he answers, a dullness having crept into his voice.
My hand fumbles on the wall and finally I flick the light switch. The overhead light goes on and I shut the door behind me.
Xander blinks into the sudden light from where he's sitting on the floor in the far corner of his room, his knees drawn up to his chin. I watch his fingers dig into his legs as his eyes focus, not on my eyes or my breasts, but on my mouth and chin.
"Go away." Now, it's a whimper and I can see the rush of pain in his eyes. Dropping my purse on the floor, I walk across the cluttered room and fall to my knees in front of him.
"Xander?"
One shaking hand extends towards my face and I lean forward, letting his fingers brush over the bruise. I can feel it beginning to swell.
Oddly enough, I never even looked at it, never looked at my face. For the first time in nearly five years I left the house without any makeup, without giving a care to my appearance.
Because I know Xander doesn't care what I look like.
Tears spring up in his eyes and he swallows convulsively. He tries to speak, fails, then tries again, his fingers never leaving my face.
"I swore never to do this," he finally says slowly, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I swore to you just a week ago...I...oh God...Cordy." He swallows again, so hard I can almost see the lump in his throat.
"Xan...it's okay," I say softly.
He shakes his head wildly, denying my words. "No, it's not okay. It'll never be okay. I...hit you. Jesus Christ, I hit you!" His hand retracts, going to his head, his fingers digging into his hair as his eyes flash wildly around the room.
"I was possessed. You needed to stop me."
Again, the head shaking. "No...you're wrong. You hit me and I hit you back. I got mad and hit you back." His voice rises as he speaks, and the words tumble out. "I hit you 'cause you hit first. I retaliated. I see it nearly every day. Mom hits dad, then dad slugs mom, or vice versa. I've never hit back, not a person, not someone I say I care for. Not the girl I..." He chokes on his words and the burgeoning tears spill forth from his panicking brown eyes.
Carefully I lay one hand on top of the one remaining on his knee, my fingers lightly caressing his wrist. "Xander, it's a natural instinct..."
He interrupts me, yelling softly, "There's nothing natural about it! God, Cordy, it's so wrong. You don't hit the people you care for, the people you...love."
"You...love me?" I ask hesitantly at his whispered words, my heart leaping, partly because of the sudden emotion I feel and partly because he finally admitted that hitting your loved ones is wrong.
"Go away, Cordy, go home. Go back to where people don't hit, don't hurt."
I don't bother trying to explain to him that abusers come from all walks of life and that emotional neglect can harm just as much as physical abuse. I could compare our lives, try to convince him that my family sucks, too, but there's no need to do that. I don't need to be in the spotlight.
All my concern is for him...the boy...no, the man I...love?
My heart beats faster as I think the words and my own eyes fill with tears. "Xander, please listen to me. I'm not going anywhere."
Sniffling back tears, he shakes his head sadly and moves my hand off of his. "I could hurt you even more. I...have so much anger inside sometimes...I could...I could really hurt you."
"Xander...realizing that is the first step to preventing it from happening," I reply earnestly. "We won't let it happen."
"There is no 'we' anymore. There can't be. I won't risk it. I won't!"
The fear swamps me again. He's trying to push me away, trying to keep me from being hurt. Doesn't the idiot realize that if I lose him, it will hurt more than the most violent blows? "I'm not going anywhere, Xander Harris. Get used to it."
Futilely he wipes at the tears on his cheeks, not even embarrassed to be crying in front of me, and gives me a sad look. "What...what if I hit you again?"
"Would you have hit me if I hadn't hit you first?"
He shrugs and I continue, "If you're so afraid of hurting me, Xan, go talk to someone. Get some help before your anger makes you do something else that you'll regret." I don't say it, don't offer, but I'll pay for any counseling he needs, go with him, if that's what is necessary.
Hell, it wouldn't be anything new. I practically live in therapy since joining the Scooby Gang. Sometimes I wonder how Buffy does it, faces all the monsters, without going nuts...
Mentally shaking myself, I return my attention to Xander. He's not crying anymore, just sitting and staring past me, his eyes full of pain. Again, I carefully touch him, running my fingers up his arm. "I'm not going to lose you, Xander. Get used to it."
His eyes move to me and I watch him slowly concede. Maybe he's just too tired to fight me anymore. Maybe he's afraid if he continues to protest, he'll get mad and hit me again. I don't really care.
"I won't become him," he mumbles, his eyes dropping to my caressing hand. My brows furrow as I wonder what he's talking about, then it hits me and I gasp.
"You are nothing like your father," I protest passionately. "You never could be. I won't let you."
Those words, or the strength behind them, seem to do it, seem to finally convince him. Suddenly sobbing again, Xander reaches for me, pulling me into his arms and sinking into mine. His tears wet my shoulder and I caress his head gently, murmuring soothing words. His hands clutch at my back, holding me tightly, as if afraid I'll disappear.
I'm not going anywhere.
As his sobs quiet, I lift his head, cupping his face in my hands. One finger carefully traces the bump on his head where *I* hit him, and I lean forward and kiss him tenderly, my lips caressing his. "I forgive you, Xan. Please forgive yourself."
"I...don't deserve you, Cor..."
"Tough." And I kiss him hungrily, smiling as his hands tighten even further and his mouth responds, at first hesitantly, but then with growing eagerness. Our tears mingle as we move as close together as possible, no longer wanting to be two people, needing to be one.
End