Repost: Fic: Half a World Away (3/?)

["dap311" <sjld5602@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Title: Half a World Away (3/?)
Author: dap311 (sjld5602@xxxxxxxxxxx)
Pairing: B/W eventually
Rating: PG-13/R 
Disclaimers: Buffy and Willow belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy.  
"Half a World Away" is Berry/Buck/Mills/Stipe (R.E.M.) off
Out of 
Time.  
Spoilers: This is set during their senior year in high school, but 
in an AU, so no real spoilers. There is no Oz is this universe.  
Feedback: Yes, please- any and all is welcome.
Summary: Willow is fighting depression, Buffy tries to help her.  
Distribution: Just ask.  

** is flashback
----- text ------ indicates writing, such as a journal entry.
// thoughts //

"I had too much to drink, and I didn't think, I didn't
think of you. I 
guess that's all I needed."
- R.E.M.

A half empty bottle of vodka stood silently on the Rosenburg 
kitchen table, the portable phone sat next to it, a small, pale hand 
resting on it, waiting. The room was dark, save for a single 
candle, but it was enough light to glint off the metal that lay on
the 
other side of the vodka. Willow picked up the hand that was on 
the phone and reached for the bottle, pausing briefly over the 
shining metal, but finally connecting with the cool, smooth glass.  
It was good stuff, the vodka. Or, at least it was supposed to be.  
Willow didn't really care at this point- she could have been 
drinking rubbing alcohol and she wouldn't have noticed. She 
didn't even bother mixing it with juice anymore- just drank it 
straight from the bottle. Why get a glass dirty? She'd just
have to 
wash it later. She'd been sitting there for a couple of hours,
but 
she wasn't sure exactly how long; she gave up trying to read the 
clock awhile ago, her vision blurry from the drinking. Oh, well.  
It's better this way. The world is better blurry and numb. At
least 
she knew where this numbness was coming from. In fact, she 
preferred the numbness the alcohol gave her over what the 
depression did to her.  
She'd sat there, originally, looking at the blade,
contemplating 
what to do next with her "life." She kept the phone next to
her, 
unsure of whether to call Buffy or just try and deal with this 
herself. She hadn't done anything, yet. But, she didn't
know if 
she could keep her promise.  
//You're so fucking weak, Willow. Look at you- can't
even get 
up the courage to call your best friend, tell her you're drunk
off 
your ass, ask for help. You just sit here, wallowing in your own 
self pity, this misery, this depression. It's got claws in you, 
deeper in than even a hell demon.//
Willow didn't know what had happened to her life over the 
past few months. Everything had seemed fine- as fine as things 
could get on the Hellmouth. Buffy had come back from L.A., 
Angel was back, things were back to normal, she thought. There 
was even a new slayer. Things were as normal as they would 
ever be. And then she had started to feel the depression creep 
up on her again. She tried to ward it off- she thought that after 
her last bout it was gone, that she could control it enough to 
keep it away. She had been naïve and stupid, she realized that 
quickly. This wasn't something that was just going to go away 
cause she wanted it to. Things were never that easy. And the 
worst part was she had no idea where this was coming from, 
what was causing her to feel the way she did. Actually, scratch 
that. She didn't feel- she simply existed at this point. The
only 
thing she could feel wasn't even for herself, for this situation-
it 
was for Buffy. Loving Buffy, having Buffy there, that was the only 
thing that kept her going. For some reason the slayer had 
absolute faith in her, trusting that things would eventually be 
okay. Willow was glad someone could have faith cause she 
couldn't. 
Taking one last drink of the vodka, finishing off the bottle, 
Willow placed it carefully down on the table and picked up the 
knife that lay next to it. She sat for a few moments with the blade 
poised above her left wrist, as if contemplating the veins, the 
blood coursing through her body. Bringing the sharpened edge 
down to her skin, Willow closed her eyes and pressed down, 
drawing the blade across the edge of her wrist, slowly, the pain 
coming instantly. After a couple of inches she picked up the 
knife and repeated the process, feeling the pain, feeling 
something. Even through the numbing blur of the alcohol she 
could feel the sharpness of the hurt and it brought a clarity to her 
mind. After the second cut she put the knife back down on the 
table and began to stare off into the dark kitchen once again.  
The initial clarity had faded, the numbness had returned, and all 
she had to show for that brief moment of pain were two ugly red 
marks on her wrist. There was no sudden solution, no 
awareness of what was causing this- just the clearness that 
pain brought- but it was just that- clear; there was nothing in that 
clarity.  
Willow sat in her kitchen, an hour going by before she moved 
again. A casual observer would have thought she was 
meditating; if you asked her what she was thinking about, she 
wouldn't have been able to tell you- to her that hour went by in
a 
minute.  
Picking up the phone, Willow dialed Buffy's number; unsure
of 
what to tell her, unable to admit she had broken her promise 
again, she simply asked her to come over. And then Willow 
began to cry for the first time in months. She was not crying for 
the pain she had caused herself, but for the pain she knew she 
would see in her best friend's face.  

To Be Continued.