Gnome (gnome781) wrote in bloodclaim,

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Balanced on the Razor’s Edge(1 of 1)

Ok, so here is a short little Spander angst piece that I wrote for my beta debris_k since I’m writing a lot of little angst pieces and she wanted something Xander-centric. I am still working on To Start Again for those of you who care, but with how things are right now, I’m waiting till I’m in a better frame of mind before returning to it. I hope you like, and FeedBack is begged for!!

Title: Balanced on the Razor’s Edge(1 of 1)
Fandom: BtVS
Rating: RFT
Pairing: Spander, unrequited
Warning: Angst, Slash, takes place somewhere in Season Four.
Disclaimer: I own Nothing, I mean no harm. Beta’d by debris_k all remaining mistakes are my own.
Summery: Xander feels broken and depressed

Balanced on the Razor’s Edge

Balanced on the razor’s edge
Caught between self-truth and self-worth
Tip it over, knock it down
With just a word or careless thought

Xander sprawled across the length of his old pullout bed. Little hitches of breath escaped from slightly parted lips as he tried to push back all the pain that wanted to consume him from the inside. He felt as though there was a pound of lead buckshot weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach after having torn through him. And thank you so much Soldier guy for that lovely bit of vivid sense memory.

There was acid eating at his heart in a non-cheap food way, and an empty ache in his soul that scared him more than all the other things combined, because it felt like something important, some vital part, was dying inside himself. And he didn’t think that he could survive if it died.

Nothing like a few petty words and a few sharp remarks from people who were supposed to be your friends to bring you low and make you feel like a completely useless freak. Nothing hurt more that those little digs, given with a slightly condescending smirk, the little smiles and agreeing nods from the others or a cold reprimand from someone he just wanted to please; nothing should hurt like that.

It was funny how those seemingly small things could hurt more than anything else in the world, that they hurt more than a fight with the latest Big Bad, or even one of the more unanticipated beatings from his dad; because he expected those things to hurt him, it was an automatic given. But for some reason it always surprised him when one of his friends hurt him by saying something mean or cruel, leaving him balanced precariously on the edge between hurt and anger. But hurt always won over anger, because Xander knew and had been told that this was what he deserved.

Guess that would show Xander for expecting something better for himself. Even Willow now seemed to think that he deserved no better. She just smiled that little Willow smile he used to love and used to be directed at him; but it was now for Buffy, as she agreed with each barb and derisive remark. Nodding and giggling, but usually not saying, because Willow was still too nice to come out and just say mean things like that.

His insides were burning now, bile rising in his throat as he choked on a sob. It was becoming too hard to breath, like all of his emotions had become a tangible weight, pressing down and suffocating him with their intensity. He realized that if he didn’t get some control back, he was going to hyperventilate and that way led only to bad, so he did the only thing he could think of to distract himself from the emotional anguish currently trying to drawn him. With a slightly desperate and jerky movement, Xander placed the flat of his hand to his side and gave quick, hard press over his recently cracked ribs. The instant flare of physical pain sliced right through the middle of his emotional confusion.

It took two more jabs at previous injuries for his mind to finally clear enough for him to get his breathing under control and regain some measure of composure. It took several more moments to calm down enough to even think of sleep, and it was with a world-weary sigh that he finally rolled over and sent up a silent but heartfelt prayer to whomever was listening that he would feel better in the morning. It didn’t take long for him to start to drift off, and as he did he pretended that the tears soaking into the pillow were from the physical pain, and tried not to notice that it was a strong pair of cold, and decidedly masculine arms that he dreamt of giving him shelter and holding him tight, that the whispered words of comfort were spoken with a slight cockney cant and held a trace of a growl. Because this was his secret refuge and he knew all it ever would be is a dream and nothing would ever change that.

Because for Xander, dreams never came true.

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