Fic info.
Numb
I feel numb.

What did they do? Stick me in a vat of ice water for the majority of my coma or something? Everything's...muted. Vague. Cushioned.

There's no feeling.

The Mayor's dead. Buffy's still alive and Slaying. I even hear that Angel's still around. And the rest of the stupid little group that follows my bitch of a counterpart around, they're still alive, too.

But I don't feel anything. Not anger, not happiness, not sadness. Just...numbness.

I should at least feel some physical side effects from the coma. You know, weakness, soreness, something. But, no. I'm just...floating. Yeah, that's a pretty good way to describe it. There's...nothing.

I remember the roof. And I remember the feel of the knife slicing through my stomach, the wave of vertigo as I fell, and the jarring impact when I landed. I remember the rage I felt. The helplessness.

But it's...far off. Not here. Not now. Not real. Numb.

Oh, I don't like this. I hate it. But I don't. I don't really feel anything for it.

But I want to. I want to be angry and hateful. I like it. It's what makes me strong.

Even physical sensations would work right now. If I could find a guy that's halfway decent in this town....

Nah. I don't exactly look my best right now. Stupid whore. Trying to kill me. All she had to do was let me be equal to her, but no. She had to be better. So I found my own way. And she tried to kill me for it.

But even that little rant is reflex. I don't feel anything.

I barely even feel the cotton sheets beneath me. The voices from the television are a buzzing noise I can't quite make out. Everything's...stifled. I'm nothing. Because there is nothing.

Picking up the little scalpel I jacked from the hospital on my way out, I watch it glint in the dirty light coming from the tiny lamp on the side table. Even that glint is subdued.

I run the blade along the inside of my wrist carefully. Making sure I cut a curving line. Not straight. I want to cut as much of the vein as possible.

Ah. There we go. Now I'm getting something. A warmth. Stickiness. Wetness. Anger. Rage. Hatred. Grief. Terror.

Red. Deep, deep red. It's all over me.

Don't worry, though. It'll heal before I bleed to death. I've learned this from experience.

But I can feel again. I can see and hear and taste and touch and smell again. I'm alive again. I'm ready. I'll take them all on. For the Mayor. For making me be second best.

And this time, it's gonna be good.