The warm, steady beat of water fell upon her back, head lowered and staring at her feet. She found herself suppressing tears once more. Or, perhaps she wasn't suppressing them. There were none to cry now, with her soul feeling so hollow, empty, alone and numb. She was numb. With a heavy sigh, her eyes lifted a moment as she ran her hands down through her soaked hair. The warmer the shower was, the colder she felt. Her whole body tingled with a numbing sensation of pain. Those eyes lifted to the water that poured down and sliced through her. With a startled wince, she stared into those tortured grayish-blue eyes reflected in the silver showerhead. It cried for her, she knew -- a stream of water striking her sensitive flesh over and over gain like heavy tears. It cried for her. Constantly. A monotony of tears. Forever to replace the ones she could not cry herself.

Immediately, her eyes fell once more and she watched the soapy water wash down from her hair and pool at her feet. The whitish bubbly stream slowly growing diluted, as her hair was cleansed of shampoo, She smiled faintly. A fake, absently, bitter smile. Those eyes rose to the gray tile of the shower before her, covered in a thick film of condensation from the heat of the warm water and the cold of the air. A trembling hand was lifted from her side, and slowly traced the letters of her heart into the film that dulled the shine of the tile. She without much thought, wrote the coldest words she knew. All the while, her eyes had settled upon the reflection of their depths in the showerhead once more. As her hand dropped back weakly to her side, so did her eyes to that wall.

I hate you.

Those were the words that she had etched with her fingertip. I hate you. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she wiped those words away with a dry sob. To resist the call of the blade to slice her wrists, she hurried out of the shower, wrapping herself in a white towel, and stepping out onto the pink, cold tiled floor. With a horribly slow hesitation, she lifted her eyes once more from her feet to the mirror. She could not see herself due to the glass being clouded over from the steam of the shower and so she took to drying herself off: patting her skin and squeezing the water out of her hair with another towel. Last night came back to her, unfolding each and every corner before her eyes as they glazed over with tears she would never shed. And yet, it wasn't the details on which her mind focused, but the words. Those horrible words.

It was late at night. He had just returned home from a long day out. He had school and then work, and could not miss an hour or two with his friends. It was like most nights. It started to become a very normal, usual, and expected thing. However, it shouldn't have happened this night.

"You're never fucking around anymore! God! I hate you! I fucking hate you!" she heard herself screaming at him as tears streamed down her cheeks. She was trembling. She seemed to tremble and cry almost every time she talked to him, especially when she was fighting with him. She couldn't have suppressed it if she tried. And, believe it or not, she always tried. She didn't want him to know how much he hurt her. She didn't want to give him anything else to bask in, especially not the knowledge that he was constantly causing her such pain.

"I can't be here pining over your spoiled ass!" He yelled at her, "I have better things to do!"

"You...You...You Suck!" She sobbed and ran off to her bedroom, slamming the door. He didn't follow. The next thing she knew she heard the front door slam shut, and he was gone. He didn't even fucking follow. She meant nothing. She felt like nothing.

She exhaustedly cried herself to sleep.

She heavily sighed. Pining. She wasn't worth pining over. He thought she wanted him to pine over her? Hell, she just wanted him around. And even if she did expect him to pine over her, it would only have been just a little. Doesn't every woman deserve the man they love to love them undyingly? To pine over them just a little? There was a time she could have sworn he would have died for her, but not anymore.

Her eyes returned to the mirror, and they met their reflection again. Such pained, numb, cold and distant eyes. What had happened to her? Where was she? Where was she in those eyes?

"I hate you," she whispered sadly, "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!"

His words sliced her heart. She should have never opened the stone gates surrounding it. She should have never let him in. And she knew it down deep in her soul. Even before they began dating, when they were just friends. Somewhere deep inside she knew that if she went through with it he would ultimately destroy her. Why did she let him in? Why? Why did she allow him to destroy her?

Perhaps she liked the pain. Was that it? Did she desire the neglect? The mental abuse? The pain? Sometimes she truly believed that she did. She loved her broken heart. Loved it with a passion that would kill her. She loved him, her destruction. Why was she destroying herself?

"What is he doing to me?" She whimpered softly and turned away from the mirror, unable to look at those cold eyes a second longer. Wandering over to the door, her hand fell upon the knob when suddenly she heard his feet. They were carrying him closer; he was advancing down the hallway and calling her name. She collapsed miserably against the door and closed her eyes, forehead falling against the cold wood. Her hand remained upon the doorknob.

Listening in silence, she heard him open the door across the hall. Then he tried the door to another room, and another. And lastly he tried the bathroom. A chill went down her arm from her hand as the doorknob turned a slight bit. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered a moment if she had unlocked it. But no, he would find that this door would not be opened.

Locked. He was locked out. "Willow?" He called softly, "Willow are you in there?"

Silence.

"Willow?"

He wouldn't apologize. She knew he wouldn't. He'd never apologize. Unless...

"Are you there, Willow?" He sighed, almost sadly; Well, at least with an unhappy ring to that heavy release of air and the words that followed, "Willow, I'm sorry..." He was drunk. Again. Great.

"Leave me alone!"

Silence from his end ensued a moment. And then, "Willow..." he groaned, "stop this bullshit, will you? Please, just stop it! You know I've been very busy. And I said I was sorry!"

"An accepted that excuse when you forgot Valentine's Day. You're too busy, you're too busy, you're too busy! Always too fucking busy for me! I accepted that excuse, but not today! Not on my birthday! I'll never forgive you for that! I'll never forgive you for forgetting that!"

He sighs once more, "Willow..."

"You haven't even tried!" She screamed through the door, suppressing a sob.

"I've been busy!"

"I hate you!"

"Fuck you! I try to be nice..."

"You forgot my birthday!"

"No I didn't!"

"You did to! You did!"

"Fuck you!"

"I cut myself!"

Silence on both ends. Then softly his dumbfounded voice broke in quietly, "you what?"

"Nothing."

"You What? Willow??"

"Forget it!"

"You brought it up! What the fuck did you do?"

She finally brought herself to stand with a groan, trembling horribly. She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Her eyes found his within the passing of a second, and she screamed, "I cut myself!" Then she stormed off toward her room quickly so that he couldn't catch her. His hand graced her arm, but she pulled away and was in her own room, a second door slammed shut, within seconds.

"Willow!!!"

He heard her sobs through the door and sighed to himself. He hated hearing her cry. Usually he'd avoid it and find something to do to get his mind off her tears, or she would hide them from him. Tonight she cried freely. He really had hurt her tonight. And she did what? She cut herself again? Where? When?

"Willow? Please let me in, honey."

"Leave me alone," she sobbed.

"Please, Willow..."

"No!"

"Please."

"I hate you! Go away!"

"Come on, Willow, you know you don't mean that. I'm really very sorry. Please let me in."

"I mean it this time. I really do. I really...I..."

"Willow. I love you."

"Don't."

"I really love you, Willow. Please let me in. You can't be doing that to yourself! Please," he sounded so sad with these last few lines: desperate, as if he actually did blame himself for her scars. Deep down, she didn't believe he did. But yet, on the surface she allowed herself to believe him. She wanted to believe him.

Click.

She unlocked the door. Her tearstained cheeks and sad eyes met his concerned ones, and he took her into his arms. Bringing her to the bed, he settled down upon it with her: holding her close.

Kissing her forehead, and smoothing out her long, wet hair along her back, he murmured, "Weeping Willow, always weeping. Why do you stay with me if I hurt you so much?"

"I...I don't know," she muttered softly, sniffling and resting her head against his shoulder. She was exhausted from crying. "I love you."

"What did my dear love do to herself?"

She quietly took his hand from her hair and guided it to her hip, just under her waistband. She drew his hand softly over her flesh, newly scarred.

"When did you do this?" He asked sadly after a moment, a slight quiver to his voice.

"Valentine's Day."

"I'm sorry."

"You forgot."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She sighed quietly and lowered her eyes, tears falling freely down her cheeks. They were warm tears, and she felt such horrible chills throughout her being as she cried. He was stroking her back softly, lovingly.

"Please, Willow, don't ever do that again. Please. Promise me, Willow."

"I won't...I promise," she whispered.

He softly kissed her forehead again, and then her cheeks over her salty tears. When she closed her eyes with a sigh, he kissed her eyelids, and lastly his lips fell upon hers fully. They were both quiet for a few moments.

"Have you found anyone new yet?" He asked softly, the only question he ever asked that didn't seem fueled by his arrogance, but almost the opposite. It seemed a rather insecure question. Did he feel secure with her? Why wouldn't he?

"No, of course not! There's only you! How could you ask me a question like that?" She tilted her head up to him curiously, but found only his smile. A faint smile creased her own lips and she returned her eyes to her hand, which was now gently laced with his. "Alex, do you remember when we promised each other we'd never, ever fight?" A slight, miserable laugh followed her question, quiet and quick to die on her lips.

"Yes."

"Why do we fight?" She questioned him sadly.

"I don't know."

"We shouldn't fight. Ever."

"Never."

She tilted her head up and her eyes found his. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

"Hold me tonight?"

"Always," he spoke gently, kissing her lips again softly, and then her forehead.

"I could die here, Alex. I could truly die right now and just be happy," she murmured exhaustedly, yawning and drifting off to sleep. He held her tight, and warm, and loved within his arms all night. He watched her sleep for the majority of it, contemplating, and then he allowed himself to fade into subconscious as well. For a moment everything seemed complete, and he felt absolutely content.

The next morning she still woke up in his arms, and softly touched her lips to his. Gently, she played with his hair the way she knew he adored, and he woke with a smile. "Mm, Willow..."

Sighing happily, she hugged him tightly before rising from bed. She, light footed and content, wandered toward the door with the intention of making breakfast. She paused and gazed back to him softly with a sweet sigh, and simply whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Tea?"

"Yes, please, with sugar. I'll be right out to help you with breakfast, my dear."

Smiling, she nodded, and wandered away toward the kitchen. Overall, it was a quiet morning, but a peaceful one. They were both happy. Everything was well.

Well, at least everything seemed to be going well.

Unfortunately, that night would prove to be a very different story. That night she was upset again. She paced the house, internally screaming. The words she repeated to herself were simply, "no no no no no! Oh no, no no!" and she cried. She dreaded the moment he'd come home. Her eyes were wide with shocked disbelief, and she felt shattered. She sacrificed all of herself for him, and he shattered her. She let him be her destruction. She screamed till her throat was raw, and she was completely, utterly exhausted from the effort.

He came home.

He found her crawled up in a corner. Corners were her comfort space. She was crawled up in a corner staring blindly at a wall as he walked in.

"Willow..."

"That's why you asked me that question, isn't it?" She imitated him bitterly, "Oh, did you find anyone new yet?" She was staring before her at that same spot on the wall, and shaking her head, "Goddamn you, you bastard! Fuck you! How could you!" Her eyes found his, red and sore from crying.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Who is she?"

"What do you care?"

"Who is she??" There was acid on her tongue, bitter and angry and hurt.

"Nobody."

"Nobody? You pick up this floozy nobody to replace me while you're still dating me? While you still tell me you love me? While you still sleep in my bed!! God! I hate you! You fucking bastard! How the hell could you do that to me??"

"I knew I should have said good-bye, but baby, I still love you..."

She was quickly back up on her feet, "Fuck you! Fuck that! You lying, two-faced, fucking, no-good bastard! I hate you! Get away from me! I never want to see your face again!" And with those words, she turned into her room and slammed the door in his face.

"Willow! Willow open this door!" He waited a few minutes, but still was met by mere silence, "Willow!!! Open the door!!! Let me in! Willow!" He punched the wall next to the door angrily. "Goddamn it, Willow..." he muttered silently as his head fell against the door, "goddamn it!"

She didn't respond. The rest of the night was pretty much a blur. She dizzily collapsed against her bed and had a knife in her hand, but she didn't remember picking it up. She couldn't recall where she'd found the knife. A cut here, a slice there. The chronological flow of all events was lost to her distressed memory. Her anguish caused her to act without a single, sane thought. She only knew the hate she held for him. The asshole. The bastard. Alex. Her destruction. Her heart. A failed heart. Her end.

She bled, Before she knew it, she was staring into the depths of her eyes once more in a mirror. She stared at herself. Those eyes. Her eyes. Hesitantly, they lowered to her tattered, torn dress, and the pile of blood in which she lay. She studied her wounds in silence. What is he doing to me? She weakly managed to throw the knife in her hand against the mirror with all the angered strength she had left. It shattered, much like her heart, and she passed out.

Her eyes weakly fluttering open, she could have only been out for a few minutes because she wasn't any more dizzy really than a few moments before. She had lost a lot of blood, but wasn't in danger of death yet. Weakly, she crawled to the entrance of her room and somehow managed to unlock the door. Out in the hall she dragged herself weakly to the living room where she knew Alex had taken rest. She didn't know how she knew, but somehow she just felt his presence there. He had been too exhausted to go home, and knowing how likely her being upset would also put her in danger if she was alone with herself, he was there. She crawled up into a ball of split flesh, tattered cloth and blood next to the couch and softly sobbed.

She was like a broken angel leaned up against the old, gray fabric couch and coughing exhaustedly.

"Willow?" His voice was muffled, soft and tired.

She managed weakly, "Wh-What have you...d-done...to...me?"

He found her covered in hundreds of razor wounds when he took in the full vision of her before him. A soft groan emitted from her pale lips and she stirred weakly. She was barely able to move anymore as she continued to bleed. His hand reached out to her with great hesitation. It hovered above her head with a slight, uncertain tremble. He felt like retracting his hand more and more the closer it came to her blood-encrusted hair. A vision of radiance for a moment in his eyes. From his dreams. The auburn, pin-straight hair, fair face, beautiful, sincere smile. Where was her smile? What was she bleeding? Me.

His hand stroked her hair, a loving caress. Tortured, grayish-blue eyes gazed up to him. Her voice was broken as she tried to speak again. She had nothing to say, and the only thing that escaped her lips as a final tear fell down her cheek was, "Alex..."

Her fragile form now fell limp against the couch completely, and slipped to the floor heavily. She had lost too much blood and might not last the night.

He called the ambulance and was quick to bandage her wounds with what knowledge he had of the medical field. She didn't wake again until she was in the ambulance. She heard the sirens long before she was conscious, and her eyes fluttered open to mere slits. She wasn't badgered with questions until she was in the hospital and her health had become stable again. It was the normal setting. White walls, doctors and nurses rushing around, a nun to tell her all the reasons she had to live. But he wasn't there. He didn't come with her in the ambulance. He didn't follow her to the hospital. He made that lifesaving phone call, but he didn't follow.

"You should really be thankful," she heard the doctor's voice distantly, echoing in her ears which were throbbing with her broken heartbeat. A heartbeat that was slowly growing steadier by the hour. "If not for your friend Alex being there last night, you would have died."

Alex a friend? In that moment she could have sworn she truly did die. All went black once more.

"Willow? Willow, wake up." It was a familiar voice that spoke so gently to her. It was her Alex. Hers? He wasn't hers. How could she ever believe him to be hers? "Willow, are you okay? Please wake up."

"Alex?" She managed to voice his name weakly, eyes barely, sorely fluttering open and peering up at him gently, sadly. He brought flowers. A friend. He wasn't hers. He shattered her.

"I..." he began to speak, but she cut him off.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry."

"I am. I'm very sorry, Willow. I should have told you earlier. I should have left you earlier."

"So you're leaving me?"

"I love you, but..."

"You love her."

"No. I can't see you doing this to yourself anymore," he stroked her hair soothingly.

"Don't touch me."

"What?"

"Get out!"

"But, Willow..."

"I said get out!!!"

He went to say something else, but stopped with a sigh and left the flowers laid at the food of her bed. He walked out, and she kicked the flowers away: screaming so loud she thought she's break her own eardrums, but those screams were only in her mind. She sobbed and walked over to the glass window in the room. The doctors were coming down the hall to check on her. She could hear their footsteps. She wasn't to be lefts alone after what she had done to herself last night. Well, fuck that. She picked up something heavy and threw it out the window, barely conscious of her actions. The glass shattered and she rose up upon the ledge. A doctor ran in, hearing the glass break. He reached out for her arm, but was too late. She fell.

Her decent was that of an angel. However, it was almost like she wasn't falling. It was almost like she was being saved. She hit the ground hard, breaking the majority of the bones in her body. She lay dying on the pavement. Alex ran to her side, having seen her fall as he exited the hospital building. He quickly had her in his arms.

"Willow...Oh, God, Willow!" Her eyes glazed over, and he buried his head into her broken shoulder. She lay lifeless in his arms. The first tear shed for her fell from his cold eyes. "Oh God," he murmured, and then screamed, "GOD!!!"

He sobbed uncontrollably, shaking violently as he held her tightly to him. He looked into her lifeless eyes as tears continued to streak down his cheeks: cheeks stained with her blood. He embraced her broken body tight. The bird finally figured out how to fly, and left the mortal behind screaming. Finally he was the one screaming.

He buried his face into her hair as hospital workers surrounded and tried to take her from his arms. "Leave me! Leave me!!!" He yelled at them all, and sobbed softly into her deft ear, "I love you, Willow. Oh, God! God! I love you!"