Daddy's Girl

The Scooby gang. Yeah, sure, I was a part of it. The slayer, the witch, the vampire, the zeppo, the werewolf, the vacuous super bitch, and, oh yeah, me, the second best. Maybe there was camaraderie in there for the others, but not for me, not for the second slayer. It was like I was a nothing, a layer of the background. A nothing, the female zeppo, the one they noticed, I guess, a thing that was new and cool at first, but faded soon after. Yeah, I mattered, I mattered so much. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t been there. No, I never mattered to my "friends", lovers, my family. No, they didn’t care if I lived or I died, and probably would’ve appreciated the latter, one less mouth to feed. But it was good; it felt good for the first few weeks. I was new, mysterious, the part they were lacking. Party girl, the new model slayer, something new to play with. Just out of the box, no batteries required. But my springs wore out I guess, they moved on, Angel came back, and he was new and cool for a while. The vampire they all knew and loved.

But, what I loved best about them was how they introduced me to people. "This is Buffy’s friend Faith," or if we were together, "This is Buffy, and um, here’s Faith." How thinly they disguised the real meaning: "This is Faith, the second best."

But, you know I could stand all that. I mean, friends don’t mean that much. Wanna know what * really * bothered me? Giles. The way he looked at Buffy. The cool admiring look that said ‘hey you’re my favorite. I love you.’ That was a look I’d seen, but it was never for me, never. I was second best, the other slayer, not daddy’s little girl like Buffy. She got the mom, the caring friends, and the die-hard boyfriend. What do I get? A one night stand with Xander. Sure, it was bad; it was his first time and all. But at least he cared. But, like the masochistic bitch that I always am, I throw it away because it means nothing. He held me; he didn’t leave until I forced him out. And that embrace was heartfelt. Like he loved me or something. Yeah, whatever. I’ve moved on. I don’t need their "love" or their respect. I figure, Buffy and her little gang of groupies can go screw themselves. Hell, I’ll watch. I’m just second best, let the high and great Buffy be first in line.

Another thing about dear old Buff. That horrified look on her face when I said that she had the lust, too. That it was in her. Swimming underneath her daddy’s girl exterior. She’s like me, holding back until she pops. She doesn’t believe me, of course, but I’ve seen her eyes when she gets in a good fight with a vamp. It’s like flames dancing beneath little hazel irises. And every time I watch it I smile, she is me. She knows all about what I am, what I have. That power we both crave. She may act like "I didn’t choose this" but I know, and she knows, that she could never be whole without the slayer instinct, the calling to kill. The power of knowing that she’s gonna win and their ass is dust. It’s in her marrow, the very blood that courses through her, us, me. It is power, pure adrenaline sears in our veins, a connection that not even the ‘number one’ slayer can deny. Yeah, B. You’re one of us, both of us. The chosen two.

I guess that’s why I left. I mean, the whole ‘you killed a man’ thing was getting old. The wimp watcher wasn’t helping much either, sending me to the council. Oh horrors. So, I walked up to our evil mayor and I was no longer second best. He let me kill, he knew, in a way Giles * never * could understand, my calling was to slay, no dignitaries on what or who. Just slay. Obey your calling.

Maybe the old watcher wouldn’t be proud. She’d probably say, "Faith, you’re a strong girl. You can get through it. You’re not second best to me." And I’d say, "Well, Marie, it doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m never gonna be the best to them." Calling or not. I was born to kill, to feel the power and lust of it channel through me. Vamps, humans, anything. The dominance of the kill remains.

So what if B, or the Scoobys, or Giles, or Marie doesn’t get it. The mayor does. Wilkins tells me, I’m his slayer, not second best, and that anyone who doesn’t think so is a fool. Yeah, I don’t need them. They don’t know, they can’t know. Not even Buffy, with her perky little blond head, ditzy little smile, supposed curse of her destiny. She can say, "We can help you," or "it doesn’t have to be this way," or, my personal favorite, "You can come back." Yeah, she can go on like that all she wants, but I know the truth. Willow knows. Giles. And all those little silent followers of hers know that it’s too late. I can’t come back, I made my choice. And you know what? If I could do it again, the only thing I’d change is not joining the mayor sooner, and killing Buffy when I had the chance.

I’ll never be second best again, not to Buffy, never to the mayor, never again with the Scooby gang. Not that I’ll have to worry, I mean, come graduation, I’ll watch as she and her lame-ass friends are turned into dog chow thanks to the boss. And, huge surprise, then I’ll never be second best again.

THE END