Faith's eyes shot open and she sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing the back of her head. She got to her feet, dusting off the back of her pants, then glanced down at the mess. She was covered in blood, her clothes, her hands, everything. A knife lay a few feet from where she had lay, and a body...
Oh God, a body.
She could feel it sleeping inside of her, laying dormant. Tired from the efforts of the last few hours. She was way over her head, she needed help, needed to tell Angel, Sam, someone. Anyone. But she knew that she wouldn't have the time. She was going to have to do this herself, and slowly, while the demon slept inside of her and she had control.
Slowly, she turned the body over, barely recognising the face. It was the guy that Sam had spoken to today. One of his leads. She'd been there, sort of. At least, her body had been there. The control was getting more and more now, so much that when Faith did have control, she had very few memories of what had transpired while she wasn't behind the wheel. And that terrified her. How many others had been killed?
~*~*~*~
She slid the key into the lock, hoping against hope that Sam wasn't awake, and as the door opened, she breathed a silent sigh of relief.
If he saw her in this state, covered in blood, there'd be too many questions. Too many questions that she was unsure of how to answer.
Faith peeled her dirty clothes off and stepped into the shower, immediately comforted by the hot water. She ran her hands through her hair, head tilted back and eyes closed. Her stomach churned, sickened by the knowledge of what she had done.
Or what that thing had done.
But had it been the demon completely? Had some part of Faith been there? Egging it own, suggesting ways to kill, getting off on the final act? Deep down, the killer was still there, hiding under the guise of redemption, not wanting to let Angel down. But Angel had let her down. So... payback would be a bitch.
"No," she told herself firmly. "Not an option."
Hey, scratch the surface of any reformed criminal...
Faith rested one hand against the shower wall, head leaning against it as the water beat down over her body.
"I'm not like that. Not anymore."
But you are, Firecracker. Under it all, you're so angry. You're just like me. You're itching to get out. And I can help you with that. If you'll just let me.
She twisted the taps, turning the water off, then stepped out, reaching for her towel. She wiped the mirror and looked into her eyes.
"You're wrong. I'm nothing like you."