For Love
Willow/Tara Femslash
Tragedy/Romance
Set after season 6, disregarding season 7
Despite her friend's attempts to comfort her, Willow can't live without Tara. She is empty, lost. So she decides to follow Tara, for better or for worse, into the underworld. Into whatever comes after.
Willow opened her sore eyes at the sound of the alarm. Not that she had slept. She'd tried, but the pain wouldn't let her. Mechanically, as a drone or a worker bee might, Willow showered and dressed. She didn't flinch as the hot water burned her skin, leaving her entire body as red and sore as her eyes. She pulled on whatever her hands touched in the closet, not even checking to see if they matched.
Buffy wouldn't approve.
Willow didn't care. Willow was gone now. Just an empty shell, without her beautiful Tara. Without Tara, nothing mattered anymore. Food had no taste, smells couldn't make her mouth water, and she could no longer gasp at the simple beauty of a rose.
Everything reminded her of Tara. She couldn't stop crying. Whoever had decided that at some point you ran out of tears had never lost someone whom they loved as deeply as Willow did Tara. Willow had been crying for 4 straight months now, and the tears were no less.
Willow picked up her brush, meaning to yank it through her hair a few times. (Not that she cared what she looked like anymore- rather, to pacify her friends. Their pity hurt almost as bad as the pain.)
Bringing the brush up to her eyes, Willow stroked the handle, calling back memories of the original owner. A woman with light brown hair; the other half of Willow's soul. There was a clump of such hair stuck in the corner of the brush, the light brown so very different from her own fiery red locks. She extended trembling fingers to touch this little piece that was all that was left of her best friend. That, and a grave.
Unbidden, but hardly unexpected tears sprang to Willow's eyes. The tears, and the renewed pain that always accompanied them, were familiar now, almost welcome. They meant that she was still alive, something she wasn't sure of anymore.
Still clutching the brush, Willow sank to the floor, her chest heaving, her sobs echoing loudly in the empty room.
Empty. So much was empty. The room. Tara's side of the bed. Willow's heart.
Sometimes, she could still fool herself that none of it was real. Sometimes she just forgot. Many times since Tara's death, Willow had rolled over to kiss her girlfriend good night, or turned to her usual seat in a class. But Tara was never there. The bed was always empty, the seat vacant. Willow was always alone. Each rediscovery of the fact brought on a new round of sobbing, a fresh batch of tears.
Willow was supposed to meet up with "the Scooby gang,' (although it would never be the same...not without Tara), but she couldn't, she just couldn't bear the looks on their faces when they saw she'd been crying again. Again. As if she'd ever stop.
Clearing her throat bravely, Willow swallowed and reached for the phone, pressing speed dial 2. (Tara was number 1. Still Was...Willow had never gotten around to changing it. She doubted that she ever would.)
"Hello?" Buffy chirped. She'd obviously been up for a few hours, slaying and all that.
"Hey Buff!" Willow tried to pour as much cheerfulness as she could into the greeting.
"Will!" Buffy cried, sounding relieved, "I haven't heard from you in a while. I thought...never mind. Anyway, you're still coming down to the café, right?"
