Letting out a world weary sigh, Cordelia settled her head against the inflated bath cushion. She could honestly say that the late night visit to the Rosenberg’s hadn’t turned out at all as she’d imagined.
How could so much crapola have happened in less than a week?
Her mood swung from anger, disbelief, despair then back again- a never-ending circle. The fact that they’d finally gone to the mansion; to rescue Giles, but didn’t think to go right after her kidnapping, told her a hell of a lot when it came to her place in their precious Scooby gang. Pfft. Fair enough, Good ol’ Buffy summers wasn’t available to help, with being all virusy.
Although well enough to hunt down and kill a resident monster at the Mercy Hospital… Self pity welled and she let it take over for a few minutes before shaking it off. Anger was so much more productive.
A few things she was sure of: Xander was alive and kicking. Her car was parked at the Hospital (Xander had found her purse and used the car to take the ill Slayer). And after figuring out the timeline, she’d realised Angelus hadn’t been Angel. None of what he’d told her had been true. He’d played her like a violin. Oh, how he must have laughed his evil ass off. Bastard. She supposed, grudgingly, it could have been worse. He’d gone and she’d avoided whatever else he’d had planned for her.
Most probably a painful and horrific death like the girl he’d dressed in her clothes. A trial run? At least there was one thing she could thank Buffy Summers for.
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” ‘Cos right now, she despised them all. Leaning forward, Cordelia reached for the tap, wincing when the move pulled at the ugly scars gracing her inner thigh. Unlike the ones on her throat, they were taking a lot longer to fully heal. The climb to and from Willow’s balcony hadn’t helped much, either. With an unladylike grunt, she turned off the tap and lay back with a splash.
The night had only gotten worse after that.
Willow’s face when told of her ‘escape’ from Angelus. Sucked into every lie that fell from her lips. Woke up on the ground; Angelus fighting a couple of vamps. Made the most of it and ran like hell. Got home and decided to go with Rosa to San Diego rather than stay there on her own. In case he followed.
“But how did he get all your things? Oooh, you didn’t have to run n-naked?” eyes as big as proverbial saucers, and a flush that reached her hairline. That took some quick thinking. She’d had time to concoct the escaping story. Jumped on the fact that Angel had escorted her home that one time. Invited him in. He didn’t take her up on the offer, but it must’ve been like a rain-check. Found her long gone, taken her discarded things and decided to play dress-up with a substitute lookalike?
The little witch fell for it.
Unfortunately though, she became the bad guy. All that guilt and pain she’d caused them. Accusing green eyes and surprising chastisement: ‘selfish, inconsiderate’ amongst other mildly offensive nouns, for not bothering to let them know she’d escaped. Was alive.
Cordelia’s reaction had been to surge to her feet, plant her fists on her hips and let rip one single detail. “He punched me in the face the second my so-called friends turned their backs on me. He didn’t even have to run off with me first. So tell me, why would I even think of calling any of you?”
As they say: they came to an impasse.
The news given with gleeful spite by the Parking Official at the Hospital when she went to pick up her car, set the dismal tone for the rest of the day.
Cab back home. Dig out her Ownership papers and insurance. Cab to Municipal Pound. Show them the paperwork. A $600 fine for parking without ticket for four days. $280 for the tow to the Pound (even though they actually drove her car, as that idiot Xander Harris had conveniently left the keys in the ignition -and the doors were unlocked!). And a further $200 for 2 days parking at the Pound.
When Cordelia woke up that morning, she’d had every intention of going in to school- picking her car up on the way. Three hours later and her plans had changed. Stay home. Eat Rocky Road – and think of all the ways she was going to make Harris pay. That was going well until the phone call from a ‘very disappointed’ Rupert Giles.
Luckily she’d managed to pick up before Rosa, who thought she was still feeling the affects of the day before. After several minutes where he described his disappointment in detail, followed by a long awkward silence- most likely him waiting for apologies and stuff. Which, by the way? was so not going to happen, he wearily ended with the expectation of seeing her the following day.
An hour after Rosa left, the phone rang again. After the day she’d had, there was no way she’d be answering it. Luckily- or maybe not so much, the answer machine was on.
“Cordelia, pick up. It’s …Xander… !” Duh! I’m traumatised, not senile she muttered under her breath before turning up the volume on the TV, determined not to listen to anything he had to say. His tight tone said it all.
Tomorrow would come soon enough, but for now, mindless game shows beat recriminations hands down.