Sleeping Beauty by Cantinera
Summary: Angel pays Cordelia a visit.
Spoilers: Up to the Season 4 finale.
Distribution: Anywhere. Just ask.
Notes: First person
from Angel's POV as he addresses Cordelia.
You
lay there, sleeping, as if a coma were the latest fashion trend,
merely another
accessory you found out about in Vogue. I don't know if you are aware that I'm here or not, but I hope you don't
mind if I lie
next to you, even just for a moment.
As my arms wrap
around you… your body is still warm, still soft and
welcoming to my
hugs; still, you can't hug me back. But that's fine for now since I just want to feel you, to tell you some
things on my mind,
some things I never got to tell you.
"I love
you." I say aloud, hoping you understand, raising my head to
look at your face.
"I really do."
You don't respond.
I close my eyes
again, trying to shut out the pain of not seeing you
move. It was almost
as if I expected you to wake up, my too-late declaration pulling you from this unnatural slumber. But it
didn't
work. For a second,
I thought it could.
I was wrong.
"Cordelia, I'm
so sorry." I say again, the tears coming down, fast
and cold. "So
sorry."
As I cry into your
hair, I wonder why I'm apologizing. If you were
awake, you would
tell me it's not my fault – that's how you are. You hate to see me brood, depressed, moping about – you always
tried to put
a stop that. But here I am, crying, sobbing, chest heaving, into
your beautiful hair.
It's been awhile since you fell into this coma, so your hair is long and—thanks to Wolfram and Hart—soft.
You're the most
beautiful coma patient anyone will ever see.
You are the most
beautiful woman to walk the face of this earth; I'm
eternal, so I saw my
share.
"I'm so
sorry."
There are those
words again, accompanied by my tears. I don't care if
it's my fault or
not, but I am sorry. I'm sorry to see you wasting away, sleeping your life away. I'm sorry I didn't do anything
to stop what
happened to you. I'm sorry I was too busy hurting to notice
something was wrong.
I'm sorry I fell for Jasmine's trap.
I'm sorry, and these
tears aren't helping.
I embrace you
tighter, burying my face into your hair, wet from
tears. My tears. I
want to tell you something, but they obviously aren't getting the point across since you aren't even aware
I'm here.
At least not that I
can tell.
I look up at your
face, so serene and calm. Is that how you feel? Are
you at peace? Am I
here, holding onto you, keeping you from going on for my own sake? Am I being selfish? Probably, but I cannot
let you
go. I need you here
with me. I need you back.
I move your arms,
circling them around me, gently lying down on your
chest, listening to
your steady heartbeat. You're alive. That's what matters. At least to me.
I've wrapped your
arms around me, so now I can pretend you are holding
me, comforting me. I have so much to tell you, you know. Do you know, even in this state, you are my comfort? I can't let
you go. You
are my comfort.
"Cordelia, come
back."
There I go, asking
for the impossible from you. You won't come back,
will you? I've
failed you, and, as a result, you left me. You've gone away.
I nestle into your
embrace—the embrace I made—feeling your arms around
me. Even if you can't hold on to me, I can pretend. I can believe you are the one holding me. It lessens the pain, even
if only for
a split second.
"Oh, Cordelia,
I have so much I want to tell you." I say, crying once
again.
You don't respond.
I break from your
embrace, the pain almost unbearable of not feeling
you. I need to feel
you.
"I know you're
in there." I say.
No response.
I get up, sitting
next to you on your bed, looking down. You're so
beautiful.
"Cordelia, I
hate my life."
There, I admit it. I
can tell you anything.
"I hate not
having you by my side. I hate that I gave up my son for
his sake and the
world. I hate working at Wolfram and Hart. I hate not knowing my friends anymore, and in return, them not
knowing me. I hate
not having a reason to go on. I hate not having anyone who
understands me, who
knows me. Remember when I didn't care about that sort
of thing? Remember when I just wanted to be alone, never to be bothered again. That's all changed. You changed that."
I pause for a
moment, the tears streaming down quicker than before,
it that was
possible.
"Cordelia, I
need you back. I can't go on without you."
I look at your face
again, your beautiful face. Wolfram and Hart's
idea of taking care
of you means having a top make-artist come in once a week, or before my visits. What a joke.
Still, you look
beautiful. You always do.
Your lips are so
red, so full. I touch them, tracing the outline of
your mouth, moving
my fingers across your face. So soft, you feel, so… Beautiful.
I lower the blanket
they've placed on you, looking at the beautiful
dress you are
wearing, completely unnecessary for someone doomed to an eternal slumber. It's red, tight in the bodice, sheer and
flowing
in the sleeves and
skirt. It makes your skin glow, making you appear
to be healthier than
you are. The dress suits you.
"You know,
before you I would've never even paid attention to such a
thing." I say,
laughing through the tears. Here you are, asleep, and I'm aware of your clothing. It's ridiculous. But you did this
to me, affecting
me to the point I know about fashion. So I laugh again.
Nobody could make me
laugh like you.
Nobody could make me
feel like you.
I place my hand
around your waist, caressing the material.
So beautiful.
So asleep.
I fan your hair out
the pillow, allowing your locks to move to the
side. I'm still
sitting next to you, by your side, never wanting to leave. You're too beautiful, you know.
And yet, you sleep.
"If only you'd
wake up."
Everything would be
right. All the pain would be gone. Everything
would be all right.
"I love you.
You can't leave me here, alone."
And that's how I
feel – alone.
"Just please,
wake up."
I plea with you one
more time, hoping you respond, but you don't. It
doesn't work. I
shouldn't expect you to listen to me; you never did.
But I love that
about you. I love the way you challenge me, the way
you push me. You
made me a better person. You brought out the good in me. And I saw you… I saw the good in you. We could be so
good
together if you came
back to me, so good.
If only you'd come
back.
"If there's
anything I could do right now, Cordelia, just let me
know."
No response.
You don't say
anything.
But I look at you,
so beautiful. And yet you sleep.
My sleeping beauty.
My head spins,
because that is what you are: my sleeping beauty.
I look at you,
drinking you in, your beautiful hair attached to your
beautiful head
connected to your beautiful body in your beautiful dress.
Once again, I trace
your lips—your beautiful, blood red lips—with my
finger, touching
them gently as I lower my face to yours.
I close my eyes, my
face inches away from yours. I know you're right
below me; I can feel
your breath on my lips. So I lower my lips more, almost reaching yours. My body trembles from the eagerness of
this
kiss, this awakening
kiss. You are my Sleeping Beauty, and I'm your
Prince. I will wake
you.
I press my lips into
yours, softly kissing you. The feel of your lips
on mine causes me to
press harder into your lips, demanding more from you. I command a response. I command your awakening.
I'm kissing you, my
need and love coming to the surface, finding its
way to my lips. My
lips meet yours, insisting you come back to me. My entire existence is in my lips now, pleading with you.
Come back to me,
please. Wake up, sleeping beauty.
I feel your love
responding to me. I know you love me, just like I
love you. I know
none of this was your fault, so please, wake up.
My lips are still
against yours, beseeching your consciousness. I
feel a stir, now. It
throws me, so I pause. Was that me or you?
I separate from your
lips, the agony shooting back as I leave your
breath. I'm no
longer in your kiss.
I open my eyes,
hoping to see you awake, hoping to see your eyes
flutter open like
they have before. You've always come back to me before, so please, don't fail me now.
I look at you, lying
there, looking so beautiful.
And so asleep.
Delusional. That's
what I am, believing I could cure it all, simply
with a kiss.
Somehow, I thought I could make it right for you – I truly thought I could magically heal you.
Maybe I was drunk on
my own ego, or my own need for you, but for I
moment I thought I
could wake you. I failed miserably. I'm such a fool for thinking I could wake you from this slumber.
You're far beyond my
reach, beyond any magic I hoped I could possess.
They've poisoned
you, and I cannot heal you. There is nobody on my side; there is nobody here to help me wake you.
I'm alone.
And now that you are
not back, I'm truly alone.
You're far beyond
any visible sign of an awakening.
"I'm so sorry,
Cordelia."
I say it one more
time, because I truly am. I failed you. I couldn't
wake you. My kiss
did nothing.
You're my sleeping
beauty, eternally.
It's hopeless. I
cannot heal or comfort you.
So you sleep.
Forever.
My sleeping beauty.
End.
Contact
Cantinera