We sat in awkward silence with the steam of our mochas drifting upwards between our tense faces. I watched the emotions flit across her face…her still ever-beautiful face. There seemed to be faint lines edging her eyes now and I couldn’t remember the sad touch to her lips, graceful and reposed. Her closed mouth frightened me. She had never spoken so few words to me in all the years we had known each other. Loved each other.

"You…uh, colored your hair," I said to her. She had butchered her soft tresses into choppy locks brushing against her jawline and dyed it to a black so deep, blue highlights shone under the fluorescent lighting. The hair matched the skin-tight, black lace bodice she wore and the black leather skirt so long it pooled on the dirty linoleum.

"Black is the color of the raven Munin. Odin’s memory. I don’t forget anything, Xander. Never," Anya bit the words out from thin, blood-red lips. "I remember every second of our wedding day, you stupid bastard."

"I suppose that’s a fair assessment of me but I didn’t come here to hurt you, Anya. I’ve hurt you enough. I just need to explain why I did…what I did," I told her, reaching out to clasp her hands in mine, but she slid her hands away from me and under the tabletop. I took a deep breath and gripped my hands together.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes. The aggravating ticking of the clock on the wall beat into my brain.

"Spit it out, Xander! I don’t want to spend my night staring at your damn face, looking at everything you took from me."

"Okay. Sorry. Honey, uh, Anya, the day I…left—"

"You mean the wedding day. When you ditched me at the altar and ran out the church with your tail between your legs."

"Right. That day. Listen, I am sorry. I know you don’t believe that but I regret everything I did. You were so beautiful in that white dress and you smiled that smile that makes me all weak in the knees. But I realized that that was all there was. Attraction. I couldn’t marry you if I didn’t love you like I thought I did. I loved you differently and it wasn’t strong enough to support our relationship. I couldn’t ruin your life, Anya."

"What the hell did you think you did, Xander? You stopped right in the middle of your vows and ran down the aisle and out of my life. You dropped my ring on the floor and ran. Like a coward. Like a heartless, son of a bitch." Anya began to cry, black streaks on her cheeks matching her new Gothic attire. "You ruined my short, mortal life, Xander. I’ll never be married, have a husband, have kids, have several million dollars and a mansion to share with you. I have nothing but our memories and you tainted all of them. I’ll die alone and ugly and unloved and it’s all your fault!" Anya sobbed, standing up and grabbing her purse. Her leather-clad hips bumped the table, sending coffee splashing onto the table and me.

She ran out of the Espresso Pump and out into the night, leaving me sitting there. Watching her fade into the darkness, I regretted my entire existence for ruining our chance at happiness. I loved her but never…like I loved Buffy and Willow. She was never the girl I needed. I looked at her face and heard Buffy whispering those utterances of love. Only Willow gave those cries of passion. She was the substitute, I thought to myself, noticing the inherent cruelty of the words.

There is no purity to love. It fills up with every other human flaw and need until love is the only thing we know. The painful little drug we inject into our systems everyday. But I was never addicted to Anya. I just needed something to dull the essence of the other girls…the two haunting my days and nights.

Those who love are never necessarily good. They twist and turn and grab at every bit of affection in their reach. Or they take it by force…

Anya gave her love willingly. Never freely as her love was the most expensive of painkillers. But I never took anything that she wasn’t ready to give.

Willow would have given me her world. All she had to give. And I could take that world back. Claim it and her with startling possession.

But Buffy never gave in. Never moved to my light caresses as we passed. My looks of adoration. But she would. Love can be accepted or taken by force. It is not to be denied.

And neither am I…