(*(*)*)

(Darlin'

I'm afraid to close my eyes when I'm going to bed
I'm afraid you'll crack the phone down over my head
Why are all American girls so rough?
Damn the girl can't even hurt you enough

Lady
You knocked me on my knees and I can't stand up
You got the look in your eyes to smack my butt)

"Xander!" her voice cracked through the air like a five tailed whip, similiar to the one she was holding in her hand at the moment. Guiltily he turned his eyes towards his girlfriend, knowing that at sometime in the past, oh, twenty minutes or so he'd committed a grievious error, that he knew absolutely nothing about.

Cordelia snapped the whip through the air, her anger a visible thing in the cold winter night. "I need you, Xander. Help me." Suddenly deflating, she sank to her knees beside him, curling up in his arms and sobbing, and then he knew that her anger wasn't towards him, it was towards her parents, her friends, and the world in general.

And whenever she got this way, and needed to take her anger out on someone, he was there. She knew it, as well did he, that he was truely her whipping boy. Because he was the only one in her messed up world that wouldn't ever turn away from her in these moods, wouldn't leave her swinging by the noose that tightened with every harsh word, every slap, every put-down.

She was an American Girl. She'd been beaten, put up on the highest pedestal, worshiped, adored, and dragged back down again. And he'd been there through it all, watching, waiting for her to come back to him.

God only knew why he did it, but really, these moments when she let go, let him see deep into her soul, the real Cordelia, without the mask of clothing, money, or makeup, and let him comfort her, that was why he did it. To look into her rich brown eyes and see his love reflected in them.

In the eyes of an American Girl.

THE END.