Love's a funny thing. It makes you do strange, inexplicable things. You don't understand why you've done them, but you can't take them back.

Out of all my kills, I regret his the most. I killed him out of love. Sounds illogical, doesn't it? It's not…

***

The night after I had killed Angel was the night I first slept with Wesley. He came back to the apartment we shared just as I had thrown out all that remained of Angel after I had staked him.

I never told him I had killed Angel. Feeling exhilarated after my kill, I dragged him into his bedroom. I ran my tongue down the side of his face, down his neck. My hands moved expertly over his body, tantalizingly, stimulating him. Pressing up against him, I could feel his erection. I threw him onto the bed and began slipping off his clothes.

I was like someone possessed as I made love to him, clinging to him, driving him into me. I wanted be as close as possible.

"Hurt me baby, hurt me!" I whispered. I wanted to feel pain. He didn't do anything to hurt me, of course, he wouldn't. He was powerful, though, and it was good.

Afterwards we lay there on the bed for a few minutes, before Wesley turned to me and pressed urgently against me, and we did it again.

***

I remember when Faith first arrived in Sunnydale. She told us that slaying made her hungry and horny. I never understood what she meant until then, the rush you felt after a kill. It was incredible. It made you want to come back for more.

I hadn't felt that way after the first kill. The first kill is always the hardest. The second - that was exhilarating. I definitely wanted to feel that again.

***

I took a trip back to Sunnydale alone. I was going there to see Xander, and I had a feeling Wesley wouldn't be too happy if he knew about that.

"Cordelia, what are you doing here?" he asked me coldly as I stood at the door of his house. Yet another person who would never forgive me for killing Buffy.

"I missed you," I said seductively, leaning in and kissing him.

He pushed me away. "Cordy, what the hell are you doing?"

"Seducing you," I murmured, caressing him.

"Get your hands off him!" Anya appeared beside him.

"Hi, Anya," I said brightly. "So you're jealous, huh?" I stepped closer to her, closing the door behind me. "You know what happens when you're jealous? You either kill - or be killed." I removed the knife from my purse. "I think it's going to be the second one for you." Before she could move, I sank the knife into her.

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed, kneeling down beside her as she crumpled to the floor, blood flowing out of her.

"It's too late for her," I said, pulling him up and pressing him against the wall. "It's not too late for us."

"Cordelia, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, pushing me away and going to Anya. She lay lifeless on the floor in a pool of blood. He checked for a pulse that I knew wasn't there.

"You killed her," he said, tears in his eyes. "Why?"

"She was getting in the way," I shrugged.

"Bitch," he said. "I hate you!"

"You've been telling me that since we were five years old, Xander," I told him. "We both know it isn't true."

"Oh, yes it is. I thought I hated you back then, but that didn't even come close to what I felt when I learnt you'd killed Buffy. And now Anya. You're sick, Cordelia. You need help."

"Been there, done that," I shrugged. "No one can help me, Xander."

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

"To make love to you," I said. It was the truth.

"You killed my girlfriend so you could screw me? God, you really are insane."

"You know you always wanted to have me, Xander. You know it killed you when I said I didn't want to go too far when we were going out. Now you can have me. Was it worth the wait?"

He looked at me in sheer disgust. "Go home, Cordelia."

In that moment it became clear. He didn't love me. That hurt me badly. My grip on the knife grew tighter.

"Fine," I said. "I guess I will…" And then I stabbed him in the chest. He fell to the ground next to his dead girlfriend, and I stepped over them both and left the house.

***

I needed sex badly after that. I headed for the Bronze and flirted with a few guys there. One of them invited me back to his place, which was the result I'd been hoping for. After I slept with him I made my way back to San Francisco.

Back to Wesley, my devoted boyfriend, who had no idea what I'd been up to.

***

Each night I went out and made a killing. It was always vicious, sadistic and bloody - torturing them for as long as possible, enjoying the look of terror on my victims' faces. The killings made the news - the mutilated bodies found each night were scaring the residents of San Francisco. While Wesley murmured over how terrible this was, and wondered whether it was vampires, I remained silent. I wondered why he couldn't see that it was me. That I was the killer.

Each night, after the kill, I came back and made passionate love to him. I'm sure he enjoyed it, although what he would have said if he'd known murder aroused me is anyone's guess.

The more I did it, the more addictive it became. I couldn't stop. I had to keep doing it. I became more careless when I killed. I dropped hints to Wesley. I couldn't confess everything, but deep down I think I wanted to be caught. I wanted there to be an end to all of this.

It was a cry for help. That's what Angel would have said. That's what he said about Faith. Faith. Suddenly I realised that was what I'd become. A monster, like her. A vicious killing machine. Or maybe I was worse.

I was angry when I realised this. Angry at myself, I guess, but also angry at Wesley, for not figuring it out, for not being able to help me.

"I love you but I can't live with you," I told him the second he walked in the door one Monday evening.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't figure it out, Wesley," I said. "You didn't put the pieces together. And you should have." I held up my knife, the same one I had slashed Buffy's face with, the same one I'd stabbed Anya, Xander, and countless others with. My old friend.

"You're the killer," he realised.

"That's right, darling," I said. "But you've worked it out too late. You'll have to pay the price."

"Put the knife down," he said soothingly. "We can talk about this. We can get you help."

"You think anyone can help me? Let's face it, Wesley, I'm a psycho. End of the story. You don't want to help me. I'm evil. I should be destroyed."

"Cordelia, calm down and put the knife away." He moved closer as if to take it away from me. I stabbed him. Once, twice, three times. Blood poured out of him as he collapsed to the floor.

"I love you, Cordelia," he said, and then he closed his eyes for the last time.

He really did. He still loved me after everything. The reality of what I had done sank in suddenly, and I shook again as I had after my first kill. Shaking, trembling, sobbing, I lay down beside him and wished for time to be turned back.

***

Time can never be turned back, of course, and I had to live with what I'd done. Killing the one person in the entire universe who loved me. The worst thing I had ever done in my life. And I'd done a lot.

I found myself institutionalized again. Surprise, surprise. Only this time there were no regular visits from Wesley. And instead of closing my eyes each night and seeing Buffy's mutilated face, I saw the faces of all that I had killed. For the first time I understood how Angel must have felt after regaining his soul. My soul had disappeared over the last year, but now it was back and I had to deal with a lot of guilt.

They had support groups. I guess it's true they really do have support groups for everything. People who had done terrible crimes while temporarily not of sound mind were "invited to share their feelings in a supportive environment with others who have experienced similar situations".

They even had people in to talk to us who had done bad things in their past, but were starting afresh. One day a familiar face walked in. Faith didn't recognize me at first. I guess she didn't expect to see me in a vicious-murderer-support-group for starters, and also I looked awful. I didn't care how I looked anymore. It wasn't important. No one loved me. What was the point?

I thought that about a lot of things. What was the point of eating, sleeping, breathing? I was constantly living in a nightmare state.

After giving her little speech for the whole session, Faith came to talk to me. "You're the last person I would've thought I'd run into here," she remarked.

"I deserve to be in here," I said.

"I heard about what happened with Buffy," she said.

I shook my head. "Not just Buffy. Angel. Xander. Anya. And one innocent victim a night in San Francisco for four months. Then Wesley. I've destroyed so many lives. All I want is for a chance to destroy my own."

"You can't think like that," she told me. "You've got to put the past behind you, start over. Of course you're going to feel guilty, but you've got to go on living."

"Thanks, Faith," I smiled. "That makes a lot of sense."

For the next couple of months, I quoted that to all my doctors, smiled all the time, and had them all nodding in satisfaction, saying what a wonderful recovery I was making.

As soon as they let me go, I drove like a maniac back to Sunnydale.

***

Now I walk through the graveyard, and come to the first grave I must visit. Buffy Anne Summers. The beautiful slayer who inspired so much jealousy that it killed her. I wanted to be her friend, but she never liked me. She was so perfect. So annoyingly, heart-breakingly perfect.

Angel has no grave, no commemoration of his death. He died because he had to. It was me or him. Looking back, I should have let him kill me.

Anya's is next. Anya Emerson. A demon who never should have been a mortal, who never should have been able to die.

Xander Harris, Rest In Peace. My love for so long, but did he feel the same way about me? Doubt and fear that he didn't made me kill him.

And finally, the one that hurt the most. Wesley. My savior. He loved me after I'd killed Buffy, after I'd killed all those people. He loved me up to the end. Is love eternal? Will our souls be reunited after death? I'm far too much of a cynic to believe that.

All I know is, soon it will be over.

*****