He didn't know how he wanted it to go. There was a small part of the old romantic left in him that said that if they called things off now, then he could simply go back to Dawn and they could be together, but too much of him was cynical these days to think that would work. How long could they last until things fell apart? Dawn probably only still had feelings for him because he hadn't been around long enough to make her sick of him…
When he was completely honest with himself, Andrew wasn't sure how he truly felt about Cynthia. He liked her…but did he love her? The past three years for him had all been about living from moment to moment, and their relationship had been something that had just happened. When they were planning to return to London, he'd proposed to her almost on a whim. He'd felt like after everything he'd been through, it would be good for him to settle down and try to find something normal.
Cynthia had also seemed like she'd be the person to do that with. They'd been through a lot together, so wouldn't she be the person who should understand him the best?
Only she wasn't. Not at all. They'd survived the same experiences, and yet, she'd come away from them with a completely different view than Andrew had. He'd figured that out pretty quickly. No, the one person that seemed to understand him was the same person it had always been—Dawn.
Could he just break it off with Cynthia now? Was it that easy? Could he simply admit that their engagement was a mistake and hinge everything on the chance that Dawn might forgive him? And then what? Would he and Dawn even work out?
He reached into the pocket of his sleep pants and pulled out the silver key charm. He'd kept it with him since Dawn had thrown it at him, unable to let it go. He could still remember the night he'd given it to her so clearly, the memory one he was unwilling to let dim. How could he? It had been the best night of his life.
Even the fact that they were almost killed by vampires didn't manage to mar that.
In some ways, Cynthia seemed to him to be reality while Dawn was the unattainable dream. He knew that if he stayed with Cynthia, it would always be like he'd settled. He winced to think of it that way, but he couldn't ignore the fact. It wasn't that Cynthia didn't have a lot to offer—she did. But she fell short on one important factor.
She wasn't Dawn.
Still, it was more than the superficial for him there. Cynthia simply didn't make him feel the way Dawn did, and he had a feeling that even if Dawn weren't as beautiful as she was, that would still be the case.
So what did it all mean? What should he do? Should he try to work things out with Cynthia in hopes that they could work past this initial bump in the road? He did care about her, and he had no doubt that she would make a good wife. They could be happy together, and much of what he was feeling now could just something that would pass once he got more acquainted to living life out of Hell again.
When he finally heard the bedroom door open, Andrew quickly stuck the charm back in his pocket and rose to his feet. Cynthia was trying to look stoic, but he could tell she had been crying, and he felt like an ass. But he knew now that if he married her, at least part of their marriage would always be a lie, and he couldn't live with that.
He didn't draw it out. Instead, he said what he needed to before he had a chance to change his mind, to take the easy road out. "I'm still in love with Dawn."
Cynthia made a small gasping sound, clearly not expecting that. "How…how can you say that to me?"
"I'm sorry," Andrew replied. And he was. He didn't like hurting her. It made him feel dirty, like he'd used her, albeit unintentionally. "But I do. I wish I could stop, but…"
"You told me last night you aren't sleeping with her."
"I'm not. I'm not with her. I don't know if I will be with her. It's not about me leaving you just to be with her."
Cynthia paused at that for a moment before she asked, barely above a whisper. "You're…you're leaving me?"
Andrew swallowed. God, this was hard… "I think I should. This isn't going to work."
She started to cry, and Andrew felt worse. Cynthia hated to cry in front of anyone, that much he knew. She'd hold her emotions in as long as she could, and only let them out in private. The fact that she couldn't do that now said a lot. "Why? Why won't it work?" Cynthia asked through her tears. "You said it isn't about her!"
"It's not about being with her," Andrew said. "It's about what I feel for her."
"That you love her?" Cynthia asked, her tone when she spoke the word "her" one of disgust. "What about me, Andrew? Don't you love me?"
He didn't answer her. He couldn't. And that was enough.
"Damn you," Cynthia said, her voice quiet but harsh.
"I didn't mean for things to be this way," he told her, not knowing what else to say.
"Yeah, well, a whole bloody lot of good that does now." She shook her head, trying to get a reign on her emotions again. "God, just pack your things and get out of here. I don't even want to look at you."
Andrew said nothing in response. With his head hung down, he went to pack.
*** *** ***
He went to his office, unsure of what to do next. He knew he should go to Giles and request new housing, but he didn't feel like admitting to anyone just yet that his engagement had already gone belly-up.
It made him feel like slime. He thought he would've gotten used to that feeling by now.
He hadn't been lying when he told Cynthia that breaking up with her wasn't about being with Dawn. It wasn't that simple. All he and Dawn had had since he'd come back was a tentative friendship, and even that was shot now. So what was he supposed to think? That he'd tell her he was a free man, she'd leap into his arms, and they'd live happily ever after?
Hardly…
If anything in his life had ever been that simple, he wouldn't be where he was now. No, his life was a string of one catastrophic mistake after another, with nothing but destruction and heartache left in his wake. If he went back to Dawn now, all he'd do was hurt her even more.
So should he try to start over again with Dawn? And if he didn't, did he even have a place there anymore? Could he learn how to live here again?
Part of him wished he hadn't left London in the first place. Another part wished he'd never come back.
Or maybe he needed to go back further than that, maybe he should wish he could erase more. Wouldn't everything have been simpler if he'd just left home years ago, back when Sunnydale had still been something other than a dusty crater? Where would he be now if he'd never met Warren Meers? If he'd not become completely enamored with the man that led him down the path to destruction? Would he have a normal life now? Would he be happy? Or had his childhood already left him too scarred even by that point for him to ever find happiness?
Andrew often wondered why he was even still alive, and this was one of these times. What use was he to the world? Did he have a place, a purpose? There was nothing special about him. Sure, he could summon demons, but that talent wasn't as rare as some people might think. And what good was it anyway? It hadn't done much for Faustus…
He was pathetic at his worst, mediocre at his best. He ruined everything he touched, mucked up his life and the lives of everyone who fell into his path time and time again. Two people in the world had ever been able to tell him that they loved him, and he'd broken both of their hearts.
Andrew leaned back in his chair, knowing he had a lot of thinking to do.
*** *** ***
Dawn hadn't been able to sleep since her dream. Emma had gone home once Dawn had assured her that whatever was going on with the Key, it wasn't happening right away, and if anything, they should both get some actual rest.
She knew she should be searching for who it was that was after her, but she felt mentally and physically drained, and all she could seem to do was play the events of the night before over and over again in her mind, remembering what it had felt like to touch Andrew again.
His kiss had electrified her even more than she'd remembered it doing before. It had set every inch of her aflame, made her desperate to rekindle the passion they'd once known together.
It all felt so horribly unfair. She and Andrew had really had something, something that could've been great. It should've lasted years, if not a lifetime—not only a few stolen days. She felt cheated, and for what? There had been no real reason to their break-up, nothing so serious between them that they should have been driven apart.
She still didn't know what it was about Andrew that made her feel the way she did, but if she'd believed in the notion of soulmates, she would've said he was hers. Loving Andrew had seemed bizarre in theory, but when she'd actually been with him it had seemed so right. He could make her feel completely at peace with just a smile, whole with just a touch.
Dawn wished she could go back three years, take back what she'd said to Andrew in her bedroom in Rome. She hadn't meant what she'd said, and she certainly hadn't meant to drive him so far away. She'd spoken out of hurt and anger and said things she'd known would wound him, especially with how unsure he'd been throughout their relationship. He'd been so afraid that she couldn't love him, and then she'd gone and made him feel like she didn't.
She'd tried to be angry with Andrew since he'd come back, but she hadn't really been able to be, not for long anyway. No matter how furious she got with him, it always seemed to fade, and Dawn realized now that was because it wasn't him she was really angry with. She was angry with herself. He'd left because she'd told him to. Granted, she hadn't meant for him to go quite that far, but she had told him to leave. After spending so much time assuring him that she did in fact love him, she'd undone all of that in a moment. Andrew had been so unsure of both their relationship and himself that it hadn't taken much to convince him that they were over.
She should've been more aware of that. She should've known how easily he'd fill with doubt, how little it would take to convince Andrew that she'd finally started seeing him the way he saw himself. He already thought he was worthless, and when Dawn had told him she couldn't look at him…
Dawn swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. Andrew had hurt her by leaving, but she'd hurt him before that. She was the reason he'd left, which made all of this her fault.
The tears that she'd thought she'd finally stopped sprung to her eyes again, and Dawn curled up on her couch, clutching a pillow tightly to her chest as she cried.
*** *** ***
Dawn didn't realize she'd cried herself to sleep until she woke up hours later, still on her couch. He head felt stuffy, an aftereffect of all the tears, she was sure. With a groan, she sat up and stretched, her back popping as she did, and she winced. She hadn't fallen asleep in a comfortable position at all, and now her body was making sure she knew that.
Her stomach rumbled softly, and Dawn realized it had been quite a while since she'd eaten. She got to her feet and started towards her kitchen, then came to an abrupt stop when she saw an envelope on the floor beside her front door, as if someone had slid it in under the crack. She walked over and picked it up, pulling out the letter inside.
Dawn's heart flipped when she saw Andrew's name at the bottom, and she read the letter quickly, a coldness gripping her as she did.
Dawn—
I'm sure by now you know I still love you, but I just can't keep doing this. I
don't belong out here anymore. Anything between us would be doomed, especially
with how I've felt since I came back to England. I no longer know how to live
in this world, and I've decided it would be best for everyone if I went back
in. I've asked to be placed with a group of Watchers leaving this afternoon to
retrieve more lost texts, so this is good-bye. I'm sorry, Dawn, but this is
the way it has to be. It will be better for both of us in the end. Just know
that I will never forget you or what we shared.
—Andrew
Dawn gripped the letter tightly in her trembling hands for a moment before she began to move, knowing that she had no time to lose.
*** *** ***