Slash Your Tires
She's kissed Angel and soon, they will do more than kiss, and soon, she will have one up on Buffy but that doesn't matter.
Kissing Angel - she would like to kiss Buffy, if only to taste, only to see if Buffy would taste like she thinks Buffy would taste, which is tangerine and blood, blood and tangerine and at night, bad girls come out to play, bad girls play with bad boys and with each other. The wolves hunt her dreams by day (she sleeps by daytime; she is Faith and night is her time, playtime) and the smell of blood grows stronger.
It's late night in Sunnydale, and the cars sleep by the roadside and the happy homes have shining lights in every window and the Daddies and the Mummies kiss each other "good night June, good night Henry dear" and the perfect children in their beds, and they all have tangerine blood dreams, and they all taste cold. Coldlike.
"Goodnight, Sunnydale," she says, and giggles, and thinks, there's only one person who cares, and he gives her milk.
She picks up a small stone from the gutter - a small stone with sharp angles - and she walks along the street, scratching every car with her stone, a line following her, a line drawn in car paint red, yellow, black, blue, red, white...
I am Faith: follow me. Dare to follow me. I will slash your tires. I will.