Her eyes flew open as the events of the night before came rushing back. From the window, Buffy could see the first signs of daylight peaking up over the horizon. Struggling to free herself, she extricated herself from his arms and began scrambling around the room in search of her discarded clothes.
The moment her warm body left his arms, Spike awakened with a start. He couldn’t help the tightening in his chest as he watched her scurry about gathering her things. “Buffy…”
His voice stopped her in her tracks. When she turned to face him she could see the confusion in his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and forget…well…everything. However, she knew the price that would be paid if Liam were to ever find out about her affair with Spike. Affair, she repeated silently. It didn’t feel like an affair. That word brought to mind images of dirty hotel rooms and seedy bars. No, this felt like something else, something Buffy couldn’t yet bring herself to dream of. “I have to go. Liam, he…”
“Liam is a right bastard,” Spike snapped.
Buffy closed her eyes; she knew her husband would be waking soon. She knew whatever kind of reassurances that Spike was looking for, she wouldn’t be able to give them to him. “He’s my husband and I have to get home.” Buffy said, ducking her head.
Spike rose from the bed and she could feel him moving towards her as she struggled to untangle her crumpled dress. Taking her hands in his, he tossed the garment to the bed and brought them to his lips kissing her palms until her eyes finally met his. “Buffy…don’t run away again.”
Buffy closed her eyes as tears threatened to spill. Don’t run away, she thought to herself. In a sense, that was what she’d been doing for most of her life. Running. Running from the demons that hunted her soul. Running from the girl she used to be, while hating the woman she had become. Looking into the blue ocean of his eyes, so full of concern, for a brief moment the thought of staying felt warm and welcoming, until that familiar cold chill reminded her of the cost of staying. She laughed nervously and in a voice that she barely recognized, replied, “I’m not running, Spike, I’m going home to my husband.”
She saw the anger flash in his eyes. “You didn’t seem too concerned about your husband last night when you were screaming my name.”
“Oh, get over yourself. It was just…”
“It was a bloody revelation is what it was,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Buffy tried to will her body not to respond to the proximity of his naked body. She ducked her head quickly stepping around him and grabbed her clothes. He watched as she hurriedly dressed then turned to him. “I…I was drunk.”
“Tha’s bollocks and you know it.”
“I was drunk and you…you were…” Buffy hesitated, looking up briefly before turning towards the door, “you were convenient,” she said walking away.
For long moments, Spike stared at the door where the small blond had exited. A storm of emotions clouded his eyes. A caustic laugh spilled from his lips as he stalked toward the bottle of brown liquid solace beckoning him from across the room. Tipping his head back, he felt the warm liquid burn his throat but finally pulled the bottle away, knowing it couldn’t reach the incipient ache forming in his chest.
He hurled the bottle at the door, rage fueling him as he began to thrash about the room. The demonic table was the first casualty; a small triumphant smile curled his lips as he watched it smash against the stone fireplace. Chairs, sofa cushions, and knick knacks went flying through the air until he came across the small stack of papers.
His outline. He saw the small loopy handwriting that marred his work. Closing his eyes, he dropped down on the cushion-less sofa and began to read. He was prepared to feel anger, outrage at her, after all, who dared tell him how to bloody write his story? Instead, he was surprised, even amused, as he soon found himself nodding in agreement with most of her comments.
Leaning back, Spike breathed a deep sigh, turning once again to stare towards the door now covered with whiskey. “Who are you, Buffy?”
Buffy ran like her life depended on it because in so many ways it did. She raced against the rising sun desperately praying her husband had not yet awakened. Tears blurred her vision as she remembered the stricken look on Spike’s face as she walked out the door. She knew going to him last night was a mistake. Now she would ache for him.
Where their first encounter had been playful and passionate, this one had been full of need and an intense desire, not just for anyone, but for each other.
Buffy closed her eyes, not wanting to remember the way her skin burned under his skillful touch. Now is not the time, she scolded herself, taking a deep breath and slipping into the mansion.
Buffy moved quickly up the long spiral staircase, fully aware of what may be awaiting her at the top.
Slowly opening the bedroom door, her heart leapt to her throat when the heavy wooden door let out a shrill creak. She almost sobbed in relief when she noticed her husband still asleep in bed.
She silently dashed past the bed and into the bathroom where she quickly undressed, in desperate need of a shower.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Buffy let out a shriek, quickly pulling the robe from the back of the door. “I…was…I was going to take a shower.”
“Well, I need to shower too, so I’ll just join you,” Liam leered.
“Um…well I’m still feeling sick.” Buffy said, covering her mouth.
Liam let out a disgusted grunt and turned to leave. “Just hurry up then.”
Buffy sagged against the door and sobbed, knowing things couldn’t go on like this.
She was there again. The scent of cheap cologne and old beer filled her senses. She made her way through the crowd trying to ignore the predatory eyes that always seemed to follow her every move.
Plastering on her best smile, she served drinks to the small table of business men. She inwardly cringed but pretended not to notice when his hand grazed her breast to hand her a tip. His smile didn’t hide the leer in his eyes. He’d been here before. He slipped his business card into her hand. Buffy looked down at the small, crisp piece of paper with the fancy lettering.
Suddenly the music stopped as a slow chill crawled up her spine. The card seemed to evaporate into thin air. Buffy brought her hands up as crimson liquid covered her slender fingers. The scream that had been building in the back of her throat once again was left frozen at her lips.
Buffy woke with a start, unable to control her trembling limbs as she scampered out of the bed. Her heart raced as she practically flew down the stairs and out the back door. She wasn’t sure if she was running away or running towards something, but she knew she couldn’t stop.