A/N: The idea for this little ficlet just came to me yesterday, and I just had to write it, right then and there...this is a little different from some of my other fics, has a bit of a twist to it...
I warn you, however, it's very dark, though not in any way graphic...there is implied and remembered relationship abuse, as well as character death...
THERE IS NO HAPPY ENDING!!! So, if you're reading through the pain expecting the happy payoff in the end, don't be disappointed...
That said, if dark fic does not bother you, please give this a read, let me know what you think :)
*Hugs*
DoS
PS -- Thanks to my wonderful friend and beta, Tamakin :)
One-Shot
She had heard it all her life, on television, from her parents and teachers, from the nurses and police officers and social workers who had on occasion visited her school, reminding the students of Sunnydale High about their own worth, their own potential.
*Don’t let yourself become a statistic of relationship abuse.*
Buffy had never intended to do so – and yet, here she was, broken and sobbing on the ground, tears streaming from her eyes and blinding her, as over-used, familiar words from various mostly ignored lectures flooded her mind.
*One third of all American women have been in an abusive relationship.*
Buffy had always considered herself too intelligent, too confident, to ever allow herself to get involved in an abusive relationship. She knew all the facts and figures that had been drilled into her head from a young age, knew the textbook advice for avoiding such situations, knew all the warning signs to watch for. A voice that sounded very much like her mother’s, if a bit more official, echoed the cold facts in her mind.
*An abusive partner will likely try to tear down the confidence of their victim, in order to feel better about themselves…*
“You disgust me! You disgusting little slut! Do you have any idea how sick it makes me to even touch you half the time? You are completely useless!”
Buffy swallowed back a sob, shaking her head in a failed attempt to drive the painful words from her mind. How anyone could be so cruel, to someone who loved them so much, was impossible for her to fathom in that moment. But the words echoed in her head, a clear and vivid memory of events not so far in the distant past.
When Spike’s chip had stopped working on her…everything had changed.
Everything…and nothing.
Strange and disturbing, how clearly a textbook case this relationship had been…this relationship which was now ending in death and bloodshed.
As if in a subconscious attempt to distract herself from the events at hand, Buffy’s mind persisted in rattling off the classic warning signs of abuse.
*Batterers typically lead their victims into fast-moving, whirlwind romances, with little basis in reason or responsibility…*
It had happened like that, too.
Everything had been fine, as long as they had remained cautious friends – but in an instant, literally overnight, the entire relationship had changed, spinning out of her control, until she no longer knew where they were headed at all. There had seemed to be no time to stop and think it through, either, as the pseudo-relationship had rushed forward at a fevered pace, with no chance to think about what was the wisest choice in the matter.
*Abusive partners are excessively jealous and controlling, often using manipulation to convince their victims of their own worthlessness, their need for the relationship to exist in order to give them any value…*
“You’re nothing, do you understand me? Nothing! Worthless! You are *nothing* without me! Do you really think I care about you, what you want, what you need? You are nothing but a disgusting, dirty whore, and *no one* else will *ever* want you!”
A strong, brutal hand, viciously clenched around soft, tender flesh, choking, gripping while its victim gasped desperately for breath, but hardly dared to struggle.
“Please…stop!” Whispered words choked out in desperation.
But the terrified pleas were ignored.
Buffy flinched at the hurtful words in her head, tears streaming from her eyes as she doubled over in anguish where she knelt on the ground, her arms pressed across her stomach in an attempt to dull the pain. Deep, strangled sobs tore from her throat for a few moments, before she slowly held her trembling hands back out in front of her again, staring at them through wide, shocked eyes.
They were covered in blood.
She was dying inside.
*Batterers typically try to isolate their victims from their support system, systematically separating them from friends and family until the abuser is the most important person in the victim’s life.*
“Please…don’t…please stop…”
A cruel fist clenched in thick blonde hair, jerking painfully backward.
“I’ve told you I don’t want you hanging around them! They aren’t really your friends! I’m the only one that’s here for you, and the only one that will ever be, can’t you see that? You *stay away* from them!”
“Okay,” came the whimpered, tearful response. “Okay…please…just don’t…don’t hurt…”
With a gasp Buffy drew her thoughts swiftly off that painful track, only to remember that her current circumstances were no less painful.
Worse, in fact.
So much worse.
She looked bleakly around the cold, underground room where she and Spike had spent so many nights in fierce, passionate coupling – coupling which would never happen again. The bed was empty, unmade – and she would never share it with Spike again. She was alone…alone and dying.
*Batterers may use excessive force during sex, or disregard the desires or wishes of their partner…*
“No…*no*! I said, no, stop it!”
“Yeah, you said that last time, too, but you didn’t mean it then, either, did you, *love*?” The pet name was spoken with a mocking emphasis, as the aggressor shoved the protesting party backward on the bed beneath them.
“No, I mean it! Stop it! Let me up, I don’t want to…”
A resounding slap rang out in the room, silencing the panicked objections, before a soft voice continued with a sneer.
“Honestly, Baby?” The voice lowered to a mocking hiss. “…I don’t give a damn *what* you want!”
Buffy’s troubled, bleary eyes came to rest on a half empty bottle sitting on the nightstand beside the bed, and she swallowed back a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the foggy memories the sight brought back to her.
*Many abusive individuals abuse various substances as well, which contribute to their lack of control over their behavior.*
“You’ve had enough. You need to stop. You know how you get when you…”
“Don’t you tell me what to do! I know what I’m doing!” was the snapped response.
“I’m only telling you because I care. I don’t want you to hurt yourself…or anyone else.”
An unexpected backhand blow knocked the concerned partner to the floor, where they stayed, afraid to rise immediately for fear of bringing about greater violence.
“I said leave me alone! I’ll drink if I wanna drink, and it’s none of your damn business!”
“So stupid,” Buffy mumbled, her voice hoarse with tears as she shook her head, collapsing off her knees to a half-sitting position, one bloodied hand clutching at her sore, aching stomach. “So stupid…all my fault…all of it…always my fault…”
*An abusive person will attempt to shift the responsibility for his behavior to his victim, manipulating them into believing that the abuse is their fault.*
Another painful memory pushed its way into her mind, and she shuddered, cringing inward in a useless attempt to forget.
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”
“Shhh…it’s okay…it’s okay, sweet…”
“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…”
“You just made me so angry…when you talk to me like that, it just makes me so angry…I can’t help it…”
“I know. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”
Buffy wept bitterly, her tears falling down to leave dark circles on the tightly packed earth beneath her, her mind swirling with memories and regrets and wishes that things had happened differently, now that it was all over. If only she had not gotten involved with the blond vampire at all, or even had been honest with her friends about the relationship from the beginning. Had someone else even known that they were involved, perhaps things would not have ended up as they had.
As it was – there had been no one to help.
*An abuser will often threaten further violence in response to his victim’s attempts to seek out help, or respond violently if the victim attempts to leave the situation.*
“If you say one word to them, I swear I will *kill* you, do you understand me? You are going to keep your mouth shut about this! Is that clear?”
“Yes…no, I won’t say anything, I swear it! Don’t…*don’t*!”
The last word was swallowed up in a cry of pain as a vicious twist of the arm emphasized the threats.
“If you ever tell anybody…you’ll wish you’d never laid eyes on me. This is nobody’s business but ours, and I intend for it to stay that way! Do you understand me? *Answer me*!”
Buffy flinched at the memory, her heart breaking within her at the thought of the violence, the sheer cruelty, of the scenes that filled her mind. She would have given anything to change it, but it was too late now – too late to make right all the things she had ruined.
Spike was gone – and it was her fault.
Her bloodstained, shaking fingers ran through the fine, grey dust that covered the ground in front of her, her tears blurring her vision as she sobbed softly.
“Spike…Spike, I’m so sorry…so sorry…”
An ominous warning she had heard on several occasions echoed in her mind as she clutched at the ash before her, in a vain attempt to hold onto what had long since been lost.
*In an abusive relationship in which the violence has steadily escalated, the perpetrator is far more likely to eventually kill his victim, if the victim does not escape the relationship.*
A far more recent scene, from mere hours earlier, played itself over again and again in her mind, despite her desperate efforts to block it out.
“Buffy…please…I’m sorry, love…please stop…”
“What is this? The suitcase…the car…were you *leaving*? Like, leaving *town*?”
“Please just bloody well calm down, love, I wasn’t…I wouldn’t…”
A small but powerful hand lashed out in a brutal blow across the blond vampire’s face, knocking him violently into the wall, with enough force to daze him and send him collapsing to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice slurred from the impact. “Please…”
“You were,” Buffy concluded, stunned and furious. “You were going to leave me? Like all the others – you were going to leave me alone?”
Before she even knew she had taken it out…there was a stake in her hand.
Trembling hands, unmarred by any sort of defensive wounds, raised in a pleading gesture as Spike slowly tried to rise. “Please…please calm down, love, yeah? Please don’t do this…”
“Spike,” Buffy sobbed softly, clutching uselessly at the loose dust before her, clinging to the last traces of the vampire that she had slowly but surely destroyed – long before this night, when she had finally ended his life. “Spike…I’m so sorry!”
They had tried to build her confidence, to give her all the courage and wisdom she needed to avoid being abused by any man. They had warned her of the dangers, had given her all the statistics…enough that she had been certain that she would never become one herself.
What no one had warned her about was the dangers of giving in to the darkness, the rage that lay within her, and allowing the power she held to corrupt her, to the point that she abused it – and the one who loved her more than anything else on earth.
Because Spike *had* loved her, desperately – and she had destroyed him.
And in the process – herself, as well.
With a hand that shook violently, Buffy scrabbled in the dirt beneath her, searching blindly for the stake that had clattered to the ground as Spike’s ashes had drifted to the floor. Her eyes were blurred with tears, not seeing her surroundings. Her vision was filled with nothing but that last startled, devastated look he had given her, as her stake had pierced his flesh, and he had realized the extent of her betrayal.
“Buffy,” he had whispered, in the instant before his body had crumbled to dust…and his final words would haunt her forever. “I still love you…”
With his last breath…he had loved her.
With her last breath…she would mourn him.
“Spike,” she sobbed, her eyes closed, her head bowed, the stake clutched in both hands and pressed against her own chest. “I’m sorry…so sorry…”
The only one who understood her pain was dead – and she had killed him.
There was nothing left for her here.
There would be no evidence of Spike’s tragic demise in the crypt that night; his painful tale of abuse and unreturned love would never be told. But in the morning, when her friends sought her out, and found her body, they would come to their own conclusions regarding the circumstances of her shocking fate. Perhaps she had lost a fight with a vampire she had chased into the crypt; perhaps Spike had finally gotten his chip out, killed his third Slayer, and skipped town before they could find him and make him pay for his crime.
They would mourn her, lamenting the death of yet another victimized young woman – never knowing how ironically false their conclusions were – as the Slayer joined the never-ending list of statistics that had gone before her, and would come after.
Without another moment’s hesitation, Buffy plunged the stake into her own chest, piercing her heart and allowing her life’s blood to flow out, to mingle with Spike’s blood and dust that now coated her hands, for a bare instant before her body collapsed, succumbing to the darkness of death.
The pain she had endured, and the pain she had caused, ended that night – as just another in a long line of statistics.
