Spike stumbled out of Buffy’s house, head spinning, and thoughts floating in and out of reality. He couldn’t see his direction, just that he had to get out, get away. His mind was clouded with screams and pleas. They belonged to her.
He shut his eyes, wincing at the memories from only minutes ago. He could feel a burning all around him, all over him. Wherever she had touched, kicked, or hit at his skin it burnt. Her scent surrounded everything; he couldn’t be rid of her no matter how hard he tried. How was it a century of death and carnage could be pushed from his mind in a instant, no guilt, no remorse, but when it was her…when it was Buffy time stopped. Everything stopped, and he could feel everything closing in on him. Everything he knew, everything he’d felt was lost, leaving only her, her and her screams…
“Ask me again why I could never love you.”
Spike wandered Sunnydale. Falling and tumbling around, lost in his own head. People stared from every street corner and sidewalk, at the man in black walking and mumbling unsteadily through the town, probably thinking he was some incoherent drunk. Spike of course didn’t care--or notice for that matter.
Some time later he opened his eyes enough to notice the dark mud and grass beneath his feet. A few seconds of clarity was enough for him to see that he was home, for lack of a better word. Restfield Cemetery. His crypt. The site of Buffy’s nightly visits in which she would burst through the door, looking for the only thing it seemed he could offer her, or at least the only thing she’d take.
He’d tried to give her, what he thought she needed, what she craved. He thought…wrong.
Spike slammed through his crypt door trying to achieve some sort of lucidity. However it was easier said than done. He reached for the first thing he saw. Slinging the alcohol back, it burned his throat, searing every inch, reminding him of her.
He smashed the bottle down onto the stone of the sarcophagus. It exploded into shards of glass falling to the floor around him. His mouth hung slightly open at the sight, before closing his eyes and moving his hand to his aching skull.
Was he wrong? He questioned. She was the one parading herself about, leading him on with pretty kisses. Being a right bitch, never letting him close enough, to try to be anything other than a monster.
He didn’t even know anymore. Everything was becoming muddled. One second he was sobbing like a ponce, wiping slow drying tears from his cheeks, and the next he was cursing her name, yelling at the stone. Telling it that she deserved what he’d done, or tried to do.
But underneath it all, Spike knew this was the final bloody straw. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He didn’t deserve her, and if she couldn’t love him, like he was now, he would have to change. And for her, he could do that.
Author's Chapter Notes:
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Chapter End Notes:
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