My Scarrs
By CryingMoontears

I clutch the letter between my fingers as I stare at his grave. My chest aches from all the crying I had tried to muffle almost every night for the past year. I miss him so much that all I want to do is lay down next to his grave and let myself die. Spike. I shiver to myself in the cold night air. All part of being human. I wish he was here to see me now. I'd like to see him call me a monster. I'd just like to see him. I take a deep shaky breath as I feel the onslaughter of tears approuching. I bite my lip nervously. I'm still getting used to all these emotions. I laugh hollowly to myself. This is just some sick joke right? The night he died I felt the most horrid pain that my undead heart had ever felt. Then the Powers go and make me human, make all my feelings intesify by the millions. They brought me to life even though all I wanted was to die because he was gone. I carefully unfolded the letter and read it silently in the moonlight. I curse myself for my messy hand writing. Why couldn't I write with the beautiful curved letters he used to use.


~+~

My Spike,

You fucking bastard,

How dare you. How dare you make me crave you without my permission. Who the fuck are you to think you could come into my life and rip me apart and remake me the way you did and then leave? Fuck you. You were just there--just there, right place, wrong time, and the attack came, and your destiny and mine were remade in one flash of light. You told me about it. You told me it was red in your dreams but you never told me, you little shit, how much it hurt--how much it hurt to lose your love. You never told me what emptiness was behind those nightmares, and you never told me how lucky I was to be the one to make the nightmares cease. And now, now when it's too late, do I finally learn how much you loved me--how much trust it took to stretch that emptiness open so someone else could come in. Because I know now--I'll never let anyone in again. I only want you, you bastard, and you're gone and I'll never be able to crawl into your arms and thank you for bringing your emptiness to me and letting me fill it; and I'll never be able to beat you into a bloody pulp for not taking me with you. Why the fuck can't I crawl in bed every night with your ghost, if you're going to haunt me this way? You fucking bastard, Spike--you goddamned perfect miserable heroic dead angelic bastard. Why aren't you here? Why have you cursed me with the guilt of living a life that was never worth anything to anyone but you anyway? Did you think a year would make any difference? Did you think we'd all just forget--go on with our lives?--did you think I'd find somebody else to warm your pillow or wrap my arms around each morning? Did you think I'd've forgiven myself yet for not being with you when it happened so I could have kept you safe--or at the very least, dragged you down to hell with me when the saints came to separate us and take you to heaven where you belonged? Did you think I'd've forgiven you for leaving? Not a chance. I won't forgive you--forgiveness means eventually I might accept, and acceptance means I might move on, and moving on means one day I might forget--and I would go to hell cursing your name so loudly you would hear it every night in your heavenly dreams, Spike, before I will ever forget how much you loved me. How much it hurts, this unfulfilled need for you. How much it will always hurt, every second I am alive and breathing without you. Every second, Spike. Every goddamned second.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

You think that I'm not with you but you're wrong. I'm right here beside you, every second. You think I could rest while you were crying? I float, I sift, in places only your love could send me, and I drink you in--the tired defeat in your eyes, the lackluster way you comb your hair--you don't care anymore how you look, I know--but it's really, really okay; in the way you shrug on your clothes every morning as if the pockets were filled with stones. I absorb you, and I love you, from sunup til sundown, and I caress you every moment and try over and over again to take you in my arms. I know you hate me. I know you want to curl up and collapse under your hurt and your hate--and I know the only reason you don't is the fact that people are depending on you to carry out my destiny--my unclaimed destiny, unclaimed just as you went unclaimed--incomplete, just as I am--and you are without me.

So I curl my arms around you every night, hoping the morning will discover a dent in my pillow--but there's nothing, and I know how empty the bed must feel, and how much you ache. How much I ache for you, my sterling rose. But I am here--they could not make me cross the bar without you. Never without you. I will stay and look on your face, though you grow brittle and hard, and crack under your pain; and I will love, and love, and love you, til, if only you choose to see it, my love will burgeon everywhere around and inside you; and I will never leave you: I will be the cool wind on your cheek, the rustle of leaves under your feet, the shy young woman watching you from lowered eyes across the room, despite your best efforts not to notice her interest, the whisper of rain that kisses your lashes, the glow in your eyes when you defeat my enemies, the stroke of your pen as you start writing again, though only to Honor me. Oh, mine, mine, mine, you Honor me with every second of your life. Every second. And for as long as you breathe, I will be your oxygen; and when you are finished breathing, I will be the kiss that closes your eyes, just as it was your kiss that first opened mine, all those moments ago. All those moments that will keep me with you, and you with me.

Every second.

Missing you more every moment that passes,
Buffy

~+~

I grimace at the letter. I was a bit upset when I wrote it. Hysterical would be a more appropriate word actually. I just miss him so much. I contemplated writing a new letter but a quick glance at my watch changed my mind. Only a few minutes until midnight. I kneel down near his grave and placed the large red candle in front of the tombstone. I try not to look at the letters inscribed on the stone but I can't help it.

William 'Spike' Giles
Loving son, brother and friend.
He saved the world...alot.

I shake off the uneasy feeling and light the candle with his small silver lighter. I pocketed it and laid the grass. I start chanting quietly as I pull out some of the grass that had grown over his grave and placed it on the letter. I do the same with some of the dirt. I fold the paper up again and hold it over the flame of the candle. I watch the letter burn and sprinkled the ashes over his grave. I smiled to myself as I place the candle back in my bag. I hope the spell worked. And if it did he'll get my letter. And he'll know how much loving him is scarring my soul.





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