Chapter 9
From two weeks before Christmas until after New Year, Spike spends nearly every afternoon after school in Buffy’s room. He comes under the pretense of studying for finals, looking at college catalogues, watching movies, any excuse he can find. He saunters in, kicking the door shut behind him and flops on her bed, yanking her down to lie atop him. He fists her hair and kisses her with an open mouth, tongue playing with hers, hands roaming over her body.
Some days that’s all they do- kissing and touching. Sometimes they cannot wait to get their clothes off, tearing at them until they are both naked and gasping, barely enough time to get a condom on before he is inside her, both moving fast and hard, desperate with need. And some days, they spend hours slowly licking and sucking each other, content to taste and please each other with mouths and tongues.
But at school, it’s a different story. He swaggers around with his punk friends, smoking in the hall between classes and taking verbal pot shots at cheerleaders. If he sees her in the hall, he doesn’t make eye contact. He avoids her between classes and at lunch.
She knows he’s ashamed to be seen with her. She isn’t cool, isn’t pretty or special. She wishes she was. She wants to walk to her locker with his arm draped over her shoulders, let everyone see him kiss her before she walks into study hall. Wants the world to know he owns her heart and body.
Instead she takes the attention she gets from him in her room, in their own little world. She lets herself be covered by his scent. He fills her up with the pretty words he whispers in her ear when he’s inside her body. He calls her “sweetheart”, “baby”. He sighs out words of passion, dirty things that make her quiver in excitement and embarrassment. He tells her she “tastes like heaven” and has a “pretty wet pussy” he could stay inside forever.
When he does her slow, it makes her cry. She aches to tell him she loves him, but she never does, not since that first time. She’s waiting for him to say it back, to come to her outside of her room, to claim her as his to his friends.
* * * * *
For Christmas she gives him a leather-bound copy of Shakespeare’s complete works, which she found in an antique bookstore. He looks awestruck, his lower lip trembling as he tears open the wrapping paper. He has no gift for her, so instead he lifts her in his arms and kisses her slow and soft, just the way she likes best, until she is light headed. When he leaves late on Christmas Eve, she buries her face in her pillow, breathing in his hair gel and deodorant scents on her sheets.
As the New Year begins, she notices he comes around less. He cuts classes they have together, is always pulling pranks with his friends. She wonders at the difference between the delinquent, punk boy Spike at school, and the tender Spike who gives her butterfly kisses on her belly after they make love.
But then he disappears, doesn’t come to her for a few weeks. They both are busy with schoolwork and filling out applications to college. Many of her teachers offer her recommendations, praising her intelligence and promise. But she is afraid of leaving. She fantasizes about him asking her to marry him, staying with him and not going off to school. “Mrs. William Price”. She writes it over and over inside the cover of her English Lit notebook.
When February comes, the snow is more than a foot deep on the ground. Buffy longs for spring, for flowers and green grass. For the Prom. He hasn’t asked her, but she knows he will. She goes to the Mall and looks at the prom dresses. Stands in front of the three angled mirrors in the dressing room and admires herself in tulle and chiffon. She spins, watching the skirt flare out, imagining being folded in his arms as they dance.
For Valentine’s Day, she makes him a card. It’s red glossy paper with bits of lace and glitter gel she’s glued on. She practiced using her mom’s calligraphy pen over and over, until she could write “I love you” in flowing script across the front. She plans to leave it on his car seat. After school, she sneaks between cars in the school parking lot, crouched low and headed towards his Desoto. But four cars away, she stops dead in her tracks.
He is inside his car, sitting in the driver’s seat, resting his wrist on the steering wheel. Dru is in the passenger seat, her face lined with tears, her hand covering his on the wheel. He is looking down, his eyelashes fluttering, his lower lip trembling.
Buffy can’t move; it’s as if she’s turned to stone. She stays down low for a long time as she watches them talk, her shins and calves aching. Then Dru leans over, kissing his cheek as his eyes fall closed. Buffy feels her pulse race, the tears falling before she even felt them coming. Her hands shake and the homemade card falls to the ground, forgotten. As Dru settles back in the passenger seat, Spike starts the car. When the car pulls away, rounding the turn out of the parking lot, Buffy stands and blindly walks through the parked cars to the curb by the road. Silently crying and shivering, she sits and waits for her mom to come pick her up, her backside wet and cold in the snow.
A large shadow looms over her. She closes her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest and letting her hair fall around her. She doesn’t want anyone to see her like this. But then there are warm, big hands touching her shoulders. She looks up then to see Angel crouching on one side of her, and Wes sitting on the other.
Angel and Wes are the two out gay boys at school. They were outed by the football team, treated with derision and scorn for the last year and a half. Buffy only knows them as acquaintances, but she likes them both. They have always been kind to her.
Wes’ soft accent rounds off his words. “We saw. We’re so sorry.”
Buffy wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, tosses her hair back. “Saw what? I don’t know what you mean.”
Angel sits beside her in the snow, wincing at the cold. “Buffy. C’mon. We know. We’ve seen how you look at Spike.” He chuckles, his gaze flickering up to Wes’ for a moment. “Hell, it’s how we used to look at Spike. We saw Dru get in the car with him.”
Her lip is starting to tremble. She is fighting like mad to keep it in, to hold it back.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protests again.
“It’s okay,” Wes assures her, “we’ve all had a crush on him.”
“But he’s MINE!” The words leap out before she can stop them.
“Buffy,” Angel coos, covering one of her gloved hands with his bare one, “I know you want him to notice you, but-”
She knows there’s no way to hold it back. The tears are flowing like a flood, her nose is running, her voice spilling out of her. All her secrets fall out in an endless stream. It is both a relief and enormously painful all at once. “No, no! He’s with me, he’s been with me, been with me since school started and nobody knows. I-I love him, and he’s mine, not hers, not hers…” She can’t say any more beyond that. She’s sobbing wildly, her hands covering her face. Angel pulls her close, folding her into his big chest and arms, wrapping her up tight.
“Oh. OH! Crap! We didn’t know. You- just let it all out now. It’s okay.”
She hears Wes swear under his breath, “Bastard,” but it only makes her cry harder. She feels Wes patting her back, Angel’s chest rising and falling under her wet cheek. She stays there in their comforting arms, until her mother comes and takes her home.
* * * * *
Buffy spends the rest of the week in school with her head down, nose to the grindstone, working like mad on schoolwork and college apps. She applies to schools in Boston and New York, Houston and Santa Cruz. Everywhere. Anywhere but here, where he is.
A week after she sees Dru kissing Spike in his car, Dru corners Buffy by her locker between classes.
“Hello, Buffy.” Dru’s hair falls long and shiny black around her pale face. Her clothes all look new- an ankle length black skirt and a red gauzy blouse. She is wearing makeup- dark eye shadow and a berry colored stain on her lips. She regards Buffy with an almost shy demeanor.
Buffy is stunned at Dru’s greeting. She can’t make her feet move or her mouth work. She feels painfully drab in her jeans and white cowl neck sweater. And she’s more than a little afraid of Dru; she’s seen her hurt Spike with her hands and nails, with venomous words.
“Spike tells me you two have been close this year.” Dru says. “He’s always thought well of you. And I went through some bad times over the summer. But I love him. And now, he’s come back to me, as he should. He is my sweet, darling boy. We belong together, my Spike and me. Thank you, Buffy, for being his friend while I was away.”
It’s as if something inside Buffy has gone numb, died. She hears herself say the words, but it doesn’t feel like it’s her speaking.
“You’re welcome.”
Dru smiles at her with lips closed, looking pleased, before walking away.
Buffy just barely makes it to the bathroom before she is sick into the toilet. She washes out her mouth after, then walks right out. Out one of the side doors of the school and off campus. Walks all the way home and climbs into bed, staying there until her mom comes home that night and hold her while she cries herself to sleep.
* * * * *
At the end of March, the daffodils come up out of the ground. Spring vacation starts. At the end of vacation week is the Prom. Angel and Wes ask Buffy to go with them. They visited her every day through February and March, studied with her, took her to movies with them. The three have become fast friends. They tell Buffy about their plans to open an art gallery one day, a partnership of Angel’s artistic talent and eye and Wes’ head for business. Their endless, playful verbal sparring keeps Buffy laughing, hopeful that there is still a chance for love in the world.
Buffy chooses a long white A-line gown to wear to the Prom with the boys. They are both wearing white on white tuxes, stunningly handsome when they pick her up at her house. They offer her a white gardenia corsage, fragrant and elegant.
When they walk to the limo parked on the curb, Buffy sees Spike getting into his car in the driveway next door. It is the first time she has looked at him in five weeks. He is wearing a traditional tux, his hair gelled artfully in a mass of spikes and curls, his rented shoes shined and clacking on the sidewalk. Her breath catches in her throat at his beauty. She longs to go to him, just to talk to him for a minute, to hear his voice, smell his scent, press her cheek against his and tell him once more how much she loves him.
As she imagines this, it’s as if he hears her thoughts. He stops, his hand on his car door handle, and turns. His mouth falls open when he sees her. He blinks slowly, looking her up and down, his eyes looking sad. Then he purses his lips, presses them tightly together, and gets into the car to drive away.
She feels Angel and Wes each take one of her elbows, holding her up, leading her into the limo. “C’mon. Let’s go,” Wes tells her, his voice soft, full of compassion.
* * * * *
The hotel ballroom is lavishly decorated for the Prom. Wes and Angel take turns dancing with Buffy and each other, keeping Buffy on the dance floor until her feet are aching in her high heels. A little before eleven she decides to sit a few dances out. As she is crossing toward the tables, she sees Spike and Dru on the dance floor. Spike is standing rigidly still, his face tense, as Dru spins and writhes around him. He reaches for her, clearly trying to get her to slow down, to stop, but she slips away, mocking taking a bite at his hand.
Spike sees Buffy across the dance floor. His eyes find hers, and they look desperate. Pleading. Buffy feels as if she cannot breathe. Then he’s crossing the floor, leaving Dru behind, headed straight for her.
“Hello, Buffy,” he greets her, sounding shy.
“Hey.” She doesn’t want to look in his piercing blue eyes, but, oh, she cannot help it. Her stomach twists in nervousness.
“You look- wow. Really beautiful.”
“Thank you. So do you. I mean, handsome. Well, you know…”
“Yeah.”
Dru sidles up beside Spike, pressing herself tightly against his side. Buffy thinks Dru’s eyes seem strange- swimmy and unfocused, more than a little wild. “Well, well, found the little princess after all, didn’t you my William. Can’t resist walking in the sun.” She slaps at his chest so hard that he flinches. “Naughty boy! You know we are meant for the dark. All black. I can see it, you know. The blackness, creeping from your insides, out. Covering you.” Dru brings her hands up to either side of her face, clutching her head so hard that her cheeks press in with the pressure.
Spike looks at Buffy again, his expression desperate. “Help me?” he pleads, softly. His voice is quiet in the dim of the music and conversations around them. But Buffy hears him.
Unfortunately, so does Dru.
“She can’t help you now, can you little princess? Too late. He’s broken your cherry and broken your heart, didn’t he Buffy? I know it all. I see what you want. You want him to be your shining knight. But he can’t,” Dru slides one hand up Spike’s cheek, her nails raking his skin, and he flinches away, “can you, my darling? Can’t let yourself love her, can you. He never did tell you he loves you, did he? That’s because he knows- his heart is MINE.”
At that, Buffy can’t hold back the sobs that have been building in her chest. Her eyes overflow as she steps back. “Please, leave me alone. I have to go.” Then she is running toward the dance floor, bumping into the couples crushed together for a slow dance, until she finds Angel and Wes, at the far corner by the stage, dancing together in the shadows.
“I want to go home. Now. Please, please!” She is wild, crying, begging, tugging at Angel’s sleeve.
“Buffy? What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home. Please, take me home now?”
Wes is already grabbing his jacket and putting it on. “Of course, Buffy. Do you have your things?”
“Yes, yes. Let’s go.”
The boys bring her back home, holding her as she cries quietly and whispers to herself, again and again repeating the same phrase.
“He never loved me.”
* * * * *
Sometime after 2 am, Buffy’s mom comes into her room. She sits on her bed and wakes her with a caress over her hair.
“Sweetie? Someone’s here to see you. I know you might not want to see him right now, but he really needs you.”
Buffy sits up, rubbing her achy, swollen eyes. “Who is it?”
“It’s Spike. He’s downstairs, in the kitchen. He’s been banging on the back door for a while. At first I didn’t want to let him in, what with everything you told me, but … something has happened, Buffy. Something terrible. He needs you; he needs all of us right now.”
Buffy gets up and puts on her robe over her sweat pants and tee shirt, follows her mom downstairs to the kitchen.
He is sitting at the table, still in his tux, with his shirt unbuttoned, and the tie undone. His hair is a mess, as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over. His body looks collapsed, broken.
“Spike? What’s going on?”
“It’s all my fault, you see. I never should have believed her. I knew she couldn’t do it, but God!” he trails off, leaving Buffy confused.
“I don’t understand, Spike. What’s your fault?”
“Dru. She came to my house for New Year’s. Told me she had quit using. That she did it for me. That I was her one true love, couldn’t live without me. Begged me to take her back…”
Buffy doesn’t want to hear it. His words are like physical blows. But he’s flowing now, the story spilling out of him like water rushing out of a hole in a dam.
She said if I didn’t take her back, she would start up again. Or off herself. I didn’t want her, but I couldn’t let her go back. For a while, she seemed okay. I thought, if I could just stick it out long enough for her to get healthy, she’d see we weren’t right together anymore. But, she didn’t see. All she saw was… well, YOU, pet. She was jealous. Threatened to hurt you. And me. And herself.” He sucks in a shuddering breath before continuing, his eyes staring ahead at nothing. “And then tonight, she was so doped up. Dunno what she took. When we left the hotel so I could take her home, she attacked me. Her mouth got all foamy. She fell to the ground, started shaking, twitching… God! I didn’t know what to do! I ran into the hotel and asked someone to call 911. But by the time I got back to her, she was gone. I could tell. The ambulance came, but it was too late.” He looks up at Buffy, looking lost. “Dru’s dead.”
The words hit her in the chest like a stone. She steps back, lowering herself into a chair.
She is stunned. Her heart hammering, she watches him watching her. Sees him looking for sympathy and comfort.
But all she feels is relief.
And when she realizes she is almost glad at the news, a wave of horror washes over her. Guilt crashes down. She can’t look at him. She folds into herself, feeling hate for herself, for Dru, and for him, at making her think such evil thoughts. She is furious at him for hurting her, for leaving her, and then expecting her to console him over the person he left her for.
She rises up out of the chair. She feels her mother coming to stand behind her.
“I’m sorry, Spike. That’s really awful,” she says, her tone cold. “I’m sorry you’ve lost your girlfriend.” He winces at her words. “But it’s very late. I think you should go home.”
“Buffy!” Joyce chides her. “William, you are welcome to stay. Can I make you something?”
Spike keeps his eyes fixed on Buffy. He looks shattered, full of pain. He rises up out of his chair, headed for the door. “No, thank you, Mrs. Summers. I think I should be off.” His tone is brittle and desperate as he opens the door and says, “Good night, Buffy.”
She doesn’t answer. She reaches down and picks up his water glass from the table, preparing to bus it away.
When the back door clicks shut, Buffy takes the glass and hurls it hard. It shatters on the wall, the water exploding all over the wall and floor.
“BUFFY!” Joyce shouts, “What the HELL do you think you are doing? What is wrong with you? Your behavior to William was awful!”
“Yeah, and he’s been so great to me!” Buffy screams back, hoping he hears her as he’s walking back to his house. “Look Mom, you have no idea what you’re talking about, so you should just leave it alone, okay?”
“Well then, why don’t you tell me? I’m in the dark here Buffy. You never talk to me anymore. Tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t!” Buffy shouts, but the anger is fading. Pain is surging up. She tries to stuff it down, but oh, it’s winning. “I can’t…”
Joyce walks forward and takes Buffy’s hands in hers. “Of course you can. You can tell me anything.”
Buffy’s face twists and contorts, and then she’s weeping. The words spill out. Everything from their first kiss to admitting that she’s had sex with him to his betrayal with Dru.
Joyce says nothing. She takes Buffy into her arms and holds her as she cries, her heart breaking as she realizes her little girl has grown up.
* * * * *
Two days later, Joyce and Buffy go to Dru’s funeral, along with most of the rest of the High School kids and their families. Joyce holds Buffy’s hand through the whole thing. They both watch Spike stand beside his mom, near the front of the church, dressed in a somber black suit. He doesn’t cry, hardly moves at all. He simply stares ahead, looking numb, as his mother rubs his arm and fusses with his collar.
After the service, Mrs. Price finds the Summer’s women outside. She says nothing, but presses a kiss to Buffy’s cheek, pats Joyce’s hand. It is that tenderness that brings the sting of tears behind Buffy’s eyes.
Spike trails behind his mother. He’s taken off his tie, jammed his hands into his pockets.
He looks lost, hollowed out, desperate for the littlest sliver of kindness. He looks into her eyes, and she can see his apology there. She can’t take it yet. She needs some space, some time to pass. So she looks away, squeezing her mom’s hand to let her know she wants to go.
It is the last time she sees Spike before she leaves for college.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy wakes to the sun shining in her face. Her body aches as she opens her eyes, squinting against the glare.
She finds herself still on the floor, her body entwined with Spike’s, one of his hands on her lower belly just above her sex. His head is resting on her upper arm and that arm is completely asleep.
She tries to slide it out, but she can’t move. So instead, she watches him. His face is relaxed. He looks so much younger, the tension around his mouth and eyes smoothed away in his slumber. She brings her free hand up, running the pad of her thumb over his eyebrow, down the edge of his cheekbone, over the fullness of his lower lip. So soft, she thinks. She leans in, turning toward him, and kisses him lightly.
He stirs, kissing back sleepily. The corners of his mouth turn up as his eyes flutter open.
“Hey,” she greets him with a soft smile.
“Hey yourself.” He nuzzles into her shoulder, inhaling. “Mmm. You smell good,” he tells her, his voice deep and thick with sleep.
“Sure I do…” she says, rolling her eyes.
He lowers his head, brushing his lips over one breast. “Taste good, too,” he tells her, mouthing her nipple until it stands up sharply. She sighs, gliding her free hand over his chest and down, grazing his tight belly. She reaches down lower, taking him in her hand.
His hands dip between her legs, teasing her gently to heavy, slick arousal, as he comes back up to kiss her, slowly and softly.
When she is gasping, he guides himself up to his knees, kneeling between her legs. Positioning himself at her entrance, he opens his heavy eyes and looks into hers.
“Tell me again. Please?”
“I love you.”
He glides in, thrusting long and slow, easing her up and up. He makes love to her as if time doesn’t exist, as if they are the only two people in the world. He covers her in kisses and whispers, his hands and long fingers teasing more pleasure out of her, wherever he can reach to touch her.
She wraps her legs around the backs of his thighs, letting him in deep. He groans, his eyes darkening with pleasure.
“My sweet girl. Never letting you go now.”
“Spike?” she asks, rising up to her release, “Do you… love me?”
He stops his thrusts, lowering his face to inches above hers. “Buffy, I have always loved you. There has never been anyone else,” he tells her, echoing her words from the night before.
Then he glides up inside her to the hilt, hitting her sweet spot, careening her into orgasm. Her climax triggers his own. He barely moves his hips, but she feels him empting into her as he kisses her over and over.
They lie there for several minutes, kissing as they breathe hard, unwilling to separate.
When he softens and slips out, he rolls to the side. They both groan at the same time, then look at each other and chuckle.
“This floors’ not the best place to spend the night, is it?”
“Not so much. I’m a little achy,” she grins at him.
He grabs his tee shirt from the floor and wipes himself down, then gets up to get a box of tissues for her. She cleans herself, sits up and stretches out the kinks in her muscles and joints.
When her arms are over her head in a long stretch, he swoops in to grab her, lifting her and wrapping her legs around his lean hips. He stands, walks over to flop down onto the couch, burying his face in her neck and nibbling on her earlobe. “What shall we do today then?”
“I’m thinking shower and coffee are at the top of the list,” she laughs, running her hands over his biceps and shoulders.
“Mmm, shower sounds good. You all slippery, soapy,” he licks up the side of her neck, making her squirm. “GOD, I’m happy,” he tells her, coming back in to kiss her mouth again. “Then what?”
She smiles against his lips, running her hands through his wildly curled hair.
“Then, I should probably call the office and let them know when I’ll be back.”
He stops kissing her and leans back against the couch cushions. “Back?” he asks.
“Yeah. I think I can get away with one more day, but then Wes and Angel are gonna be calling every five minutes after that.” She laughs. “They really are a mess without me.” She sees he is looking away, his expression turned serious. “What?” she asks.
“You’re going back- what? Tomorrow?” He looks up into her eyes. He looks wounded, blinking at her, awaiting her reply, his shoulders rounding forward as if to protect himself.
She brings her hands up to cup his face, looks into his eyes. “Spike. I need to go back to work. They count on me to keep the gallery running. But I’m not LEAVING, leaving. I’ll be back. You know, I only live 45 minutes away from here. I’ll be back this weekend.”
He slides her off his lap, setting her feet down. Then he inches to the side, getting off the couch and grabbing for his pants on the floor. He pulls them on, avoiding her gaze.
“Yeah. You got obligations. I understand. You… don’t have to come back. It’s okay Buffy. I get it. I’m glad for what we had.”
“Spike, no. Wait…” she tries to speak, but he cuts her off.
“It’s all right. I should get back to work myself, managing the rehab clinic. Been away as long as Mum has been sick. Willow’s done a great job keepin’ it going, but I really need to get back to it.”
“No. You should take as long as you need to. You’ve been through so much…” He interrupts her again.
“Yeah. I have. Thanks for this, Buffy. It was,” his voice is brittle as he chokes out, “nice. But I think you should go now.”
“Spike, no, please. I love you. Me needing to check back with work doesn’t change that. I promise, I’m NOT leaving you. I’ll be back this weekend. Can’t we spend today together?”
He doesn’t answer for the longest time. He stands there, his chest rising and falling his fists opening and closing by his sides. His mouth working as he tries to make words come out.
Finally he says, “I know you think you love me. But you don’t. I’m bad, Buffy. I’m a bad man. I was back then, and I am still. I hear you say you’ll come back, but we both know you won’t.”
“I will-“
“I love you. So help me God, I love you so much, sometimes I think it’ll break me. I always did. But I was never good enough for you, love. So I think it’s best if you go now. Go back to your life.” He hands her clothes to her, looking away. “You’ll be better off without me.” With that, he grabs his duster and puts it on over his bare chest, then walks away, right out the front door. She hears him start his motorcycle, rev the engine, and peel out into the street, riding away from her.
She dresses slowly, stunned. She takes a half an hour to tidy up the room, hoping he will come back. He doesn’t. Her body and heart aching, she finally heads back home, locking his front door behind her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
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