Well, no, she had.
She’d broken someone’s heart time and again, kept her daughter from her father and made a life built on false pretences. She’d been busy.
However, she couldn’t focus on the past, best to save that for therapy. When I’m in a safe environment, she thought and laughed to herself. That was something, wasn’t it? Being able to laugh about it now. Why not? It was really all she could do. She could say all the apologies she wanted, she could allow guilt, missed opportunities, all the lies to weigh on her and press her down, and keep her down, or she could look up from the bottom of the barrel and figure a way out.
Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t a blank canvas with nothing to show for herself and had to wait for that big break and revelation, but maybe it was that she was reinventing herself. Perhaps it was as simple as all that crap before not being worth – aside from Lindsey of course – a masterpiece. Artists of all walks had a tendency to work out their issues in their work. They wallowed in it long enough to put something tangible to it – a book, a drawing, a sculpture, a song, even and entire album. They weren’t called tortured artists for nothing. Wallowing in all of that, spending time in it, even under the pretence of “working it out”, couldn’t be healthy. Did anyone really leave with a sense of well-being? Or were they tortured further because they were followed by that piece? She remembered an interview she’d read once with Alanis Morrisette; the singer/songwriter had been asked if she felt better after writing and then having to perform “You Oughtta Know”, night after night in concert after concert. The song had become a sort of anthem for scorned women everywhere, and Alanis had written it in retaliation to her former lover having taken so quickly up with another woman shortly after breaking up with her. Alanis had said no, it did not help singing it for it followed her and she was reminded of the betrayal everytime she had to perform it.
Look up, not down. Look ahead, not backward.
So, what did she ultimately want? What did anyone ultimately want? Happiness. And happiness wasn’t something handed over to you, it was something you had to work at. Getting stuck was easy, it seemed it was the inclination every human had, but getting unstuck, that was the tricky part.
Closing her eyes, she pictured what happiness would feel like. What it would be like. She pictured herself with a smile on her face, the sun beating down on her and Lindsey, laughing joyously in the background while Spike pushed her on her swing set.
So that, she thought, is what I’ll draw.
The door swinging open, jarred Buffy from her sketch. Looking up, she found Spike coming in with a sleeping Lindsey in his arms. Squinting at the clock, she found it was nine. No wonder she conked out on him, she was usually in bed by eight. He nodded toward the stairs and she took that as his sign he was putting her to bed. Putting her sketch aside, she got up and followed him up, wiggling her hand to try and get the cramp out of it.
Spike laid their daughter down on the bed and Buffy slipped off Lindsey’s shoes. “She can just sleep in that,” Buffy whispered, and Spike nodded, covering her up. He kissed Lindsey’s forehead, and Buffy followed suit, smiling at Spike.
He grinned almost shyly at her and followed her out of the room. Making their way downstairs, Buffy asked, “So, what did you guys end up doing?”
“Dinner and then she begged me to see Cars, so I took her. It was a little late though, and she ended up falling asleep halfway through.”
“Sap,” Buffy teased, heading into the living room and closing up her sketchpad.
Spike looked up at her, eyebrow raised, “What are you working on, luv?”
She smiled mysteriously. “My masterpiece.”
“Of?”
“My life,” she said and sat down.
“Okay,” Spike said and sat down on the coffee table across from her, “You’re not going to tell me.”
“I did. It’s a work in progress.”
He smiled, “I like the sound of that.”
“Thank you.”
“Buffy, there’s something I wanted to tell you, and I really don’t know how to do it...”
“Like Nike I suppose.”
“Nike?”
“Just do it.”
“Oh, right. Okay, well. . . I have a date.”
Buffy stared at him, feeling suddenly hollow inside. In fact, she felt as though Spike had just punched her and his fist had gone right through her to the other side. “Oh?” she managed to squeak out.
“It’s not a big deal, at least it’s not to me. She’s just some woman I met the other day in the bookstore. She recognized me from the book signing a few weeks ago and was too shy to approach me, so she did this time. She asked me out, not the other way around.”
Buffy swallowed, “Oh.”
“You say the word, Buffy and I’ll tell her—“
“No,” Buffy said forcefully, surprising herself and him. She swallowed hard again, “No. You should go.”
“Is this one of those times when you tell me to go ahead and do something, only you don’t really want me to do it, and if I do, do it, I get hell for it later?”
Buffy let out a nervous laughed. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? But no. It’s not.”
“Buffy...I....” he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
Reaching out, she took his hand, imploring him to look at her. She met his eyes, and found her own were welling up in tears. “You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy, William. And if I cannot be that person to make you happy, then I want you to find the one that can.”
“Buffy, if you’re pulling some kind of noble bullshit –“
“I’m not. Well, it seems like I am, but it’s not that way. It’s just that...we have history you and I. We have a lot between us and honestly; I don’t know how you can love me. I haven’t made things easy for you.”
“I haven’t made things easy for you either, Buffy,” Spike said, his voice choked with tears.
“We’ve been awful to each other, I know. I could sit here and be selfish and tell you that I don’t want you to go, and that it burns me with jealousy and –“
“Tell me that and I won’t go!”
“No, I won’t. Even if it sounds like I did,” she laughed nervously. She shook her head, serious once more. “You have to do this. Bask in it, Spike. Just make sure she’s not some psychotic fan. Oh, and she has to like kids.”
“Buffy, I – I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t want to let you go. I’ve loved you for so long . . . “
“Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of moving on, please. Don’t let me hold you back from finding happiness. I want you to find it Spike, please. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I’m not going to tell you to wait for me. I won’t, because I don’t know what my future holds. I’m a work in progress, remember?”
Spike stood, looking ready to bolt. “I gotta go.”
Standing, Buffy hugged him tightly. “I’ll see you soon.”
He left quickly, mumbling a good-bye and Buffy sat back down, allowing herself a good, cleansing cry.