Buffy had never been so relieved to see Willow as she was when the bouncy redhead entered the house without knocking. She practically fell into her friend’s arms, her thin body shaking as the tension drained from her muscles, leaving her feeling dizzy and exhausted. Willow, seeing this, took charge in her typical no-nonsense fashion. When Buffy tried to protest, the Wicca gave her the ‘resolve face’. Smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks, Buffy allowed herself to be dragged into the kitchen, where a few minute’s later her friend stood over her as she ate a thick sandwich.
While she had her mouth full, Willow took advantage of her forced silence and launched into a long lecture about teenage girls who made themselves surrogate mothers, slaves to their older siblings and took care of everyone except themselves. Buffy gulped down a heavy mouthful of sandwich, waiting until her friend paused for breath before gripping her by the arms. Her stomach gurgled gratefully at the intake of the food it so desperately needed, and she waited for the growling to cease before smiling gently.
“I try Wills, you know I do. It’s just hard keeping track of what Dawn’s doing and all the stuff Dru wants me to do. But maybe now he’s here…” The end of her sentence trailed into silence.
The keen-eyed redhead noticed her slightly wistful look. Alarm bells beginning to tinkle in her head, she frowned. “What’s he like?”
Buffy, lost in thought, smiled sadly. “He’s called Spike. Spike Reynolds. I don’t know much about him, but… He’s beautiful, Wills. I know men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, but he is.”
The Wicca drew in a sharp breath. Leaning forward, she gripped Buffy hard by the arms. Noticing the sudden flinch, she yanked up the sleeve of Buffy’s top. She hissed when she saw the ragged tear, but made no comment. She just wordlessly pulled the girl forward into a hug, almost crushing her before taking a careful hold of her wrist and leading her upstairs. Noticing the sound of low voices in Drusilla’s room, Willow quietly lead Buffy into the bathroom and closed the door softly.
Following a familiar route, she sat the thin, exhausted girl down on the edge of the bathtub. Opening the bathroom cabinet, she ignored the multitudes of Drusilla’s lotions and assorted accessories, as well as the heavy glass bottle placed out of Dawn’s reach on the top shelf, containing the strong sedatives for Mrs Summers whenever she began to get too troublesome. Grabbing the cotton swabs, she dipped them carefully in a jar of antibiotic cream.
“This’ll sting.” She warned Buffy, gingerly holding the bony wrist that had been silently offered to her.
Although she was prepared for it, the blank look on her best friend’s face when she began to clean the wound scared the redhead. She didn’t react in the slightest to what Willow knew to be a sharp, stinging pain. Each time they repeated this procedure, it seemed to get worse. Each time, Buffy seemed to be sinking a little more, and the Wicca was afraid that she no longer wanted to fight the black hands of despair pulling her down. She often wondered if Buffy would even try to go on if Dawn ever left. Her little sister seemed the only reason for the broken girl to live.
That thought scared her more than anything else. If, Goddess forbid it, something ever happened to Dawnie, Willow somehow knew that Buffy wouldn’t hesitate to end her suffering. After she had thoroughly cleaned the cut and neatly stuck a plaster over it, she remembered their earlier conversation. Gripping her friend’s bony shoulders, she forced the dull green eyes to meet hers. Her voice was soft and urgent, but fiercely protective.
“You listen to me, Elizabeth Anne Summers. Dru’s new plaything might be beautiful, but he’s off limits. I don’t know what she’d do to you if she realised you were interested in him. So you put those thoughts right out of your head, do you hear me?”
Buffy nodded listlessly. Her eyes began to flutter closed as she swayed, the combination of her fatigue and the food making her suddenly sleepy. Seeing her begin to relax, Willow propped the emaciated teen up on one side, half-carrying her past her mother’s room. When they reached Buffy’s minimalist-themed room, the girl was half asleep. Willow lowered her to the bed, stripping off her shabby clothes and looking at the prominent ribs and jutting hip bones with almost clinical detachment. By the time she’d dressed her friend in sleep-appropriate wear, she’d succumbed to sleep.
With surprising ease, for Buffy weighed less than Dawn, she lifted the unconscious girl and yanked back the thin duvet. Remembering the thick quilts that had covered Dru’s bed last time she’d helped Buffy clean the girl’s room, she felt anger boil in the pit of her stomach. Laying her best friend and the bravest girl she’d ever known back on the pillow, she tucked the covers up under the pointed chin. With a final, sad glance at the sleeping young woman, Willow slipped out of the room and left the door only slightly ajar behind her.
Looking at the watch strapped to her wrist, the redhead sighed in relief. It was only ten o’clock; Buffy could sleep for the next five hours, provided she put the lasagne she’d noticed neatly packed in the fridge on to cook in time for Dru’s lunch at one. Then her friend would have to wake up, returning to serving her sister like a slave and being the sole parent of a twelve-year-old girl. Shaking her head at the unfairness of life, the Wicca trod carelessly on the creaky floorboard. She half wanted Drusilla to come out and scream at her; she was no more afraid of the cruel girl than she was of Dawnie.
Quietly settling down on the stool in the dark corner where Buffy usually hid until she was summoned, Willow tried for the hundredth time desperately to think of a way to help her fading friend. She had still come up with bitter nothing when she heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Straightening, she glared angrily at the door as a flash of peroxide-blonde hair and startling blue eyes met her gaze.
****
Spike had obediently waited for Dru until she swept into her room, clad only in a tiny towel. Striving to ignore his body’s painful reaction, he waited until she had dressed in one of her customary, outrageously daring dresses before patting the bed beside him in invitation. Slinking over to his side, his girlfriend had cooed in his ear and run her hands over his muscular torso. Spike, however, was not in the mood to be distracted. Gently pushing away her insistent little fingers, he turned to face her with a troubled frown.
“Dru honey, I think we need to talk.”
Drusilla’s beautiful face had suddenly darkened, her lip curling scornfully. Her delicate features twisted into a mask of disdain that made her seem cold and unreachable. Nevertheless, he ploughed on. “I’m worried about Buffy.”
At that, Dru’s face had smoothed out. She’d smiled silkily, nibbling his earlobe and breathing that he didn’t have to be concerned, the girl was fine. Spike, however, had frowned. How could she say that? He hadn’t even been in the house a full day and he could see that something wasn’t right with the teenager. When he’d persisted, however, Dru had just snapped that Buffy was fine; she didn’t need him interfering in her life. She then announced that she was going to meet Harmony at the mall, and that she’d see him later.
She’d shot him one last regal stare before exiting with a dramatic sniff. For a long time he’d sat on the bed, thinking over what he’d seen and Dru’s responses. He got the feeling that he was missing something vital. But what? About to go over his conversation with Buffy on the stairs one last time, he heard a shuffling movement outside. Peering through the crack in the door, he was surprised to see a slumped Buffy being half-dragged into her room by her cute redhead friend.
About to offer his help, he noticed the protective way the girl, Willow he reminded himself, had draped an arm around Buffy’s waist. The shorter woman seemed to be only semi-conscious, and for a moment the two were lit in the doorway to her room. Spike had to swallow a gasp. From this angle, he could suddenly see the horrific thinness of Buffy’s body, the way her ribs dropped into a concave stomach, the bony prominence of her collar bones. Then the girls vanished behind the closed door.
Stunned, Spike collapsed back on the bed. He’d had patients with eating disorders before, but he’d rarely seen a young woman that desperately thin; he certainly hadn’t expected to see it on his holiday with his girlfriend. Reminded of Dru’s insistence that everything was fine, he sat up with a jolt. Anger made him shake as his face flushed red. How could she happily ignore her own sister falling into such a condition?
Remembering this morning, the frantic rushing he’d heard in the kitchen before he’d entered it, he felt further rage flare in him. Was Dru so insensitive as not to realise that Buffy was working herself to death? What was he missing? Drawn from his thoughts by the creak of a floorboard outside, he rose. Catching sight of the back of Willow’s head as she quietly wandered downstairs, he slipped out of Dru’s room and across to Buffy’s.
Opening the door a crack, he carefully peeked inside. The young woman was tucked under a thin duvet, her features relaxed in sleep in a way that he hadn’t noticed before. He took the time afforded by her unconsciousness to really study her. What he saw drove home like a sledgehammer his theory that something in the Summers household was very, very wrong.
Her hair was clean, but it looked lifeless and dank. Her face was too pale, dark circles ringing her eyes like bruises. Her cheekbones pressed against her skin, clearly visible against her sickly complexion. Dark shadows highlighted the hollows of her cheeks, making her cute chin look pointed and sharp. Her mouth, lush and full, was relaxed into a natural pout; it made him realise that when she was awake, it was almost constantly drawn taut with stress.
His face a mask of disgusted anger, he carefully backed away from the door and turned. He was determined to figure out what the hell was happening here. Striding purposefully to the stairs, he clattered down and stormed into the kitchen. About to demand an explanation, he was brought up short by the coldly furious stare being directed at him from the redhead in the corner. Recalling that Buffy had sat there, watching the three of them eat their fill, made him feel sickened that he hadn’t noticed her starved form earlier.
Willow stood slowly, stepping into the light. The tender young woman he’d seen before had vanished; in her place stood a protective mother bear, savagely furious that someone had approached her cub. The soft voice he expected from such a timid-looking girl was nowhere to be found. Her every word was quiet but loaded with warning. She met his eyes squarely.
“You listen to me. If I so much as think that you’ve caused trouble for Buffy, I’ll have the police in here faster than you can blink.”
Spike, offended, glowered back. “I’d never want to cause trouble for her.”
Willow laughed; it was a bitter, mirthless sound. “You might have done already.” Leaving him to think over her puzzling last words, she headed back up to watch over Buffy as she slept.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm so sorry I haven't updated recently! My computer's been on the fritz and I've had a lot of work to do. Anyway, here's the next installment. Hope you all continue to enjoy, and as always I'd appreciate your feedback!