He’d come back and disappeared so quickly, that it felt almost like a dream. Things were back now to how they’d been before, as if William had never come returned at all. Liam never spoke of the visit, and neither did Buffy.
It would’ve been easy to pretend it he’d never been there.
If she didn’t ache for him…
She hadn’t seen him in two weeks, and yet she sat at the bottom of her shower, frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks as the cool water pelted her. She’d woken up too hot, sheets tangled around her legs as the remnants of her latest dream lingered in her mind.
Deep blue eyes that saw right through her… Pale blond hair against paler skin… A touch that set her afire like no other…
She whimpered softly, her head falling against the tile wall. The house was quiet, still, Liam gone to whatever bed he was currently occupying, but Buffy could feel everything closing in on her, smothering her.
Her hand moved between her legs, trying desperately to relieve the tension, but it wasn’t enough. She needed him…craved him.
She whimpered, the sound rolling into a frustrated growl as she pulled her hand up and slammed her fist against the tile wall. Buffy knew she was crying, the water running down her cheeks warmer than that coming from the showerhead, and it angered her to know this was what she’d become.
Buffy thought she could remember being someone else. Someone happy, someone who smiled. She remembered laughing, and a time when tears could come from joy.
It was all gone. Youth and innocence taken too soon.
“I hate you,” she whispered, the tears coming harder now. “I hate you.” She didn’t know who she was talking to. Liam, William, herself, her dead mother.
She didn’t think it really mattered.
She curled up on the bottom of the shower, sobbing, barely noticing how she shivered as the icy water spilled over her. She couldn’t go on like this, not when she was broken. She needed to feel something that wasn’t this constant, gnawing ache.
She needed him to touch her.
She needed him to make her feel alive again.
Dru was asleep beside him, her long, dark hair fanning out behind her on the pillow. He reached out, caressing the strands for just a moment before he pulled back.
Touching her wasn’t the same anymore.
He swore softly under his breath and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reaching for his pack of cigarettes and silver Zippo lighter. He’d wanted things to go back to what they had been, to forget everything that had happened at Christmas, but he couldn’t.
The memories of what had happened with Buffy would’ve been enough to contend with, but beyond that was the accusation she’d made the last time they’d spoken. Every time he touched Dru, he wondered.
Had she slept with his father?
He didn’t want to believe it, but the doubt was there, nagging him constantly.
Spike lit his cigarette, smoking it in the light of the early afternoon sun that was trickling in through the blinds.
Drusilla stirred, made some small sound in her sleep, and Spike decided he needed to leave, not sure he could face her at the moment if she were to wakeup. He stubbed his cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray, slipped on a pair of worn jeans, and walked out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him so as not to make any loud noises.
One of his girlfriend’s strung-out friends was passed out on the floor, and Spike paused for a moment, making sure the man was still breathing before he continued on. He sometimes wondered why he didn’t finally just cave and accept the various substances he’d been offered since taking up with Drusilla. Alcohol and nicotine just weren’t doing the trick anymore.
He still felt too fucking much.
A couple he didn’t recognize was passed out on the couch, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes scattered around the living room. He ignored them as he sat down in a chair, the half-empty bottle of whiskey he’d stumbled away from still beside it.
He grabbed the bottle, opened it, and picked up where he’d left off the night before.
Spike hadn’t taken more than a couple of swigs, however, before he heard the faint, tinny ringing of a cell phone. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from the pocket of his black leather duster.
Wondering who the hell would actually be calling him, he got up, making his way over to the phone he kept with a Berkeley number in order to hide from his mother and Liam that he was no longer residing there. Which meant it was probably Darla, wanting something from him again. Spike sighed heavily and flipped the phone open. “Yeah?”
“William?”
He grew still, even holding his breath at the sound of Buffy’s voice. It couldn’t be her. He had to be imagining it, his mind playing tricks on him.
“Spike? Is that you?”
The part of his brain that still provided rational thought screamed at him to hang up the phone. Any contact with her would only lead to badness.
“It’s me, Buffy.”
He heard her make a sound of relief on the other end of the line. “I wasn’t sure…if this was right. I found the number in Liam’s address book.”
“It’s my cell. What do you want?”
Her answer was soft, almost a whisper, but he heard it all the same. “To see you.”
Spike didn’t know how to respond. He glanced over at the couple on the couch, saw that they were still sleeping.
“Spike? Are you there?”
He sighed and ran his free hand through his sleep-tossed curls. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Can I see you? Please, Spike. I…I need to.”
The entire conversation was throwing him for a loop. What sort of game was this woman playing with him? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” she begged him again, and Spike didn’t know what to make of her neediness. “Just…just once.”
His gaze flickered down the hall, towards the room he shared with Dru. “I can’t.”
“Don’t say no yet, Will,” she pleaded. “Just…write down this address. And…and if you can, meet me there at two tomorrow, okay?”
“Fuck…” Spike sighed, wondering why he wasn’t hanging up. “Let me get a pen and paper.”
He shook his head, cursing himself even as he scribbled the address she gave him down on a torn piece of an old receipt. “I’m not going to be there, Buffy,” he told her, as he shoved the address into his jeans’ pocket.
“I will be,” she told him before the line went dead.
“Fuck,” Spike swore again as he closed the phone and slipped it back into his duster pocket, trading it out for another pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He left the apartment and stepped out onto the balcony, lighting his cigarette before he leaned over the edge, watching the activity below. The apartment complex’s pool had been drained for the winter, but several of his neighbors were still milling around it, socializing. One of them, a pretty young blonde whose name he’d never bothered to learn, looked up and him and waved. He gave a small wave back, though his disinterest was clear, and she turned back to the men with her.
It was the middle of January, yet the cool weather didn’t bother him, even as he stayed outside in nothing but a pair of worn jeans. Sometimes he fucking hated L.A.
He closed his mouth around the end of the cigarette, holding it in place as he dug into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper with the address on it, looking over it again. It was a motel, and not a particularly upscale one at that. He snorted, taking a drag off his cigarette before flicking the ash off over the edge of the balcony. It didn’t take a lot of speculation to know what was on her mind.
What did she think he was, her bloody rent boy? That she could just ring him up and demand his services?
He held the paper up above the tip of his cigarette, ready to let it burn. But then he hesitated, unable to set the flame.
Spike pulled the cigarette back and returned the address to his pocket. No, maybe he would go… Just to give her a piece of his mind, let her know she couldn’t jerk him around like this. What had happened at Christmas was a mistake, and not one he had any intention of making again.
Yeah, that’s what he’d do…
Spike leaned back over the railing, cigarette dangling from his fingertips.
Buffy’s hands trembled as she continued to clutch the cell phone, even after she’d ended the call. Why had she done that? What was she doing? It had been bad enough to give into passion in the moment with Spike, but to actually plan an affair?
And how could she even pull it off? There was more than a slim chance that Liam would find out—and then what? What would he do to her if he found out about it?
This was the kind of set up that ended up getting profiled on some true crime show when it all went horribly, horribly wrong.
She shouldn’t go. Spike had already told her he didn’t want to be there—so why was she even bothering?
She wasn’t going to go through with it. It was a crazy, impulse decision, but it wasn’t too late to take it back. All she had to do was not go. What did it matter that she wanted him? She couldn’t ever have him, not really anyway. She’d made her choice the day she’d signed her life away to Liam Angelus.
Buffy could never continue an affair with William. It was too dangerous, for both of them. If she did meet him, it would be what…one last time? And what would that do for her other than cause more problems.
She needed to just let him go. Even if he had left school, he was still better off without her in his life. She had pushed him away for a reason, and she couldn’t undo that now.
No, she wouldn’t go…
Buffy opened her phone back up and went into the recent calls, deleting his number from her cell. She wouldn’t call him again, wouldn’t have any contact with him at all. It wasn’t fair of her to expect him to try to ease her pain. It was selfish, and not something she should do to William.
“Buffy! I thought I fucking told you to bring me something to eat!”
Buffy winced as Liam’s voice boomed from upstairs. “I’m…I’m coming! Just a minute!” Buffy called back.
“I want my lunch on my desk in five minutes, or your ass is mine!”
The door to his office slammed, and Buffy jumped. No, she didn’t need to bring William back into this life, no matter how much she needed the escape…
God, she needed the escape…
Buffy shoved her cell phone back into her pocket and rushed around to make Liam a sandwich for lunch. It was Sunday, the servants had the day off, and Liam was working at his home office.
Which meant her husband expected her to be at his beck and call.
She threw the sandwich together and ran upstairs, getting it on the desk before the five minute time limit was up. Liam glanced over at it, peeked under the bread, then brushed his hand over the table, knocking the plate to the ground and letting it shatter. “Fuck, Buffy! You know I don’t like turkey. How worthless are you?”
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said as she knelt down to pick up the ruined plate and sandwich. “I just forgot.”
“Because you’re a goddamned idiot.”
“I’ll go make something else.”
“Don’t bother. You’ve already ruined my fucking concentration.”
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said again as she got up. “I didn’t mean…”
“Would you just shut up?” Liam snapped and he smacked her in the face. “I’m going to find a decent meal.”
He stormed out of the house, and Buffy slipped down to the ground, leaning against Liam’s desk with shards of the plate still in her hand.
She needed an escape…
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