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Between his lack of glasses and him not able to see out his left eye, it was amazing he made it to the emergency room in one piece. There they removed the piece of glass left in the gash in the outer corner of his left eyebrow. It took a couple stitches to close. They flushed out the blood in his left eye and let him use a wash sink to clean up the dried blood from his face. Now cleaned up from the neck up he drove carefully home. Glad he had a pair of contacts there he saved for special occasions so he wouldn’t have to see Buffy again any time soon. Or so he thought…

~~~~***~~~~

He walked up to the door of his apartment to find the blond in question sitting outside his door. Holding his belongings Her head was bent down as she was asleep. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He unlocked his door as he cleared his throat loudly to wake her up.

After a moment of confusion as to her surroundings, Buffy jumped to her feet and yawned. “you left with out your things…”

He turned on the light and motioned for her to enter. “I know, I had to go to the emergency room.” he pointed to the stitches on the outer corner of his left eyebrow.

She stepped in. waiting till he closed the door before taking a look at his stitches, “Those jerks!” she said heatedly. Her eyes fell to the blood stains on his shirt, she shook her head, “I swear if I ever see that guy again…” she moved further in to the apartment placing his things on his coffee table. Then she stood there for a moment, obviously she had more to say. William moved further inside as well. Suddenly she looked at him sharply, “And you! How could you go and get in a fist fight with a jerk like that?”

“ME?!” he looked at her like she’d lost her mind, “Hello, I was the victim here… he attacked me… I was just defending myself…” how could she blame him for what happened?

“Well, you WERE all over his girl…” something flashed in her eyes as she said that but was gone before he could read what it was.

“First off I wasn’t all over her, SHE was all over me and second how the hell was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend?” he found himself starting to get steamed, not something he felt often, especially towards Buffy…

“Oh, come on… Just looking at her… she had to be…” Buffy stopped knowing she was going to say something wrong.

Something clicked in his head, now he knew why she was blaming him, “What? She had to be what Buffy? Using me… a woman like that could ONLY be interested in me as a way to make her guy mad? Is that it?!” his anger and hurt rising with each word he spoke.

Buffy didn’t say anything for a moment but the guilty look in her eyes said it all. He was right, that was what she was going to say, but she didn’t mean it like he was thinking, did she? “Look William, I just meant…”

“you know what Buffy? Right now I’m not that interested in what you meant… I think you need to go home…” the hurt evident in his voice.

“William…I..”

He was no longer looking at her and his voice was firm and even, “I don’t want to talk anymore, thank you for my things… go home Buffy… “ he still would not look at her as she stood there, “Please…” he said softly. With tears in her eyes that he didn’t see, she turned and left. Only once he heard the tell tale click of the door did he look over at the spot she once occupied. And with tears in his own eyes he walked back in to his room.

~~~~***~~~~


The next day William was at his laptop typing like mad. He decided he needed to start his new book. That would help him greatly not to think about the past events. Deciding he would just do the best he could with what he already had, if it bombed oh well, every writer has had at least one book flop, right? He started to think about the main character. Maybe first deciding where he was from would help. So like he did with many of his characters he threw a dart at a map. He looked and the dart landed on England. That shouldn’t be too hard seeing as his own father was English, He remembered occasional trips to his father’s family estate in England, when there was some sort of family function going on, wedding, funeral… or whatever. Those being the only times when he would travel with his parents, as his presents was mandatory for such family functions, still is. His Father’s family was of the upper crest not too many bad boys, no that would be too undignified.

But then he remembered his cousin. It was awhile ago. William strained to bring the memory forth. William was thirteen attending his aunts 2nd wedding with his parents. His other aunt had made her son attend, but soon it was obvious she wished she hadn’t.

He was considered the black sheep of the family. He showed dressed in tight black jeans and what looked like a dirty torn t-shirt that was held together by safety pins. Over which he wore a heavy leather jacket and on his feet scuffed and muddy heavy work boots. He had multi colored stiff three inch spiked hair, and an earring. He arrived riding a motorcycle. From minute one he was sarcastic and loud. His expressions ranged from sneer to smirk. William’s parents forbid him to interact with his cousin, but William couldn’t help but be fascinated by the older cooler kid.

William sat back in his chair as he remembered the kid who at the time was at least six years his senior. The smirk, the attitude, and what was it his cousin insisted on being called? …Spike! That was it… Spike. William remembered the older boy going on about how uptight society was and how he lived by his own rules. William smiled, tes maybe that was what he was looking for. That same attitude his cousin shown all so long ago. William never saw him after that. William began typing again.

But as he typed he started to wonder if that could be him. Maybe not that extreme, but something similar. Wondering, could he ever have the courage to go against everything that he was taught to be and do as he pleased? He laughed as he imagined himself in head to toe leather, with a chain laden biker jacket. Buffy would probably choke on something to see him like that.

His typing stopped. He remembered their argument the night before. As well as the comments of others that night. Why did he find it so hard to go outside the lines? He spent so much time censoring himself he never found the time to ever just let go. And who was his timidness making happy? Certainly not him…

Determination coursed through him as he stood up, telling himself, “In the words of Spike…Why bloody hell not?” he grabbed a small black case out of his top drawer, then grabbed his jacket and keys and left…





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