(Flashback)
She sat on the beanbag, her feet swinging before her as she bit her lip eagerly. Her eyes feasted on the carefully crafted words she was reading and they widened comically when boom! Desdemona was dead and all the lies were pulled together to achieve the death of Othello.
Gosh, she thought with a small frown. People sure weren’t smart then. I mean really, can’t you figure out where to place your loyalties and where not to?
Buffy pondered this, putting the book down in her lap as her gaze shifted outside the window, watching with interest as a youthful family approached the Sunnydale Public Library. Her thoughts drifted from Othello to love and she was instantly entranced as she witnessed the husband look at his wife with such honest and raw emotion, affection.
I want that one day, Buffy thought wistfully. I wanted to be taken care of eventually. I may never admit it but I think everyone does. The strongest tend to fall the hardest, so what better reason to fall in love than to have someone there to always catch you?
(End of flashback)
Buffy had been fifteen years old then. She had just had her second kiss, with Johnny Ronson again. They had decided to “go steady” when the school year began again. Buffy had been desperate to find some sort of distraction from Faith. Her death had caused Buffy to relapse. She hadn’t made it past the shock stage just yet, and was having trouble coping. She refused to talk to Joyce about anything. Their relationship had always been a rather tremulous one. Everything was fragile between them; when they spoke to each other, it was almost mechanical speech, as if every word had been carefully selected to be spoken.
Now, at eighteen years old, with her whole future ahead of her, she wasn’t so sure she agreed with the idea of having someone take care of her. There were a lot of things to consider; did she want to get into a relationship with someone? What if it went wrong, and all that time went wasted? Or what if it ruined her climb to success? She didn’t want to deal with all of that just yet. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to deal with it at all. What she did know was that this Spike Giles guy posed a big problem for her. He was sweet and funny, and a gentleman too. Not to mention he was the hottest thing alive since Farrah Fawcett. But still, she couldn’t risk everything, her entire future, just because a pretty boy came along and stole her heart…right?
Buffy groaned inwardly as Mr. Rockfield prattled on about useless history that would mean absolutely nothing to her when her soccer career was launched. Though she was interested in other subjects like calculus and English, her main passion still remained as soccer and she yearned to go to practice. Then she grimaced.
Never mind, she thought depressingly. Why would I want to go to practice? It’s not like even that’s fun anymore. I should have never come here. It was all a mistake.
She wanted to smack herself for being so damn negative and whiny but really, soccer has just been so much more fun without all the added pressure, stress and worst of all, disappointment. She hated the feeling of being defeated, and not being able to do anything about it. It annoyed her that Ethan had made her taken on three defensemen when he had never intended to give her the position she wanted anyways. It was as if he were taunting her in a painful way that had her blood boiling with rage. But, she forced her demon to control itself. Now was not the time to vent. She could do that later, as well as have her own pity party where she could wallow in self-pity.
She forced herself to return her attention to Rockfield. She remembered her mother’s words and tried to register the information he was giving to the class. Though Buffy was typically interested in class lessons, today she just didn’t feel up to the exertion of having to process so much. She already have enough on her plate. She just wanted one day off to recuperate but she knew that wouldn’t fly in the real world. She put on a steely expression of grim determination and forced herself again, to pay attention to Rockfield. Today was going to be a long day but damn it, Ethan was not going to win this!
******
Meanwhile, Spike was sitting in Principal Snyder’s office, a bored expression on his usually cocky and arrogant face. His head was tilted in a fashion of forced interest and he rested his cheek on his arm, leaning back into the sticky leather chair as Snyder yelled at him.
“Delinquency is not promoted here at Hemery High!” Snyder snapped, his voice cold and flat as he stared hatefully at the young man before him.
“It’s brats like you who ruin my school,” he rasped, his voice growing raw after the morning’s yelling. He had had to speak to six kids already about misbehaving and adding Spike to the list had only increased Snyder’s dislike of the boy.
Spike merely shrugged and smirked, obviously satisfied with himself. “It’s also brats like me that become rich and famous, and laugh at people like you.” He dared to say the words, keeping up his proud façade, and watched with amusement as Snyder quivered with barely concealed anger in response.
“You better watch out, Giles. The next failing grade you get, you’re out of this school, you hear me?” Snyder spat out. He hated that he was being forced to take the kids. The coach, Mallory-whats-her-name, had cautioned him that no expulsions or suspensions were permitted. Since the kids were just finishing off their senior year, it made no difference where they were. As long as they were in school and attending classes, the soccer administrators wouldn’t raise any issues. Snyder didn’t want to raise attention to himself by causing a ruckus if he expelled Giles but still, the boy was a sacrilege to all things good and pure!
Spike was sent out of the office and ordered back to class, but since it was only fifteen into second period, he decided he would skip out until lunch and return for his afternoon classes. Though high schools usually requested the standard three courses per semester, his failing grades had permitted him to take the full day for extra credit. Snyder had ordered him to bring his grade up or else he would be expelled but they both knew this was just an empty threat to somehow ‘motivate’ Spike into doing better. Spike was bright but he, unlike Buffy, did intensely focus on soccer. He had no other options as a future career. He was crappy at all things math and his writing didn’t do well for his reputation, as an old and past love had taught him that all too well. Science was boring for him and history just didn’t interest him. All he had was soccer and his spot on the Los Angeles team was his opportunity to make his dreams come true. But before he did that, he had a lot of problems to work out.
Spike snuck out through the back door, the one that only the custodians utilized to get to the shed in the far end of the field. He glanced up at the shining sun and the clear blue skies, a tentative smile forming on his lips as he relished in the beauty of the day. Why would he want to go to class when it was so beautiful outside?
He reached into his leather duster and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and walked across the sidewalk, as far away from the school as possible. He had a lot of thinking to do, but between school and classes, there wasn’t much time for that as there used to be. The stress was definitely getting to him but he forced himself to picture the day when he would be the one chosen to get drafted to a big league.
That day will come, he promised himself confidently, inhaling the cigarette as he strode. He proceeded into the city, interested at the busy traffic and life around him. He watched a group of young twenty-something women shriek over an enormous diamond that one of them sported. He turned his attention to a grey area on the building beside him, watching the smoke drift out of his cigarette with blank eyes.
He hated to think about his mother. It was too painful to dwell on and he tried to reserve thoughts for her when he was alone, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. That way, no one would be bound to see the tears pouring down his face. He recalled the memory of her body being placed on the stretcher, into the ambulance to be taken to the hospital. He couldn’t forget, could never forget, the blood running between her legs as her battered and beaten body was covered in a white sheet of plastic. It covered his beautiful mother forever, and all the love she had in the world was gone, under a sheet of plastic. He closed his eyes, leaning against the building as he took another deep drag of his cigarette, the recollection pulling him into a deep reverie…
(Flashback)
Spike laughed loudly, his beer bottle slipping clumsily from his grasp. He wondered idly why everything was so dizzy, why he couldn’t see straight, but he shoved the troublesome thoughts away with another belch from deep in his stomach. God, maybe he should have stopped at the tenth or eleventh. Or had it been twelve beers? Whatever. Either way, he was rather stoned, but he felt pretty damn great.
He watched his two best friends, Wesley Price and Whistler McNeil, roll around on the ground, shirtless. They were both trying to do something that involved pinning the other to the ground and sticking their finger in the other’s ear but it wasn’t going very well. Spike was slumped lazily on the couch, glancing hazily at the collection of empty beer bottles at his side.
“Guys?” he slurred, giggling girlishly at the sound of his voice.
Wesley and Whistler stopped their fighting and looked up at him, dazed and with equal haziness in their eyes, from their position on the floor. “Yeah?” they both responded in unison.
“Wha’s the legal age for drinkin’ again?” Spike asked, his head drooping awkwardly as the alcohol took its toll on his fourteen year old body.
They shrugged, disinterested by his inquiry, and returned to their squabble. Spike’s uncle, Rupert Giles, had been out for a conference taking place in Switzerland, which left the house completely bare of existence for the whole weekend. Except for Spike, of course. Spike’s mother was in downtown New York, modeling the showcase of her latest collection for Donna Karan New York, which would last until Sunday. Spike had located the booze and well, that was that. Voila, and you had three very drunk fourteen year old boys.
That’s when the phone rang. Spike looked at the phone with childlike amusement, jumping to pick it up gently.
“Giles residence,” he slurred in greeting.
“William?”
The tone of her voice, the fear in it. Spike, in his drunken haze, he did not recognize it. He only recognized his hated name being said and was instantly put into defense mode, determined to not be nice to the person at the other end of the line.
“I-I think someone is coming after me!”
Spike mumbled a response, “No. You’re mean. You keep calling me bloody William.”
“William. B-before he c-comes b-back, I love you. I’ve called 9-1-1 but in case they don’t make it in time, I love so much-.”
“Yeah well, I bloody well don’t. Mean woman, callin’ me William, you are!”
Then the line went dead.
6 Hours Later…
“Apparently, according to her cell phone records, she made a phone call home two minutes before the attack,” the officer said, his words only adding to the numbness that Spike felt, shoulders slumped and head hung in devastation.
“Who did she call?” Rupert asked, willing his voice to be strong.
“She called 9-1-1 first, then her own house,” the officer replied, sounding flabbergasted.
Rupert slowly turned to his nephew, who had recovered from his drunkenness, enough to understand the hatred of the stare that his uncle was directing his way. He flinched and lowered his eyes again.
“She told me she loved me, I said I didn’t, then I hung up on her,” He mumbled.
The officer nodded. “Her phone call was interrupted when he attack her from behind. According to a witness, she had sensed that a man was watching her all evening. At one point, he made a sexual threat to her and she left the gallery to make the phone call outside. Her purpose was to hide in the alleyway so he would think she had left. He found her, raped and beat her and then killed her. He said that she looked like one of his old girlfriends. You know, those sadistic murderers. He’ll definitely be locked up for a long time.”
The words were empty, and so was his heart now.
He had told his mother he hadn’t loved her when she had been seconds away from death. He was worthless.
He hated himself.
Every. Single. Damn. Day.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry for the long wait. RL has been crappy as of late and well, the Fandom hasn't been much of an escape lately. Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're all awesome and your support has truly made my day. =)
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.