Toy didn’t come to see him the next day, or the day after that. Spike was certain he’d pushed her too far by refusing to be constrained by her rules. Spike hadn’t forgotten her; he’d never forget her, but he’d resigned himself to the notion that she was gone.
Charlie had asked him what happened to his New Year’s Eve date and Spike had lied. He told Charlie that he’d found an elderly man in the apartment who had no idea his name was famous. Spike wasn’t sure why; he just felt a need to protect his Toy and sensed that the fewer people knew about her, the better things would be.
Spike had not told Tara; he could imagine how she’d react, the concerned nod, the sage advice he had no intention of taking. Still his sister could sense something was wrong.
They were sitting in a coffee shop on the corner across the street from the Science Museum. They were by the floor to ceiling windows, getting a view of the snowy street outside. The warm snap had ended and the city had been plunged into arctic cold. Spike felt a bit like they were trapped in a hothouse the way the steam gathered on the inside of the glass.
Tara was nursing her cup of blackberry tea at a small, round table with a mosaic top. Spike couldn’t get comfortable in the metal chair, his legs were too long to fit beneath the table so they stuck out on either side and his leather duster draped over the chair back was dragging on the muddy floor. His hands were wrapped around a white, porcelain mug filled with Mexican hot chocolate—just like regular hot chocolate but enhanced with cinnamon and cayenne pepper.
Saturday was the only day he took off from his harsh training diet and he always shared a treat with Tara. That day it was an orange scone. Neither of them touched the crumbly triangle studded with cranberries; Tara had eaten before they met at the café and had only bought the cookie to force her brother to eat. Spike had almost no appetite; he wasn’t certain if it was an after effect of the diet or his worry over Toy. Spike reminded himself it was stupid to care for the girl at all; despite what had happened between them, she was a stranger. Spike didn’t know why Toy had such a hold on him, it’s not like he was desperate to meet women. He didn’t even know her name and he was thinking of her every spare moment like they’d gotten engaged or something.
He couldn’t enjoy the hot chocolate, though it was his sweet of choice, so he pushed the mug away.
“You’re not hungry?” Tara asked.
“Nor you,” he said.
She pursed her lips.
“What’s wrong, Billy. You haven’t been acting yourself s,s,since New Year’s. Did the holidays upset you, ‘cause of mum?”
“’Course they did,” he said.
“Do you want t,t,to—“ she stopped in frustration.
Spike couldn’t stand that; he couldn’t have her stumbling on her words around him of all people. He knew his sudden distance had been bothering her a great deal if it could cripple her speech so badly, and she was looking at him with those eyes of hers.
Tara’s eyes made Precious Moments doll’s eyes look wee and gleeful in comparison. Spike decided it was time to tell her about the strange girl that had been visiting him, no matter how shameful the story.
After he concluded, Tara didn’t speak, instead just ruminating until he said her name.
“What are you nuts?” Tara asked.
“Hey, I opened up to you. The least you could do is pretend you’re not sizing me up for a straight jacket. It’s like you’re committing me with your eyes,” Spike said. He fiddled with the handle of his mug.
“But you are mental. She could be a s,s,succubis for all you know. Have you checked your credit cards to make s,s,sure s,s,she didn’t use them?” Tara said.
Her voice was rising and a couple of the other people around them glanced their way.
“Will you calm the fuck down, love? I told you, she’s gone, it’s done,” Spike said in a stage whisper.
“You haven’t been in a normal relationship s,s,since Nikki, you know that? Now you only seem to go for the Gashlycrumb T,T,Tinies in grim, frilly dresses,” Tara said with disgust. The Gashlycrumb Tiny crack was certainly aimed at Drusilla, an insult Spike chose to ignore.
“Look, I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known you’d have a bleeding meltdown, and thank you for bringing up Nikki, it’s not like I wasn’t already feeling like shit,” Spike said.
Nikki had been Spike’s fiancée; she had a five-year-old boy named Robin to whom Spike had gotten quite attached. When Robin’s dad got out of jail and started sniffing around the old homestead, Spike hadn’t taken it well. He had only been twenty at the time, something that had never felt like a valid excuse even when he was using it, and he decided the best way to defend his new family was to beat the daylights out of Nikki’s ex-boyfriend. She dumped him and went back to her baby-daddy. A few months later he’d tried to send Robin a birthday gift, and the package was sent back unopened. The end; well, not quite the end. The end result was that Spike was fairly certain he wasn't fit to be in a real relationship with kids who could be hurt or complicated feelings that were meant to last a lifetime.
“I’m s,s,sorry, but you’re all I’ve got. Let me come over and do a protection s,s,spell. If s,s,she’s evil it’ll keep her out,” Tara said.
“You know I don’t go in for that abracadabra, jiggery-pokery,” Spike said.
She touched his hand.
“Please, do this for me,” Tara said.
Spike couldn’t resist Tara when she gave him that look, so like their mother’s. She came by his flat and waved a few boughs of rosemary, chanted some intelligibles and then lit some sandalwood incense for good measure.
A week went by and still no Toy. Spike noticed that Travis Bickle was no longer residing in the apartment. Swallowing his own sense of propriety, Spike checked the letter box and found all the mail was addressed to someone called Walter Kurtz.
He tried to get on with his life. Charlie had a new girlfriend, so he was less available for socializing than before, so Spike started spending more time with Tara. The Friday following their heart to heart, Tara invited him to a gallery opening downtown. That meant a deluge of posh girls with esoteric fashion sense and a taste for something gritty. Spike decided he should offer them a sample.
Spike spent half the night chatting up a slim, porcelain-skinned bird with a silky cap of brown hair before he realized he didn’t give a fuck about anything she was saying. He cared even less about sleeping with her. Spike begged off politely and told Tara he had to get home.
He collapsed on his lumpy, brown couch with his clothes still on and watched television. Spike found a nighttime soap about teenagers with too much money and ended up falling asleep.
Then someone was frantically pounding on his door. Spike jerked in his sleep, he didn’t remember walking to the door but suddenly he was opening it and there was Toy. She was bleeding from a gash on her forehead and he could see her white, long-sleeved t-shirt was soaked in red from shoulder to cuff.
“God, baby, get in here,” he said.
Spike ushered her inside and then shut the door. She fell against him and he held her close as they walked silently into the bathroom. He wanted to kill something; he wanted to destroy whatever did this to her. She balanced on the edge of the tub while he went through the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink, withdrawing everything he needed to dress her wounds.
Toy didn’t wince as he wiped the blood from her face, even when he disinfected the cut with rubbing alcohol. The injury wasn’t as bad as it initially appeared; without the attending gore it was really no more than a scratch. He put a rectangular bandage over the open flesh anyway.
Spike took her shirt off and examined the other wound. It, too, looked better on closer inspection. Spike cleaned and covered the area. When he was finished there seemed to be so many things to say that he couldn’t help choking on them.
“Can you tell me how it happened?”
She looked up at him with her aged, green eyes.
“I ran into an old friend. We fought and I had to—“
She was crying too hard to continue. Spike held her until she relaxed.
“Can I stay here with you tonight? You can fuck me if you need to, I just want someone to hold me,” Toy said.
Spike felt sick to his stomach.
“You can stay, you don’t have to do anything. I want you to stay,” he said.
Spike held her hand and they went to his bedroom. She took off her boots and her blood-stained jeans. Spike removed what he was wearing, save for his white boxers. He wished he’d chosen more interesting underwear, but it would’ve been odd to change them then.
Toy got under his red comforter, her green eyes shining in the moonlight, her arms clenched to her chest. Spike joined her. It was what he’d wanted for weeks now, but Spike dreaded to think what brought her to him. They laid side by side, knife and fork.
“Was your friend, did he get away with this, did you call the police?”
“I dealt with it,” she said.
She crept towards him and then set her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and she relented, finally relaxing. Her tears were falling on his skin.
“I’ve missed you so much it scares me,” Spike said.
He stroked her hair and felt her sorrow pooling on his chest, sliding down his sternum. The tears ceased and her breathing became even. Spike was nearly asleep when she started talking.
“His name was Xander, and he used to be my best friend; he and Willow. We were like The Three Muskateers or the Three Stooges, always together. I remember this one time we were watching Indian soap operas in my bedroom and braiding Willow’s hair. That’s the whole story, but it’s funny how much I think about that stupid night. We were so close and I never thought, I never thought one day he’d try—“
She couldn’t finish. He could feel fresh tears forming. Spike wanted to kill him; more than that he wanted to indiscriminately slash and burn his village.
“Was he the one who cut your face?” Spike asked.
She laughed. It was a dry, coughing sound.
“No, the person who did that was my ex-boyfriend. Xander warned me about him, but I, I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen to anyone and I paid. Now they’re all gone, and everything that happened with Xander tonight is my fault,” she said.
“It’s bloody well not your fault, Toy,” Spike said. His heart was pounding and he knew that he was dangerously close to forming a one man raiding party to destroy the ex-boyfriend. She must’ve felt the blood vibrating through his veins.
“Don’t, Spike. Just hold me,” she said.
Spike didn’t know how long he cradled her like that before they fell asleep. He just knew that when he woke up, she was still there. Spike couldn’t take his eyes off of her for fear that she’d vanish the moment he did. It was amazing to see the sunlight sparkling on her messy hair. Spike couldn’t resist; he ran a finger over her clavicle and then traced it to the hollow of her throat. Spike followed the touch with kisses.
Toy made a contented sound and nuzzled closer to him. Emboldened, he dragged his hands lightly across her shoulders, over her bra, down her fluted ribs and her concave stomach. Spike didn’t disturb her underwear as he covered her entire hip with his hand and the sharp bone pressed into his palm.
Then she did something that made him abandon his remaining self control. Toy whispered his name.
He pulled her close and tasted her skin, dragging his tongue along the soft curve of her neck. Spike massaged her breasts. They were marshmallow soft. She muttered and leaned into the pressure of his touch. He folded her white, lace bra down, then went underneath the blankets and sucked each of her nipples into his mouth, feeling them harden. He moved his tongue between her breasts, troubling the delicate hairs that bisected her stomach with his warm breath.
He started to take off her underwear. She gasped and pulled the blanket aside. Her eyes locked on his and suddenly, he felt ashamed. At first she seemed confused, her perfectly groomed eyebrows arching, but then she angled her hips to make it easier for him to undress her.
Once the knickers were gone, Spike repositioned himself between her legs in the pose of a supplicant at prayer. Spike pushed her knees far apart and then paused to gaze at her for a moment; he wanted to get a good look at his pretty Toy. Spike finally slid his hand down her inner thigh to stroke her shaved pussy with his shaking fingers. It felt just like he imagined, soft as a peach and just as juicy.
Spike slipped his index finger inside. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped. He tried to add another finger, but she whimpered and her face contracted, so he withdrew completely. He lowered his mouth to taste her, keeping his eyes level with Toy's. He licked the petals of her labia before enclosing her clit with his lips. She was staring at Spike with the same expression she'd had when she watched him on the bed, with a desire almost painful in the strength of its need. Spike's tongue polished the ruby of flesh until her orgasm was glittering through her. When she stopped moaning—Spike loved the way it sounded like she was trying to stifle a laugh—he crept up her body. He draped her with the comforter again and lied beside her.
She hadn't taken her eyes from his.
“Was that, did you like it?” she asked.
He didn't know if her halting speech was the product of shyness or anger.
“It was perfect; did you, though?” Spike asked.
Toy looked away.
“Yeah, I liked it. I guess we’re even now,” Toy said.
“What are you saying?”
She slipped away from him and sat up. Her skin looked almost gray in the dishwater light of the cold, early morning.
“I have to go,” she said.
Spike grabbed her wrist.
“You’re driving me out of my bleeding mind, you know that? I didn’t take you in last night so I could get my pound of flesh. Why is it so hard for you to believe I care about you?” he asked.
“Why would you? I’m a hole, I’m an orifice, I don’t even have a name. I'm a toy. I guess maybe you care where your next blow job is coming from—“
His movements were coarse with anger. He yanked her back down and shoved her on the mattress. Spike crawled on top of the struggling girl.
“I treat you the way you demand to be treated,” Spike said, his voice nothing more than a hiss.
“Then do it, fuck me and get it over with,” Toy said.
“That's what you want?”
“It's what you want, isn't it?”
“Well, yeah, but--”
“Then do it.”
“I don't--”
She freed one of her hands with startling ease and smacked him across the face. Then she burst into tears. His ears were still ringing from the impact and his cheek was stinging. Spike rolled off of her and landed with a bounce. Spike draped his arm over his eyes and listened to the sound of her crying until she finally quieted. The mattress squeaked when she stood. He could hear her fussing about the room, putting her clothes on.
He got up, tugged on his jeans and followed Toy as she made her way to leave. She was about to open the door when Spike backed Toy up against the wall and kissed her mouth. She touched his face, fingers resting on the spot she’d slapped, and gently suckled his tongue. The kiss ended and he rested his forehead on hers.
“You want me to hate you like you hate yourself, is that it? Get me to end things because you can’t?” Spike asked.
“I’ll hurt you, Spike, it’s what I do. It’s what I am,” Toy said.
“Little late to consider my feelings, pet. I was lost the moment you bossed your way in here,” he said.
She threaded her fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said.
“I know you are, but you struck me in anger and I can’t let it stand. I’m not your bleeding doormat, no matter what you might think. If you want me you’re not calling the shots anymore,” Spike said.
“What are you saying?”
“Turn about in the spirit of fair play. You submit to me, you give yourself to me and you show me I can trust you,” he said.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“And if I can't?” she asked.
“Then you got what you wanted,” Spike said.
She leaned in toward him, her eyes half closed, but Spike stopped her before she could land the kiss. She looked at him with a wide, sad gaze, took her hand from his hair and put it over his heart; Spike covered it with his own.
“Spike, I can’t—“she said.
He sighed and let go of her hand, not trusting himself to speak. He turned his back to her and walked to the bathroom, figuring that he could give her a chance to sneak out without having to talk about it anymore. That had always been her style and he saw no need to do the cursory autopsy on their fucked up relationship. At least there was one benefit to not knowing his girlfriend’s name. Spike used the toilet, an excruciating process given the nagging erection Toy had left him. He had to splash some cold water on himself just to finish the job.
He washed his hands and face, brushed his teeth.
When he came out of the bathroom, Spike started. Toy was standing in the exact spot he’d left her wearing her blood-soaked clothes. She’d been staring off into space with the same desolate expression that had enslaved him the first time they met. Toy’s eyes clicked onto his. She walked over to him and then knelt at his feet, her long, blonde hair touching the floor as she gazed up at him.
“Please, Spike. Please,” she said. Then she lifted her arms, turning her scarred wrists up to him like an offering.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice harsh.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“What will you do for me?”
“Anything you want, but there’s one thing I need to ask first,” she said.
“What’s that, pet?”
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Spike smiled down at her.
“Get up, you can prostrate yourself after you’ve powdered your nose or whatever,” he said, offering her his hand.
She took it and grinned as she stood up.
“I was afraid you were going to get all dungeon mastery and say no,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a fan of water sports,” he said.
“Huh? What, like synchronized swimming?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said.
[Reviews - 240]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3059 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +