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Chapter 11


Four Months Later


Spike sat at his kitchen table with his head in his hands. Several bottles
of beer littered the surface in front of him as he stared at the phone. The
past few months had been stressful, at best. Buffy had become withdrawn and
distant, repeatedly shutting him out of her life. She had used the excuse
of schoolwork until Christmas break had rolled around. They had spent the
holidays together, joining Giles for dinner and exchanging presents, and
then Buffy had seemed to disappear for a week. On New Year’s Eve, they met
at the Bronze, though not together, and barely even shared a kiss as the
clock struck midnight. Spike felt her rapidly slipping away and was
powerless to stop it.

Now, not even a week later, he drunkenly sat with his cordless phone,
hitting redial every five minutes, trying to get her to come to the phone.
After the twentieth call, give or take, Spike grew angry. Jumping up from
his position, he grabbed his duster and left the apartment, slamming the
door on his way out.

Half an hour later, he was striding up the path to Buffy’s house. Knowing
she was home and also knowing a confrontation would not be a good thing in
the state he was in, Spike raised a hand and banged on the door.

‘At least I had enough sense to not drive,’ he thought as he heard the lock
click and the door open.

Setting eyes on his girlfriend, he felt rage flood through his body. “Where
the bloody hell have you been?!”

Buffy visibly shrank away from the door as he yelled at her. He had never
raised his voice when he was around her, and she could smell the alcohol
radiating from him as he stepped over the threshold and slammed the door
with so much force she thought the glass panes might shatter. At the look
in his eyes, Buffy took another step away from him. She knew that she’d
been blowing him off, and she owed him an explanation, but looking at the
rigid stance he had taken, she decided now was not the best time for a
reasonable talk.

“Spike, let me make you some coffee,” she said in a soothing tone.

“I don’t want your soddin’ coffee, Summers! I want to know what your bloody
problem is!”

“I’m sorry, Spike,” she whispered, looking into his bloodshot eyes. She
couldn’t say anything more than that because she had no good excuse. There
wasn’t anyone else, there wasn’t a valid reason. Buffy knew that she had
all the signs of depression, but she was even unsure about that. If she was
depressed, would she be able to realize that she was depressed? These
thoughts plagued her constantly, and she had knowingly withdrawn from the one person who she knew would care for her. She knew if he realized something
was wrong, he would want to fix it, and she didn’t even think it could be
fixed.

Spike stared into her eyes for a solid minute, as if he was trying to read
what was going on inside of her. “You don’t love me.”

Buffy stared in shock as he uttered the words that had never crossed her
mind. “Spike, of course I do.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, quietly looking at the floor.

“Do you still want to be with me, Buffy?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Spike, please don’t ask me this, right now.”

“Then why don’t I make it real easy for you, Summers?”

Buffy’s head snapped up at the icy tone of his voice, her mouth dropping
open as he headed for the door.

“Spike, where are you going?” Buffy cried as she chased him to the door,
grabbing his sleeve. She cowered as he forcefully jerked his arm away from
her grasp, noticing a slight softening in his features for frightening her,
only to put the cold mask back in place.

“I’m leaving,” he said, pulling the door open. “We’re over, Buffy.”

Buffy felt tears spring to her eyes as he walked out the door. Running to
catch up with him, Buffy chased him down the driveway to the street.
“Spike, don’t leave like this! You don’t mean it…it’s just the alcohol
talking.”

“No!” he yelled, whirling around to face her. “This is me, Buffy. You’re
trying to cut me out of your life? Well, I’m making it real simple for
you.”

Without another word, Spike turned and headed down the street, leaving Buffy
with tears streaming down her face as she stared after him. She tried to
calm herself as he turned the corner, telling herself he would call when he
sobered up, but she couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her throat.

“We’ll work this out,” she said to herself as she walked back to the house,
trying her hardest to sound convincing. So why did she have the feeling
that he meant what he said? And why did she feel like she deserved it?





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