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NA GRACH CROI


Chapter 15: ‘Liuth Doruinn’ (More Pain/Torment)


A/N: A slight warning here:

There will be name calling and anger in this chapter. I’m not sure if I’m happy with the way the chapter turned out, but here it is. I am giving a rape ‘warning’ for this and an alert to physical/sexual violence. Thank you. Luv, Spuf


Spike stood, dumbfounded on his own front porch. He could not bring himself to look at anyone there, not even his sister, Tara, who stood just inches from him.

Finally, he looked up at Ethan Finn-Rayne and the others on horseback. “Get off my land,” he ordered in a deadly calm voice. “Get off and don’t return here. Or I’ll kill everyone of you.”

Without another word, Ethan and his entourage turned their horses about and left the O’Hara front yard. Spike watched them leave, his emotions were a mix of relief, anger and hatred. He just couldn’t figure out ‘who’ those emotions were geared at.

“William,” Tara began softly, reaching out to touch her brother’s arm, “I…”

“Angel,” Spike ordered gruffly, “take our sister and go home to your place, now.” He flinched from his lovely sister’s touch and turned away from her.

“Spike,” Angel began, tentively, “maybe it’s best for us to all go back into your home and…..”

“No!” Spike hissed, “I want you to take Tara and go home to your house. I need to be alone with my wife now.”

Tara whimpered as Angel took her arm and led her down the front porch. “William,” she called back to the eldest O’Hara, “please, listen to me, I only wanted to help and…..”

Spike ignored his sister’s pleas and glared at Xander Harris, his blue eyes were cold and ‘almost’ indifferent.

“Go home to your family, Xander,” he ordered his employee.

“Spike,” Xander stammered, nervously, his dark eyes darting between his employer and his front door. “Maybe I should stick around? Make sure everything is okay?”

“Go home,” Spike commanded Xander, sternly. Then he turned his back on the taller, dark-haired man and stormed into his home.

The first thing Spike noticed was the bedroom door, slammed shut and probably locked. ‘Like a fucking locked door will keep me out, Buffy?’ he growled under his breath. His voice was shakey from threatening tears, but he did not try to stop them.

Instead of confronting his wife, immediately, Spike put away the guns, strode to the dining cabinet and pulled out a full bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and took a long, deep swallow of the burning liquid.

Spike could swear he heard his wife crying from behind their closed bedroom door. As he paced back and forth in the front room, he would stop and glare at the bedroom door, angrily listening to his Buffy’s sobs. The ‘sympathetic’ emotions that reared their head, from deep inside him, Spike pushed back down, even deeper.

‘Do whores cry?’ he asked himself in disbelief. ‘Fuck, I wish she’d stop that shit and just come out and face me. I…..’

He began to pace again, aimlessly walking back and forth around the room, stopping to take long deep swallows of whiskey from time to time. After about an hour of this nonsense, Spike noticed that Buffy had stopped crying, loudly anyway. In fact, he noted that there was no sound at all coming from the bedroom. Suddenly, he was no longer worried or anxious about Buffy, he realized he was totally enraged at her.

‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered, ‘fucking bitch ruined my life. Lied to me, misled and humiliated me. She’s probably laughing behind her hand at me and has been from the start. I should kill that bitch and be done with her…’ But he knew, in his heart and soul, that these were only idle thoughts, wrought from horrible emotional pain. Spike could no more kill Buffy, then he could ever be without her again.

Without thinking, Spike flung the now almost empty whiskey bottle across the living room. It hit the farthest wall and shattered into a hundred pieces.

‘Oh God,’ Spike moaned in regret, “Buffy just cleaned that floor and….” He pushed his remorse down inside of him and spun around to face the offensive closed door once more.

Stalking up to the closed door, he grabbed the door knob and turned it. ‘Yup,’ he growled, ‘locked.’

“Open this door, Buffy,” he ordered in a menacing voice.

No answer, no sound of movement. Nothing.

“I told you to open the God damned door, woman,” he roared this time.

Again, no answer or sound came from the bedroom. As if there was no other human in it.

Buffy sat on the bed, staring at the wall closest to her side. After she cried, for nearly an hour, she just collapsed on the bed and listened to William storming around outside the bedroom door.

She was well aware that he was alone, and drinking, probably heavily. That was confirmed when she heard the presumed whiskey bottle hit the living room wall and shatter all over the floor. Whatever else happened, there was no way that Buffy was going to open the bedroom door and face Will now. She just couldn’t do it, she was too much of an emotional coward.

Spike leaned his forehead up against the bedroom door and took a deep breath. ‘If she doesn’t open this door,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll fucking break it down!’

Without waiting another minute, Spike reared back from the oaken door and kicked it, full force, with his left foot. The lock broke immediately and the door flew open as Spike stumbled into the bedroom.

Before he faced his wife, Spike turned and slammed the ruined door closed, noting smugly, that at least it still stayed shut. When he spun around again to confront Buffy, he saw she now stood, her tiny hands were clenched at her sides and she looked terrified.

As he closed the gap between them, Buffy stepped back from him until she was up against the wall. Through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, Spike rasped, “was it all lies Buffy? Everything? You were never married, were you?” He began to answer his own questions, his voice was low and rough.

“You made that shit up to cover the reason you were used, right? Didn’t want me to think you’d given it up to some random bloke before me, isn’t that right, precious?”

Buffy was pale as a ghost and her green eyes were wide in fear. She tried to turn her face away from Will, but he reached out and pulled it back to meet his gaze.

“Convenient,” Spike hissed, “your little story about your poor dead husband. Tell, me, sweetheart, was there a nice older fuck with the name of Scott Hope that frequented your whore house? That where you got the name?”

Will’s blue eyes bore right into Buffy’s, into her soul and what she saw in those orbs terrified her even more. She swallowed hard and tried to say something, anything to halt this endless interrogation by her husband.

“No,” she whispered in a strained voice, “he really was a man my family knew. A nice man, in New York, he…..”

“Oh,” Spike smirked evilly, “that’s nice. But did you get around to fucking him too, before you pulled up stakes and hit London?”

Buffy reached up to slap her husband’s clenched jaw, but he grabbed her hand in mid swing. It was true, of course, Buffy had been a whore for four years, but the tone in Will’s voice, his angry, hateful eyes were killing her. In whole, it drove her to the somewhat violent act.

Spike felt his anger beginning to subside and regret started to replace it. He loved this woman, dearly, with all of his heart and soul, he loved her. It would just kill him if not any of the last three months had been real, at least not for her. What if Buffy ‘had’ just used him? Not really loved him? Whores were excellent actresses, everyone knew that and what if his Buffy was just acting like she cared at all for him.

Again, his heart broke into a million pieces and he shook his head, violently, to stop the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. He was in so much pain and torment, all because of Buffy’s lies and he could not let himself fall into some sympathetic self-blame game. This was all Buffy’s fault, no one elses and she was going to pay dearly for this. His pride demanded that, at least.

“What the hell is this,” Spike growled, pointing at Buffy’s little suitcase. It sat next to the bed, all packed and ready to go.

“I asked you, what the hell is that?” Spike raised his voice again and clasped Buffy’s shoulders with his massive hands. He pushed her back up against the wall.

“I, I thought it best if I was ready to leave, before you forced me to.” Her body and voice were trembling in fear and she tried to pull away from Will’s hands. Even with all of her years of experience into the male psyche, Buffy was not prepared to face this horror.

“I thought you’d want me off the place, soon as possible. So I saved you the trouble of packing for me.” The pain was evident in her voice, she knew, but she stuck out her chin almost defiantly and met his deadly glare. ‘Better to stand my ground, stand tough and get out, before…’

“You’ve no fucking idea what ‘I’ want, Buffy,” Spike responded in a deadly calm voice. “Thought you did, once, but now? Anyway, you’re not going anywhere, not away from me. Not anywhere.” He set his mouth in a firm, hard line and his eyes were nearly slits.

“Will,” Buffy began, her voice barely a whisper, “this is impossible. I know how proud you are, it’s one of the things I love about you. You’ll never, ever be able to get past this ugliness of my past.” She began to weep again, softly and looked away from his beautiful blue eyes. It was killing her to say these things.

“What do you know about love?” he growled at her. “You never loved me, just used me to get away from your past. Though why? I can’t figure that out. I thought most whores loved the life and hated to leave it. Unless some rich old fuck came along and set them up in high style. Look around you, luv,” Spike grimmaced and glanced about the room, then glared back at her. “This look like ‘high style’ to you?”

Buffy flinched at the verbal slap and the tone in her man’s voice. Will’s strong, deep voice was now nearly slurred from the whiskey, or his emotional pain. Or both. The words from his lovely mouth were horrible, hateful and so very angry. They frightened Buffy, yes, but they hurt her more.

“I was already leaving the life, Will,” Buffy tried to explain. “I ‘was’ on my way home to America when we met in Belfast. Even thought of heading out West, to California. Thought I might set up a dress shop there, or something. Get a new start.”

She noticed that Will’s eyes softened, just a little, when she told him this. ‘Believe me, my darling,’ she pleaded silently. ‘At least believe this and when I’m gone, you can go on. Knowing I did love you and didn’t just use you.’

“Liar,” Spike hissed huskily, his eyes filled with disbelief, “you’re lying, you are and…” Sadly, his tears chose that moment to win out. They began to slip out of his eyes and slide down his cheeks. He could not have been more ashamed of his weakness.

“Why,” he groaned sadly, “why’d you do it, Princess? Any of it? The whoring? That lifestyle? Me? Why?”

Buffy sighed, wiped her own tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath again. She wanted to get this right, tell the truth and leave William with some dignity left for himself.

“I could tell you, everything, Will,” she murmered, her green eyes half closed. “I could tell you about my Mother, her death in a New York slum hospital. Could even relay all of my revulsion and hatred for myself, at least from the first night I met Anya Jenkins. But,” she paused and met his pained gaze again. “It would do no good, Will,” she finally continued, honestly.

“All the things in my life, that led up to that night, in New York when this all started? They are not enough, there is not enough excuses in my pathetic life to ever ‘fix’ this now.”

Spike just stared at Buffy, his breath was coming in short, heavy pants and he felt like he was going to be sick. She was so beautiful, he loved her so much and how the fuck was he going to do this? Breathe after this?

“If I could just borrow Sucra, Will,” Buffy broke the silent tension, with soft words. “I could ride to Balleycastle, now and be there quickly. I’ll leave Sucra with Father Giles and be on the first train out of the city and your life, before sunset. I’m sure Father Giles will immediately start the proceedings for a ‘treachd dealaich’ especially after all of this. You…..”

He had been listening to Buffy’s ramble, quietly, but when she said the Olde Irish for ‘legal split’ the anger within him began to rise again. Pulling her tiny body to his, roughly, he roared, “you sure as fuck know that Olde phrase, don’t you, sweet?”

“I, was trying to learn some of it, for you, to please you,” she stammered, her head buried against his chest. ‘I love his chest,’ she sniffed sadly, ‘so strong and…’

In one swift movement, Spike flung Buffy on the bed and then grabbed her suitcase. He pulled the closet doors open and tossed the whole packed bag inside, slamming the doors behind.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Spike rasped as he turned to face his stunned wife once more. “You will stay here, with me. I’ll be damned to Hell, twice, if I’m going to set you free and let you run back to your whore’s life. Anywhere.”

“I told you, Will,” Buffy mumbled, “I’m going home to America. Start over there. You can’t think that my staying here will ever be right, not now. Our love will turn to hate and you will never be able to forget this. Or forgive me.” She was trying to reason with him, but she was terrified. Buffy did not like this ‘scary’ side of her husband, not one bit.

“You’re staying,” Spike roared at her. He now stood over her, frowning down at his beautiful wife. The woman he loved and who he had thought loved him. “I’m not letting you go, ever. Do you understand?”

“Will,” Buffy began to cry again, in desperation, “this is awful, all of this. If I stay, like I said, we will grow to hate each other. You know that Ethan Rayne has probably told everyone within a hundred miles of this place about me. About us and what happened today.”

Spike flinched at the thought of that, but shook off his humiliation and shook his head violently. “Don’t give a fuck,” he responded, “and a whore like you can’t be so ‘tender skinned’ that gossip would bother you. Right?”

She tried to get up, Buffy did, but he pushed her back down on the bed and held her there. “This is wrong, Will, please,” Buffy began to plead with him. “It’s better if I go, now and we make a clean break. I can’t live like this. Knowing you want me, but probably hate me, deep inside. I’ll wither and die, like our marriage. I have to go now.”

“Live with it,” Spike glowered down at her again, “I will. You’re staying and rendering services that I’ve paid for. God knows I’ve paid dearly for them.” His venomous words, the cruel tone in his voice made even Spike cringe once more.

The look on his angel’s face nearly broke his heart. ‘She can’t leave me, I can’t let her. Love her too much, I have to keep her at all costs.’ He was trying, desperately, to convince himself that Buffy should stay, live with this mess of a situation.

“We can be miserable together,” he added with a smirk. “But ‘together’ we will be.”

Spike began to strip off his clothes, slowly, watching Buffy with narrowed eyes. She looked like a trapped animal and it made the sensitive poet within him nearly sick. But the harsh, violent man, the one he’d always tried so hard to keep at bay, kept taunting him.

‘She’s yours, do what you want with her, Spike,’ that beast within him purred. ‘Thinks she’s going to walk out on you? Don’t think so mate. You ‘own’ her and everything that comes with her. Delicious, isn’t she? And, all yours to control.’

“I am not having sex with you, Will,” Buffy said softly, staring at his knees of all things. She figured out that her husband had suddenly decided to use sex to do what? Dominate her? Keep her there? Why would he want sex with her now, anyway? Especially after all the lies that were exposed today.

“Oh, but you are, sweet,” Spike chuckled wickedly. “Like I said, I’ve paid a dear price for your services. I intend on getting my money’s worth, right now.”

He pulled off his pants and stood stark naked in front of her, his right hand still holding her on the bed. “Get undressed,” he ordered firmly, letting up on her, just a little.

“No,” Buffy responded with determination. “I can’t, Will, it’ll be just too ugly if we do this now and…”

Spike wasted no time, he leaned over and ripped Buffy’s dress from her body. Being a strong man, he was able to tear the dress in half, like paper.

“No!” Buffy exclaimed, her voice took on a high pitched whine and she tried to escape her husband’s huge hands. She tried to beat his hands away from her body, but to no avail. Before she could roll off the bed and get out of the room, William pulled her back over and pinned her little body with his.

“Yes!” he roared before smashing his lips onto hers.

“Mine,” he roared louder and tore Buffy’s knickers from her. “You’re mine and I get to do whatever I want with you.”

Thrusting into her, ignoring the fact that she was not ‘ready’ for him. Spike didn’t even try to be gentle, not this time. Buffy was his wife, his property and he could use her any way he wanted.


A/N: This wasn’t too bad, right? I made it a little more ‘tame’ then I had once intended. Thanks for reading, please review. Luv, Spuf





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