Disclaimer – anything you recognize, I don't own
He's dead.
I can feel the tears run down my face, symbols of that which some would term misery,but all I feel is emptiness.
I saw him burn. He told me to leave but I stayed to see him in those last moments. He was so beautiful.
I realized later that his life had come full circle. He began as a poet, seeking to beautify the world through his words. Then he was twisted and all his longing for beauty buried deep by Drusilla, Angelus and Darla. He came to the Hellmouth seeking a cure for her and another Slayer to add to his tally. But he was straightened, unwittingly, by me. His golden girl.
He'd never admit it but he was becoming a Scooby. He did good. When I came back form Heaven he was there for me, offering his love. I used him as a way to reach Heaven again and he didn't object.
Then I thought I was brought to see reason again by my ex. I told him and myself that it was killing me to use him. What I didn't disclose to anyone was that it hurt me more to leave him than to use him.
In a way, I sent him to torture. He went through trials for his soul and I know I drove him to it. He came back insane and didn't want me to know. Tried so hard but a vengeance demon was his undoing. Ironic, really, that the patron of scorned women undid the ultimate sacrifice.
And then that fateful twilight hour when he died.
Died.
Dead.
It seems to final, too still a word for Spike. He was always in motion, whether it be smoking, fighting, making love or simply fidgeting. I miss that.
I miss all of him. The snarkiness, the dancing – we never really fought, the love, hell, even the smell of booze, leather and cigarette smoke.
I wanted his ashes but they were buried under tons of destroyed town. I took a shard of metal instead. Just a scrap that sits on my bedside table to remind me.
To remind me of love, purity, hope, perseverance, how perceived stupidity can be endearing and beauty.
To remind me of him.