It had been one hundred forty seven long agonizing days, one hundred forty seven lonely nights. Three thousand twenty eight hours of deafening silence that seemed to keep him calm for the most part. Two hundred eleven thousand, six hundred and eighty minutes without her and it was killing him to the point of the condition he was in now.
Spike tipped the bottle back and let the whiskey slide down his throat with ease. One more bottle and it will hurt less. That was what he said two liquor stores ago and he kept telling himself the same thing. One more bottle and I'll see her again. One more…
The crypt had cleaned up since Buffy's death. Spike had tried to find ways to keep him self from falling asleep and seeing her face, her limp body as it lay strewn across broken crates and metal debris. Anything was better than that. Hell, he would have chosen death, but God had a sick knack for torturing him with the fact that he couldn't save her. That he failed his Slayer.
He then realized that the bottle was empty and he had had it pressed to his mouth since it ran dry. His anger started to resurface and he threw the glass bottle across the crypt. It hit the wall and shattered into dozens of tiny shards almost invisible to the naked eye. Spike stood and stumbled to the sarcophagus on the other side of the room, searching for another bottle. After all, it was the only way to relieve the pain of losing her.
Every night, Spike would sit in his tattered chair with a bottle of miscellaneous alcohol, the hurt, and uncertainty of that night plaguing his drunken thoughts. If he fell asleep, which he always did, he'd replay that night. Repeatedly, he'd save her, then he'd wake up and face the truth. She was gone. Dead because he was too much of a prat to do anything right! Everything he could have done, he didn't! Anything would have worked better than what had actually happened. Anything and that was no understatement.
Spike hated himself for the way he failed to save her. He promised, promised her and he broke it.
Broke her, broke himself, broke his heart.
The door to his crypt opened and a small figure stood in the doorway, "Spike."
To be continued.
Authors Note: Leave me a review bitches.