TITLE: Upbraided
AUTHOR: Elle
FEEDBACK: Would be lovely. PlainElle@aol.com
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: B/S implied
DISCLAIMER: Not really mine, alas. Just borrowing Buffy for a bit.
SPOILERS: Up to and including "Wrecked"
DISTRIBUTION: Just let me know about it
SUMMARY: In her bedroom, Buffy upbraids herself post-"Wrecked"
----------------------------------------
…O you could not know
That such swift fleeing
No soul foreseeing –
Not even I – would undo me so!
Thomas Hardy
----------------------------------------
He knows where I live, entered my house, tore it down.
And I gave him the Key.
This isn't real.
I twirl the small, pale, wooden cross in my hands and know how ridiculous I look. Except nothing about how I feel is remotely funny.
I look around at the plaits of garlic that hang, useless at my windows. They fall like those that snake down my back - false shields, snakes in the grass.
Light shines through the slats in the blinds.
But I can't see him anymore.
I close my eyes.
I won't see him anymore… I *won't*.
I gather my knees closer into my body. I feel a terrible, calm resolve, the type murderers must feel before they deal the fatal blow, what I feel when I slay my demons.
I'm a real lady killer.
My mind drifts back to this morning. Dear God! So very few, so very many hours ago.
And now, to live with the knowledge that I not only had sex with him, with Spike, but that I slept with him, slept, not cuddled against him romantically, not huddled against him for fear but, by his side on the dirty, dusty, hard floor, where we lay like twin corpses, dead to the world.
And oblivious to the outside world we'd been since neither of us seemed to notice the world implode on top of us. I ignited and burned from within. In the roar of our fire, our desire, the disintegrating world grew silent.
Well purged of the world, I slept like the dead.
I woke as in my pitch grave surrounded not with darkness and chaos but bathed in streaming light.
Oh God!
The same panic is here; the same panic was there. The one from my nightmares, the one from my grave, the one that warned my body, my mind, that everything had changed once again.
But the difference was that this time I was naked and there was nowhere to hide.
Nothing's changed.
I made myself say those convenient words and they sounded as empty as I pretended to feel.
Pretended because for the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, I am so full I can't think, can't defend myself. Worse yet, I don't want to think, don't want to fend.
I want to give up and give in.
But I won't.
I've always feared that I would be alone. Now I'm afraid I'll never be alone again, that the memories of last night will follow me forever.
If it hadn't been for his eyes, looking into them, I could have believed my own words.
If it hadn't been for his words, slicing through my indifference, my numbness, I could have walked away.
If it hadn't been for his fists, crushing my bones, bruising my skin, I wouldn't have had to silence my fears with a kiss.
If it hadn't been for his existence, I wouldn't have died again last night. Over and over again.
It was all about his not leaving me alone.
But it wasn't him at all.
It was me.
I'm the one who drove him back against the wall.
It was me.
I wanted him more than my life, more than Dawn's safety, more than victory.
Had to have him. Had to stop him. Couldn't stop myself.
I siphoned him down like a starving creature, devoured all the life out of his death.
All was sensation. No colour. No sound.
God! Except his eyes and my breathing piercing and panting.
My hands on his face and his arms, his body drawing me closer. Drawing me in.
It was all me.
I freed his desire and sank my own down around his, taking what I wanted, staking my claim, slaking my need. Feeling.
Who was I in that moment? Was I myself? Am I myself now?
It felt like I died and went to heaven – and I should know.
He wasn't supposed to know that, wasn't supposed to know me. But the light shone down and… I never could lie to him.
Oh God! Damn him!
It was a bloody revelation.
What did you see, Spike? Did you see the real me?
What am I like?
Am I good?
Or just OK?
No, no. Don't answer that! I don't want to know.
I'm terrified you won't go away; I'm petrified you'll leave.
You've got me running scared.
I don't want to see you.
I don't want to hear you.
I don't want you.
Part of me, like Dawn's arm, is fractured. Deep down I know only you can knit my marrow to wholeness.
I want to see you.
I want to hear you.
God, I want you.
But I won't have you.
Because it's wrong.
Or maybe, just maybe, it's me that's wrong.
Which would mean you were right all along.
The End
- I'd love to hear your thoughts about my story: PlainElle@aol.com