I close the door behind me and wince as I remove my jacket. I let out a pained breath and hang the jacket on the coat rack beside the door.
"Tough night?"
I look up and see Willow standing not too far away in the living room. "Hmm? Oh, patrol. Yeah. I took more of a beating than I'd've liked."
"Any luck?" Willow asks with a hopeful tone. She always hopes for the best, even though her condition probably isn't much better than mine.
"Some." I nod. "I just wish he wasn't so rough."
Willow's hopeful look turned to confusion. "He?"
My eyes widen a little, but I quickly shake it off. "Well, the one. There was one that got me more than the others. I just, assumed it was a he. Funny how we generally assume demons are guys huh?" I ask to try and divert the conversation a bit. Before she can answer though, I jump in again. "Hey, is Dawn sleeping?"
"Yeah, she fell asleep about an hour ago. Maybe a little less even."
I nod and sigh. "Okay, well I'm going to head upstairs and crash for a while. I'm spent."
Willow nods as well and I turn to go upstairs. I hate lying to her, I hate lying to Dawn and Giles and Xander, but I don't know what else I can do. I'd be better off dead again. I'm nothing anymore. Everybody thinks so.
God, how can I do this? Why am I doing this?
Because I'm nothing, I'm below nothing, I'm disgusting.
I'm numb and empty, or I'm full of pain and loathing. Of myself and of him.
And I can't blame him for it either, not all the way. I keep falling for it, and I fall harder every time. I let him hurt me more, and it's starting to be more physical pain now too. Like I'm some sort of disturbing, masochist or something.
I hate myself, I hate him.
He hasn't just made me this way, I have let him.
It's disgusting.
I've hit rock bottom, and I still feel like I'm sinking further.
Why does it have to be him?
Why can't I go back to Angel? Riley? At this point, I'd even take Parker.
But this?
Spike?
Is that what I've been reduced to?
Sleeping with the thing I hate most in this world other than myself?
I feel my stomach churn and I turn the cold water on. I put my hands under the faucet and fill my hands with the cold water and splash my face. I set my hands on the edge of the sink and take a deep breath to steady my stomach, but it doesn't work and after a moment I lean forward and get sick.
I splash my face again and turn off the water, then back up until I hit the wall. Tears are streaming down my face, and my chest heaves.
I'm crying.
Not because of what he does or says, I don't put it past him, but what I let him do, what I let him say and how I let him touch me.
I slide down the wall and curl up with my knees to my chest and my arms around my legs. I lean my head forward and rest my forehead to my knees and I cry.
Out goes numb, in comes pain.
