TITLE: Bad Habit
AUTHOR: Supergirl
RATING: R
PAIRING: B/S
TIMELINE: A month or two after "Wrecked," as if the rest of the season didn't happen
SUMMARY: It's the magic combination: angst, self-loathing, and lots of dirty sex
SPOILERS: most of early season 6, up through "Wrecked"
DISCLAIMER: If I could I would keep Buffy and Spike tied up in my basement (or maybe just Spike *eg*), but I can't, so I guess after I've used them I'll have to give them back to their rightful owners -- Joss & Co.
DEDICATION: To DearOne, my first fan: thanks for all the encouragement, hun!
FEEDBACK: Mmmmmmm feedback...
DISTRIBUTION: You can have it if you pay me $50... Or you could just try asking politely.
This is how it starts. You make a mistake, you slip up. Just once. Once is ok; you did something wrong and you realize that, and you can leave it in the past. All you have to do is not look back, never let it happen again. It's that second time that does you in.
That's exactly how it was with me.
After the first time immediately you panic: How could I let this happen? How will I live with myself? How will I look my friends in the face? How will I ever be able to look at him again without rethinking... oh God. No. Don't even go there, Buff. But it's too late now, isn't it?
*
When it happened once I promised myself it would never happen again. I swore, I swore on my life. Isn't that what you do? You promise yourself not to do something, and then you stay strong and you don't do it. And I tried, believe me, I tried to stay strong. But after that first time you can't help but think "I've already messed up once, I've already ruined my life." I had already lost my dignity, what else did I have to lose? And that's when you say to yourself, since you've already hit bottom, "Will one more time really make it any worse?"
He's my curse, he's my addiction. This is how addictions are. This is exactly how they begin. It seems hard at first, but really -- between the first time and the second -- that's the easiest. That's when you've just got to be strong. And I thought I was strong enough, I really did. I guess I overestimated myself. Or maybe I just underestimated him.
*
At first you can go without for weeks. I think I lasted nearly a month. Now how I managed to avoid him for that long, don't ask. That's a mystery even to me. I did see him a couple of times during that period, though. But only because I had to.
The first time was just a day after it had happened. "It" -- I can still barely even say the words. And can you even imagine how degrading that was, going to him and having to look him in the eye after we had just done... that? But I had to -- it was Dawn, my sister, and I needed his help. I'll never forget that look of smug satisfaction on his face when he heard that. It sickens me to think that he was right. I wanted him out of my life, so I'd told him to stay out of my work. But he said that I'd need him, and I do. I couldn't avoid him forever. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe I didn't really need him, maybe I was looking for an excuse. Maybe I just couldn't make myself stay away.
After that, the next time I saw him was when we needed his help facing some big bad du jour. It doesn't matter really, I don't even remember what it was we were fighting. What I do remember are those looks I got from him every time my friends weren't watching. The way he looks at me still gives me chills, even now. Every time he'd run his eyes up and down my body, he would force me against my will to think back to that night, to remember how good it felt to have his hands where his eyes were. Deliciously cold fingers spanning every inch of my skin. Soft kisses following the trail of his hands. The thought itseld made me weak. It still does.
And every time one of my friends would notice me staring back at him, my heart would just catch in my throat. If they knew... God, they'd never forgive me if they knew. Not when I can't even forgive myself.
*
After you go back the second time, it's all over. The first time it's a mistake, it's nothing you can't put behind you. But let it happen again and it becomes a habit. After that there's no turning back.
That's when it slowly turns into dependence. By now it's already gotten there for me. I can't bear being without his touch anymore, not even for a single night. In the beginning, like I said, you can abstain for weeks. But it gets harder; soon those weeks turn to mere days. Before you know it you can't even go twenty-four hours without your entire body asking for it, begging for that fix. That sweet release of finally giving in.
You can tell yourself that you need that second time just to get it out your system. You can even make yourself believe it. You won't realize that the second time will be you damnation, not until it's too late. It was in the alley behind the magic shop where he caught me. How appropriate, that was where he got me the first time too. I had been avoiding him -- save for those two times that I needed his help, I hadn't seen him at all for almost four weeks straight. I didn't want to see him, I'd been afraid to see him. I knew everything that would happen. I knew that if he tried I wouldn't be able to stop him, and of course I was right. Sometimes I hate being right.
He started with his usual "We need to talk." I just gave him my routine "Go to hell." I should've known he wouldn't leave it at that. I don't know why I didn't just turn around and run right then. If I had, maybe I wouldn't be where I am now, trapped in this twisted web of his with no way out.
I don't quite remember the details of how it all happened. I remember turning to walk away, and he kept trying to grab my arm, until finally I hit him. He hit me back. Somehow I ended up pinned against the wall. Somehow his mouth was suddenly on mine, and somehow as soon as our lips touched my brain just melted away. The truth is I was already waiting to surrender, I was ready for it. There was nothing I could do but let him take me.
*
And after that second time I just couldn't stop anymore. I felt disgusted with myself every single time I'd let it happen, yet I kept coming back for more. Right after the second time I told myself that would be the last, but then it happened a third time, then a forth. Then a fifth. By now I've lost count. I've given up on counting and I've given up on trying to resist. It's useless. I don't want to lie to myself anymore. I'm his. I've been his from that very first kiss, maybe even before then. Until the first time we slept together I was just putting off the inevitable. But now he finally has me. I'm trapped. I'm caught in an endless cycle, spiraling down and down, deeper and deeper into addiction, with no hope of escape. This is rock bottom for me. But at least for rock bottom, I gotta tell ya, it sure feels damn good.
It's gotten to be a regular thing now, by the way. We're not, like, a "couple", God no, but we've both accepted having this... relationship? No. Affair? Still doesn't sound quite right. Arrangement. Yeah, that would be the word for it. It's an arrangement, like a business deal. A dirty, twisted business deal, where a person I loathe and despise gets to sleep with me in exchange for... for what, exactly? I guess it would be for making me feel -- if even for a fleeting moment -- alive; making me feel as if I'm not hollow, like I know I am and have been ever since they brought me back. For helping me to temporarily forget the hell I'm in.
*
This isn't healthy. Yeah, there's an understatement. This is miles away from healthy. In fact, I'm pretty sure healthy is residing on an entirely different planet from whatever this is. A lot of times we fight. No, I don't mean argue, I mean we beat the crap out of each other. Doesn't that sound wholesome? He can hit me now, you know. He uses every opportunity to prove it. Now how many after-school specials have I seen about abusive relationships? "Jenny's boyfriend hits her. Jenny is in a bad relationship. Jenny should seek counseling." Last time we fought Spike nearly dislocated my shoulder. Of course I paid him back by breaking his jaw. Take that, follow it up with about three consecutive hours of incredibly hard, rough, mind-numbing sex up against the wall of his crypt. How's that for healthy?
Sometimes he calls me in the middle of the day. I let him talk dirty to me. He'll say things like he misses the taste of my skin, tell me in every nasty little detail exactly what he plans to do to me once he gets his hands on me again. It's sick and perverse. And you want to hear what the worst part is? I like it. Bloody hell, I'm actually getting off on it.
Oh God... oh God, did I just say "bloody hell"?
Am I starting to talk like him now? Oh, that is definitely bad. Wait, no, this whole thing is bad. Bad doesn't even begin to describe it. They should add like a whole new word to the dictionary for just how bad this truly is. And you know what? It's getting worse. I can't get enough of him now, it's like some drug. I always want more. Every single night after patrol I find myself at his door. If I don't get my fix my whole body screams for it. Sometimes I go there in the middle of the day. Sometimes I sneak out of a research session to see him. I'll lie, make up some excuse about having to pick up Dawn from school, when I'm really going straight to Spike's crypt. Sometimes I'll come home in the afternoon and find him laying naked on my bed, that smug grin on his face, waiting for me as if I owe it to him. As if he's entitled. How dare he be such an arrogant pig?! How dare he just assume that he can come into my house, without my consent, and... and... and all it takes is one look for all that to disappear. When I see his bare body, all I can think about is how it feels to have it pressed up against mine. Running my tongue over the cold, hard muscles of his perfect chest, tangling my fingers in that soft wavy hair, stroking the smooth skin of his back; having him touch me all over, pulling me down into the pit of pure pleasure. His hands, his mouth... wow, what that man can do with his mouth!
Wait, did I actually just say that? Am I even talking about this? I know the thought of Spike's mouth anywhere near me is just wrong beyond belief. I know I shouldn't be doing any of this, or even thinking it, but I can't help myself. I don't know what's wrong with me.
*
I know he'll never be my Prince Charming. This isn't romance. We're not making love, we're... Ok, might as well say it -- we're f***ing. I'm letting Spike f*** me, plain and simple, and there's nothing remotely romantic about it. It's sick, it's dirty, and it's wrong. I think I need it that way. I think he knows that, too. I need something that I'm not supposed to have, I need something that's bad for me. I'm killing myself with him and I know it. But I want to. He's as low as I can sink, and I want to let him pull me down. I want to let go. I want to fall into the abyss, drown myself in the darkness until I can no longer see the light. This... this thing with him, it's destroying me. It's disgusting and twisted, and there's nothing -- nothing at all -- positive about it. And I'm loving it.
He's not good for me, at least I know that. But it's more then just not good, I think Spike may actally be the worst mistake I've ever made. It's one that I'll never be able to recover from, either. I know this can't last, and I know that when it all finally comes crashing down I'm going to come out of it worse off then when it started.
How can I be doing this to myself then? It's ruining my life, but at this point I can't even seem to care. I'm having a sordid affair with an evil, soulless demon, turning my back on my friends, my calling, everything I stand for. Just tell me, how freakin' wrong is that? When I start to think about it I immediately feel disgusted with myself. I feel dirty, I feel cheap... But all it takes is for him to just look at me, touch me, and all that melts away. All the guilt, all the premonitions, everything disappears from my mind; all I can think about is how good his body feels against mine. It's just so unspeakably erotic, it's almost like I'm drunk. The overwhelming pleasure of the millions of things he can do to me, all I have to do is think about that for one single second and everything else falls away. I know in the end I'll regret this, but I can't bring myself to stop. It just feels too good.
*
It's never tender, never sweet. It's always harsh. Even when he goes slow, even when he draws it out, stretching the magnificent ecstasy, making me whimper and beg for him; or the times he does it to me soft and careful, like working on an exquisite work of art, not even then. Even when it's gentle, it's never ever sweet. I won't let it be. I purposely keep all emotions out of this, I've been determined to from the start. That's probably why it always feels so empty. And cold. All meaningless carnal pleasure, but still too good for either one of us to stop. I know he's in love with me, yet I feel nothing. I know he sees that. I know it hurts him. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I'm glad. If I'm suffering then he deserves to suffer too.
He disgusts me. This whole thing disgusts me. He's an evil monster with no soul, one who feels no remorse for anything he's done, one who actually prides himself on killing others like me. And if I remember correctly, he was looking to add me to his personal little trophy case of dead slayers not all too long ago. Should I just forget that because now he claims to be in love with me? He's not in love, he's obsessed. That sickens me too. Knowing that I occupy his every thought? It's creepy and it's gross. Having him follow me around, having him fantasize about me constantly... Not that he has to anymore. It's like he's some perverted stalker, except now I'm sleeping with him. Tell me, tell me that isn't twisted. Tell me that isn't wrong.
*
I can't seem to make sense out of any of this. Why am I even with him? Wait no, "with him", that doesn't sound right. That makes it sound like we're actually together. Which, you know, we are so not. He's just there, alright? All he is, is convenient.
Fine, so I'm lying. He's not a convenience, he's more like an intense need. I'm dependant on him, I'm dependant on him like a junkie on heroin. This thing is a plague, a sickness, it's like some demon possessing me that I just can't seem to exorcise. But the one thing that it definitely is NOT is a relationship.
So then what is it I feel for him, can somebody explain that to me please? I remember what I used to feel. I used to hate him. I used to hate him just as intensely as I want him now. I liked that, the hating. It was easy. It made sense. Hatred is plain and clear, it's the simplest of human emotions. But this? This is just confusing. Is it lust? Well obviously, but there's more to it than that. Is it some sort of strange attachment? Is it affection? Not likely. Is there a chance it could be... NO! Not love. Anything but that. I love his hands, his lips, his body, but not him. Never him.
It's nothing. I don't feel anything for him, and I make sure to constantly remind him of that. I don't owe him, he doesn't deserve a single thing from me. Ok, so maybe he really is in love. So? What, that should change things somehow? I still hate him, I always will. Yes, that's right, I'm a coldhearted bitch. Go ahead, ask me if I care. Hey, we're both getting what we want from this, aren't we? He certainly is. He gets to take his sick pleasure with me; he gets to crawl up and down my body and do with me as he pleases, go places even my past lovers have never been; he gets to hear me pant and scream his name. What he'll never get to hear from me is "I love you." But that doesn't matter, the sex should be enough. It's much more than he ought to be getting from me anyway.
And I guess I'm getting what I want too. I get to pretend that I'm something more than just a walking corpse. The cold feel of his body against mine, it can make me forget the empty coldness inside my own soul. I get to lose myself in him. I get to imagine that the rest of this harsh, hard world doesn't exist; there's nothing but this sea of pleasure, and I'm floating in it, drowning in it. I get to stop thinking. When I'm in his arms, everything that's wrong with this life disappears; all I see is him, all I feel is him. My heart isn't in this, but my body, he makes my body feel truly alive. And that's all I want from him. I want to feel. I just don't want to be dead... again.
*
Demons I can slay. Vampires I stake. Or set on fire. Or decapitate. Or beat to a bloody pulp until they beg me to just kill them. That's easy. Like I told Giles once, I could do all that 'til the cows come home. I can fight any creature of evil, no matter how tough. But this, this... this what ever it is, this stupid attraction, I can't get rid of it. If I wanted physical gratification, I could get that from plenty of guys who aren't Spike. Some of whom are even better looking than he is, possibly even better in bed. It's not likely, but it's possible. What I mean is I have options. There's so many other guys I could have. But no, I don't want anyone else, I want him. There's something inside me that pulls me to him, and I just can seem to win over it. It's a sickness; it's like some gross disease. It's so intense that it makes my head spin, and I hate it and I love it all at once.
Why him? I think I've asked myself that question maybe a zillion times. I tell myself it's just physical, but I know it has to be more than that. I think I'm afraid of the real answer. What if he's right? What if he really is the only one who understands me, the only one who can see me for who I really am? What if it's true that he's the only one who knows me? What does that mean, that a psychopath is my soul-mate? No way, no. No, no, no, no, no! He's wrong. I don't have anything with him. It's just an attraction, that's it. Nothing more. There never was and there never will be. I'm sure of it. I'm sure because I can't allow it to be anything else.
At first, before I'd gotten used to it, I used to give him these long lectures after each time we'd end up sleeping together, tell him how it didn't mean anything and how it was a mistake that I deeply regret. I'd go on about how it makes me feel sick to know he touched me, tell him I was just using him. I even remember saying "This will never happen again" on more than one occasion. Boy, that's a joke. I must have recited the "Never Again" speech so many times, we both have it memorized by now. But I've stopped doing that a long time ago. It's all pointless, and I think both of us have figured that out. The words mean nothing. I hear myself say them and it's all empty sound. "I hate him," -- do I really, still? Did I ever? "He disgusts me," -- I know that one isn't true, not when I can get such utter pleasure from even the barest touch. "It's wrong," -- said that one about a billion times. Not like he doesn't know it already.
"It's a mistake." That's the biggie. That is the one thing I keep telling myself over and over, trying to convince myself that I need to end this before it goes too far. But the truth is, it's gone too far already. I think I've actually passed the "too far" mark a long time ago. I'm in way too deep now, and at this point it's much too late for me to stop. I can't, I can't allow myself to. I can't break the cycle. Because I know if I were to stop now, if I were to slow down for even a second, if I gave myself a chance to think, to see him as anything other then the object of nonstop physical pleasure...
I might have to realize I'm in love with him.
~END~
AUTHOR: Supergirl
RATING: R
PAIRING: B/S
TIMELINE: A month or two after "Wrecked," as if the rest of the season didn't happen
SUMMARY: It's the magic combination: angst, self-loathing, and lots of dirty sex
SPOILERS: most of early season 6, up through "Wrecked"
DISCLAIMER: If I could I would keep Buffy and Spike tied up in my basement (or maybe just Spike *eg*), but I can't, so I guess after I've used them I'll have to give them back to their rightful owners -- Joss & Co.
DEDICATION: To DearOne, my first fan: thanks for all the encouragement, hun!
FEEDBACK: Mmmmmmm feedback...
DISTRIBUTION: You can have it if you pay me $50... Or you could just try asking politely.
This is how it starts. You make a mistake, you slip up. Just once. Once is ok; you did something wrong and you realize that, and you can leave it in the past. All you have to do is not look back, never let it happen again. It's that second time that does you in.
That's exactly how it was with me.
After the first time immediately you panic: How could I let this happen? How will I live with myself? How will I look my friends in the face? How will I ever be able to look at him again without rethinking... oh God. No. Don't even go there, Buff. But it's too late now, isn't it?
*
When it happened once I promised myself it would never happen again. I swore, I swore on my life. Isn't that what you do? You promise yourself not to do something, and then you stay strong and you don't do it. And I tried, believe me, I tried to stay strong. But after that first time you can't help but think "I've already messed up once, I've already ruined my life." I had already lost my dignity, what else did I have to lose? And that's when you say to yourself, since you've already hit bottom, "Will one more time really make it any worse?"
He's my curse, he's my addiction. This is how addictions are. This is exactly how they begin. It seems hard at first, but really -- between the first time and the second -- that's the easiest. That's when you've just got to be strong. And I thought I was strong enough, I really did. I guess I overestimated myself. Or maybe I just underestimated him.
*
At first you can go without for weeks. I think I lasted nearly a month. Now how I managed to avoid him for that long, don't ask. That's a mystery even to me. I did see him a couple of times during that period, though. But only because I had to.
The first time was just a day after it had happened. "It" -- I can still barely even say the words. And can you even imagine how degrading that was, going to him and having to look him in the eye after we had just done... that? But I had to -- it was Dawn, my sister, and I needed his help. I'll never forget that look of smug satisfaction on his face when he heard that. It sickens me to think that he was right. I wanted him out of my life, so I'd told him to stay out of my work. But he said that I'd need him, and I do. I couldn't avoid him forever. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe I didn't really need him, maybe I was looking for an excuse. Maybe I just couldn't make myself stay away.
After that, the next time I saw him was when we needed his help facing some big bad du jour. It doesn't matter really, I don't even remember what it was we were fighting. What I do remember are those looks I got from him every time my friends weren't watching. The way he looks at me still gives me chills, even now. Every time he'd run his eyes up and down my body, he would force me against my will to think back to that night, to remember how good it felt to have his hands where his eyes were. Deliciously cold fingers spanning every inch of my skin. Soft kisses following the trail of his hands. The thought itseld made me weak. It still does.
And every time one of my friends would notice me staring back at him, my heart would just catch in my throat. If they knew... God, they'd never forgive me if they knew. Not when I can't even forgive myself.
*
After you go back the second time, it's all over. The first time it's a mistake, it's nothing you can't put behind you. But let it happen again and it becomes a habit. After that there's no turning back.
That's when it slowly turns into dependence. By now it's already gotten there for me. I can't bear being without his touch anymore, not even for a single night. In the beginning, like I said, you can abstain for weeks. But it gets harder; soon those weeks turn to mere days. Before you know it you can't even go twenty-four hours without your entire body asking for it, begging for that fix. That sweet release of finally giving in.
You can tell yourself that you need that second time just to get it out your system. You can even make yourself believe it. You won't realize that the second time will be you damnation, not until it's too late. It was in the alley behind the magic shop where he caught me. How appropriate, that was where he got me the first time too. I had been avoiding him -- save for those two times that I needed his help, I hadn't seen him at all for almost four weeks straight. I didn't want to see him, I'd been afraid to see him. I knew everything that would happen. I knew that if he tried I wouldn't be able to stop him, and of course I was right. Sometimes I hate being right.
He started with his usual "We need to talk." I just gave him my routine "Go to hell." I should've known he wouldn't leave it at that. I don't know why I didn't just turn around and run right then. If I had, maybe I wouldn't be where I am now, trapped in this twisted web of his with no way out.
I don't quite remember the details of how it all happened. I remember turning to walk away, and he kept trying to grab my arm, until finally I hit him. He hit me back. Somehow I ended up pinned against the wall. Somehow his mouth was suddenly on mine, and somehow as soon as our lips touched my brain just melted away. The truth is I was already waiting to surrender, I was ready for it. There was nothing I could do but let him take me.
*
And after that second time I just couldn't stop anymore. I felt disgusted with myself every single time I'd let it happen, yet I kept coming back for more. Right after the second time I told myself that would be the last, but then it happened a third time, then a forth. Then a fifth. By now I've lost count. I've given up on counting and I've given up on trying to resist. It's useless. I don't want to lie to myself anymore. I'm his. I've been his from that very first kiss, maybe even before then. Until the first time we slept together I was just putting off the inevitable. But now he finally has me. I'm trapped. I'm caught in an endless cycle, spiraling down and down, deeper and deeper into addiction, with no hope of escape. This is rock bottom for me. But at least for rock bottom, I gotta tell ya, it sure feels damn good.
It's gotten to be a regular thing now, by the way. We're not, like, a "couple", God no, but we've both accepted having this... relationship? No. Affair? Still doesn't sound quite right. Arrangement. Yeah, that would be the word for it. It's an arrangement, like a business deal. A dirty, twisted business deal, where a person I loathe and despise gets to sleep with me in exchange for... for what, exactly? I guess it would be for making me feel -- if even for a fleeting moment -- alive; making me feel as if I'm not hollow, like I know I am and have been ever since they brought me back. For helping me to temporarily forget the hell I'm in.
*
This isn't healthy. Yeah, there's an understatement. This is miles away from healthy. In fact, I'm pretty sure healthy is residing on an entirely different planet from whatever this is. A lot of times we fight. No, I don't mean argue, I mean we beat the crap out of each other. Doesn't that sound wholesome? He can hit me now, you know. He uses every opportunity to prove it. Now how many after-school specials have I seen about abusive relationships? "Jenny's boyfriend hits her. Jenny is in a bad relationship. Jenny should seek counseling." Last time we fought Spike nearly dislocated my shoulder. Of course I paid him back by breaking his jaw. Take that, follow it up with about three consecutive hours of incredibly hard, rough, mind-numbing sex up against the wall of his crypt. How's that for healthy?
Sometimes he calls me in the middle of the day. I let him talk dirty to me. He'll say things like he misses the taste of my skin, tell me in every nasty little detail exactly what he plans to do to me once he gets his hands on me again. It's sick and perverse. And you want to hear what the worst part is? I like it. Bloody hell, I'm actually getting off on it.
Oh God... oh God, did I just say "bloody hell"?
Am I starting to talk like him now? Oh, that is definitely bad. Wait, no, this whole thing is bad. Bad doesn't even begin to describe it. They should add like a whole new word to the dictionary for just how bad this truly is. And you know what? It's getting worse. I can't get enough of him now, it's like some drug. I always want more. Every single night after patrol I find myself at his door. If I don't get my fix my whole body screams for it. Sometimes I go there in the middle of the day. Sometimes I sneak out of a research session to see him. I'll lie, make up some excuse about having to pick up Dawn from school, when I'm really going straight to Spike's crypt. Sometimes I'll come home in the afternoon and find him laying naked on my bed, that smug grin on his face, waiting for me as if I owe it to him. As if he's entitled. How dare he be such an arrogant pig?! How dare he just assume that he can come into my house, without my consent, and... and... and all it takes is one look for all that to disappear. When I see his bare body, all I can think about is how it feels to have it pressed up against mine. Running my tongue over the cold, hard muscles of his perfect chest, tangling my fingers in that soft wavy hair, stroking the smooth skin of his back; having him touch me all over, pulling me down into the pit of pure pleasure. His hands, his mouth... wow, what that man can do with his mouth!
Wait, did I actually just say that? Am I even talking about this? I know the thought of Spike's mouth anywhere near me is just wrong beyond belief. I know I shouldn't be doing any of this, or even thinking it, but I can't help myself. I don't know what's wrong with me.
*
I know he'll never be my Prince Charming. This isn't romance. We're not making love, we're... Ok, might as well say it -- we're f***ing. I'm letting Spike f*** me, plain and simple, and there's nothing remotely romantic about it. It's sick, it's dirty, and it's wrong. I think I need it that way. I think he knows that, too. I need something that I'm not supposed to have, I need something that's bad for me. I'm killing myself with him and I know it. But I want to. He's as low as I can sink, and I want to let him pull me down. I want to let go. I want to fall into the abyss, drown myself in the darkness until I can no longer see the light. This... this thing with him, it's destroying me. It's disgusting and twisted, and there's nothing -- nothing at all -- positive about it. And I'm loving it.
He's not good for me, at least I know that. But it's more then just not good, I think Spike may actally be the worst mistake I've ever made. It's one that I'll never be able to recover from, either. I know this can't last, and I know that when it all finally comes crashing down I'm going to come out of it worse off then when it started.
How can I be doing this to myself then? It's ruining my life, but at this point I can't even seem to care. I'm having a sordid affair with an evil, soulless demon, turning my back on my friends, my calling, everything I stand for. Just tell me, how freakin' wrong is that? When I start to think about it I immediately feel disgusted with myself. I feel dirty, I feel cheap... But all it takes is for him to just look at me, touch me, and all that melts away. All the guilt, all the premonitions, everything disappears from my mind; all I can think about is how good his body feels against mine. It's just so unspeakably erotic, it's almost like I'm drunk. The overwhelming pleasure of the millions of things he can do to me, all I have to do is think about that for one single second and everything else falls away. I know in the end I'll regret this, but I can't bring myself to stop. It just feels too good.
*
It's never tender, never sweet. It's always harsh. Even when he goes slow, even when he draws it out, stretching the magnificent ecstasy, making me whimper and beg for him; or the times he does it to me soft and careful, like working on an exquisite work of art, not even then. Even when it's gentle, it's never ever sweet. I won't let it be. I purposely keep all emotions out of this, I've been determined to from the start. That's probably why it always feels so empty. And cold. All meaningless carnal pleasure, but still too good for either one of us to stop. I know he's in love with me, yet I feel nothing. I know he sees that. I know it hurts him. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I'm glad. If I'm suffering then he deserves to suffer too.
He disgusts me. This whole thing disgusts me. He's an evil monster with no soul, one who feels no remorse for anything he's done, one who actually prides himself on killing others like me. And if I remember correctly, he was looking to add me to his personal little trophy case of dead slayers not all too long ago. Should I just forget that because now he claims to be in love with me? He's not in love, he's obsessed. That sickens me too. Knowing that I occupy his every thought? It's creepy and it's gross. Having him follow me around, having him fantasize about me constantly... Not that he has to anymore. It's like he's some perverted stalker, except now I'm sleeping with him. Tell me, tell me that isn't twisted. Tell me that isn't wrong.
*
I can't seem to make sense out of any of this. Why am I even with him? Wait no, "with him", that doesn't sound right. That makes it sound like we're actually together. Which, you know, we are so not. He's just there, alright? All he is, is convenient.
Fine, so I'm lying. He's not a convenience, he's more like an intense need. I'm dependant on him, I'm dependant on him like a junkie on heroin. This thing is a plague, a sickness, it's like some demon possessing me that I just can't seem to exorcise. But the one thing that it definitely is NOT is a relationship.
So then what is it I feel for him, can somebody explain that to me please? I remember what I used to feel. I used to hate him. I used to hate him just as intensely as I want him now. I liked that, the hating. It was easy. It made sense. Hatred is plain and clear, it's the simplest of human emotions. But this? This is just confusing. Is it lust? Well obviously, but there's more to it than that. Is it some sort of strange attachment? Is it affection? Not likely. Is there a chance it could be... NO! Not love. Anything but that. I love his hands, his lips, his body, but not him. Never him.
It's nothing. I don't feel anything for him, and I make sure to constantly remind him of that. I don't owe him, he doesn't deserve a single thing from me. Ok, so maybe he really is in love. So? What, that should change things somehow? I still hate him, I always will. Yes, that's right, I'm a coldhearted bitch. Go ahead, ask me if I care. Hey, we're both getting what we want from this, aren't we? He certainly is. He gets to take his sick pleasure with me; he gets to crawl up and down my body and do with me as he pleases, go places even my past lovers have never been; he gets to hear me pant and scream his name. What he'll never get to hear from me is "I love you." But that doesn't matter, the sex should be enough. It's much more than he ought to be getting from me anyway.
And I guess I'm getting what I want too. I get to pretend that I'm something more than just a walking corpse. The cold feel of his body against mine, it can make me forget the empty coldness inside my own soul. I get to lose myself in him. I get to imagine that the rest of this harsh, hard world doesn't exist; there's nothing but this sea of pleasure, and I'm floating in it, drowning in it. I get to stop thinking. When I'm in his arms, everything that's wrong with this life disappears; all I see is him, all I feel is him. My heart isn't in this, but my body, he makes my body feel truly alive. And that's all I want from him. I want to feel. I just don't want to be dead... again.
*
Demons I can slay. Vampires I stake. Or set on fire. Or decapitate. Or beat to a bloody pulp until they beg me to just kill them. That's easy. Like I told Giles once, I could do all that 'til the cows come home. I can fight any creature of evil, no matter how tough. But this, this... this what ever it is, this stupid attraction, I can't get rid of it. If I wanted physical gratification, I could get that from plenty of guys who aren't Spike. Some of whom are even better looking than he is, possibly even better in bed. It's not likely, but it's possible. What I mean is I have options. There's so many other guys I could have. But no, I don't want anyone else, I want him. There's something inside me that pulls me to him, and I just can seem to win over it. It's a sickness; it's like some gross disease. It's so intense that it makes my head spin, and I hate it and I love it all at once.
Why him? I think I've asked myself that question maybe a zillion times. I tell myself it's just physical, but I know it has to be more than that. I think I'm afraid of the real answer. What if he's right? What if he really is the only one who understands me, the only one who can see me for who I really am? What if it's true that he's the only one who knows me? What does that mean, that a psychopath is my soul-mate? No way, no. No, no, no, no, no! He's wrong. I don't have anything with him. It's just an attraction, that's it. Nothing more. There never was and there never will be. I'm sure of it. I'm sure because I can't allow it to be anything else.
At first, before I'd gotten used to it, I used to give him these long lectures after each time we'd end up sleeping together, tell him how it didn't mean anything and how it was a mistake that I deeply regret. I'd go on about how it makes me feel sick to know he touched me, tell him I was just using him. I even remember saying "This will never happen again" on more than one occasion. Boy, that's a joke. I must have recited the "Never Again" speech so many times, we both have it memorized by now. But I've stopped doing that a long time ago. It's all pointless, and I think both of us have figured that out. The words mean nothing. I hear myself say them and it's all empty sound. "I hate him," -- do I really, still? Did I ever? "He disgusts me," -- I know that one isn't true, not when I can get such utter pleasure from even the barest touch. "It's wrong," -- said that one about a billion times. Not like he doesn't know it already.
"It's a mistake." That's the biggie. That is the one thing I keep telling myself over and over, trying to convince myself that I need to end this before it goes too far. But the truth is, it's gone too far already. I think I've actually passed the "too far" mark a long time ago. I'm in way too deep now, and at this point it's much too late for me to stop. I can't, I can't allow myself to. I can't break the cycle. Because I know if I were to stop now, if I were to slow down for even a second, if I gave myself a chance to think, to see him as anything other then the object of nonstop physical pleasure...
I might have to realize I'm in love with him.
~END~