I wait for him to leave. He comes here every night. One hundred and forty five nights.
"Slayer." He growls then stubs the cigarette with the heel of his boot.
I hear him mutter something under his breath. He misses her just as much as I do. He dumps out the wilted flowers from the small vase in front of her headstone then pulls out a handful of daisies from the pocket of his leather jacket. He replaces someone else's gift with his. He wipes his hand on his pants then quickly reaches into his jacket for another cigarette.
"You missed out on these. You were going to die young anyway." He lights the cigarette and takes in a long drag. "After slaying is the best." He blows out the smoke.
I glance up at the sky. Not long 'til sun rise. My patience begins to wear out slowly. Tonight he is taking longer than he usually does.
"The bit misses you. She doesn't say much, but she misses you. I see the way she looks at the bloody bot. By the way, the witch reprogrammed it so that it wouldn't shag me anymore. Just thought you'd wanna know." He rambles on. "Tomorrow's a big day for the bit and the bot. Some sort of a parent teacher day."
There is a pause. He is thinking of her. He slowly smoothes the headstone as he would her hair, with the sleeve of his jacket.
"Sorry."
I hear the faint sounds of his footsteps disappear and I know no one else is in the cemetery other than me. I listen to the dirt beneath me shift and wonder if she can hear me. Can she? Can she hear how sorry Spike is? Can she hear how sorry I am?
A chip, a soul, and all apologies.
~*~
I clench the armrest as I feel the heat slowly creep into the room. My jaw clenches when the warm glow rapidly turns into a burning pain. I close my eyes to let the pain take over my body and mind, but the boiling blood screams within my vein. They rage against the light and I throw myself out of the chair, away from the window, away from the sun.
I've failed her again.
I ignore my ragged breath and drag myself to my feet. The stench of burnt flesh fills the small apartment, but it doesn't bother me. I've grown accustomed to it. I'm beginning to think that I'm getting a tan.
I laugh at my poor attempt of I'm not sure what it is. I'm not sure if I'm ready to label it. All I know is that the scorching pain reminds me that I am still here in this world. A world without her.
Strong is fighting. It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do. And we can do it together.
Only she isn't here.
Her words haunt me and I shake myself free from the memories. The fervor inside of me starts to fade away. I'm left feeling numb and empty. My body seeks release from the tiresome night. It cowardly heads for the bed, laying itself down on the bed, against my will. My head hits the plush pillow and my mind reels from the sheer comfort. The soft mattress molds into my body, just as your body did the last night you slept in it. My eyelids grow heavy and the sun fades away with each blink of an eye. I turn away, letting it remain, but a distant memory.
You're weak. Everybody is. Everybody fails.