He'll kill me, he knows what I've done, that I killed his mother . I feel it, see it in his eyes, and smell it in the air. The stench of it perfumes the air, and I can almost taste the hatred . and part of me, the darker, bloody, demon half of me, desires it. That part of me almost doesn't feel dead, feels the blood pumping, quickening in my lifeless veins, aroused at the scent of loathing and vengeance. It's like a drug and part of me will never bloody-well get over it, my soul screaming and revolting at it, and that part of me just wants it all the more.

And maybe this part, the part that burns, that aches and feels, this part of me thinks of giving up, giving in to the other, drowning in the sweet blissful dark of one last fight, to feel the anger and hatred and then the transformation of this earthly shell into merely a swell of dust, never to feel, or care, or burn, or brake, ever again.

Stupid git, I am. Death is only for the deserving . and I could never, ever, deserve that. I am worthy of so much worse, a punishment fitted on me during my blind rage; a soul that burns, and aches, and hollows out a deep hole in my gut, sharp with fingers not unlike talons, filling me with rage at the memories that I am powerless to erase. And all the stupid poetry I was so bloody fond of as a mortal, and all of this soul burning inside, can't ever even describe what it feels like.

So he'll try to kill me, and maybe I'll let him, or fight it out, doesn't matter really. But then it does, . because of her. She won't let me give up, still believes, still protects, like some damned saint. And that . nothing is worse than her forgiveness, knowing that, knowing what I did. And none, save her, have let me forget it. Doesn't matter the things they've done . the people they've killed, purposeful or not, they've been forgiven by all, allowed to forget, but never Spike, not me. My own Sire, the atrocities he's been responsible for, all forgiven, forgotten cause it wasn't Angel . it was bloody-friggen Angelus. They aren't the same. But somehow, I've always been different.

And I need it that way, to never be forgiven, to never be allowed to forget . because for one moment she was inside the demon, the one moment I really tried to hurt her, hurt what I loved, she knew what no one should ever know. Tears streaming, fear pouring from her skin, and the eyes that tore straight into mine and with every passing moment, and every way I hurt her more, tried to ravage her, take what wasn't mine, she knew the blackness and evil that tears through me every day, even now with my well-worn soul. She felt it consuming her and suffocating, drowning her in its obscurity, and it was then . then she truly hated me. And for one moment, that demon in me almost felt remorse. And then it was gone. And I ran, far and fast, to that godforsaken cave . and it was there that I got what I deserved.

But still . she won't let me go, even now. Even though I know the First will be coming for me again, to use me, make me It's bitch, and hurt what I love more than this pitiful excuse of an existence, love more than anything. And that, maybe that will be the only reason I'll let him do me in, to save her . one last time. But 'till then, I'll remain; seek my redemption . not quite understanding why she wants me here but because she's not ready for me to not be. And that will be enough. And my pain will tear away at me, but I see her and her eyes save me. For now.