TITLE: "Normal again" (7/8?) part II
(Because of length, cut in three parts.)
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com
SITE: nope
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst
PAIRING: B/S
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.
THANK YOU: For your patience. I love to write, but unfortunately, I also have to do other stuff for a living.
ACT 7: Love is a confusing thing, I should know, being love's bitch and all.
SCENE 4
If it wasn't for the fact that William had mentioned these titles himself, Buffy would had never guessed that her patient's taste in books was so peculiar.
She was heading back from a one-hour lunch that had consisted of a canteen style tuna sandwich that she munched down in a hurry and flushed away with half a can of tepid diet-coke. She then went to the big Waterstone bookstore at Fleet Street, spent fifteen minutes staring at the backs of rows and rows of books before she decided that she was not going to risk a permanent neck injury for this and went to wait in the long checkout line for the cash-register to ask for some assistance. The people in front of her moved like snails, and of course there just had to be one eccentric geezer among them who liked to pay his 8 dollar paperback in coins and lose buttons instead of real cash. Finally, after another fifteen minutes of waiting and bitching, she managed to get one of the salesladies away from behind the counter and find her the titles she had been looking for.
"You know dear, they are sorted in alphabetical order on author's names, really." The elderly woman said, frowning upon her either for her laziness or her naivety for not knowing too much. "It just works like a library. You do know how to find books in the library, right dear?"
Buffy Ann Summers, a 23 year old PhD student with a master degree in psychology, blushed her cheeks crimson and had stammered something along the line that she was in a kind of a hurry, paid for the books and left the shop while making a mental note to herself that she was absolutely never going to visit that bookstore again, which unfortunately would become a problem since there was only another small second-hand bookshop in Sunnydale left for her future literature purchases. If she needed to buy anything more specific or in a better shape in general, she had to get on the bus and travel 15 miles down to next town to get it.
"You better appreciate this, Will." She mumbled beneath her breath as she changed back into her hospital outfit and put her regular clothes away in her locker. "Thanks to you, Dawn's gonna get a Britney Spears CD instead of a Ann Rice novel for her next birthday. But I guess there wasn't that much competition in the first place, anyway."
She brushed her hair into a ponytail, locked her closet, and grabbed the brown paper bag from the bench. As she past the hangers on her way out of the ladies' locker room, she snatched her doctor's coat off the hook and shrugged it on while she rushed down the corridor, heading for the recreation area. She was still struggling to secure her nametag on her collar when she bumped into someone tall and brooding.
The paper bag dropped out of her hand, spilling the books all over the floor with most of them flapped open with the cover side up, just like peanut-butter sandwiches. She knelt down to recollect them, meanwhile hastily apologizing for the incident.
"Here, let me help you."
She looked up, and wasn't a bit surprised to find herself staring into the dark hazel eyes of William's brother. That pinewood scented aftershave Liam Byron wore, it tend to seep into your memory in an irreversible way, like a person's own body-scent tend to soak into their bed sheets and clothes.
"Penny Dreadful, American Psycho, Red Dragon and -" Crouching next to her, he picked up the last book and turned it 90 degrees to read the title on the cover. "David Copperfield? Forgive me for saying this, but you have a weird and slightly suspicious taste in books for a doctor." Liam smiled, raising a dark, handsome eyebrow. "Except the last one of course, they made me read that one in high school."
" Oh, hi Liam!" She said, feeling a strange fluttering come up in her stomach as their eyes met. "They're not mine, really. They are for William. He asked for these titles in our library but they didn't have them. Wasn't really a surprise, they're kinda on a small budget and the most recent books they have added to the collection are second hand and include titles like "Addicted to Baskets", "The exciting World of Needling", and "A thousand and one Recipes for baking Fruitcakes". Hardly any reading material for any of my patients."
Liam stared at her for moment with a lost and puzzled expression on his face, then the rusty penny finally dropped and he burst into a pleasant chuckle.
Buffy smiled back at him, her heart now quivering in her chest like crazy. Okay, she thought, you almost freaked him out or bored him silly with your clever jokes. If you're trying to impress this guy, please don't. Yes, he's cute, and handsome, and tall, and probably sane, but it doesn't mean that you have to fall head over heel for the first decent guy you find hanging around this sterile place. Keep some dignity here, desperate lady.
She shook her head for a moment, her ponytail wagging cheerily along. Focus Buffy, be professional.
"You're kiddin." Liam sniggered and put the books back into the paper bag and handed it over to her. "Addicted to baskets. Hah! Good one."
They both rose up at the same time. Buffy held the bag in front of her chest and wrapped her arms around it, looking much like a nervous school girl facing the local football hunk. Her facial muscles were aching because she tried to smile sweetly while trying to suppress a nervous twitch at the same time.
"And that part about Will reading American Psycho!" Liam continued. "Honestly Buffy, you're smart and funny!"
"Um, well, actually, he really did ask for these books." Buffy felt her cheeks flush warm, feeling strangely embarrassed.
"Oh." Liam's mouth dropped open for a moment. "Oh. I didn't know he likes to read this kind of - um - literature." He sucked in a breath of air and puffed a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Seriously, all these violent thrillers about murdering psychopaths." He furrowed his brows in concern. "Are you sure this is safe for him? I mean, I don't want to question your judgement or anything. You are the one with a PHD in psychology here. But my little brother's mind is already kinda twisted. Won't these books somehow make it even worse?"
"Well, um." It was now Buffy's turn to furrow her browns, what could she to say to that? She wasn't very keen on the idea of giving her patient a book load of violent inspiration to get him sicker then he already was, but Will really wanted these books. He had been bitching and moaning about the lack of good reading material in the library for weeks now and Buffy could tell that he was bored silly, particular since she had taken away his packs of cards after the gambling annex cheating fiasco where he got himself beating purple by Steward. The last few weeks however, William had kept himself quiet and pleasant towards the other patients, and Buffy liked to reward him for his good behaviour.
"Don't worry." Her hand made a brushing movement in the air as if to clear away his concerns. "I think he can handle this. Will's behaving quite normal lately, and has even made some friends with the patients of his therapy group. I think he deserves a treat."
"All right." Liam tense from relaxed a little. "If you believe they can't do him any harm."
"You're here early Liam, it's only Thursday." Buffy asked, trying to change into a more comfortable subject. "I thought you usually come to see Will on Fridays?"
"I took a day off from office to spend a long weekend here." A conspicuous grin appeared on his lips together with a mischievous twinkling in his hazel eyes that made him look very attractive. "Don't tell Will yet, but I have a surprise for him."
Liam had a dark leather briefcase with him that Buffy hadn't even noticed until now, and the young man pulled up his right leg and put the case on top of it, clicked it open and grabbed out a thick envelope. He handed it over to Buffy while he balanced on one foot trying to shut the briefcase again.
"What is it?" Buffy asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Can I have a look?" She already had her forefinger under the small pocket of space beneath the front flap and was eager to flip it over to take a peek. A delayed "No." coming from Liam wouldn't be much appreciated.
"Of course. It's only something silly and sentimental. Nothing incriminating to the Byron family, really." Liam laughed, he was finally finished with struggling with his briefcase and dropped it on the floor next to him.
Buffy opened the large, brown envelope. The paper crisped between her fingers. There were photos inside. She took the stack of pictures out, carefully handling them as they seemed to be rather old and brittle. Her blue eyes met those of a little boy's, piercing and striking against the faded, yellowish colours on the background. The boy was looking right into the camera, his small arms clutched around a stuffed toy. He had his head cocked to one side and had a very familiar, very confident smirk on his young and innocent face.
"Oh God, Is this who I think it is?" Buffy asked, giggling cheerily.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is Will, that cocky grin of his never changed much over the years."
"He looks so - so sweet." Buffy frowned and regarded her patient's brother with disbelief. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy here?"
"Our mom took that picture when he was seven. Guess the real wickedness only got into him after that age."
"Perhaps your real little brother got lost on one of your mom's shopping sprees and she took the William we both know and fear, home by mistake."
Liam snapped his fingers. "I knew that there was something wrong with him when he suddenly refused to play with his mister Fluffy Bunny."
Buffy smiled pleasantly, this time it came easy and natural, and she noticed that the mad pounding of her heart had somewhat eased down. "You've got to be kiddin me. Mister Fluffy Bunny. Who would have guessed that from Will with his whole "I am a Big Bad vampire, so bite me" attitude. By God, I swear I'm gonna rub that in on him, professional integrity be damned."
They went through the whole stack, pointing and smiling occasionally. There were pictures of Liam and his parents as well, and from the look of them, Buffy would say that William must have had a very pleasant childhood, with a loving and caring family to look after him. His brother in particular, seemed to be crazy about his younger sibling. They were together in almost every picture, playing and having fun as two boys of their tender age were supposed to do in a carefree world.
"I thought it might help him to remember a bit more about his past and his family." Liam explained, putting the photos back into the paper holding, being very careful with them as if he was handling a priceless treasure. "I think he's responding well on my visits. He hardly snarls or bites or spits on me anymore." There was a smile on his face to indicate that he was joking, but it looked rather sore.
"You have to be patient with these things." Buffy said, trying to cheer up him up. "Learning to trust and love someone again starting from emotional scratch takes time."
Liam nodded, understandingly. "Still, I wished sometimes that I could see what was going on in his head. What is wrong in there. Some loose bolt that just needs to be screwed back on." He averted his eyes from her and bit on his lower lip. "I think he knows who I am, Buffy." His expression grew grim, and a hidden pain surfaced in his voice. "Really knows, with the whole emotional package attached to it that would allow him to act normal towards me. You know, like we are brothers again?"
She nodded in response.
"But something, something is holding him back from fully trusting me." He ran his hand through his hair. His fingers became sticky of the excessive hair gel he used. "He doesn't really trust me you know. I've been coming for months now. I talk to him. I bring him stuff, everything he needs that doesn't get him into trouble. I tell him about mom and dad, everything. He nods and he answers me, doesn't swear too much and hardly gets caught up in one of his raging tantrums anymore." He sighed and gazed back into the doctor's eyes, pleading with her to understand. "But he's also careful, calculative. He doesn't just say what in his mind when he's with me. He's holding something back. Christ, if I didn't knew any better, I'd say that he was afraid of me."
"Liam." Buffy tried, feeling sorry for the man as she noticed the sadness and despair showing on his face. "Sometimes, if a patient is detached from the world for so long, like William has, it's difficult for them to accept and get involved with their friends and loved-ones again. William has made the first steps towards recovery by letting you into his life. He doesn't protest to your visits, and as I heard from him speaking to his friends, he really does look forward every week to see you." That was little white lie that she made up to make Liam feel better, since Will hardly talked about his brother's visits to anyone, but she decided that it couldn't do both of them any harm to get Liam less worried about his little brother.
"He does?" Liam asked her warily.
"Yes, absolutely. So stop worrying yourself silly. It's probably just a phase he's going through. I think he's more afraid of accepting the reality that he has such a caring and loving brother looking after him then that he's scared of you hurting him in anyway."
Liam arched a dark eyebrow and nodded again. "I guess that sounds like a rational explanation. Especially since it's coming from a professional. Thank you Buffy." He smiled a little, lifting some of the anxiousness clouding his grim eyes. He continued on a lighter mood. "Um, do I need to pay for this session separately or is the bill automatically included with Will's?"
"No such luck mister Byron, you better take out your check-book, ten whole minutes of my valuable time, it's gonna costya." Buffy teased, showing him a warm and pleasant smile.
"Oh bummer, and I got only a couple of loose change in my pockets. Um, do you accept creditcards Dr Summers?"
Buffy shook her head. "No creditcards, only real cash will do, and don't try to pay me in lose buttons, shiny objects or foreign currency. I'm not getting paid much, but I'm not that desperate either."
"I guess I have to clear my dept to you in another way then. What do you think of a five course dinner at an expensive and decadent seafood restaurant in town, my treat."
She was stunned for a moment, opened her mouth to say something and then forgot completely how to speak English. Some primal noise came from here throat that sounded like; "Grahw, huh?"
"Um, I promise that there will be lobsters? Or if you happens to be allergic to them, large cocktail scrimps?" Liam tried.
"Grawhaha. Gwgrrahhahum. I would -I absolutely -" Buffy uttered, her tongue seemed to be tied into a knot and she couldn't get the words out of her mouth.
"If-if you're don't want go, it's fine. I know it's kind sudden to ask you out. You hardly know me -" He stared down at his shoes where a very interesting blob of mud clung.
"I'd absolutely love you." Buffy finally uttered. Then sucked in a deep breath as she realized what she just said. "To let you take me to dinner. I mean, I'd love to go." Her cheeks flushed and she felt terribly hot. Great move Valley Girl, making yourself look like a complete airhead sure is very attractive.
Luckily, Liam didn't seem to mind her hormones inflicted little mix up, and he acted like a true gentleman by ignoring it completely.
"Great! I'm here for the whole weekend, but the place I want to take you is less packed on Saturdays. Shall I pick you up at seven?"
"I've a shift from twelve till five next Saturday." Buffy said, reminding her schedule. "But we can go out directly after work. You can pick me up from here."
They discussed a little further about the details, then Liam said goodbye to her, promising that he will certainly be on time for their date, and they parted their ways. She twirled around and continued her stroll down the hallways to the recreation room, her feet dancing on air and her head filled with fluffy bunny thoughts.
SCENE 5
It wasn't that he hated to watch the telly during daytime or anything. Hell, he had been dreaming that he watched bad daytime programs all the time when he was vampire, but that was something he wasn't quite allowed to think about, since it had to do with his delusions. Dr Buffy told him better to concentrate on the things in reality. Little things that made him emotionally aware of his surroundings, including those that could get him winded up about. Like how that wanker Steward kept switching between Ophra and the Home Shopping Channel right now, till it could almost invoke a bloody epileptic stroke.
He had to push his nails into his palms to keep himself from punching Steward in his ugly mug. What the bleedin hell is wrong with him? Can't he just keep watching something for longer than a one hundredth of a sec? Why did that wanker had to have the concentration capacity of a soddin fruitfly?
He glanced at Steward, sitting there in the only comfy chair that wasn't reeking of stale urine or falling part in general, holding the remote control in his right hand and pushing on the buttons repeatedly with his disgusting red scaly thumb like he was ramming on the knobs of a soddin pinball machine. The urge to get up, whack the remote right out of his hand and then to strangle the bloody git was almost driving him crackers. With difficulty, he averted his eyes from the source of his annoyance and glanced out of the barred window instead. Sucking in a ragged breath that he slowly breathed out again, he shut his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of fragmented conversations and static noise coming from the screen. It wasn't right to get upset about these things. He wasn't going to gain anything from getting really pissed off at Steward. However much he would love it right now to separate his ugly head from his spine, he had to control himself. Clear the rage out of his system. Ignore it. Keep his bloody gob shut. Particularly that.
He had not forgotten that it was that daft wiseass attitude of him that got him into this catastrophic kind of trouble in the first place.
He opened his eyes warily, opened his hands and looked down at his palms; his nails had made half moon rims in his flesh, which were bleeding a little. For a short moment, he felt the urge to lick them clean, but then he remembered that he wasn't really a vampire and therefore the whole lapping his own blood thing would be considered very disgusting instead of intimidating, so he decided to let it go. Quick thinking Spike. Dr Buffy is gonna be pleased. But you really shouldn't call yourself Spike anymore, you're just William now, remember?
He felt a mad giggle coming up, rising from his stomach like an itchy crawly insect, but he didn't want to let Mike or the one of the other orderlies to see that he was laughing about nothing in particular (Now that would be a real sign of madness, the sort that would get you wrapped up in tight, comfy white jackets in no time.) so he swallowed the gleeful little thing, and kept staring blankly forward instead. Nice and easy, not troubling anyone. Sitting there in his chair amongst a semi circle of drooling loons around the idiot-box from nine in the morning, letting his life slip by and watch the shadows cast by the barred windows stretch and shrink till the entire meaningless day was over and he was allowed to go to bed to have his bloody awful nightmares. Oh sure, life was hell in here, but he was fucking nuts so he just had to deal with it.
His hearing, although blunted by the drugs that were seeping slowly through his veins, could pick up the rattling of gate in the chain-link fence that kept the inmates from walking in and out of the daytime facility. He lifted his head and turned towards it a little. Something moist and warm dripped down his chin, and he was slightly aware that he was drooling. Great, he thought, the catering service with the fancy pills has arrived, just in time. I could use a handful of mind numbing goodness right now. Come to think of it, I could use the whole soddin car. Prozac, Paxil, and those pretty little shiny Rudex capsules, I take what ever you got nurse, as long as I can off myself for a couple of hours, I'm one happy little camper.
He swallowed, but his mouth stayed dry, and he was rather surprised to hear Buffy's voice nearby, talking to him.
"Hi William, how do you feel today?"
He turned around, and saw her standing there behind him looming over the back of his chair. She looked extremely pretty today, with her hair kept together into a happy ponytail and wearing a bit of make up on her blushing face that made her look like a young cheerleader. Hand her the pompoms, put her in a short sexy skirt and blow the trumpets, and she could be starting the game with a spelling spree. It's a petty she probably doesn't have any of my medication with her. That would have really made my day.
"I'm fine." He blinked his eyes and tried to look a bit more alive, then suddenly remembered the drool on his chin and tucked out his sleeves to swab it off, embarrassed. "Only a bit bored I guess. Steward there doesn't seem to be able to make up his bloody mind about what he wants to see."
The fellow inmate didn't turn around from behind his chair, but stuck out a one finger salute towards him as an answer.
"Fuck you Byron. It's my turn this week."
"Steward! Manners! Or do I have to come over there and confiscate the remote?" Buffy said in a strict voice.
Steward muttered something inaudible under his breath in response.
"It's okay, luv. I'm not watching anyway." He eyed at the annoying fellow inmate, feeling that tinge of rage rising again, but repressed it by averting his eyes and concentrating on Buffy's. "I um, am waiting for the shiny happy pills to arrive. Say, weren't they suppose to distribute them around two?" He blinked his eyes again as they became hazy. He really didn't feel well. "Isn't that about now?"
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, sounding concerned. "It's only eleven o' clock in the morning." She reached out and planted a soft, warm hand on his forehead. "You're not ill or anything, are you?"
"Not more then usual." He sniggered. "Maybe it was something that you guys put in my breakfast this morning. I thought the cereal tasted kind of funny, like crunchy bits of smoked weed."
"You're not running a fever." She pulled back her hand that he regretted instantly; her touch had been very comfortable and somehow made him feel less bad about himself. "Maybe you're just watching too much TV. They say that getting too close to the screen will wreck your eyes and can possibly microwave your brains."
"In that case, I insist that you have that devilish thing tossed out. I'm here for my health and not for having my brains turned to mush." He joked, while his body broke into a cold sweat as if uttering the words alone were already taking him too much effort.
"Speak for yourself Byron, you don't wanne watch, your turn for next week goes to me." Steward shouted from behind his comfy chair, his yellow eyes never leaving the screen.
"Or you can sit a couple of rows back to protect yourself from the deadly radiation." Buffy opted and smiled supportively, ignoring the nasty remarks coming from the obnoxious patient. Come on Will, you're doing fine, don't let Steward get under your skin. He really isn't worth the trouble.
He shut his eyes for a moment, and counted back from ten, slowly. Buffy watched him as he tried to compose himself, his chest rising and falling several times as he breathed in deep through his nose. She didn't notice the white knuckled fists with the edges of his sharp nails digging into his flesh though, and so she had the impression that her patient was handling the situation rather well.
He opened his eyes again, and the first thing he saw was Buffy's warm and encouraging smile. He grinned back at her, a bit nervous and faked, for he felt there was nothing to bloody well smile about, and then addressed the other inmate in a composed and polite voice.
"You can have my turn if you want, mate, but I was only fooling around with getting rid of the telly thing. No need to get your knickers twisted." His ears were ringing, like they had been exposed to a heavy metal band plugged in to a couple of giant boxes. Somewhere at his back, a drop of sweat was rolling over the small of his spine.
"Like hell." Steward snorted, but didn't add another nasty remark to stir things up. He was probably content with the opportunity of having gained another week of continuous zapping.
Buffy was visibly relieved that her patient was handling the confrontation so well, and there was a sense of small satisfaction that made her smile widen broadly. "No swearing Steward." She opted. "You know the rules, and as for you mister Byron." She handed the crispy paper bag to him. "I believe you can keep yourself busy with these."
Will gazed up at her in surprise, then turned his attention to her gift. He turned the bag upside down and the paperbacks tumbled on his lap. Picking them up one by one, he looked at the titles, furrowing his brows.
"You bought these?" He asked, eyes blinking in disbelief. "You bought these for me?"
"Well, I was at the bookstore to find something for Dawn." Buffy muttered nervously, never much of a liar. "I thought, perhaps I could pick up something for you too. You know, to keep you from wrecking the recreation room or drawing the blood under my patient's nails out of pathological boredom."
There was an expression of gratitude on his face and Buffy felt that strange fluttering sensation inside of her again, rising slowly as William's lips curved into a pleasant smile.
"Thank you." He simply stated, and there was none of that tinge of mocking cheer that she had expected sounding in his sincere appreciation. "I'm gonna read them instead of letting ol' Steward here ruin my eyes with his cracker's zappin."
A warm feeling came over her as she looked into William's eyes, and suddenly she recognized the boy from Liam's photos in this grownup man. That look he gave her was warm and caring, innocent. Sad. There was something in this far too frequently obnoxious guy that made her want to wrap her arms around his shoulders, hug that little boy inside of him till that sadness went away and plant a comforting kiss on his forehead to make it all better. To make whatever was troubling him disappear so he could become the carefree, loving boy again that she had seen in the faded pictures.
"You're welcome." She said, being a bit overwhelmed by what she felt inside, but instead of giving in to her urge to coddle him, she just gave him a gentle squeeze in the shoulder.
SCENE 6
She felt something for me. She really did. I knew for sure, because she did all these special things for me. Gave me these little signs. She tried to defend me against that git Steward, tried to help me to keep myself under control. That smile on her pretty little face, you could defrost an entire jumbo-sized freezer with it in less then a sec. I loved that smile of hers, the way her eyes wrinkled in the corners, the giddy little sounds her throat made.
I could just live and die for that smile.
I was sitting on a wooden bench in one of the green, sterile looking corridors in which you could easily get lost since they all looked the same. The afternoon sun was gliding past a barred window at my right. Outside, the crooked branches of an old maple tree told me that I was somewhere on the second or third floor of the institute. The leaves were starting to bear the colours of autumn, although it should be still be somewhere in the beginning of September, at least, if I could still remember correctly with my drugs stained brains clouding my judgement. Smiling nervously while I thought of her, I brushed through the pages of the first paperback from the pile that she had given me. David Copperfield in Penguin edition, complete with the bright orange cover and printed in the cheap quality paper as grey as the type of toilet sandpaper we inmates used to wipe our arse with in the privy. I've read the book before, of course. My faked recollection told me it was a whole century ago. Back then, my first copy had been bounded in leather and the title had been engraved into the thick cover with golden, curving letters. It bought the book fresh from the print and with the smell of inks still lingering on the pages. I read it by the light of a flickering candle, living David Copperfield's life through the words of an amazing storyteller.
Still, that wasn't real of course. None of those memories were. I had never lived in the Victorian era. Had never been a repressed young English gentleman with a small heart and a passion for books. I didn't die in 1880 to return as a bloodthirsty vampire with a grudge against anything decent and organized, a feeling of resentment towards anything that tried to compose order in world of chaos.
Never had encountered Angelus or Drusilla either.
Angelus, my breathing became fast paced and irregular by the very thought of him.
My hands were damp, and the smooth cover paperback slipped through my fingers. I didn't pick it up immediately, rather closed my eyes and covered my face, bending forward while letting my elbows rest on my knees. I must have looked pretty desperate to any orderly or head-patient passing by.
I was actually rather desperate.
Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes and then, Mike was gonna take me to see the poof. My stomach objected to the thought of this "pleasant surprise". Didn't expect him to show up till tomorrow afternoon. I really hoped that this was an exception that he came to see me on a Thursday and that he wasn't planning on making this into a weekly thing again. My mind was wilful and pig headed strong with a way in dealing with my brother's frequent visits, but in the end, it could only handle so much. I breathed in deeply, trying to keep my lunch inside where it should be. Didn't want to make a mess. Buffy would think that I was ill and get all over- concerned. Perhaps she would start asking questions, and I really don't want to tell her anything. Besides, I was a bit worried that the pills that they had given me weren't dissolved yet by my internal juices. I didn't want to get them out of my system, just at the very moment when I really needed them. I couldn't face Liam without any medication to calm me down, I really couldn't. One wrong look coming from him and I would start screaming like a girl.
A bitter taste of bile rose in my throat and I bended double as my stomach revolted like I was stuffing myself with cow-dung or stale blood or anything just as disgusting. I lurched, a warm sour smelling fluid with mixed texture splashed on the green tiles just in front of my bare feet, next to my paperback.
I heaved a couple of times more, but most of my retches were dry. Squinting my teary eyes down at the puddle of yuck on the floor, I saw that there were tiny capsules floating in it like canoes lost in the soddin mangrove of partly digested bread, oxtail soup and squishy bits of vegetables.
Bloody hell, I just barfed up my pills.
Dropping on my knees, I tried to pick them out of the mess, hands shaking like mad out of frantic despair. If anyone of the staff saw me doing this, it was gonna be hell. I swept through the revolting substance with both my hands, my trembling fingers unable to get hold of the slippery little things. My breathing had become ragged and my heart was quivering like a soddin earthquake.
"Will, You're brother is here to see you." I froze like a rabbit staring in the headlights of a heavy truck. Mikster was coming, just turning around the corner thirty feet away from this sad Prozac-addict who was trying to fish out his happy pills from his own pool of vomit. I heard his heavy, padded footsteps (Beefy Mikster wore paper sandals) resonate down the corridor. Really desperate now, I swept up a handful of barf with a red Prozac swimming in it, and lapped it up, swallowing the gooey mess while trying to ignore the compulsory contractions of my gullet.
It was bloody disgusting and it wasn't nearly enough. I usually get a whole handful of medication in the afternoon, a powerful mix of two red Prozacs, three green Paxils, and two nameless blue pills, all served in a fashionable paper cup that went down nicely with a gulp of water, but I've learned to munch them like they were tasty M&M's. They worked faster that way. One shitty little pill washed away with a semi liquid version of my lunch was never gonna make me tranquil enough to face the bloody poof.
"Will? What are you doing down there?"
I gazed up at the broad orderly, nervous and tense like chord. A drop of perspiration dripped in my left eye, making me blink.
"My God, are you feeling all right?" A large hand wrapped around my right arm, supporting me up in a semi tugging sort of way. The blood must have rushed straight out of my head because I felt nauseous immediately, and although I was in time to cover up my gob with a shaky hand, I lurched again, launching a good dollop of gag all over Mike's blue paper sandals. The small red Prozac pill got stuck between his toes.
Things never went easy in my life, it would be the end of sheer logic, chaos will rule and God himself will weep on the day that something went right for me for a change.
"I'm, I'm sorry." I muttered. Staring at the tiny red dot on Mike's left foot. I felt utterly helpless. No drugs left in my system to keep reality out, no pleasant shroud of unawareness that could protect me. I was going to be fed to a hungry lion without so much as a loincloth to keep it from biting my nuts off.
"It's okay, buddy." I caught Mike trying not to look at the rancid stuff dripping off his shoe. "We'll clean up the mess later. Are you all right? Do you need to sit down for a moment?"
"My stomach is upset. Lunch didn't went down well, I guess, but I'm fine, really." No need to get Buffy or Giles or anyone else who had the mind probing authority to ask pushy questions for a second opinion here.
"You're sure?" Mikster frowned, disapprovingly. "Will, you look as pale as a ghost! Maybe it's better for you to lie down for a while. I get Dr Summers to take a look at you and I'll tell your brother to come to visit you tomorrow."
"NO!" I responded, my voice a bit too loud and a tad too shrieky as I was swept up by panic. "Don't! Don't tell Liam to come back tomorrow! I can go see him now. I don't feel that bad anymore. No need to disappoint him." I got a vivid mental picture of Angelus showing me all the four corners of the tiny visiting room just for not getting into my pants today because Mikster was too concerned for my short term health to see any danger for me obtaining permanent damage here. Restrained sexual tension tended to do such thing to my good ol' Grand Sire. I would rather get it over and done with, then to have to go through something that would bear much similarities to the burning infernos of hell tomorrow.
"But you're in no shape to wander around!" Mike protested.
"Look, I'm fine, mate." I lied, tilting my head towards him and giving him a huge grin. "It's just the stuff they're serving at the canteen that got my stomach upset, that's all. If you really want to make me feel any better, ask them to stop recycling the food out of the garbage bin. Like we wouldn't notice!"
Mike laughed a bit, which was a good sign. "You're at least still able to bullshit around, aren't ya? Still bud, you're not gonna go anywhere today. I help you back into bed and you'll just have to stay there till Dr Summers tells you that you can get out again."
"I'm not ill Mike! I told you I'm fine!" I paused, a sudden stroke of pain hit me hard, wicked enough to turn my innards inside out. It made me gasp for air and made my eyes all teary, while I bended over in agony.
"Great Will, very convincing indeed. Just don't be too surprised if they give this year's Emmy to someone else. Now, tell me if you can walk. If you can't, I'm gonna grab a wheelchair for you."
"Bloody hell Mike, please!" I pleaded, my voice quivering out of strained effort and desperation. "Don't lock up in my room! I want to see Liam. He drove all the way from his LA to visit me and I don't want to let him down. He's - he's my only family that I got left and for so far I know, the only one who gives a bloody fuck about me." Wincing at the unintended pun, I liked my dry lips, my mind spinning while I thought how nice it would be not to have to tell Mikster here my little white lies and be able to let him drag me back to my lovely padded cell so I could deal with my nausea in silent agony. No such luck of course, at least not if I didn't want to have bits of me spread all over a large area of tiled walls, that was.
My bad over-dramatized acting worked better then that the orderly would have guessed, and the professionally concerned expression on his face changed into a display of pity towards this poor loony-bin patient.
"You're gonna barf all over him you know." He protested weakly.
"Risk taken. Look Mike, I don't mean trouble. I go with you to see Dr Summers as soon as the visiting hour is over, I promise. I just don't want Liam to think that I'm having a relapse or anything and start worrying about me again."
"Yeah. Well. I guess I can give you something to keep the nausea away for a while before you go."
"That would be nice." I said, although I doubted that it would help. I knew very well where all these sudden pangs of withering pain and all this urge to retch my guts out was coming from; my body rejected Liam's much dreaded presence like a soddin heart transplant gone stale. I hated his visits, hated the pain and the humiliation that they brought and the fact that I couldn't do a soddin thing about it to stop him from taking me every time he turned into that sadistic monster Angelus.
I just bloody hated myself for being so pathetically weak and so easy to get.
Try getting raped by your very own flesh and blood once a week for four months in a row, and you'll get to know the same sickening feeling of utter defeat, of betrayal. The kind that eats both your mental and physical health away from the inside out, till you're empty and cold, desperate enough to gobble down your own gag, to tell daft lies to save yourself from bloody torture while all the while you're balancing on the edge of sanity with one foot dangling above a bottomless abyss.
I told you I was desperate.
Mike helped me to get tidied up. Didn't want to turn up all smelly and disgusting to give Liam a chance to get upset, now do we? Mike also made me take a couple of children aspirins. They were tiny and tasted like candy in my mouth, but I guess it was better then nothing. I was already ten minutes late when he brought me to the small visiting room that lay behind the two barred fences to see my brother. Walking all the way down the hallway to what I considered a small pocket of hell on earth, I tried to calm myself down, and made my mind to think of something pleasant. Something that could still make me smile and make me believe my life wasn't just all fucked up beyond any hope. I thought of how she had surprised me with the copy of David Copperfield this morning, recollecting that million watts smile of her while feeling the smoothness of the paperback's cover between my trembling fingers, and I somehow, I remembered how to breathe normally again.
TBC
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com
SITE: nope
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst
PAIRING: B/S
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.
THANK YOU: For your patience. I love to write, but unfortunately, I also have to do other stuff for a living.
ACT 7: Love is a confusing thing, I should know, being love's bitch and all.
SCENE 4
If it wasn't for the fact that William had mentioned these titles himself, Buffy would had never guessed that her patient's taste in books was so peculiar.
She was heading back from a one-hour lunch that had consisted of a canteen style tuna sandwich that she munched down in a hurry and flushed away with half a can of tepid diet-coke. She then went to the big Waterstone bookstore at Fleet Street, spent fifteen minutes staring at the backs of rows and rows of books before she decided that she was not going to risk a permanent neck injury for this and went to wait in the long checkout line for the cash-register to ask for some assistance. The people in front of her moved like snails, and of course there just had to be one eccentric geezer among them who liked to pay his 8 dollar paperback in coins and lose buttons instead of real cash. Finally, after another fifteen minutes of waiting and bitching, she managed to get one of the salesladies away from behind the counter and find her the titles she had been looking for.
"You know dear, they are sorted in alphabetical order on author's names, really." The elderly woman said, frowning upon her either for her laziness or her naivety for not knowing too much. "It just works like a library. You do know how to find books in the library, right dear?"
Buffy Ann Summers, a 23 year old PhD student with a master degree in psychology, blushed her cheeks crimson and had stammered something along the line that she was in a kind of a hurry, paid for the books and left the shop while making a mental note to herself that she was absolutely never going to visit that bookstore again, which unfortunately would become a problem since there was only another small second-hand bookshop in Sunnydale left for her future literature purchases. If she needed to buy anything more specific or in a better shape in general, she had to get on the bus and travel 15 miles down to next town to get it.
"You better appreciate this, Will." She mumbled beneath her breath as she changed back into her hospital outfit and put her regular clothes away in her locker. "Thanks to you, Dawn's gonna get a Britney Spears CD instead of a Ann Rice novel for her next birthday. But I guess there wasn't that much competition in the first place, anyway."
She brushed her hair into a ponytail, locked her closet, and grabbed the brown paper bag from the bench. As she past the hangers on her way out of the ladies' locker room, she snatched her doctor's coat off the hook and shrugged it on while she rushed down the corridor, heading for the recreation area. She was still struggling to secure her nametag on her collar when she bumped into someone tall and brooding.
The paper bag dropped out of her hand, spilling the books all over the floor with most of them flapped open with the cover side up, just like peanut-butter sandwiches. She knelt down to recollect them, meanwhile hastily apologizing for the incident.
"Here, let me help you."
She looked up, and wasn't a bit surprised to find herself staring into the dark hazel eyes of William's brother. That pinewood scented aftershave Liam Byron wore, it tend to seep into your memory in an irreversible way, like a person's own body-scent tend to soak into their bed sheets and clothes.
"Penny Dreadful, American Psycho, Red Dragon and -" Crouching next to her, he picked up the last book and turned it 90 degrees to read the title on the cover. "David Copperfield? Forgive me for saying this, but you have a weird and slightly suspicious taste in books for a doctor." Liam smiled, raising a dark, handsome eyebrow. "Except the last one of course, they made me read that one in high school."
" Oh, hi Liam!" She said, feeling a strange fluttering come up in her stomach as their eyes met. "They're not mine, really. They are for William. He asked for these titles in our library but they didn't have them. Wasn't really a surprise, they're kinda on a small budget and the most recent books they have added to the collection are second hand and include titles like "Addicted to Baskets", "The exciting World of Needling", and "A thousand and one Recipes for baking Fruitcakes". Hardly any reading material for any of my patients."
Liam stared at her for moment with a lost and puzzled expression on his face, then the rusty penny finally dropped and he burst into a pleasant chuckle.
Buffy smiled back at him, her heart now quivering in her chest like crazy. Okay, she thought, you almost freaked him out or bored him silly with your clever jokes. If you're trying to impress this guy, please don't. Yes, he's cute, and handsome, and tall, and probably sane, but it doesn't mean that you have to fall head over heel for the first decent guy you find hanging around this sterile place. Keep some dignity here, desperate lady.
She shook her head for a moment, her ponytail wagging cheerily along. Focus Buffy, be professional.
"You're kiddin." Liam sniggered and put the books back into the paper bag and handed it over to her. "Addicted to baskets. Hah! Good one."
They both rose up at the same time. Buffy held the bag in front of her chest and wrapped her arms around it, looking much like a nervous school girl facing the local football hunk. Her facial muscles were aching because she tried to smile sweetly while trying to suppress a nervous twitch at the same time.
"And that part about Will reading American Psycho!" Liam continued. "Honestly Buffy, you're smart and funny!"
"Um, well, actually, he really did ask for these books." Buffy felt her cheeks flush warm, feeling strangely embarrassed.
"Oh." Liam's mouth dropped open for a moment. "Oh. I didn't know he likes to read this kind of - um - literature." He sucked in a breath of air and puffed a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Seriously, all these violent thrillers about murdering psychopaths." He furrowed his brows in concern. "Are you sure this is safe for him? I mean, I don't want to question your judgement or anything. You are the one with a PHD in psychology here. But my little brother's mind is already kinda twisted. Won't these books somehow make it even worse?"
"Well, um." It was now Buffy's turn to furrow her browns, what could she to say to that? She wasn't very keen on the idea of giving her patient a book load of violent inspiration to get him sicker then he already was, but Will really wanted these books. He had been bitching and moaning about the lack of good reading material in the library for weeks now and Buffy could tell that he was bored silly, particular since she had taken away his packs of cards after the gambling annex cheating fiasco where he got himself beating purple by Steward. The last few weeks however, William had kept himself quiet and pleasant towards the other patients, and Buffy liked to reward him for his good behaviour.
"Don't worry." Her hand made a brushing movement in the air as if to clear away his concerns. "I think he can handle this. Will's behaving quite normal lately, and has even made some friends with the patients of his therapy group. I think he deserves a treat."
"All right." Liam tense from relaxed a little. "If you believe they can't do him any harm."
"You're here early Liam, it's only Thursday." Buffy asked, trying to change into a more comfortable subject. "I thought you usually come to see Will on Fridays?"
"I took a day off from office to spend a long weekend here." A conspicuous grin appeared on his lips together with a mischievous twinkling in his hazel eyes that made him look very attractive. "Don't tell Will yet, but I have a surprise for him."
Liam had a dark leather briefcase with him that Buffy hadn't even noticed until now, and the young man pulled up his right leg and put the case on top of it, clicked it open and grabbed out a thick envelope. He handed it over to Buffy while he balanced on one foot trying to shut the briefcase again.
"What is it?" Buffy asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Can I have a look?" She already had her forefinger under the small pocket of space beneath the front flap and was eager to flip it over to take a peek. A delayed "No." coming from Liam wouldn't be much appreciated.
"Of course. It's only something silly and sentimental. Nothing incriminating to the Byron family, really." Liam laughed, he was finally finished with struggling with his briefcase and dropped it on the floor next to him.
Buffy opened the large, brown envelope. The paper crisped between her fingers. There were photos inside. She took the stack of pictures out, carefully handling them as they seemed to be rather old and brittle. Her blue eyes met those of a little boy's, piercing and striking against the faded, yellowish colours on the background. The boy was looking right into the camera, his small arms clutched around a stuffed toy. He had his head cocked to one side and had a very familiar, very confident smirk on his young and innocent face.
"Oh God, Is this who I think it is?" Buffy asked, giggling cheerily.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is Will, that cocky grin of his never changed much over the years."
"He looks so - so sweet." Buffy frowned and regarded her patient's brother with disbelief. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy here?"
"Our mom took that picture when he was seven. Guess the real wickedness only got into him after that age."
"Perhaps your real little brother got lost on one of your mom's shopping sprees and she took the William we both know and fear, home by mistake."
Liam snapped his fingers. "I knew that there was something wrong with him when he suddenly refused to play with his mister Fluffy Bunny."
Buffy smiled pleasantly, this time it came easy and natural, and she noticed that the mad pounding of her heart had somewhat eased down. "You've got to be kiddin me. Mister Fluffy Bunny. Who would have guessed that from Will with his whole "I am a Big Bad vampire, so bite me" attitude. By God, I swear I'm gonna rub that in on him, professional integrity be damned."
They went through the whole stack, pointing and smiling occasionally. There were pictures of Liam and his parents as well, and from the look of them, Buffy would say that William must have had a very pleasant childhood, with a loving and caring family to look after him. His brother in particular, seemed to be crazy about his younger sibling. They were together in almost every picture, playing and having fun as two boys of their tender age were supposed to do in a carefree world.
"I thought it might help him to remember a bit more about his past and his family." Liam explained, putting the photos back into the paper holding, being very careful with them as if he was handling a priceless treasure. "I think he's responding well on my visits. He hardly snarls or bites or spits on me anymore." There was a smile on his face to indicate that he was joking, but it looked rather sore.
"You have to be patient with these things." Buffy said, trying to cheer up him up. "Learning to trust and love someone again starting from emotional scratch takes time."
Liam nodded, understandingly. "Still, I wished sometimes that I could see what was going on in his head. What is wrong in there. Some loose bolt that just needs to be screwed back on." He averted his eyes from her and bit on his lower lip. "I think he knows who I am, Buffy." His expression grew grim, and a hidden pain surfaced in his voice. "Really knows, with the whole emotional package attached to it that would allow him to act normal towards me. You know, like we are brothers again?"
She nodded in response.
"But something, something is holding him back from fully trusting me." He ran his hand through his hair. His fingers became sticky of the excessive hair gel he used. "He doesn't really trust me you know. I've been coming for months now. I talk to him. I bring him stuff, everything he needs that doesn't get him into trouble. I tell him about mom and dad, everything. He nods and he answers me, doesn't swear too much and hardly gets caught up in one of his raging tantrums anymore." He sighed and gazed back into the doctor's eyes, pleading with her to understand. "But he's also careful, calculative. He doesn't just say what in his mind when he's with me. He's holding something back. Christ, if I didn't knew any better, I'd say that he was afraid of me."
"Liam." Buffy tried, feeling sorry for the man as she noticed the sadness and despair showing on his face. "Sometimes, if a patient is detached from the world for so long, like William has, it's difficult for them to accept and get involved with their friends and loved-ones again. William has made the first steps towards recovery by letting you into his life. He doesn't protest to your visits, and as I heard from him speaking to his friends, he really does look forward every week to see you." That was little white lie that she made up to make Liam feel better, since Will hardly talked about his brother's visits to anyone, but she decided that it couldn't do both of them any harm to get Liam less worried about his little brother.
"He does?" Liam asked her warily.
"Yes, absolutely. So stop worrying yourself silly. It's probably just a phase he's going through. I think he's more afraid of accepting the reality that he has such a caring and loving brother looking after him then that he's scared of you hurting him in anyway."
Liam arched a dark eyebrow and nodded again. "I guess that sounds like a rational explanation. Especially since it's coming from a professional. Thank you Buffy." He smiled a little, lifting some of the anxiousness clouding his grim eyes. He continued on a lighter mood. "Um, do I need to pay for this session separately or is the bill automatically included with Will's?"
"No such luck mister Byron, you better take out your check-book, ten whole minutes of my valuable time, it's gonna costya." Buffy teased, showing him a warm and pleasant smile.
"Oh bummer, and I got only a couple of loose change in my pockets. Um, do you accept creditcards Dr Summers?"
Buffy shook her head. "No creditcards, only real cash will do, and don't try to pay me in lose buttons, shiny objects or foreign currency. I'm not getting paid much, but I'm not that desperate either."
"I guess I have to clear my dept to you in another way then. What do you think of a five course dinner at an expensive and decadent seafood restaurant in town, my treat."
She was stunned for a moment, opened her mouth to say something and then forgot completely how to speak English. Some primal noise came from here throat that sounded like; "Grahw, huh?"
"Um, I promise that there will be lobsters? Or if you happens to be allergic to them, large cocktail scrimps?" Liam tried.
"Grawhaha. Gwgrrahhahum. I would -I absolutely -" Buffy uttered, her tongue seemed to be tied into a knot and she couldn't get the words out of her mouth.
"If-if you're don't want go, it's fine. I know it's kind sudden to ask you out. You hardly know me -" He stared down at his shoes where a very interesting blob of mud clung.
"I'd absolutely love you." Buffy finally uttered. Then sucked in a deep breath as she realized what she just said. "To let you take me to dinner. I mean, I'd love to go." Her cheeks flushed and she felt terribly hot. Great move Valley Girl, making yourself look like a complete airhead sure is very attractive.
Luckily, Liam didn't seem to mind her hormones inflicted little mix up, and he acted like a true gentleman by ignoring it completely.
"Great! I'm here for the whole weekend, but the place I want to take you is less packed on Saturdays. Shall I pick you up at seven?"
"I've a shift from twelve till five next Saturday." Buffy said, reminding her schedule. "But we can go out directly after work. You can pick me up from here."
They discussed a little further about the details, then Liam said goodbye to her, promising that he will certainly be on time for their date, and they parted their ways. She twirled around and continued her stroll down the hallways to the recreation room, her feet dancing on air and her head filled with fluffy bunny thoughts.
SCENE 5
It wasn't that he hated to watch the telly during daytime or anything. Hell, he had been dreaming that he watched bad daytime programs all the time when he was vampire, but that was something he wasn't quite allowed to think about, since it had to do with his delusions. Dr Buffy told him better to concentrate on the things in reality. Little things that made him emotionally aware of his surroundings, including those that could get him winded up about. Like how that wanker Steward kept switching between Ophra and the Home Shopping Channel right now, till it could almost invoke a bloody epileptic stroke.
He had to push his nails into his palms to keep himself from punching Steward in his ugly mug. What the bleedin hell is wrong with him? Can't he just keep watching something for longer than a one hundredth of a sec? Why did that wanker had to have the concentration capacity of a soddin fruitfly?
He glanced at Steward, sitting there in the only comfy chair that wasn't reeking of stale urine or falling part in general, holding the remote control in his right hand and pushing on the buttons repeatedly with his disgusting red scaly thumb like he was ramming on the knobs of a soddin pinball machine. The urge to get up, whack the remote right out of his hand and then to strangle the bloody git was almost driving him crackers. With difficulty, he averted his eyes from the source of his annoyance and glanced out of the barred window instead. Sucking in a ragged breath that he slowly breathed out again, he shut his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of fragmented conversations and static noise coming from the screen. It wasn't right to get upset about these things. He wasn't going to gain anything from getting really pissed off at Steward. However much he would love it right now to separate his ugly head from his spine, he had to control himself. Clear the rage out of his system. Ignore it. Keep his bloody gob shut. Particularly that.
He had not forgotten that it was that daft wiseass attitude of him that got him into this catastrophic kind of trouble in the first place.
He opened his eyes warily, opened his hands and looked down at his palms; his nails had made half moon rims in his flesh, which were bleeding a little. For a short moment, he felt the urge to lick them clean, but then he remembered that he wasn't really a vampire and therefore the whole lapping his own blood thing would be considered very disgusting instead of intimidating, so he decided to let it go. Quick thinking Spike. Dr Buffy is gonna be pleased. But you really shouldn't call yourself Spike anymore, you're just William now, remember?
He felt a mad giggle coming up, rising from his stomach like an itchy crawly insect, but he didn't want to let Mike or the one of the other orderlies to see that he was laughing about nothing in particular (Now that would be a real sign of madness, the sort that would get you wrapped up in tight, comfy white jackets in no time.) so he swallowed the gleeful little thing, and kept staring blankly forward instead. Nice and easy, not troubling anyone. Sitting there in his chair amongst a semi circle of drooling loons around the idiot-box from nine in the morning, letting his life slip by and watch the shadows cast by the barred windows stretch and shrink till the entire meaningless day was over and he was allowed to go to bed to have his bloody awful nightmares. Oh sure, life was hell in here, but he was fucking nuts so he just had to deal with it.
His hearing, although blunted by the drugs that were seeping slowly through his veins, could pick up the rattling of gate in the chain-link fence that kept the inmates from walking in and out of the daytime facility. He lifted his head and turned towards it a little. Something moist and warm dripped down his chin, and he was slightly aware that he was drooling. Great, he thought, the catering service with the fancy pills has arrived, just in time. I could use a handful of mind numbing goodness right now. Come to think of it, I could use the whole soddin car. Prozac, Paxil, and those pretty little shiny Rudex capsules, I take what ever you got nurse, as long as I can off myself for a couple of hours, I'm one happy little camper.
He swallowed, but his mouth stayed dry, and he was rather surprised to hear Buffy's voice nearby, talking to him.
"Hi William, how do you feel today?"
He turned around, and saw her standing there behind him looming over the back of his chair. She looked extremely pretty today, with her hair kept together into a happy ponytail and wearing a bit of make up on her blushing face that made her look like a young cheerleader. Hand her the pompoms, put her in a short sexy skirt and blow the trumpets, and she could be starting the game with a spelling spree. It's a petty she probably doesn't have any of my medication with her. That would have really made my day.
"I'm fine." He blinked his eyes and tried to look a bit more alive, then suddenly remembered the drool on his chin and tucked out his sleeves to swab it off, embarrassed. "Only a bit bored I guess. Steward there doesn't seem to be able to make up his bloody mind about what he wants to see."
The fellow inmate didn't turn around from behind his chair, but stuck out a one finger salute towards him as an answer.
"Fuck you Byron. It's my turn this week."
"Steward! Manners! Or do I have to come over there and confiscate the remote?" Buffy said in a strict voice.
Steward muttered something inaudible under his breath in response.
"It's okay, luv. I'm not watching anyway." He eyed at the annoying fellow inmate, feeling that tinge of rage rising again, but repressed it by averting his eyes and concentrating on Buffy's. "I um, am waiting for the shiny happy pills to arrive. Say, weren't they suppose to distribute them around two?" He blinked his eyes again as they became hazy. He really didn't feel well. "Isn't that about now?"
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, sounding concerned. "It's only eleven o' clock in the morning." She reached out and planted a soft, warm hand on his forehead. "You're not ill or anything, are you?"
"Not more then usual." He sniggered. "Maybe it was something that you guys put in my breakfast this morning. I thought the cereal tasted kind of funny, like crunchy bits of smoked weed."
"You're not running a fever." She pulled back her hand that he regretted instantly; her touch had been very comfortable and somehow made him feel less bad about himself. "Maybe you're just watching too much TV. They say that getting too close to the screen will wreck your eyes and can possibly microwave your brains."
"In that case, I insist that you have that devilish thing tossed out. I'm here for my health and not for having my brains turned to mush." He joked, while his body broke into a cold sweat as if uttering the words alone were already taking him too much effort.
"Speak for yourself Byron, you don't wanne watch, your turn for next week goes to me." Steward shouted from behind his comfy chair, his yellow eyes never leaving the screen.
"Or you can sit a couple of rows back to protect yourself from the deadly radiation." Buffy opted and smiled supportively, ignoring the nasty remarks coming from the obnoxious patient. Come on Will, you're doing fine, don't let Steward get under your skin. He really isn't worth the trouble.
He shut his eyes for a moment, and counted back from ten, slowly. Buffy watched him as he tried to compose himself, his chest rising and falling several times as he breathed in deep through his nose. She didn't notice the white knuckled fists with the edges of his sharp nails digging into his flesh though, and so she had the impression that her patient was handling the situation rather well.
He opened his eyes again, and the first thing he saw was Buffy's warm and encouraging smile. He grinned back at her, a bit nervous and faked, for he felt there was nothing to bloody well smile about, and then addressed the other inmate in a composed and polite voice.
"You can have my turn if you want, mate, but I was only fooling around with getting rid of the telly thing. No need to get your knickers twisted." His ears were ringing, like they had been exposed to a heavy metal band plugged in to a couple of giant boxes. Somewhere at his back, a drop of sweat was rolling over the small of his spine.
"Like hell." Steward snorted, but didn't add another nasty remark to stir things up. He was probably content with the opportunity of having gained another week of continuous zapping.
Buffy was visibly relieved that her patient was handling the confrontation so well, and there was a sense of small satisfaction that made her smile widen broadly. "No swearing Steward." She opted. "You know the rules, and as for you mister Byron." She handed the crispy paper bag to him. "I believe you can keep yourself busy with these."
Will gazed up at her in surprise, then turned his attention to her gift. He turned the bag upside down and the paperbacks tumbled on his lap. Picking them up one by one, he looked at the titles, furrowing his brows.
"You bought these?" He asked, eyes blinking in disbelief. "You bought these for me?"
"Well, I was at the bookstore to find something for Dawn." Buffy muttered nervously, never much of a liar. "I thought, perhaps I could pick up something for you too. You know, to keep you from wrecking the recreation room or drawing the blood under my patient's nails out of pathological boredom."
There was an expression of gratitude on his face and Buffy felt that strange fluttering sensation inside of her again, rising slowly as William's lips curved into a pleasant smile.
"Thank you." He simply stated, and there was none of that tinge of mocking cheer that she had expected sounding in his sincere appreciation. "I'm gonna read them instead of letting ol' Steward here ruin my eyes with his cracker's zappin."
A warm feeling came over her as she looked into William's eyes, and suddenly she recognized the boy from Liam's photos in this grownup man. That look he gave her was warm and caring, innocent. Sad. There was something in this far too frequently obnoxious guy that made her want to wrap her arms around his shoulders, hug that little boy inside of him till that sadness went away and plant a comforting kiss on his forehead to make it all better. To make whatever was troubling him disappear so he could become the carefree, loving boy again that she had seen in the faded pictures.
"You're welcome." She said, being a bit overwhelmed by what she felt inside, but instead of giving in to her urge to coddle him, she just gave him a gentle squeeze in the shoulder.
SCENE 6
She felt something for me. She really did. I knew for sure, because she did all these special things for me. Gave me these little signs. She tried to defend me against that git Steward, tried to help me to keep myself under control. That smile on her pretty little face, you could defrost an entire jumbo-sized freezer with it in less then a sec. I loved that smile of hers, the way her eyes wrinkled in the corners, the giddy little sounds her throat made.
I could just live and die for that smile.
I was sitting on a wooden bench in one of the green, sterile looking corridors in which you could easily get lost since they all looked the same. The afternoon sun was gliding past a barred window at my right. Outside, the crooked branches of an old maple tree told me that I was somewhere on the second or third floor of the institute. The leaves were starting to bear the colours of autumn, although it should be still be somewhere in the beginning of September, at least, if I could still remember correctly with my drugs stained brains clouding my judgement. Smiling nervously while I thought of her, I brushed through the pages of the first paperback from the pile that she had given me. David Copperfield in Penguin edition, complete with the bright orange cover and printed in the cheap quality paper as grey as the type of toilet sandpaper we inmates used to wipe our arse with in the privy. I've read the book before, of course. My faked recollection told me it was a whole century ago. Back then, my first copy had been bounded in leather and the title had been engraved into the thick cover with golden, curving letters. It bought the book fresh from the print and with the smell of inks still lingering on the pages. I read it by the light of a flickering candle, living David Copperfield's life through the words of an amazing storyteller.
Still, that wasn't real of course. None of those memories were. I had never lived in the Victorian era. Had never been a repressed young English gentleman with a small heart and a passion for books. I didn't die in 1880 to return as a bloodthirsty vampire with a grudge against anything decent and organized, a feeling of resentment towards anything that tried to compose order in world of chaos.
Never had encountered Angelus or Drusilla either.
Angelus, my breathing became fast paced and irregular by the very thought of him.
My hands were damp, and the smooth cover paperback slipped through my fingers. I didn't pick it up immediately, rather closed my eyes and covered my face, bending forward while letting my elbows rest on my knees. I must have looked pretty desperate to any orderly or head-patient passing by.
I was actually rather desperate.
Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes and then, Mike was gonna take me to see the poof. My stomach objected to the thought of this "pleasant surprise". Didn't expect him to show up till tomorrow afternoon. I really hoped that this was an exception that he came to see me on a Thursday and that he wasn't planning on making this into a weekly thing again. My mind was wilful and pig headed strong with a way in dealing with my brother's frequent visits, but in the end, it could only handle so much. I breathed in deeply, trying to keep my lunch inside where it should be. Didn't want to make a mess. Buffy would think that I was ill and get all over- concerned. Perhaps she would start asking questions, and I really don't want to tell her anything. Besides, I was a bit worried that the pills that they had given me weren't dissolved yet by my internal juices. I didn't want to get them out of my system, just at the very moment when I really needed them. I couldn't face Liam without any medication to calm me down, I really couldn't. One wrong look coming from him and I would start screaming like a girl.
A bitter taste of bile rose in my throat and I bended double as my stomach revolted like I was stuffing myself with cow-dung or stale blood or anything just as disgusting. I lurched, a warm sour smelling fluid with mixed texture splashed on the green tiles just in front of my bare feet, next to my paperback.
I heaved a couple of times more, but most of my retches were dry. Squinting my teary eyes down at the puddle of yuck on the floor, I saw that there were tiny capsules floating in it like canoes lost in the soddin mangrove of partly digested bread, oxtail soup and squishy bits of vegetables.
Bloody hell, I just barfed up my pills.
Dropping on my knees, I tried to pick them out of the mess, hands shaking like mad out of frantic despair. If anyone of the staff saw me doing this, it was gonna be hell. I swept through the revolting substance with both my hands, my trembling fingers unable to get hold of the slippery little things. My breathing had become ragged and my heart was quivering like a soddin earthquake.
"Will, You're brother is here to see you." I froze like a rabbit staring in the headlights of a heavy truck. Mikster was coming, just turning around the corner thirty feet away from this sad Prozac-addict who was trying to fish out his happy pills from his own pool of vomit. I heard his heavy, padded footsteps (Beefy Mikster wore paper sandals) resonate down the corridor. Really desperate now, I swept up a handful of barf with a red Prozac swimming in it, and lapped it up, swallowing the gooey mess while trying to ignore the compulsory contractions of my gullet.
It was bloody disgusting and it wasn't nearly enough. I usually get a whole handful of medication in the afternoon, a powerful mix of two red Prozacs, three green Paxils, and two nameless blue pills, all served in a fashionable paper cup that went down nicely with a gulp of water, but I've learned to munch them like they were tasty M&M's. They worked faster that way. One shitty little pill washed away with a semi liquid version of my lunch was never gonna make me tranquil enough to face the bloody poof.
"Will? What are you doing down there?"
I gazed up at the broad orderly, nervous and tense like chord. A drop of perspiration dripped in my left eye, making me blink.
"My God, are you feeling all right?" A large hand wrapped around my right arm, supporting me up in a semi tugging sort of way. The blood must have rushed straight out of my head because I felt nauseous immediately, and although I was in time to cover up my gob with a shaky hand, I lurched again, launching a good dollop of gag all over Mike's blue paper sandals. The small red Prozac pill got stuck between his toes.
Things never went easy in my life, it would be the end of sheer logic, chaos will rule and God himself will weep on the day that something went right for me for a change.
"I'm, I'm sorry." I muttered. Staring at the tiny red dot on Mike's left foot. I felt utterly helpless. No drugs left in my system to keep reality out, no pleasant shroud of unawareness that could protect me. I was going to be fed to a hungry lion without so much as a loincloth to keep it from biting my nuts off.
"It's okay, buddy." I caught Mike trying not to look at the rancid stuff dripping off his shoe. "We'll clean up the mess later. Are you all right? Do you need to sit down for a moment?"
"My stomach is upset. Lunch didn't went down well, I guess, but I'm fine, really." No need to get Buffy or Giles or anyone else who had the mind probing authority to ask pushy questions for a second opinion here.
"You're sure?" Mikster frowned, disapprovingly. "Will, you look as pale as a ghost! Maybe it's better for you to lie down for a while. I get Dr Summers to take a look at you and I'll tell your brother to come to visit you tomorrow."
"NO!" I responded, my voice a bit too loud and a tad too shrieky as I was swept up by panic. "Don't! Don't tell Liam to come back tomorrow! I can go see him now. I don't feel that bad anymore. No need to disappoint him." I got a vivid mental picture of Angelus showing me all the four corners of the tiny visiting room just for not getting into my pants today because Mikster was too concerned for my short term health to see any danger for me obtaining permanent damage here. Restrained sexual tension tended to do such thing to my good ol' Grand Sire. I would rather get it over and done with, then to have to go through something that would bear much similarities to the burning infernos of hell tomorrow.
"But you're in no shape to wander around!" Mike protested.
"Look, I'm fine, mate." I lied, tilting my head towards him and giving him a huge grin. "It's just the stuff they're serving at the canteen that got my stomach upset, that's all. If you really want to make me feel any better, ask them to stop recycling the food out of the garbage bin. Like we wouldn't notice!"
Mike laughed a bit, which was a good sign. "You're at least still able to bullshit around, aren't ya? Still bud, you're not gonna go anywhere today. I help you back into bed and you'll just have to stay there till Dr Summers tells you that you can get out again."
"I'm not ill Mike! I told you I'm fine!" I paused, a sudden stroke of pain hit me hard, wicked enough to turn my innards inside out. It made me gasp for air and made my eyes all teary, while I bended over in agony.
"Great Will, very convincing indeed. Just don't be too surprised if they give this year's Emmy to someone else. Now, tell me if you can walk. If you can't, I'm gonna grab a wheelchair for you."
"Bloody hell Mike, please!" I pleaded, my voice quivering out of strained effort and desperation. "Don't lock up in my room! I want to see Liam. He drove all the way from his LA to visit me and I don't want to let him down. He's - he's my only family that I got left and for so far I know, the only one who gives a bloody fuck about me." Wincing at the unintended pun, I liked my dry lips, my mind spinning while I thought how nice it would be not to have to tell Mikster here my little white lies and be able to let him drag me back to my lovely padded cell so I could deal with my nausea in silent agony. No such luck of course, at least not if I didn't want to have bits of me spread all over a large area of tiled walls, that was.
My bad over-dramatized acting worked better then that the orderly would have guessed, and the professionally concerned expression on his face changed into a display of pity towards this poor loony-bin patient.
"You're gonna barf all over him you know." He protested weakly.
"Risk taken. Look Mike, I don't mean trouble. I go with you to see Dr Summers as soon as the visiting hour is over, I promise. I just don't want Liam to think that I'm having a relapse or anything and start worrying about me again."
"Yeah. Well. I guess I can give you something to keep the nausea away for a while before you go."
"That would be nice." I said, although I doubted that it would help. I knew very well where all these sudden pangs of withering pain and all this urge to retch my guts out was coming from; my body rejected Liam's much dreaded presence like a soddin heart transplant gone stale. I hated his visits, hated the pain and the humiliation that they brought and the fact that I couldn't do a soddin thing about it to stop him from taking me every time he turned into that sadistic monster Angelus.
I just bloody hated myself for being so pathetically weak and so easy to get.
Try getting raped by your very own flesh and blood once a week for four months in a row, and you'll get to know the same sickening feeling of utter defeat, of betrayal. The kind that eats both your mental and physical health away from the inside out, till you're empty and cold, desperate enough to gobble down your own gag, to tell daft lies to save yourself from bloody torture while all the while you're balancing on the edge of sanity with one foot dangling above a bottomless abyss.
I told you I was desperate.
Mike helped me to get tidied up. Didn't want to turn up all smelly and disgusting to give Liam a chance to get upset, now do we? Mike also made me take a couple of children aspirins. They were tiny and tasted like candy in my mouth, but I guess it was better then nothing. I was already ten minutes late when he brought me to the small visiting room that lay behind the two barred fences to see my brother. Walking all the way down the hallway to what I considered a small pocket of hell on earth, I tried to calm myself down, and made my mind to think of something pleasant. Something that could still make me smile and make me believe my life wasn't just all fucked up beyond any hope. I thought of how she had surprised me with the copy of David Copperfield this morning, recollecting that million watts smile of her while feeling the smoothness of the paperback's cover between my trembling fingers, and I somehow, I remembered how to breathe normally again.
TBC
