Spike pulled open the drawer with practiced fluidity. Inside were three squarish bottles, two empty, the third half full of an amber-colored liquid. Spike took the bottle and debated whether or not he'd need a glass as a middleman. Eventually, expedient intoxication took precedence over decorum, and he sat on the cot and drank straight from the bottle.
Certain things had been making themselves known to Spike recently. First and foremost was the knowledge that Jet saw the time they spent together as more than simple fooling around, more than a basic need, filled. Secondarily, he was begining to realize, so did he.
Spike had no illusions about his life. He knew that the time he was living on was, at best, borrowed, much more likely stolen from someone who deserved it more. A flash of blonde hair and a memory of rain descended on him, then. He was having more trouble keeping the memories away these days. Another pull from the bottle. Spike paced the room, arguing with the voices in his head.
It's getting out of hand.
It's not a serious thing. He knows that.
So how many nights have you spent with this non-serious thing?
He knows I don't really like him...like that.
Sure.
I don't!
Then why are you still--
It's nothing. It's just because there wasn't anyone else.
What about Faye?
Faye can burp the alphabet. Without drinking beforehand. I'm not down that low...
Aren't you?
...Anyway I'm leaving soon.
Does he know that?
He has to. Look at me. I don't belong here. I'm just coasting.
He loves you, you know.
He doesn't. He couldn't.
He does. And you'll be gone soon. And he's just another piece of human wreckage you'll leave in your wake.
No. I'll stop it. I'll make him stop. I'll make him stop loving me.
I'll let him down easy.
This resolved, Spike set the empty bottle down and lay on his stomach, ensuring that he wouldn't choke on his own vomit during the night. After all, he reflected as he passed out, he had found a better way to die.
Certain things had been making themselves known to Spike recently. First and foremost was the knowledge that Jet saw the time they spent together as more than simple fooling around, more than a basic need, filled. Secondarily, he was begining to realize, so did he.
Spike had no illusions about his life. He knew that the time he was living on was, at best, borrowed, much more likely stolen from someone who deserved it more. A flash of blonde hair and a memory of rain descended on him, then. He was having more trouble keeping the memories away these days. Another pull from the bottle. Spike paced the room, arguing with the voices in his head.
It's getting out of hand.
It's not a serious thing. He knows that.
So how many nights have you spent with this non-serious thing?
He knows I don't really like him...like that.
Sure.
I don't!
Then why are you still--
It's nothing. It's just because there wasn't anyone else.
What about Faye?
Faye can burp the alphabet. Without drinking beforehand. I'm not down that low...
Aren't you?
...Anyway I'm leaving soon.
Does he know that?
He has to. Look at me. I don't belong here. I'm just coasting.
He loves you, you know.
He doesn't. He couldn't.
He does. And you'll be gone soon. And he's just another piece of human wreckage you'll leave in your wake.
No. I'll stop it. I'll make him stop. I'll make him stop loving me.
I'll let him down easy.
This resolved, Spike set the empty bottle down and lay on his stomach, ensuring that he wouldn't choke on his own vomit during the night. After all, he reflected as he passed out, he had found a better way to die.