Disclaimer: CB is still not mine, probably never will be.
Once again this took over a week, but not much over. I know it's not my best work, but I've been incredibly busy lately. Please review, even though I may revise this chapter later. It definitely needs it.
Chapter 15:
Revelations
Myfaultmyfaultmyfault…
The phrase played through his head like a scratched disk, over and over until he thought he'd go mad. Images of Faye flashed like an old fashioned camera, punctuating every word in gruesome detail. She had been hanging by her wrists, scraped raw by chains, knees dangling just above the floor. Bruises obscuring one side of her face; blue finger marks contrasting darkly on pale white arms. One eye swollen shut, the other open and burning with hatred. Even from a picture he could feel the liquid heat of her fierce stare, directed at him, blaming him.
Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault…
His inner voice wouldn't let him be. It poured guilt like battery acid into his stomach. He doubled over in physical pain; whether it was real or imagined he wasn't sure, but it sure felt real enough. He ran to the toilet just in time to retch bile—the only thing available in his empty stomach—before dry heaving. Everything was his fault. She had been tortured and raped because of him; had lost her dignity because of him; had run into the dragon's mouth because of him. She wasn't going to die because of him. Not now…not ever.
"I love her," he whispered. It was a strange place for an epiphany, head hanging over an old toilet bowl, acid dripping from his lips into cloudy water. But it was no less profound a revelation than if he'd been lying in bed with her. He loved her. He couldn't ignore it. Couldn't deny it. Even if he'd wanted to.
He spat into the bowl and wiped his mouth on the white hand towel hanging off the sink. The toilet auto-flushed as he stood on his still-weak legs to stare at the man in the mirror. Dark hair fell just over his brows, framing irregular russet eyes. Same crooked mouth and long nose. Same old Spike on the outside. Somehow he had expected to look as different as he felt.
The new emotion filled him, tingling from the tips of his hair to the ends of his toenails. It was frighteningly pleasant, and so different from his experience with Julia. With her it had been a bearable ache, bitter joy wrapped in the sadness of a dream. Faye evoked pure electricity, made him alive. Made him want to stay that way. He needed her to be with him as surely as he needed air. He would save her, die for her if need be.
Vicious would be waiting at the cathedral, as he always was when he wanted to kill his former friend. Spike had died their twice before, most recently in a very similar situation to the one he was faced with now. It was a game they played over and over; roulette wheel spinning as they toyed with one another, willing to prolong the game. But Vicious had upped the stakes this round with Faye as the prize. It was a risky gamble he didn't dare lose.
He splashed cold water onto his face and rinsed his mouth. He frowned at the sound of heavy footfalls out in the hallway. They stopped at the bathroom door. He waited for the light knock that came a few seconds later.
"Hey, Spike? You all right?" Jet asked hesitantly, his voice muffled by the metal between them.
Spike answered him with silence. He rested his hands on the sink and leaned his forehead against the cold mirror. What was he supposed to say? The truth? No, I'm not all right. Far from it, in fact. I just realized I love someone I have no business loving, who by the way is about to die because of it.
"Spike?" Jet asked again, his voice low and gruff. "We'll get her back. All of us."
Spike opened the bathroom door; wet strands of hair dripped into his eyes. His face was stone, cold and nearly emotionless. He stood in front of Jet for a second, wanting to say something to his partner, but found he had no words in him at the moment. He pushed past the older man and sauntered to his room.
He flopped onto the bed, and moodily gazed at the ceiling. The waiting was killing him. He glanced at the clock glowing next to his bed. It was already 6:00. He had four hours to prepare. Jet would have to sit this one out whether he wanted to or not. He knew Vicious, knew his network of spies would be watching for him to break the rules laid by their master. He wasn't about to give him any more reasons to kill her.
Faye awakened in the dark. The air was cold and dank, her skin clammy. The joints in her shoulders ached from hanging for so long. If only she could get her knees on the floor the pain would be more bearable, maybe even subside some. Those bastards had strung her up just high enough to where her shins grazed the floor of her cramped cell, and then had shackled her ankles to the wall in such a way that she couldn't possibly stand. She had tried pulling her hands out of their bindings, but had only accomplished rubbing her wrists bloody against the metal bands.
For all the moisture in the air, her mouth was dry and sticky. She sucked her swollen tongue trying to provoke saliva from it to ease her thirst. Her hollow stomach grumbled. How long had it been since she'd eaten or drank anything?
She willed her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but there wasn't a shred of light to break the monotonous black around her. She closed her eyes and was greeted by more shadows. Slowly they wavered on her eyelids, swirling into vaguely familiar images, finally dissolving into a figure she knew all to well. She had tried not to think of him much since he had left her in the park (where had that bastard been when she needed him, anyway?); he hadn't said much too her, just stared at her with those strange eyes that were burning like molten garnets. He had all but admitted to using her for his own devices. One look from him told her as much.
"You're wasting your time. Spike doesn't give a shit about me."
Her own voice echoed in her mind. That's what she had told Vicious the first time he had abducted her. She let a bitter sigh escape. She hated being right. He didn't care, not really. Sure he had acted like he did, especially the past month. But it had all been done either out of pity or guilt. She was a walking, talking reminder that his past was out to get him. In some ways he and Vicious were very much alike; both had used her—continued to use her—for opposite ends to the same purpose. Spike needed a good reason to go after Vicious guns blazing, and Vicious needed bait to make him do it. She provided them both with the perfect excuse to kill each other. It would be an old fashioned cowboy/outlaw showdown, complete with damsel-in-distress. Of course neither of them would ever see it that way.
A painful ache welled up inside her, one that she tried repeatedly to squash. He would never love her. She realized that now. A small tear slid down her cheek from her undamaged eye. Damn it! I am not crying over him again! Her body ignored the demands of her mind as a slow torrent of hot salty tears flowed unchecked to the cement floor.
For all that he had done to her, she still couldn't let him go. Faye couldn't stop caring, stop hoping, stop dreaming that he would love her back. She had lived in denial for quite some time. Even before all this had happened, when everything had been normal, she had been nursing certain undesirable feelings for Spike. She hadn't wanted them then, but they had stuck to her like dried rice at the bottom of a pan. No amount of mental scrubbing could make them go away.
Her head flung up at the clanging scrape of her door being pulled open. Dim light flooded into the room, but to her eyes it seemed like the sun at midday. She winced and turned her head away, trying to hide behind her black curtain of hair. Three large men entered and wordlessly cut her down. Her shoulders creaked in relief as they were released from the burden of holding the dead weight of her body up. Her legs tingled with tiny pinpricks as the blood recirculated through them.
"Bring her."
She raised her head at the familiar voice.
"Oh, but I was sooo comfy. Where are we going this time?" she asked in a cracked whisper as a young man yanked the chain still binding her wrists, forcing her to stand or be dragged along behind him. She chose to walk.
"To a reunion," he replied, turning his back to her.
This oughta be real fun, she mused as she tripped into the waiting elevator.