"I haven't told mom yet," Buffy said sheepishly while staring off into
space. If you asked anyone, Buffy had been acting weird ever since her
birthday, three days ago. She was jumpier than normal and she looked tired.
"'S okay," Spike said trying not to put too much feeling into it. He was
truly hurt that she hadn't told anyone. Well, her friends somewhat knew,
but Giles and Joyce didn't know. Was she embarrassed of him? Why couldn't
she tell? It was eating him alive. "Do you wanna go out tonight?" he asked
trying to sound nonchalant. "Not really," she said as a whisper. She had a
bad feeling about tonight. She didn't want to be alone; something was going
to happen. She could feel it. "Well, ther' is this big game comin' on
'nigh' and everyone 's goin' o'r to Xander's to watch it. Ev'rones gonna be
there. Ya sure?" She nodded her head reluctantly, "You go, seems like fun."
She looked down at her hands. She was playing with them. "Ya sure?" he
asked. "Yea," she looked away from his face. "I'm sure. Have fun." She put
on a plastic smile and left. No kiss. No hug. Nothing. Spike knew something
was up.
Buffy laid on her bed. She was in that in-between-sleep-and-awake place. She really wished Spike were here. Maybe he didn't like the fact that he wasn't "getting any." Some guys get really mad and come up with a case of "Blue Balls". Angel had told Buffy this. She didn't feel sorry one bit. She actually tried to look up that "disease" on the Internet, but found no information about it. Buffy believed the "Blue Ball Disease". Maybe she should have sex with Spike so he wouldn't rape her. 'If you aren't sexually frustrated, then there is no need for rape,' Buffy thought.
"Hello," a voice called from her doorway. Spike! Spike? Wait that wasn't Spike's voice. "Lover..." he added. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth, too. They both formed little fruit loop O's. "A-A-Angel," she said shakily. "That's right. Back and in the flesh." He picked up the small black box. "I guess you got your gift. I was hoping you'd find it." She scooted back to her backboard and took her duvet covers and bunched it close to her. "Didn't think I could let'chya be alone for your birthday, did ya?" He took three steps and relaxed his back against her closet. "Sorry I'm late. Well, wasn't exactly late. I was here for your birthday. Cute group of friends you have. They are..." He took a glass paperweight in his hands and tossed it back and forth, "Different." He began to toss the weight again. Buffy didn't dare speak. She had learned early on, the hard way, not to interrupt him while he was speaking. "I have the feeling, Buff, that you don't care about me anymore. Is that true?" She just stared at him, not moving, not speaking, just listening intently. "You're not answering me. I thought I have established that when I ask a question, you answer." He threw down the paperweight, which smashed into many pieces. Her hand went out for the object, Hank had gave that to her. She shrugged that thought away. His secretary probably picked it up for him.
He walked over to the side of her bed, a larger, silver lighter in his hand. "You know what this is, donchya?" he asked sarcastically. Her forehead distorted. What was he going to do with that? "I suppose you do. You can't be that stupid." He pulled out that black box, again, and put the ring back on his finger. "Aha. Exactly where it's supposed to be." He stuck the lighter with his jeans, making a large flame come out of the thin, metal body. He took his ring and put it directly in the fire. "My dad always said to mark your women. You ran away so quickly, Buff. I didn't have my chance! Forgive me?" He grinned evilly and pulled back the jumbled up blanket. "Ya look different." She was in shock. Buffy didn't move just stared off into space. She didn't even look at him. Angel got angry at the lack of attention and tore her sheet off of her. "Nice bed attire, Buff. But you know how I love you in the nude." He took two of his fingers and sexily rose up her shirt. He rubbed the skin. "Mmm. You're skin is so soft, like a peach. Fuzzy and soft." He began to light up his ring again. She bit her lip. She was frozen in fear.
Angel found a nice patch of skin, just northeast of her belly button. He licked it and then slapped it. It stung. "This is going to hurt me, way more than it's gonna...what the hell? Nope. It's definitely gonna hurt you more than me." He took his ring and pressed it into her skin. It started to sizzle. She screamed in pain, but was muzzled by his hand. "Shh, lover. It will be over soon...hopefully." He shrugged and pushed his ring harder into her stomach. All of her muscles in her body tightened and she closed her eyes. Was this really happening?
She must have passed out from the pain of the searing skin because when she woke up Angel was straddling her, with his hands harshly holding her upper arms. Bruises would form. She muttered, "Stop", but it came out more as S- ish groan. He started to rock back and forth on her suggestively, but nothing was penetrating. He grinned wickedly and ran one of his fingers against the collar of her shirt. His finger dipped down into the crease of her breast, but Buffy was in too much pain to feel pleasure. He rolled his eyes at her. He bent down to her lower stomach. Her muscles clenched, again, in fear of what he would do. He wouldn't go down on her. It wasn't giving him anything in return.
He took his teeth and pulled her shirt up again, stopping at her breast. His hands let go of her arms and gripped her stomach. His thumbs pressed deeply into her skin. He took out his knife from his sock. He always kept it there as some sort of protection. He ran the blade down her face, the sharp edge leaving a white mark from where he pressed. He stopped at her stomach, where his fingers were. He sliced her skin. Buffy was squealing in the background, but he didn't care. He dipped his fingers into her blood. He put his fingers next to her lips. "Open up," he demanded harshly. She did what he said; she was in too much pain to fight against him. He put his finger on her tongue. (He was always weird like that) He put his knife back into his sock and got off of her. "Until next time," he said while bowing acting like some sort of demented gentleman.
She heard the front door shut. Was he really gone? She walked up out of her bed and went to her own door, slowly. It took all of her energy just to reach her doorway. She stuck her head out. He was gone. She banged her head on the door and slide down it, clutching her stomach. She cried and cried, hoping this was a dream. It wasn't. She recapped the events that happened in her room. The remembrance of the blistering skin and everything made her feel nauseous. She hurled her body over, not feeling like moving. She wiped her mouth lazily with the back of her hand. Her saliva tasted like blood. She brought her knees closer to her body, making sure not to disturb her throbbing stomach, and rested her head on her knees. She fell asleep like that. Hurting. Crying. And knowing that he would be back.
Buffy laid on her bed. She was in that in-between-sleep-and-awake place. She really wished Spike were here. Maybe he didn't like the fact that he wasn't "getting any." Some guys get really mad and come up with a case of "Blue Balls". Angel had told Buffy this. She didn't feel sorry one bit. She actually tried to look up that "disease" on the Internet, but found no information about it. Buffy believed the "Blue Ball Disease". Maybe she should have sex with Spike so he wouldn't rape her. 'If you aren't sexually frustrated, then there is no need for rape,' Buffy thought.
"Hello," a voice called from her doorway. Spike! Spike? Wait that wasn't Spike's voice. "Lover..." he added. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth, too. They both formed little fruit loop O's. "A-A-Angel," she said shakily. "That's right. Back and in the flesh." He picked up the small black box. "I guess you got your gift. I was hoping you'd find it." She scooted back to her backboard and took her duvet covers and bunched it close to her. "Didn't think I could let'chya be alone for your birthday, did ya?" He took three steps and relaxed his back against her closet. "Sorry I'm late. Well, wasn't exactly late. I was here for your birthday. Cute group of friends you have. They are..." He took a glass paperweight in his hands and tossed it back and forth, "Different." He began to toss the weight again. Buffy didn't dare speak. She had learned early on, the hard way, not to interrupt him while he was speaking. "I have the feeling, Buff, that you don't care about me anymore. Is that true?" She just stared at him, not moving, not speaking, just listening intently. "You're not answering me. I thought I have established that when I ask a question, you answer." He threw down the paperweight, which smashed into many pieces. Her hand went out for the object, Hank had gave that to her. She shrugged that thought away. His secretary probably picked it up for him.
He walked over to the side of her bed, a larger, silver lighter in his hand. "You know what this is, donchya?" he asked sarcastically. Her forehead distorted. What was he going to do with that? "I suppose you do. You can't be that stupid." He pulled out that black box, again, and put the ring back on his finger. "Aha. Exactly where it's supposed to be." He stuck the lighter with his jeans, making a large flame come out of the thin, metal body. He took his ring and put it directly in the fire. "My dad always said to mark your women. You ran away so quickly, Buff. I didn't have my chance! Forgive me?" He grinned evilly and pulled back the jumbled up blanket. "Ya look different." She was in shock. Buffy didn't move just stared off into space. She didn't even look at him. Angel got angry at the lack of attention and tore her sheet off of her. "Nice bed attire, Buff. But you know how I love you in the nude." He took two of his fingers and sexily rose up her shirt. He rubbed the skin. "Mmm. You're skin is so soft, like a peach. Fuzzy and soft." He began to light up his ring again. She bit her lip. She was frozen in fear.
Angel found a nice patch of skin, just northeast of her belly button. He licked it and then slapped it. It stung. "This is going to hurt me, way more than it's gonna...what the hell? Nope. It's definitely gonna hurt you more than me." He took his ring and pressed it into her skin. It started to sizzle. She screamed in pain, but was muzzled by his hand. "Shh, lover. It will be over soon...hopefully." He shrugged and pushed his ring harder into her stomach. All of her muscles in her body tightened and she closed her eyes. Was this really happening?
She must have passed out from the pain of the searing skin because when she woke up Angel was straddling her, with his hands harshly holding her upper arms. Bruises would form. She muttered, "Stop", but it came out more as S- ish groan. He started to rock back and forth on her suggestively, but nothing was penetrating. He grinned wickedly and ran one of his fingers against the collar of her shirt. His finger dipped down into the crease of her breast, but Buffy was in too much pain to feel pleasure. He rolled his eyes at her. He bent down to her lower stomach. Her muscles clenched, again, in fear of what he would do. He wouldn't go down on her. It wasn't giving him anything in return.
He took his teeth and pulled her shirt up again, stopping at her breast. His hands let go of her arms and gripped her stomach. His thumbs pressed deeply into her skin. He took out his knife from his sock. He always kept it there as some sort of protection. He ran the blade down her face, the sharp edge leaving a white mark from where he pressed. He stopped at her stomach, where his fingers were. He sliced her skin. Buffy was squealing in the background, but he didn't care. He dipped his fingers into her blood. He put his fingers next to her lips. "Open up," he demanded harshly. She did what he said; she was in too much pain to fight against him. He put his finger on her tongue. (He was always weird like that) He put his knife back into his sock and got off of her. "Until next time," he said while bowing acting like some sort of demented gentleman.
She heard the front door shut. Was he really gone? She walked up out of her bed and went to her own door, slowly. It took all of her energy just to reach her doorway. She stuck her head out. He was gone. She banged her head on the door and slide down it, clutching her stomach. She cried and cried, hoping this was a dream. It wasn't. She recapped the events that happened in her room. The remembrance of the blistering skin and everything made her feel nauseous. She hurled her body over, not feeling like moving. She wiped her mouth lazily with the back of her hand. Her saliva tasted like blood. She brought her knees closer to her body, making sure not to disturb her throbbing stomach, and rested her head on her knees. She fell asleep like that. Hurting. Crying. And knowing that he would be back.