Buffy awoke from slumber. Maybe it was all a dream? She realized where she
was, the foot of her door. Guess not. She walked into the bathroom, still
sore. She couldn't look at her body; it had betrayed her. She knew how to
fight back, really, she did, but it felt like Angel had this silent control
over her. She put her arms on the sink and looked at herself. What she saw
was frightening. It wasn't the fact that she was foreign to herself, or how
ghostly she got when sleep was a last priority; it was that she let Angel
touch her. She could have retaliated at least in some way, but she didn't
and that killed her. She felt queasy again. Buffy leaned over the toilet
and she started to dry heave.
She brought out paper towels to clean up the mess she made last night. She looked over at the clock; it was only six o'clock. She decided that a shower would be best for wasting time. Maybe it could get her mind off of Angel and the smell of burnt flesh off of her, too.
The water trickled hard on her tender flesh. Bruises formed on her upper arms and stomach. Especially around the burn, black and blue was all that could be seen. She ran her shaky fingers through her hair, trying to turn her attention against her marked skin.
She stepped out of the shower and put a towel around her; she didn't want to see her body now. It just reminded her of Angel and she couldn't handle that subject now. She was still shocked that he was out of jail and in London. Damn her life.
Buffy wasn't ready for school. She just wanted to curl up into a little ball and die. She would have told her mom that she was ill, lie about some new bug going around school, but it would be too difficult.
Grabbing a large, blue and white-checkered button up shirt, she put it on with a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra. Even the soft waistband shot sharp pains up her body, from hitting the burn and cut. She pulled her wet hair back, didn't bother with any makeup, and grabbed a bottle of water. All she had to do was pick up her book bag and she was off.
School was worse than she imagined. Everyone was coming up to her and asking if she was okay; it was driving her insane!
"Buffy, may I talk to you up here, please?" A teacher asked. Buffy reluctantly went up to the front of the room. "Is something the matter?" she asked from behind a book. "No ma'am. Nothing is wrong." The teacher sighed. "Good that is what I like to hear. Now, if I have to call your name one more time to awake you from your daydream, I am sending you to the principals office." Buffy "Ehhed." "What was that?" the teacher asked sternly. Buffy rolled her eyes and left the classroom. The rest of the students where looking up at the two conversing. They were all taking a pop quiz. Some students giggled when she left, others eyes bugged out of their heads, others couldn't care less.
She stormed out of the classroom. She needed a cigarette. She had actually only experimented with them, so she was really confused on why she needed one. She went to Spike's locker and grabbed a fag and his lighter. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't even start his lighter. The lighter looked like Angel's. It brought back so many unwanted memories of "that other" night. She felt disgusted with herself, again. She ran into the men's washroom, only because it was the closest. The smell of urine and Clorox lingered in the air. Buffy definitely was going to be sick. She tried to calm herself down; all of her muscles were sore from the heaving.
The feeling passed and Buffy fell to the ground. She didn't care how nasty the floor was. Sobs broke throughout her body. They were so powerful that she couldn't make a noise. She put her hands out in front of her, making sure she could get enough air. She couldn't stop it; vomit came out of her esophagus. She would have screamed from the burn, but under the circumstances she couldn't scream.
"Don't touch me," she whispered. This time she was going to react. This time it could be different. This time she could stop him. "I said don't touch me," she said louder this time. She couldn't go through the guilt thing again. She needed to fight back even if it wasn't to protect her, just so she wouldn't feel so bad. She started to breath heavy. She was ready...wasn't she?
'Buffy hadn't had a nightmare in a long time 'bout that poof', Spike thought to himself. He better wake her. He walked closer to her and her chest was moving fast –in and out. In and out. He shook her softly, "Buffy, love, wake up."
She came out from sleep with her eyes wide. Where was Angel? Where...where was she? She looked around; she was on Giles' couch, but how? "You okay?" he asked. She ignored that question. "Why am I here?" she asked raspy, the acid still stinging in her throat. "You passed out in the men's washroom. Xander found you and bloody freaked. Though' you were dead." He walked up and got her a glass of water. She gulped it down. "Well I'm not dead," Buffy sighed. 'That's unfortunate,' she thought.
She relaxed her head on the couch and closed her eyes. Spike got off the couch and stood a couple feet from her. He was pacing back and forth; he constantly did that when he had something to say. "Come out with it already," she snapped. "What is your bloody problem, Summers?" he asked anger rising. "I don't have one," said with a prissy-girl-attitude. "Yes you soddin' do!" He closed his eyes and breathed. "Somethin' is goin' on wi'h you. I can tell. I am no' bloody stupid! You tak' me for a' idiot!" He put his back against the wall and his head up high, trying to calm himself down. "You don't talk to me anymore," he said his voice too high then what he expected. "I as' if somethin's wrong and you deny. You deny everythin'! We are in a bloody relationship." He walked closer to her. "You have closed down. You don't talk to your friends, not to me. Are you seeing someone else?" She couldn't look him in the eye, but she shook her head "no" numbly. "Th'n what's wrong. You have to talk to me. You keep pushin' me away. An' you're gonna keep doin' that, until no one will be in your life." He paused. "Everyone is worried." She opened her eyes. "We care about you, Buffy." It was almost a whisper. She rolled her eyes. "Can you stop freakin' worrying about me, just for a second. I am fine!" she screamed. He crossed his arms over his chest, "Yea, ya look bloody fine!" She was furious. She jumped off the couch. "I don't need this. I would expect this from anyone else, but not you." She was about to walk away from him, but he wouldn't have it. He grabbed onto her upper arm, close to where here bruises were. "Let go of me," she said through clenched teeth. He didn't let go, but loosened his grip. "I said, let go of me." The end came out soft, but it still held it's threatening power. Her eyes narrowed. He just wouldn't let go. "I don't want to hurt you," she said trying to pull her arm away. His gripped tightened and inched further up her arm. She flinched from the pain of his insensitive grasp hitting her sore muscles.
He noticed the flinch and eased up. He couldn't be hurting her that bad, could he? Tears welled up in her eyes. He pressed harder, to make sure that he was in control. She tensed up and turned her head sideways and squinted her eyes as if she was in pain. "You're hurting me," she said as a whisper. If Spike didn't have excellent hearing, then he wouldn't have heard it. He pulled her so that she was facing him. He took his hands off of her upper arms, but held onto one of her wrist. He observed blue marks on her arms from where he was holding her. "What that?" he inquired. She jerked her wrist out of his hands and rubbed it. "Nothing." He stared at her intensely. She sighed, "Look I am tired. Can we just talk about this later?" He didn't even hear her; he was too busy looking at the bruises. At least they looked like bruises.
He ran his hand up her arm and tried to push her shirtsleeves away, so he could see her arm better, but she pulled away. "I'm tired," she strained again. She couldn't look at him.
He was frustrated now. "Buffy what are you hiding?" He was being forcefully now; it was the only way to get into stubborn Buffy. "I am hiding nothing. I swear to you. " She lied. Why did she have to lie to him? She should just be able to tell the truth to him. Then he would make everything better, like he normally did. But how in the hell could he make this better?
He could tell she was lying. He could see it in her eyes; her eyes told him so much. He took a hold of her biceps. "Stop it. Can't you just forget it?" She was pleading now. He shook her softly, hoping to knock some common sense into her brain. "Buffy. I will not bloody forget it. I care about you. Somethin' is bloody wrong." Her waistband, which was folded down, so it wouldn't scrape her burn, unfolded and she cried in agony.
Did he hurt her? He wasn't being that rough with her. Her hand was placed on her stomach, over top of her shirt. He backed away, not knowing what else to do and watched her cry.
It had been only a couple seconds, which seemed like hours to him, and he had to see what was the matter with her. He walked over to her and put his hand under her shirt. She jumped up, despite the pain. He couldn't find out. Spike would be so ashamed of her. Each step closer he took, two steps farther away she was.
He caught a grasp of her shirt and pulled her near him. "Don't. Don't touch me," she screamed while trying to slap his hands away from her. He pulled her sleeve up, which uncovered her finger like marks. "What the hell..." he trailed off while tracing the purpled skin. She tried to pull away from him, but he was so much stronger than her. He got livid. Who the hell did this to her? He ripped her shirt open with enough force for the buttons to pop off. She was screaming now and tried to cover herself back up. "I told you not to touch me," she stated.
Spike was stunned. Her body looked so injured and broken. She could bass as one of those battered housewives, easily. It looked like she had been through hell and back, tortured every step of the way. He had to make sure it was real. There could be a possibility that he was hallucinating. His hand reached out to touch the scorched mark on her stomach, but she pulled away. "Buffy?" he asked. She started to pound on his chest, feebly. "You have made my life so miserable," she said while straddling him to the ground. She started to cry and just slap at his chest. "You haunt me. You hurt me. Will you ever stop?" She started to break down and cry, rocking back and forth trying to calm herself. Normally Spike would enjoy a woman doing this to him, especially one that he fancied as much as Buffy, but he was in too much pain watching her be in pain to even look at her in a lustfully matter.
He held onto her wrist. "Buffy. Look into my eyes. It's Spike. I'm not him." She started shaking her head and distorting her face. "Don't confuse me," she said while getting off of his body. "You never stop. Why do you enjoy make me suffer?" He forced her to look at him. "Buffy. I'm not him." She looked into his mesmerizing eyes. She felt a trance go over her. "Spike?" she whispered touching his cheekbones. He held her hand on his face, kissing her wrist. She backed up. "Don't look at me." She hid her face. "What happened?" he asked still unsure of what he saw. His voice was gentle, soothing, not harsh and upset as she thought he would act. "Your- your not disappointed? She asked looking at him.
"Why would I be disappointed?" he asked while caressing her face. She moaned at the touch. "Angel..." she said looking away from him. Anger shot through his veins, but he tried to seem calm. "Wha' happened? An' you need to tell me ever'thin'." She nodded and bit her lip.
She brought out paper towels to clean up the mess she made last night. She looked over at the clock; it was only six o'clock. She decided that a shower would be best for wasting time. Maybe it could get her mind off of Angel and the smell of burnt flesh off of her, too.
The water trickled hard on her tender flesh. Bruises formed on her upper arms and stomach. Especially around the burn, black and blue was all that could be seen. She ran her shaky fingers through her hair, trying to turn her attention against her marked skin.
She stepped out of the shower and put a towel around her; she didn't want to see her body now. It just reminded her of Angel and she couldn't handle that subject now. She was still shocked that he was out of jail and in London. Damn her life.
Buffy wasn't ready for school. She just wanted to curl up into a little ball and die. She would have told her mom that she was ill, lie about some new bug going around school, but it would be too difficult.
Grabbing a large, blue and white-checkered button up shirt, she put it on with a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra. Even the soft waistband shot sharp pains up her body, from hitting the burn and cut. She pulled her wet hair back, didn't bother with any makeup, and grabbed a bottle of water. All she had to do was pick up her book bag and she was off.
School was worse than she imagined. Everyone was coming up to her and asking if she was okay; it was driving her insane!
"Buffy, may I talk to you up here, please?" A teacher asked. Buffy reluctantly went up to the front of the room. "Is something the matter?" she asked from behind a book. "No ma'am. Nothing is wrong." The teacher sighed. "Good that is what I like to hear. Now, if I have to call your name one more time to awake you from your daydream, I am sending you to the principals office." Buffy "Ehhed." "What was that?" the teacher asked sternly. Buffy rolled her eyes and left the classroom. The rest of the students where looking up at the two conversing. They were all taking a pop quiz. Some students giggled when she left, others eyes bugged out of their heads, others couldn't care less.
She stormed out of the classroom. She needed a cigarette. She had actually only experimented with them, so she was really confused on why she needed one. She went to Spike's locker and grabbed a fag and his lighter. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't even start his lighter. The lighter looked like Angel's. It brought back so many unwanted memories of "that other" night. She felt disgusted with herself, again. She ran into the men's washroom, only because it was the closest. The smell of urine and Clorox lingered in the air. Buffy definitely was going to be sick. She tried to calm herself down; all of her muscles were sore from the heaving.
The feeling passed and Buffy fell to the ground. She didn't care how nasty the floor was. Sobs broke throughout her body. They were so powerful that she couldn't make a noise. She put her hands out in front of her, making sure she could get enough air. She couldn't stop it; vomit came out of her esophagus. She would have screamed from the burn, but under the circumstances she couldn't scream.
"Don't touch me," she whispered. This time she was going to react. This time it could be different. This time she could stop him. "I said don't touch me," she said louder this time. She couldn't go through the guilt thing again. She needed to fight back even if it wasn't to protect her, just so she wouldn't feel so bad. She started to breath heavy. She was ready...wasn't she?
'Buffy hadn't had a nightmare in a long time 'bout that poof', Spike thought to himself. He better wake her. He walked closer to her and her chest was moving fast –in and out. In and out. He shook her softly, "Buffy, love, wake up."
She came out from sleep with her eyes wide. Where was Angel? Where...where was she? She looked around; she was on Giles' couch, but how? "You okay?" he asked. She ignored that question. "Why am I here?" she asked raspy, the acid still stinging in her throat. "You passed out in the men's washroom. Xander found you and bloody freaked. Though' you were dead." He walked up and got her a glass of water. She gulped it down. "Well I'm not dead," Buffy sighed. 'That's unfortunate,' she thought.
She relaxed her head on the couch and closed her eyes. Spike got off the couch and stood a couple feet from her. He was pacing back and forth; he constantly did that when he had something to say. "Come out with it already," she snapped. "What is your bloody problem, Summers?" he asked anger rising. "I don't have one," said with a prissy-girl-attitude. "Yes you soddin' do!" He closed his eyes and breathed. "Somethin' is goin' on wi'h you. I can tell. I am no' bloody stupid! You tak' me for a' idiot!" He put his back against the wall and his head up high, trying to calm himself down. "You don't talk to me anymore," he said his voice too high then what he expected. "I as' if somethin's wrong and you deny. You deny everythin'! We are in a bloody relationship." He walked closer to her. "You have closed down. You don't talk to your friends, not to me. Are you seeing someone else?" She couldn't look him in the eye, but she shook her head "no" numbly. "Th'n what's wrong. You have to talk to me. You keep pushin' me away. An' you're gonna keep doin' that, until no one will be in your life." He paused. "Everyone is worried." She opened her eyes. "We care about you, Buffy." It was almost a whisper. She rolled her eyes. "Can you stop freakin' worrying about me, just for a second. I am fine!" she screamed. He crossed his arms over his chest, "Yea, ya look bloody fine!" She was furious. She jumped off the couch. "I don't need this. I would expect this from anyone else, but not you." She was about to walk away from him, but he wouldn't have it. He grabbed onto her upper arm, close to where here bruises were. "Let go of me," she said through clenched teeth. He didn't let go, but loosened his grip. "I said, let go of me." The end came out soft, but it still held it's threatening power. Her eyes narrowed. He just wouldn't let go. "I don't want to hurt you," she said trying to pull her arm away. His gripped tightened and inched further up her arm. She flinched from the pain of his insensitive grasp hitting her sore muscles.
He noticed the flinch and eased up. He couldn't be hurting her that bad, could he? Tears welled up in her eyes. He pressed harder, to make sure that he was in control. She tensed up and turned her head sideways and squinted her eyes as if she was in pain. "You're hurting me," she said as a whisper. If Spike didn't have excellent hearing, then he wouldn't have heard it. He pulled her so that she was facing him. He took his hands off of her upper arms, but held onto one of her wrist. He observed blue marks on her arms from where he was holding her. "What that?" he inquired. She jerked her wrist out of his hands and rubbed it. "Nothing." He stared at her intensely. She sighed, "Look I am tired. Can we just talk about this later?" He didn't even hear her; he was too busy looking at the bruises. At least they looked like bruises.
He ran his hand up her arm and tried to push her shirtsleeves away, so he could see her arm better, but she pulled away. "I'm tired," she strained again. She couldn't look at him.
He was frustrated now. "Buffy what are you hiding?" He was being forcefully now; it was the only way to get into stubborn Buffy. "I am hiding nothing. I swear to you. " She lied. Why did she have to lie to him? She should just be able to tell the truth to him. Then he would make everything better, like he normally did. But how in the hell could he make this better?
He could tell she was lying. He could see it in her eyes; her eyes told him so much. He took a hold of her biceps. "Stop it. Can't you just forget it?" She was pleading now. He shook her softly, hoping to knock some common sense into her brain. "Buffy. I will not bloody forget it. I care about you. Somethin' is bloody wrong." Her waistband, which was folded down, so it wouldn't scrape her burn, unfolded and she cried in agony.
Did he hurt her? He wasn't being that rough with her. Her hand was placed on her stomach, over top of her shirt. He backed away, not knowing what else to do and watched her cry.
It had been only a couple seconds, which seemed like hours to him, and he had to see what was the matter with her. He walked over to her and put his hand under her shirt. She jumped up, despite the pain. He couldn't find out. Spike would be so ashamed of her. Each step closer he took, two steps farther away she was.
He caught a grasp of her shirt and pulled her near him. "Don't. Don't touch me," she screamed while trying to slap his hands away from her. He pulled her sleeve up, which uncovered her finger like marks. "What the hell..." he trailed off while tracing the purpled skin. She tried to pull away from him, but he was so much stronger than her. He got livid. Who the hell did this to her? He ripped her shirt open with enough force for the buttons to pop off. She was screaming now and tried to cover herself back up. "I told you not to touch me," she stated.
Spike was stunned. Her body looked so injured and broken. She could bass as one of those battered housewives, easily. It looked like she had been through hell and back, tortured every step of the way. He had to make sure it was real. There could be a possibility that he was hallucinating. His hand reached out to touch the scorched mark on her stomach, but she pulled away. "Buffy?" he asked. She started to pound on his chest, feebly. "You have made my life so miserable," she said while straddling him to the ground. She started to cry and just slap at his chest. "You haunt me. You hurt me. Will you ever stop?" She started to break down and cry, rocking back and forth trying to calm herself. Normally Spike would enjoy a woman doing this to him, especially one that he fancied as much as Buffy, but he was in too much pain watching her be in pain to even look at her in a lustfully matter.
He held onto her wrist. "Buffy. Look into my eyes. It's Spike. I'm not him." She started shaking her head and distorting her face. "Don't confuse me," she said while getting off of his body. "You never stop. Why do you enjoy make me suffer?" He forced her to look at him. "Buffy. I'm not him." She looked into his mesmerizing eyes. She felt a trance go over her. "Spike?" she whispered touching his cheekbones. He held her hand on his face, kissing her wrist. She backed up. "Don't look at me." She hid her face. "What happened?" he asked still unsure of what he saw. His voice was gentle, soothing, not harsh and upset as she thought he would act. "Your- your not disappointed? She asked looking at him.
"Why would I be disappointed?" he asked while caressing her face. She moaned at the touch. "Angel..." she said looking away from him. Anger shot through his veins, but he tried to seem calm. "Wha' happened? An' you need to tell me ever'thin'." She nodded and bit her lip.