Spinning the Wheel 17 - Almost Over
Dreams.
Of course they had to come back full throttle when you're already down. They kick you in the gut when you're still on the ground coughing up your own blood.
It was always like that. The worse the day was, the worse the dreams became. As if some unconscious amplifier turned up the volume.
Spike had sat up straight on his makeshift bed on the couch. Breath was catching in his throat and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and chest.
This time, they had giving him the digitally remastered DVD version, every gruesome detail in agonizing slow-motion. He wasn't supposed to miss a single thing of it although he knew the story by heart after all those years. God damn, he knew it too well.
Buffy clawed her way out of the slumber when her alarm clock beeped in protest. The red numbers indicated 7.45. Way to early to get up on a Saturday morning but she had promised Willow and Tara to come along to the mall.
Plus, her mother had given her some extra money. 'For the big star', she'd said.
Great. She had to star in a play first before her mom gave her some extra shopping-money. It wasn't fair. But buying new clothes with other people's money could heal some of the gaping wounds the play had torn into her self-confidence. It would help.
Yawning, she padded over into the bathroom, kicked the door shut with her butt and turned on the faucet of the shower. There was much water needed to get her into gear this morning.
Spike reached for the wheelchair, pulled it close and thumbed down the brakes. His hands were shaking violently and he had to take some deep breaths for them to steady. When he lifted himself off of the couch and into the chair, his left arm almost gave out which would have caused him to smack down on the coffee table. But in the last moment he caught himself, twisted his body as much as possible and slumped down in the chair.
More sweat formed on his forehead. His back hurt again, white hot pain was running up and down his spine and he had to clench his teeth over a groan. He hates this. He couldn't run away from it, he couldn't even run. In moments like these, he really hated his life, no matter how good the day had been. The nights were hell.
Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom. The cold in the room sent a shiver down his back, causing the ripped nerves to twitch even more. He wiped the sweat off his brow and reached for the small cabinet under the sink. With trembling fingers he took out one of the plastic tubes, shook some of the pills into his palm and swallowed them with a hand full of cold water.
But this time, the pain didn't go away as usual. It had it's paralyzing fingers still tightly around his back, squenching(squeezing) every bit of feeling out of him, making his arms go numb as well.
With a shuddering sigh he moved back into the living-room, the plastic tube still in his lap.
The hot water was pouring down her body, the spray prickling on her skin like billions of tiny needles. She rolled her shoulder and her neck, trying to force the tiredness away. It didn't really help but at least she had tried it.
After almost half an hour, Buffy stepped out of the shower and wrapped a huge, fluffy towel around her naked form. She shivered a little as she hopped across the hall. Her stomach growled in protest. She so needed a decent breakfast, soon. With another towel wrapped around her damp hair, she stood in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear.
It was just a breakfast, she tried to remember herself. Breakfast with Spike and shopping with her friends, a great day to come. So she decided for something casual, black pants and a white shirt with a golden skull printed on it. She couldn't remember were she had bought that thing but it was one of her favorite pieces.
Sleep wouldn't come again, although he had taken some more of the tablets, actually more than he was supposed to. But the pain in his back remained, throbbing like a blacksmith hammering on an anvil. That and the dreams would keep him awake.
The clock in the kitchen indicated almost 5am. It was still dark outside and sun wouldn't come up before six. And Buffy was supposed to show up at nine. He just hoped the sedatives would kick in until then. He didn't want her to see him like that, leaning over the dining table, trying to breath through the pain. He didn't want her to know how pathetic his life really was.
During those three months they knew each other he had showed her only the sugar coated version of his existence. There had been some moments in which he had told her about his thoughts - like that he couldn't stand people staring at him - but he never talked about the pain and the dreams. That was way too private for her to know and he didn't know if he was even able to go through it by telling her.
His fingers clawed at his hair and he winced as another wave of pain rolled through him. It was worse than ever before. Maybe the encounter with Harmony hadn't just brought bad memories but also a whole lot more pain.
Harmony… Harmony…
Why had she been here? She wanted to pick up some stuff. He couldn't even remember what she'd left here back then. Maybe one of those trashy little unicorns she collected. She must have searched his whole apartment cause he didn't leave things like that lying around. How long had she been here before they came? It must have been hours.
And what had she said? He wouldn't have a chance with Buffy? Did she really think that Buffy was his girlfriend? He had told her not but Harmony wasn't the brightest person on god's green earth. His girlfriend? Like hell. Why would she think that she was his girlfriend?
They were just friends.
Or were they?
"Mom? Do we still have those croissants or do I have to get some on my way?" Buffy entered the kitchen fully dressed and with a cloud of vanilla perfume marking her way.
"Why?" Joyce Summers sat at the kitchen counter, reading the morning newspaper.
"I want to go over to Spike's. We're having breakfast together and I promised the food."
"Sorry, hun. We're fresh out of those." She smiled at her daughter, who had a bright smile plastered on her lips.
"'kay. I'm going to be late then but at least they will be fresh. Willow is going to pick me up at his place and then we'll head for the mall, okay?"
"Sure, sweetie. Have fun."
"Thanks, mom." Buffy gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek and then left the house through the back door.
'You know what? You're such a loser. I thought you were cool, with your band and all, but you're nothing. You're even too pathetic to be called a loser.'
'What are you talking about?'
'This? With us? It's over, Spike, over and done with. If you don't want to screw me, then fine. I can please myself all too well.'
'Harm, I talked to you about this. It's not that…'
'What? That you don't want to? Like hell. You don't want to fuck me. That's all. God, I can't believe that I had a crush on you. You're just so lame.'
'Hey, Harm, luv. Wait, lemme explain...'
'No, there is nothing to explain. You... are nothing. You can't give me anything that is worth staying here. See you around.'
Her voice was ringing in his head like somebody had struck a bell inside his skull. He put his hands over his ears, trying to keep it but it was inside him. The memory he had successfully stuffed in the far corner of his mind, even behind the accident, came rushing back. For almost three years he hadn't even thought about Harmony and what she's said that day but now…
Now she was back in his life and with her all the horrible words she'd said.
But what was worse... she was right.
And what she had said about Buffy… that he wouldn't have a chance with her…
It was right, too.
He couldn't deny it. He had feelings for her, as tiny as they were. The way she looked at him, the way she smiled at him and the way she touched him on occasions. It all felt just a little too nice to be platonic. They sent shivers down his spine. Not arousal but it felt… warm, comfortable. It was good to have her around, to talk to her. It was as if she was radiating, making him feel good. For the first time in three years… he felt good.
But he didn't know if she was thinking the same. Of course he had assumed she did, just because she was hanging around with him, but he couldn't be sure. And he couldn't talk to her about it. She would laugh at him, laugh at him like Cecily had done back in the days.
What was it that he could give a girl like Buffy except pep talks when she needed them? Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The grocery store was just a few blocks away from Spike's apartment but Buffy was going to be late. It was 8.55 already and she was still standing in front of the huge shelf and couldn't decide. Why did there have to be so many kinds of croissants? With cheese, with chocolate… anything you could think of.
At least they don't mix chocolate with cheese, Buffy thought with a little giggle that made the older woman beside her frown at her.
With a puff of expelled breath she stepped forward and grabbed one of the bags. She could have gone to a real bakery but that was downtown and she didn't have time to go there. So they would have to deal with these. And since Spike wasn't all into the high cuisine she didn't think it would be much of a problem.
As she went on to pay for the croissants, her eyes caught one of the glossy magazines next to the cash register. One of her favorite actors was seductively smiling at her and she just had to flip through the pages to see if there were any sexy picture for her to drool on.
Jack, Johnny and Jim. You couldn't have better friends when you realize that your life is a mess, that you'll never be able to please the girl who makes your miserable existence a little more pleasant and when the pain in your back makes your paralyzed toes curl.
Spike still sat at the table but this time he held a half-empty liquor bottle in his hand. He didn't bother to take a glass from the kitchen, that would eat up several valuable minutes he needed to get drunk enough so he wouldn't feel any of it anymore. The alcohol would dull the ache a bit, at least those were his hopes.
The throbbing nerve-endings in his back were giving him hell of a time just to breath. They twitched and misfired whenever he tried to move even a little. This wasn't one of the jolts he had when he got up in the morning or when he laid down in bed at night, this was constant, serious and agonizing pain.
Tears stung his eyes and he clenched his teeth over another groan. When the pain released it's death grip a little he took a long swig from the bottle. The whiskey burned down his throat, setting his insides on fire and making his head swim a little. This was better, much better.
But there was another pain, he couldn't dull with the liquor. Something deeper, more profound. It was Harmony's words and the thoughts he had added to them. His thoughts about Buffy and what little chance he would ever have with her.
He had never giving that a thought until now. And with the thoughts came the desperation, the certainty that she would never ever returned what little attraction he felt for her. There was nothing he could give her, no place he could show her. He was bound to a damn wheelchair, he was totally useless no matter how hard he tried not to let these thoughts overwhelm him.
With an almost insane giggle he looked down at the knife on the table.
You can stand in whatever queue you want. It can be the shortest in the whole grocery store. When you have little time or are already late you have to wait in the longest line, no matter what you do.
Buffy tapped her foot on the floor, trying to keep her mouth shut over some nasty words she was going to throw at the old lady in front of her. Why do old people always have to count out every coin twice? Was that their way to torture the oh so impolite youth? She would bet on it.
Spike would be mad. Or maybe he had already died from hunger. Buffy would if she had to wait any longer.
The croissants' aroma drifted through the plastic bag and her stomach growled again. She was craving this breakfast. Nice food and a strong coffee. That's why she usually hated to have breakfast at other people's home. When you were there you were already starved half to death. She should have told him to come over to her place.
Next time, she reminded herself. Next time you'll have him come over.
The blade was itching his fingers. Just like last time.
You just gotta pull through, Spike, that's all there is to it. Just take the bloody knife and put an end to it. Nobody will miss you anyway. You're just another number in the statistics, another burden taken of societies shoulders. And you don't have to bear all that pain anymore.
The tip of the blade pierced he skin of his fingertip, blood whaled up against his pale skin and glistened weakly in the dim light that came from outside. Sun was already up outside but it wasn't strong enough to light the apartment. Some birds were chirping, mocking him.
He took a shuddering breath and set the blade against his wrist. The cold metal felt like a shard of ice against his hot and sweaty skin.
No… this would take too long. The heart… the heart was better.
Buffy stormed down the street, ranting under her breath about how stupid some people could be and why they always had to cross her way. Her hair was whipping in the chilling fall breeze and she drew her jean jacket a little tighter around her body.
She should have asked her mother to give her a ride, since Joyce wouldn't let her take the car on her own. This would have gone a lot faster and she wouldn't have to hurry so much.
But maybe he was still sleeping, she tried to calm herself down. Maybe he forgot about this and she was hurrying for nothing. With that in mind she slowed her step a little and took a long breath to steady her pulse a little.
The painkillers he had taken made his whole body almost numb. His head swam in a sea of alcohol, drugs and grieve. Nothing around him really mattered anymore, he wasn't aware of much.
He didn't feel how the blade of the knife pierced the skin of his chest right above the heart. The slight twinge of pain didn't matter, it wasn't there, it almost tickled. Blood whaled up from the wound and slowly trickled down his chest and it didn't matter.
His head rolled back and he hissed as he finally struck some kind of nerve and the pain shot down his body, down his arm and made the knife waver in his hand.
No, he would pull through this time. It had to end. Now.
Buffy shook her long mane out of her face and jammed the key into the lock. She didn't bother to take the elevator. That small thing was creeping her out and the stairs up to the second floor weren't much of a problem. She was late anyway and those few seconds wouldn't matter anyway.
She carefully knocked on the door before she started unlocking Spike's apartment door. Since she'd almost run into him when he came out of the shower, she was more than careful not just to rush into the apartment like it was her's.
"Spike? You up?" she called into the room but didn't get an answer. Maybe he was still asleep and wouldn't even notice how late she was.
Everything rotated in front of his eyes and he couldn't decide weather it was from the whiskey or the painkillers or the deep cuts in his chest. It all blurred together in a not very delightful mixture of thrill and pain.
The alcohol made him dizzy, the painkiller numb and the wounds brought back a little reality. The pain made him think clearer for a few seconds but it didn't help much.
With an exhausted sigh, he thumbed his hand with the knife down on the table. The sudden impact made his hand twitch and he lost his grip on the knife's hilt and it clattered to the floor.
Brilliant, just brilliant.
Spike moved back from the table, the liquor still in his hand, and rolled over to were the blade had landed. Slowly, he bent forward to pick it up again but suddenly, dizziness swept over him, engulfed him with all it's might.
His eyes flickered shut and fresh sweat broke out on his forehead. He blinked several times and tried to focus on the knife right in front of his hand.
The shift of his body's point of gravity caused the wheels to move backwards and it slipped away from under him. With a loud thud he hit the floor and missed the blade just by a hair's breadth.
Coughing up something you didn't want to have a closer look at in the morning, he rolled on his back and tried to realize what just happened. Right, he had fallen out of his wheelchair and there was no way to get back in it under his conditions. So he would have to stay on the floor until the end and that was close. He knew it.
His head felt as if wrapped in cotton wool, his heart pounded in his chest and his stomach churned with the mixture of booze and drugs. This wasn't what he had wished it to be like, but he would have to deal with now. There was no way back.
Another insane giggle bubbled up his throat. He didn't know what was so funny about all this, he just had to laugh, had to laugh about his own misery. He couldn't even off himself with grace. It was a shame.
That thought in mind, everything else went dark.
"I know I'm late but it so wasn't my fault. There was this old lady in the grocery store and she…" Buffy stopped dead in her tracks and dropped the bag of croissants and her keys.
There he was, sprawled on the floor. His wheelchair stood about three feet away, a spilled bottle of whiskey lay beside his right hand and huge kitchen knife just out of arm's reach. Dark blood had welled up against his bare chest from zig-zagging cuts above his heart and something white and greenish had bubbled up from his mouth. And he didn't move. She wasn't even sure if he was breathing. For a few seconds she just stared ahead until she snapped out of her shock.
"Spike? God!" she stormed towards his unmoving form on the floor and fell to her knees. "Spike? Can you hear me?"
She didn't know what to do. A million thoughts rushed threw her mind and none at all at the same time. Everything was blank and she was panicking. Her hands were shaking violently as she tried to feel for his pulse. She dropped his hand once before she could force her fingers around his wrist. Nothing, she didn't feel anything.
"No, no, no, no…" It was like a mantra she repeated over and over when she reached for his throat. This couldn't be, he couldn't just…
Her fingers brushed the skin right under his chin and her heart skipped a beat when she felt the weak but steady throb of his pulse against her fingertips.
"Spike? Can you hear me?" she asked again and slapped him lightly on the cheek. Nothing.
His eyes were rolled back and under his half open eyelids only white glistened in the dim light.
"Don't do this to me, okay?" she pleaded. Her brain had switched into auto pilot. She didn't know what she was doing but she had to do something. With shaking hands she reached for her purse, turned it upside down and fished for her cell phone.
"H-hello? My... my name is Buffy Summers. I…." her voice broke off, she didn't know what to say. She didn't know what had happened here. Plus she had never called 911 before.
"Miss? Are you still there?" the voice on the other end answered.
"Yeah, I'm. .I don't know... I need an ambulance."
"What happened, Miss? Can you be more specific?"
"I don't know..." everything was spinning in her head and she closed her eyes, trying to focus. "My friend's sick." she said finally. "I need help."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"No, I... I just got here and found him. I don't know what happened. There's... there is blood and..."
"Give me your address, Miss. We will send somebody."
Buffy gave the address of Spike's apartment and the woman on the other line tried to calm her down. Help was on the way and she should try to stay calm.
Stay calm? How should she stay calm?
Suddenly, Spike coughed one of those unhealthy coughs and the greenish whatever bubbled up from his mouth. Fresh blood welled up from his chest.
"God, Spike. What…" Buffy tried to cover the wound with her hand. The warm blood stuck to her fingers and she felt his heart pounding against her palm.
As his head rolled to one side again, she slapped him in the face once more. "Try to stay awake, okay? Help is one the way. Just... try to stay awake."
He coughed again, trying to shake her hand away but she held on to (his) chin.
"What did you do?" she tried to get him to talk or to listen to her, whatever would keep him awake.
"Tried…" he croaked, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"What? Spike, talk to me, okay? Don't get unconscious again. Help will be here soon."
"Tried…" he started again. "Tried... to cut... it out."
"What?" Buffy didn't know if she had heard him right or if she was hallucinating. "Tried to cut what out?"
As an answer, Spike's fingers closed around her wrist of the hand she'd place over his heart. His head rolled to one side and he opened his eyes a little bit more, seeing her for the first time.
Another minute passed in which Buffy could just stare at him. His eyes had flickered shut again but she still felt his heart thumping against her hand. The rhythm was slow but steady.
Suddenly, the bell rang. Buffy had to tear herself away from Spike, stumbled to her feet and hit the button of the intercom in the hall.
Two ambulance men rushed past her into the apartment.
"Miss, you call us?" one of them asked, his tone harsh but his eyes shone with kindness.
"Yeah, I..."
"Mike! Over here!" the other called from the living-room.
Buffy leaned against the wall opposite the door and watched the two men working. Everything they said seemed to be some strange language she didn't understand. Their voices buzzed in her head but nothing seeped through into her brain.
She didn't even notice one of the men running down the stairs again and returning with a stretcher. It was all too far away.
You don't get prepared for situations like that.
You don't expect to come into your friend's apartment and find him sprawl on the floor almost dead.
And there is nothing that can prepare you for situations like that. You can think about it a thousand times but when it really happens, everything you ever thought about goes to hell. You don't know what to do, don't know what to say. Everything happens at the same time and nothing at all.
That was what Buffy felt that moment. She didn't know what it was at first but when reality kept creeping into her mind, she knew what it was. Helplessness.
Buffy sat in the ambulance. The guys named Mike right beside her. He explained to her what they did and what needed to be done at the hospital but she wasn't listening.
All that mattered right now was that she was holding Spike hand in her own bloodied palm. She was chewing on her lips and tried to force back tears.
'Please, don't die. Don't die.' was all she could think of. There wasn't much more she could do right now but it had to be enough.
