/It's over./
It had gone so quickly that just as he was finally able to grasp what he was about to do, the deed had already been completed. The realization of what he had done would come seconds later, sweeping over him in wave after wave of emotion, and the world would come crashing in around his ear. But for now, all was quiet. Peaceful.
Something slipped from his fingers and with a hollow clatter, fell to the floor, shattering the strange silence and filling him with the sudden comprehension of what had just occurred. Everything that had happened in the last two days flooded back upon him. He saw it in his mind, over and over so clearly that in moments of silence he felt as though he might go insane. Days and nights melted together. It was all the same, the same scene, the same cool smile playing on her lips, and the same look of surprise on her face as she disappeared in the same explosion of dust and ashes. The pain grew with every moment, seeing her die, watching his motions. Always so slowly, so painstakingly slow. But the tears never came. Perhaps he could no longer weep, an ability lost after over a century of neglect. But then there had never been a reason to cry with his princess by his side.
He wandered the darkened streets of town aimlessly, in a haze of sorrow and self-pity. Sunnydale—the place of his current residence—was supposedly built upon the Hellmouth, a convergence point for all sorts of nasty creatures. He reflected, bemusedly, on how it never seemed to open up and swallow you when you really wanted it to. An eternity of torture in hell would be nothing compared to the strange numbness he felt now.
"Not bloody likely," he muttered, pausing to take a swig from the bottle that had accompanied him in his wanderings of late, before continuing on his way to a place where he could lose himself in a crowd and drown his sorrows in several mugs of low quality alcohol.
Cheery lights cut beacons through the darkness in the room, flashing like so many streaks of lightning as speakers blasted the tunes of a local band across the crowded dance floor. At the bar, girls in tight shirts handed drinks to guys with even-toothed smiles and gelled hair, casually flirting with the better looking ones. It was the typical high school hang-out. In fact, it was the only hang out in Sunnydale—unless, of course, you counted the cemetery.
The atmosphere wasn't exactly what he had been looking for, but it didn't really matter. Nothing would suit his current mood, and at least here it was never so oppressively quiet as it seemed to be every where else.
A group of girls passed his table, not bothering to give him a second look. He judged their ages to be around sixteen or seventeen, but he allowed for the fact that they had so much make-up on that it was hard to tell exactly. Spike waited for them to pass by and leave his corner in peace once again, but apparently they had decided to stay and giggle there, much to his annoyance. The song changed to one with a heavy beat. He drained his mug and stood, intending to make his way back into a less crowded area of the room, if there was such a place.
"Whoa there."
Beer sloshed from plastic cups and soaked the front of his shirt. Did it matter? No. But his reaction was instinctively defensive.
"Watch it, mate."
"Hey Spike, bee in your bonnet?"
It was the last person in the world he wanted to run into.
