"Nibblet, you here," I heard the worry in Spike's voice as he entered out house, having come as soon as the sunset.

"Upstairs," I hollered, pulling my sleeve down to cover my arm. A wristband was slid over the cuts and I sprayed perfume on myself to mask the smell of blood. I hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Ello, love," he greeted, coming into my room.

"Hey," I muttered, lying down on my bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting down next to me.

"Nothing, just tired,"

"I don't believe that, love,"

"It's nothing, Spike," I got up and walked towards the other side of the room, fiddling with the stuff on my desk.

"Dawn, I'm worried about you," He whispered, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. I took a deep breath, pushing back tears.

"I'm fine, Spike,"

"Dawn, I'm worried. I'm really worried. Every time I see you I smell blood on you, I haven't seen you in short sleeves in over a year, your more distant, and I cant loose you," He called me Dawn. He never called me Dawn and his voice at that moment held so much power and fear I felt tears prickle my eyes. He stood up, forcing me to turn around. "Let me see your arm,"

"No," I whispered, jerking away.

"Nibblet, please,"

"No, you don't care," I ran, I ran so fast that even with vampire speed he couldn't catch me. I locked the door, and I cried. I felt him stand out there; I knew he was there. I turned on the shower, stripped, and sat letting the water flow over me. My knees were at my chest and my head was resting on them. Sobs rocked my body. God only knows how many hours later, the sobs still flowed from my body and I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist. Spike drew me towards him, and I cried onto his chest. He lifted up my right arm and traced the cuts. His clothes were drenched as the water flowed over us, and I didn't even pull back. I didn't realize until hours later, that Spike had held me naked as water poured on us and as I cried onto his chest. He shut off the shower, pulled me from it and wrapped me in a white towel before carrying me back to my bedroom. After changing me into a long t-shirt, he stripped to his boxers, which weren't as wet as his outer clothes and climbed into bed with me. He held me close all night, long after my sobs had subsided and I had fallen asleep.

I woke up the next morning completely content. Spikes arms were wrapped around my waist and my head was rested on his chest. I moved to get up.

"No, can we just lay here a bit, love?" He questioned, tightening his arms. I nodded and laid back down, breathing in the scent clearly Spike. I was scared. I didn't to look him in the eye. He knew. He knew about the cuts and the scars and the blood and the tears. He ran his hand over my right arm and held it up infront of us. His fingers lightly traced the cuts, as though he wished he could heal them with his hands. "What did you use?" His voice was raspy, as though it pained him to ask the question.

"A knife," My voice was equally soft, more fear filled.

"Why?" His arms returned to my waist.

"I'm not real. What does it matter," I muttered into his bare chest.

"You matter, Dawn, you'll always matter,"

"No, I don't, I'm not real,"

"Every time you cut yourself didn't you bleed?"

"Yes…"

"Weren't those tears that you cried last night?"

"Yes…"

"You're real, love, you're real. And we're stopping this right now. Even if I never have to leave your side you're stopping this right now,"

I looked up at him and nodded, though I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. I simply snuggled back into his arms and drifted back off into sleep.