His Childe

Chapter 29 - Pretend

Buffy stared blankly at the door behind which her Sire and lover had just disappeared. She barely felt Dawn’s hand resting on her shoulder, barely heard her words.

“Buffy… What did he mean about pretending and lying? You’re not just pretending to love him, are you?”

Closing her eyes, Buffy took a deep breath, trying to force the tears down. How could she explain to Dawn what she barely understood herself?

“I never pretended to love him,” she whispered. “I never said I did.”

The soothing hand left her shoulder abruptly. She forced herself to meet Dawn’s gaze, cringing at what she saw there. The girl wasn’t happy. And that was the understatement of the century.

“You sleep with him, you ask him to live with you, and you don’t even love him?”

The teen’s voice was stripped of all emotions, completely cold.

“Dawnie, it’s not that easy. I can’t explain, I don’t even know...”

“You don’t need to explain anything. You use him. He loves you more than anything and you use him like a thing.”

Hearing in Dawn’s mouth words she had said herself a few weeks before was like a knife plunging into her unbeating heart. She watched silently as her sister climbed up the stairs, her door closing with a loud noise.

Was it only fifteen minutes earlier that everything had seemed so perfect? Spike was moving in, Dawn was thrilled, and she was feeling at peace. Content. Satisfied. Still not quite sure about her feelings for him, but happy that he was there for her. And now he had left. Dawn hated her. Her world was crumbling around her, again.

She knew he wouldn’t go far. Even if he had not told Dawn he would be in his crypt, she wouldn’t have worried about him leaving town. He had promised. She knew how he felt about his promises. Also, she remembered what he had said about needing to see her, needing to take care of her. She would have bet her soul he would be following her when she went on patrol that night.

“Buffy…”

Willow’s voice made her jump. She had forgotten the redhead was still there, lost as she was in her gloomy thoughts. Her friend came closer, an uncertain smile on her lips.

“I couldn’t let him control you, Buffy. It’s not right. He can’t do that to you.”

Buffy shook her head. “He really isn’t controlling me in any way, Willow. I do want him. I need him.”

Her voice broke in a dry sob, and Willow hugged her gently.

“Buffy, you just told Dawn you don’t love him. It’s all because he is your Sire. That’s why you think you want him, but it’s just the bond between you two. Angel explained it to me.”

Buffy’s body tensed as Willow pronounced Angel’s name, and she pulled away from her.

“Angel has no right…” she started, but Willow interrupted her.

“He is just worried for you. He doesn’t want Spike to take advantage of you. And neither do I. If Spike had nothing to feel guilty for, he wouldn’t have left.”

For a second, Buffy considered telling her friend about exactly who was using who and how as far as Spike and herself were concerned. But she couldn’t make herself say it. Admitting to it now would be admitting to months of lying. It would only open again the door to the question of whether or not she loved Spike. She wouldn’t, couldn’t answer that now. And that was the whole problem.

Having no way to convince Willow, Buffy left the redhead and returned to her bedroom. She stared at the bed for a while, the sheets still rumpled from their morning activities. She noticed a piece of fabric on the floor and picked it up. Spike’s tie. Instinctively, she brought it to her face, breathing his scent. She crawled between the sheets, still holding the silk length between her fingers, and closed her eyes, imagining she had never left that bed and his embrace.

Back in his crypt, Spike was pacing furiously and smoking cigarette after cigarette. He had thought that everything was going better, and there he was back to square one. Even worse. Now the Witch thought he was controlling Buffy. She had been decent to him before, no chance of that now. The Nibblet had been so happy, she probably hated him now that he had left the house. At least she didn’t believe he was playing with her sister’s mind. It was just the opposite, in fact. Buffy was playing with his mind. Alternating fire and ice until he didn’t know what to feel any more. A century with an insane Drusilla had not shattered his reason, but a few days with Buffy might be enough to make him crazy. Or maybe he had been mad to begin with. Mad to fall in love with the Slayer. Mad to turn her. Mad to give her back her soul. Mad not to just use the power he had on her like he was suspected of doing.

Mad to leave her.

Madly in love.

Eventually, he got tired of walking around, and let himself fall on the bed. He pulled out of his pocket the ribbon she had worn on her neck and started playing with it, turning it between his burnt fingers like a charm. In his anger, he had stupidly stuck his hand in the sun to open the sewer's manhole. The burnt flesh didn't hurt any more, but it looked nasty. He was lying on her blanket, the one he had used to protect himself from the same bloody sun. It smelled like her. It was almost like he was back in her bed. He could just close his eyes, and pretend that it was still morning. She was there, just against him, not a care in the world, just happy to be together. Just pretend.