The biggest challenge to write - Buffy introspection. ;)
I didnít know. God, believe me, I didnít know. When I saw him in the basement, he was so strange. Crazy. But everything was crazy down there, and there was no way to get back in and see him. Not until I started working there. Not with Dawn watching me, thinking I would screw up her life.
When I saw him again at the house, he was his old self. Snarky. Pretending to want to help. I thought he was pretending.
I thought it was a trick, I swear it. That he thought he could come back after all those months and pretend that nothing happened. That weíd just be buddies, or comrades, or even lovers. After what he did. That the crazy act was just an act.
After what he did. After what I did.
He was vile in the Bronze. Hitting Anya. Taunting me. Saying...saying those things. Those horrible things. Evil. Proving he was evil. Proving he never loved me. Just wanted me. My body.
And there, in the alley. After he stabbed that guy. Thought it was another game. Get my attention. Distract me. Something. So, sorry if I couldnít put the pieces together right away. Sorry if I was a little slow.
He tried to rape me. Thatís not a little thing.
It never hit me. I told him I was using him, yeah, but I swear I didnít really understand that he loved me. That he could love me. That anyone could really love me. But he did, didnít he? More than Riley, more than Angel. Angel wouldnít have done what he did. Angel fought it. I loved Angel, and he didnít want it.
Didnít he know what he was getting into? I mean, he was with Angel, before and after. Iíve heard him make fun of it. And it wasnít even Angelís choice.
But Spike wanted it. For me. So he wouldnít hurt me. So I would love him. So we all would love him. And Iíd never seen him. All that time he loved me, and Iíd never seen him.
How, how could he still love me? I beat him to a pulp, for crissakes. I treated him like he didnít exist. I used his body like a piece of meat. I trashed him in front of my friends. And he loved me.
Iím seeing him now. Who he was. Who he is. Lying there on the floor, a mess of burns and cuts and pain. I see him now.
No one ever died for me before.