All About Spike - Plain Version
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The Secret Diary of Geek the Girl
By Rachel A.
Sequel to A Poor Captain; part of The Geek Series
Summary: See title.
Characters: Spike, Willow, Giles.
Categories: Drama, Romance, Character Study
Disclaimer: I really wish they were mine, more than ever. But alas, no.
Notes: Thanks so much to Cynthia and Laura for encouragment, beta, and just plain being there. And thanks to Lovesbitca and Lyric for wanting to read this. This story is part of a series. You can find the rest of the stories here.
This one's a bit different than the others. It's a bit different than
anything I've done, actually. I'd be thrilled to know what you
September 1, 2002
I have decided to keep two of
you. First will be my "journal" which I keep for the
ladies. I've been writing in that one since I came here, and I
will keep writing in it so I have something to show them. A
place to talk about the impressions I have when they make me go
somewhere, the food I've been eating, the oh-so-significant
dreams I've been having, the stuff I think they want to hear to
make them think I'm doing better. And then there will be you, my
new, secret diary. You will be for me, and I promise to only
tell you the truth. 'Cause there's really no one else I can
I know you will never judge me,
diary, and you won't get upset or yell if I tell you I don't
want to live anymore. I know you won't get nervous and panicky
if I say that I miss doing magic- that it's the only thing that
might make me feel something. I will have to keep you very well
hidden so that Giles never finds you.
I'm sitting in my room now,
looking out the window and wondering if Spike will ever come
back. He hasn't been around since the night he yelled at me and
I cried and told him to go away. That was such a strange and
horrible night. So many feelings just came flooding in all at
once, and it was too much. There was so much I'd been trying to
keep out. I don't know why he had to make me tell him all the
terrible things I did.
The thing was, he didn't seem
very surprised. He wasn't shocked and horrified, like my
friends, that sweet, dorky Willow could do those things and be
that bad. It seemed like he'd almost expected it, like he didn't
even think it was that big a deal. It was like he'd known all
along what was inside me, what I could do, what I really am.
It was kind of nice, feeling like
someone could see me like that, so deep into me he could almost
reach my bones. I didn't feel like I had to pretend, and that
was kind of a relief after all the pretending I've been doing
But it was also very
uncomfortable. I felt naked with him staring at me and making
his demands. I felt like he knew how dirty I really am. It
scared me. Most of the time I just want to hide. I guess that's
why I told him to leave me alone.
Now I sort of wish I hadn't said
that. What's wrong with me that I miss having someone lurking
around me, peering through my window at night? I must be really
I wonder if Xander knew how Spike
would feel about us bringing Buffy back. He seemed to be angry
about it, still. Angry that we didn't tell him. He thinks I kept
it from him because I knew it was a terrible mistake and that he
would have told me so and stopped me from doing it. But I didn't
know, diary. I swear to you. I thought it was right. I didn't
mean to leave him out or make him feel bad. I thought he'd just
be happy to see her alive again.
But that's me, diary. Wrong about
everything. Guess you're gonna have to get used to that.
I hope he's okay.
September 11, 2002
Sometimes I want to hurt Giles.
He'll be sitting at his desk, writing letters or opening his
mail, and I'll imagine levitating the pencil or the letter
opener out of his hand and driving it right through his eyeball.
I can't believe I could even
write that, let alone think it, but sometimes I do and it scares
me so much. It's like vertigo. I'll imagine doing it, and soon
enough I've gotten myself convinced that I'm going to do it,
whether I want to or not. It makes my stomach flutter, to think
of that moment right before the impact- that moment where I'd
just be flying. Then I think about Giles screaming and bleeding
and a pencil sticking out of his eye and I want to throw up. Or
God, diary, what's wrong with me?
Why do I imagine such things?
I could never tell this to anyone
Well, and maybe Spike, since he
seems to know everything about me already. Maybe that's why he
was following me around, because he knows I'm evil and wrong
inside. He used to be evil and wrong inside, before his soul
thingy. I think. Maybe not as evil as me, though.
No wonder Tara left me. I can't
even believe someone as good and pure as her could love someone
like me. I'm just lucky I got those last moments with her
I can't even think about that.
I wish Spike hadn't made me cry.
I was getting really good at the whole numb thing.
September 12, 2002
It is very late- almost 4 o'clock
in the morning- and I'm wide awake, hiding under my blanket with
you and a flashlight like I used to do when I was little. I
don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep. I've just had the
I was walking through the woods
by myself, carrying a dog or a wolf or some kind of animal, and
I realized there was something or someone following me. I
started to run and I ended up dropping the dogwolf thing and
stepping on it. I think it died. There was a lot of blood.
I was chased for a long time, and
eventually caught by Tara, Giles and Xander, but they weren't
themselves. They were gray and rotting and stinky and I knew
they were zombies who I'd brought back from the dead but hadn't
done a very good job on. Tara knocked me down and started
ripping through the flesh on my arm with her fingernails,
peeling off flaps of skin and eating them. She couldn't talk
cause she didn't have any teeth, but I heard her in my head
saying, "Why are you so afraid to be alone, Willow? I'll
bet you wish you were alone now."
I don't think that I want to go
back to sleep, diary. Not ever again.
I'm not going to tell the witches
about that dream. I don't want to know what it means.
I think that I miss Spike. If I
knew he was outside, I might not be having these terrible
dreams. He made them go away sometimes, I think. I wonder if the
ladies would let me do a locating spell to try and find him. Not
just for me, but because I'm worried about him a little. I
wonder if that would be the right thing to do.
Sometimes I get so annoyed with
them for trying to control my life, and other times I feel like
they don't tell me nearly enough. Sometimes I wish someone would
tell me all the answers to everything so I didn't have to think
at all. I want to do what's right, but I don't know how to
figure out what that is. I'm so afraid that every little thing I
want to do is wrong and that's why I don't do anything anymore
except what the witches and Giles tell me.
How am I supposed to know what's
right, diary? I'm just a crazy girl who brings people back from
the dead and then tries to make them forget why they don't like
I wonder when I got to be so
completely wrong. Have I always been like this and just never
knew before? The witches say you never know until you're tested,
but I thought I'd been tested already. I thought almost dying,
like fifty times, and facing five or six apocalypses...apocoli?...whatever,
end of worlds, I thought those were tests and I did pretty damn
good. But I guess whoever makes up the tests decided that I
hadn't proven myself enough.
Do they keep testing you, even
after you've failed so miserably? I hope not.
yours in paralyzing terror,
September 15, 2002
Something very strange has
happened. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do
now. I'm at the coven, in the bedroom they've made up for me.
I've been here
since this morning, and I guess I'm spending the night cause I'm
too tired to
go anywhere else.
I decided to ask about the
locating spell. I didn't really think it would be
that big of a deal, but when I mentioned it, it was like code
red here in
witch town. They all swarmed around and set up this weird
question me about whether or not I was ready and if I understood
responsibilities and blah blah blah. I thought they were talking
magic, and I didn't really care about that. I said "I'm
just trying to find
It was strange to say that, to
call Spike my friend, but I didn't know what
else to call him. He's not my enemy, right? And acquaintance
have the same ring to it. I guess he is my friend.
Anyway, when I said that one of
the ladies (I think it was Melinda) told me
that they weren't worried about the magic, that if I decided to
do it they'd
help me and we could do it here and it would be okay. She said
there were things I needed to see and understand before I could
decision. Then they brought out this weird glass ball thingy,
about the size
of a baseball but purple and sparkly, and someone handed it to
me and told me
to wrap my fingers around it.
I don't know how to explain what
happened when I held that ball. It was
like...I closed my eyes and everything went all kooky. Flashing
colors and swirls and a scary flying motion feeling, like that
scene in 2001 where the guy's flying through the netherworlds in
a pod. Except I didn't have a pod. Then I landed.
I guess I was...invisible? There
were people all around me, but they were
ignoring me, walking right past me without looking. Kinda like
high school. I think someone actually went right through me.
Everyone was dressed in
really formal, old fashioned clothes and everything seemed kind
Dream-like. It looked like a party, but not a very fun one.
I saw someone sitting on a couch
writing very intently, and I felt this really
strong need to get closer. I tried to walk, but I just kind of
floated over to him. My feet didn't really work. Once I got
there I realized who it was. It was Spike but, not. I could
hardly recognize him- he looked so different- but I knew it was
him. When he was human. And I knew suddenly that I had a choice.
I could stay and see what happened, or I could leave and go back
to the witches. I had the power to stop what was happening, but
I didn't want to stop. I wanted
to know. I'm not sure why, but I did.
I stayed, and it was so sad,
diary. I couldn't even believe it. Spike
was...well, he was a loser before he was a vampire. A real nerd,
He wrote this poem for this girl,
and it was- I want to say it was a good
poem, but it really wasn't, but still! He wrote a poem for her
and that's a
pretty neat thing for a guy to do for a girl, even if it's the
worst poem in
the history of the world, you know? But these stupid guys read
it out loud and made fun of him and she thought it was just
horribly embarrassing and
stupid and she shot him down hard and he was crying but trying
not to and I
just couldn't get over the fact that this was all SPIKE! I mean,
wow. It was
just really weird and really sad and I wanted to make it better
somehow, but I was invisible. So I just watched.
I watched him run into Drusilla,
and I knew what was gonna happen, but I
couldn't stop it. I had to see her biting him, and how he wanted
he thought it was going to make him special, and I couldn't tell
don't do it, you're already special, because I didn't have a
And then, oh my gosh, I saw so
much after that. I don't think I can
write it all down. I kept flying from moment to moment, watching
things that happened to Spike, all these things that he did, and
it felt like
a hundred years passing. It was really only a few hours, but I
think it would
take me a hundred years to tell you everything that I saw. I
don't even know
if I can remember it all.
I guess most of it can be broken
down into one of three categories: sex, violence, and drugs.
There's a lot of overlap. Mostly it's the sex. I don't know why
they showed me so much sex! It wasn't like, super-explicit or
anything. It was all foggy and opaque, like a sexy movie on
Skinnemax. I couldn't see anybody's parts or anything, but
still- so much sex. Sex with Dru, sex with Darla, sex with
Harmony, and oh! I found out the answer to my question about
Angelus. It turned out to be kind of disappointing. Not nearly
as sexy as I'd imagined it.
Yeah, I imagined it. So? Is there
something wrong with that? It was a long time ago, back when sex
seemed like a thing to be had. I don't know what I expected. Two
well-sculpted, half naked men frolicking around with a hose like
some cheesy gay porno? I dunno.
Anyway, it was more disturbing
than sexy. Long story short, it started out when William was
first turned with Angelus staking his claim on the new boy by
shoving William's face into the mattress and having his way with
him. I think the whole thing lasted about five minutes total,
and it really wasn't fun to watch at all. It looked painful, and
William was screaming into the pillow and trying to get away and
it wasn't even remotely sexy. It was just some sick power play.
The first of many. Many many many.
He didn't get to be with Dru for
a long time. The first few months it was mostly Angelus and him,
learning how to hunt and how to fight and how to be anally raped
without crying. Learning how to be a vampire I guess. He wasn't
very good at it at first. The first time Angelus tried to get
him to feed, he had no idea what to do. He just stared at the
scabby unfortunate Angelus had brought home and wrinkled his
"Am I supposed to eat
this?" he asked. I think Angelus probably hit him then. It
all started to kind of blur together. Darla was there that time,
sighing and shaking her head in the background.
"He doesn't have the
instincts, darling," she'd said. "He's defective. Why
don't we just send him back?"
But Angelus didn't want to give
up on him for some reason. I think he liked having another boy
around, personally. A pretty boy who was learning to do whatever
he said. Not without question, though. There were lots of
They had such a weird
relationship. Angelus was so many different things to William;
teacher, father, brother, tormentor, rapist, partner-in-crime.
And I could see how desperately William sought his approval, how
much he hated him and resented him and admired him and maybe
even loved him. I saw how everything in William's life, and
later Spike's, tied back to Angelus in one way or another.
He really did kill twenty-three
people the first night they took him out hunting, but it wasn't
like he told me. It wasn't a power-tripping feeding frenzy. It
was because he kept messing up. I don't know if he just
remembered it wrong or if he was trying to impress me or scare
me or what, but really, he was just very clumsy. Angelus was
trying to teach him the art of the perfect kill or something,
and they lurked around Whitechapel all night, but William never
quite got it right. Dru was there, and it seemed like he was
trying too hard to impress her. Maybe that's why he made so many
He did seem to gain more
confidence though, the more people he killed. He was a little
bit more cocky with each new person, and after awhile he started
to glow. It was scary.
Then they went home, and Angelus
beat him up.
Where was I again?
Oh yeah, Drusilla. Sex with
Drusilla. So, that didn't happen for a long time. She'd come to
his bedroom sometimes, wearing nothing but her modest Victorian
undies, and I could tell he was so worked up he was about to
burst, but he never made a move on her. I don't think he even
Then, one night Angelus brought
home a big bottle of Absinthe, and the four of them ended up in
bed together. At first it was just Angelus and "his
women", with William sitting in the chair, staring out the
window. He'd heard the three of them in there before. I saw him
sitting outside the door listening to them, knowing he wasn't
invited. The door was closed, and Angelus had taught him that
opening a closed door meant a particularly harsh beating. He'd
been whipped for it once before.
This time the door was open, but
he still felt excluded for some reason. He didn't think he was
allowed to join in, and he was really sad about that. It was so
weird, how much I could tell about his feelings even though he
wasn't really showing them that much. By then I was just so
close to his mind, it was like everything he felt was inside me
Anyway, eventually Dru called him
over, and Angelus nodded his permission, so he joined in the big
old orgy and finally got to touch girls.
I watched them all- beautiful,
naked bodies writhing together in pleasure and abandon- and, I'm
so embarrassed to say this, diary, but I got a little turned on.
It was all so gentle, and sensual. Not degrading or upsetting or
violent like the other times I'd seen. I guess that's what I'd
been wanting from Angelus and Spike, but maybe they needed the
women there for that. And I'm sure the Absinthe didn't hurt.
It's been so long since I felt
anything like that, since I've...oh, it doesn't matter. It was
just really strange for me. What am I, some kind of creepy
peeping Tom? Ugh.
Anyway, everyone seemed to enjoy
themselves except, strangely enough, Drusilla. Most of the
attention was on her most of the time, but she was the only one
who didn't, um, finish.
William tried again lots of times
after that, and he was always the way he'd been that night-
gentle, loving, a little bit nervous- and she was the same way
too. She always seemed kind of bored. Distracted, I guess.
Sometimes she'd start talking about her dolls or
"daddy" when he was...in her. I don't know if William
really cared. He probably thought women were just like that.
Isn't that what most Victorian men thought?
Well, one day he found out that
she wasn't always like that. One day Angelus brought the two of
them down to the basement and gave William a new lesson. He
chained him up and showed him how to give Dru a good time.
I don't want to get into it too
much, cause it's like, 3 AM here and I haven't even gotten into
the 20th century, but let's just say there were whips and
candles and razor blades involved. It was horrible- the saddest
thing I think I saw, which is saying a lot cause there wasn't
too much happy in this whole tour of the life of Spike. Poor
William, having to stand there and watch another man giving the
woman he loved such sick sexual pleasure, over and over again,
when he himself couldn't do it at all because he wouldn't have
even thought of hurting her on his own.
Things were different between
William and Drusilla after that. And between Angelus and
William. It was like something snapped in him, and for a few
months he was just simmering with resentment and anger, but
nobody seemed to notice. Until he went completely nuts.
Angelus had lots of rules in his
house, and one of them was about the sort of people they should
kill. Homeless people, drunks, prostitutes, serving wenches,
anyone who wouldn't be missed. Anyone whose death wouldn't
attract attention. Well, one night William decided to take Dru
and sneak out. He told her they were going to a party, and
that's just where they went. It was a party like the one I'd
seen him at back in the beginning, when he was human. Exactly
like, in fact. Almost all the same people were there. Not the
horrible woman who rejected him, but a lot of the other ones.
None of them seemed to recognize or notice him. Well, not till
he started killing people. He reminded them all, who he was and
what they'd done to him. It was...
I don't know what it was. It was
horrible to watch. I'd seen him killing and all, but not like
this. Never so savage and feral and, well, happy. He seemed
almost giddy about the whole thing. There was so much blood and
screaming and it was all so icky, and he enjoyed every minute of
Why was I surprised? I mean, he
is a vampire so, duh. But until then he hadn't really enjoyed
it, I don't think. He just sort of did it cause it was what was
expected of him. But this time, this time he was having fun. It
was his revenge, and his rebellion, and everything else he
seemed to have been waiting for all his life.
That's when he took his name. He
hammered a railroad spike through the eye of one of the guys
who'd made fun of him that night, just like I was imagining with
Giles and the letter opener the other day. God, what's wrong
Anyway, Dru called him Spike
after that and he seemed to like it cause he insisted on
everyone using that name from then on. They did it right there,
in the room with all the corpses, and he was different with her-
more aggressive and violent- and she finally seemed to like it.
She didn't go as crazy as she had with Angelus, but she was
there. She was with him.
They got in a lot of trouble for
that. Run out of town, and Angelus was furious for weeks. It was
the beginning of a cycle that didn't really end until he left
Which I guess I'd better cut to,
Darla never told them why he
left. The first time she assured them he'd be back, and the
second time she sat Spike down and told him daddy was gone for
"Where did he go?"
Spike asked. Darla tossed her wine glass against the wall, just
barely missing Spike's head. .
"It doesn't matter, William!
Stop asking such infernal questions and get out of my
He started to leave, but turned
back at the last minute with a look of realization.
"Hey, that means I'm in
charge now, yeah?"
She gave him a cold glare and did
this annoying sniffy laugh thing she was always doing. "Is
that what it means, now?" she asked, and it was really
obvious that it wasn't what it meant at all, but he was so
"Yeah, well, I'm the man
"Oh, I see. The man. Well,
"And, I killed a slayer,
so...I know you're old and all, but I think the man thing and
the slayer thing take precedence."
"Hmm, interesting theory,
William. Very interesting."
"It's Spike, you..." he
started, but didn't get to finish because she did this really
quick turn/punch/kick thing and had him against the wall with a
piece of broken glass pressing into his jugular vein in like,
"All right, Spike," she
said, sneering his name. "You listen and listen good. I am
in charge of this family. I have always been in charge of this
family. I let Angelus play his little discipline games with you
and Drusilla because, frankly, I didn't have the time or the
patience for either of you. But Angelus answered to me, and from
here on out you will too, unless you want to end up a pile of
dust under my boot. Understand?"
There was blood starting to drip
out of his neck, but he was grinning and giving her what I've
come to recognize as his sex look. Creepy.
Well, after that night it was the
three of them and Darla was in charge, but Spike questioned her
constantly. They fought almost continuously, and eventually
started to have sex after, or sometimes during, their fights. It
was something Angelus had never allowed- even when the four of
them were together Spike was barely permitted to touch Darla-
and probably not anything Darla ever wanted, but he was the man
and I guess she was horny.
Dru was really devastated, and
after seeing their whole history I can honestly say I don't
think she ever got completely over it. She talked about him all
the time, wondering when he was coming back and whining when she
was told he never would. I don't know if Spike ever really
recovered either. From his presence or his absence.
They stayed with Darla till
sometime in the fifties, when she went to live with the Master,
and after that they both seemed a bit happier. Spike was finally
in charge, and Dru depended on him completely. Until Angelus
Oh, I'm so tired, diary. I wish I
had the energy to tell you the rest right now, but I think I've
worn myself out. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow I'll finish, or at least
get through a couple more years, but for right now I need to
yours in confusion and
September 16, 2002
Well, I didn't end up sleeping
very much after all. Mostly I sat awake in bed thinking about
Spike and wondering why the ladies showed me all that stuff. I
came to a couple of conclusions. First of all, I think they were
trying to scare me away from him. I think they don't want me to
talk to him because he's too crazy or complicated or dangerous,
but the second thing I realized is that I really really need to
He's never had a friend, you
know. I think I understand now, why he was so mad that night we
fought, and why he thinks I'm so lucky. He's right. I am lucky.
I've always had someone who was really there for me. I've always
been loved. Spike has never, ever had that. Not for real. And
now that he has a soul, I think he might need it more than ever.
He might not think he deserves it, but he definitely needs it.
There's a lot more stuff that
happened to him, but I don't think I need to sit here and write
it all down right now. I promise I'll tell you the whole story
sometime, or maybe I'll be able to convince Spike to write it. I
think it would make a really good novel or something. Or maybe a
manual for the stupid Watcher's Council. I'm starting to think
those guys are even more full of it than we imagined. Anyway,
the point is, when I thought about it last night I realized that
everything he's ever done has been to impress someone else. To
make someone like him. But no one ever really has.
He's done a lot of terrible
things. Some things I can't even write about or think about or
deal with at all yet, but at the core...I don't know how to
explain it, but even without the soul he wasn't like other
vampires. And now he has a soul and he must be feeling just so
I think I can help him. I think I
know what he's feeling and I think I can be his friend, for
real. And I want to. I want to so much.
I need to go now. I need to go
tell them that I'm doing the spell, whether they want to help me
September 19, 2002
Well, I found him. It didn't go
They let me do the spell, which
was weird 'cause I haven't done magic in forever, but that part
actually went pretty okay. I didn't collapse or freak out or go
on a bender so, I guess that's progress.
He didn't go back to Sunnydale
like I was afraid he might, but it was worse than that in a way.
I made a little light ball to track him down, and it led me to
what has to be the skeeviest bar, or, I guess, pub in the
country of England. I didn't even want to go in when I saw it.
But it was scary standing around outside with all the bums and
ladies of the evening, so I poofed the ball away and went
He was slumped over the bar with
a cigarette talking to a girl in a leopard print miniskirt. I
think she was, like, twelve. It was really dark and smoky and
gross in there and I wanted to leave pretty badly, but I'd gone
there for a reason and I was determined.
I walked over to him, trying to
ignore the way my shoes stuck to the floor, and poked him. He
looked at me over his shoulder and his eyes were all glazed and
spacey looking. He laughed all drunkey-like, and poked me back,
right between my eyes. I think he thought I was a hallucination
or something. He looked surprised when his finger touched real,
"What are you doing
here?" he asked me.
"Can we talk somewhere more
privatey?" I asked, 'cause the girl was staring at me and I
didn't want her listening to us.
Then she asked, get this one,
"Who's this, Spikey?" Like I was the skanky stranger
And he said, "My
sister." Can you believe that? He really can be a jerk
So, he dragged me over to this
dark table in the corner and asked me again what I was doing
there. There was a droopy candle stuffed into a wine bottle
sitting on top of the table, and he took out his Zippo and lit
it. I remember that because I thought it was kind of a strange
thing to do.
"I was in the neighborhood,
big brother," I said.
"Yeah, right," he
snorted. "Try again."
I guess it was a pretty weak
explanation. I don't think anyone's ever just "in the
neighborhood" in that particular neighborhood unless
they're looking for drugs or 'hos. And I guess Spike didn't
think I'd be looking for those things, which, duh. Doesn't take
a brain surgeon. He knew I was there because he was there. He
just wanted to know why.
"I-I wanted to talk to
you," I said. I was really nervous, now that it was
actually happening. He was looking so drunk and angry and I
hadn't prepared for that but, in retrospect that was really very
stupid. After everything I'd seen I should've known. I knew he
wouldn't hurt me physically- probably still couldn't- but I was
starting to wonder if he'd be as happy as I'd expected about my
offer of friendship.
"Oh, now you wanna talk to
me," he said. "What makes you think I wanna talk to
"Well, you did before."
Okay, so that was another stupid
thing to say. I told you, I was nervous!
He took a drink then slammed his
glass down on the table, making me jump.
"Yeah, I did before. Didn't
get much of a response. Funny how the tables turn."
Well, that just annoyed me. I
mean, sure I'd been kind of stand-offish and non-talky, but I'd
ended up telling him a lot in the end. And now here I was,
opening myself up again, trying to do something nice and good.
"I responded!" I said.
"I spilled my guts to you. Remember?"
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Then you told me to get lost. So, here I am, gettin'
God, I'm not doing this justice
at all. I can't even explain to you how completely odd it was to
be sitting there with him after seeing all those intimate
details from his life. I felt so creepy, like I'd been peeping
or something, but it also made me feel so much more for him than
I ever have before. Ugh. That sounds weird too. I just felt like
I knew him, which was strange because he'd always been like,
this big mystery guy to me. Maybe not as big a mystery as, say,
Angel, but still. I never felt like I understood Spike or like I
really wanted to, but now I did and for some reason, I liked it.
I liked him, I realized. In spite of all the horrible things I'd
seen him do, I really, genuinely liked him.
But he was being such a pest!
"Spike, come on, I
just...I'm sorry about all that. I guess I wanted to tell you
that I think you were right. We should be, um...friends." I
think I said something like that. It was stammery and lame like
"When did I say we should be
friends?" he asked.
"Well, it was implied!"
"I think you mean
inferred," he said, like a big smartass. "I wasn't
implying. You were inferring."
"I was not inferring! You
He sighed heavily and said,
"Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind."
I could tell how much I'd hurt
him by sending him away like that, and it occurred to me that it
was the same thing people had always done to him. No one had
ever really given him a chance, really seen him for what he was.
It made me sad, and also more determined.
"I don't care if you changed
your mind," I told him. "We're gonna be friends,
whether you like it or not. So there."
"Don't need any
friends," he growled and took another drink. "Now
"You do need friends.
Everybody needs friends. And you don't have any. And now you've
got a big old soul making you feel lousy, so you probably need
one more than ever. So, you should be happy to have one, 'cause
I'm a good one to have."
Stupid ramble number three from
Willow. Honestly, diary, I can be such a retard sometimes.
"Oh, so it's pity,
then," he said. "Come out to play nice with the town
wretch to make up for your evil doings, is that it?"
I tried to tell him no, it wasn't
that at all, but he was done with me. He wouldn't even look at
He told me to bugger off again,
that he was doing just fine, thank-you-very-much, and that the
soul didn't make a bit of difference to him. He was still the
same old Spike, and he didn't need anybody. I so didn't believe
him, about any of it, but I knew he wasn't gonna budge. But
before I left I said, "Fine. You want to sit around some
gross, sticky bar drinking bad whiskey and flirting with
twelve-year-old prostitutes, that's fine. But if you change your
mind, if you want somebody to talk to or yell at or whatever,
you can come over and I'll be happy to see you. And it isn't
pity, you stupid jerk!"
Then I came home. And here I am,
talking to you.
I wonder if I should try to find
him again. I don't know if I did all I could, and I know I said
all the wrong things. I just didn't know how to handle it. I'm
I know he's in some kind of
denial about the soul- trying to be Mister Cool like always,
when he's really dying inside. I can just see it, you know? It's
almost pitifully obvious and I don't know how I didn't really
notice before. Guess I just wasn't paying attention. Too wrapped
up in my own junk and just wanting him to leave me alone. But
seeing everything that happened to him, it's like I can see into
Too bad I still say the stupidest
God, I used to be so good at
being a friend. I don't know when I
Oh my gosh, someone's throwing
rocks at my window. It must be Spike!
September 29, 2002
I'm so sorry I haven't written in
such a long time. Things have been really crazy and busy, and
this is the first chance I've had. I guess I should start with
what happened the other night when Spike came to my window.
Ugh! Giles is calling me for my
stupid tea. I hate my stupid tea! Spike says there's sedatives
in it. I don't want to be sedated anymore. Maybe I'll just
pretend to drink it.
I'll write in a little bit.
October 12, 2002
Well, I've been neglecting you
for almost two weeks now. Definitely time to catch up.
But first, I think there's
something I need to tell you. It's something I saw when I was
watching the whole life-of-Spike show at the coven. I never
finished telling you everything about that, and I still don't
have time for all of it, but there is one thing I think is
important to write down.
I think it's important for me to
write it down now because I need to make sure I realize that
it's real. I can't pretend it didn't happen. I know we're gonna
have to talk about it at some point, because it's huge and I
think it's the main reason Spike didn't go back to Sunnydale
when he first got his soul back. I think it's one of the things
that's haunting him the most right now, even though he's never
spoken of it. He doesn't speak a lot about anything that's
bothering him, but I just know, you know?
So, enough with the pre-ramble. I
should just spit it out. So. Here goes.
Spike almost raped Buffy.
Wow, that looks even worse on
paper than I thought it would.
But it's not exactly as bad as it
sounds. I mean, it wasn't like, gung-ho, funtime rape. I
mean...what do I mean? This is so hard to explain. It's just, he
didn't go in there intending to do that, you know? He didn't
even go intending to have sex with her. It was like he kind of
lost his mind while he was standing there talking to her. Like
something snapped and he wasn't even hearing her anymore. He
just knew how he'd gotten through to her in the past, and it was
like he was on auto-pilot. Not like that's some great excuse or
something. But it was really horrible for him, and I can't
believe I'm saying this but I felt pretty bad for him.
It's just that I think I know how
he felt. I know what it's like to want so desperately for
someone to love you, to stay with you, to forgive. I know what
it's like to feel like you'd do anything, anything at all to
keep the person you need, and to drive them away with that very
desperation and what it causes you to do.
He needed her to love him, and he
told himself that she did, she just couldn't admit it. He tried
to make her feel it, to force it out of her the only way he
could think of. And it was a way that had worked with her, in a
sense, lots of times before.
God, it was so terrible, watching
their whole sordid relationship unfold in front of me like some
disturbing sex movie. It made me feel some very strange, and not
very good things for Buffy, for Spike, and for myself for being
the one who brought her back so completely fucked up. It's no
wonder he was still mad at me about that.
I really don't want to make it
seem like what he did was okay, but the thing is, I know he's
not like, some big psycho rapist. I mean, yeah, he and Dru did
some sex stuff with some of their victims, but that was mostly
her idea, and most of them were consenting, and that was when he
thought of people as food which- when you think about it- is
sort of the natural order of things, what with vampires being on
top of the food chain and all, and really, compared to some of
the horrible things people do to animals before they eat them,
it's not that
Oh, brother. I need to stop this
right now. Buffy and Giles would kill me if they knew I was
thinking stuff like this.
The point is, I don't think what
happened in the bathroom was what you'd call a typical night for
Spike. Even when he kidnapped me, and he was looking
all...hungry, all I had to do was tell him no and he backed off
completely. And he was drunk then, and soulless, and he didn't
care about me at all.
I know he felt awful about what
happened with Buffy, even without the soul. I saw it, even as it
was happening. I can't even imagine what he's feeling now.
Well, actually, yes I can. I'm
not exactly she of the superior moral compass, now am I? Who am
I to even think of judging him, or her? Just the things I did to
Tara alone...in a way it was worse than anything Spike ever did
to Buffy. I raped her mind.
I raped her mind. God, what kind
of person does that? I can't even think about that right now.
The point is, really, Spike's got
more soul than James Brown now, and even Buffy would have to
admit that in Angel's case a soul meant immediate forgiving and
forgetting without question. I mean, jeez, she was mad at Xander
when he didn't wanna be bestest friends with Angel after Angelus
terrorized us all for months and killed Miss Calendar. So I
don't see why Spike is any less deserving of the same courtesy.
I have to go. I'm supposed to
meet Spike in a half an hour. I promise promise promise I'll
catch you up with everything when I get home.
Okay, it's midnight now, and I'm
supposed to be sleeping, but I promised I'd write, and I'm not
tired anyway so here goes. I'll try to get down as much as I can
Let's see, where did I leave off
before I got so totally sidetracked? Oh yeah, Spike throwing
rocks at my window.
Well, when I saw him down there
on the street I got so excited I ran down there in my stupid,
ugly sweatpants and a pair of flip-flops without even thinking.
We just looked at each other for a minute, and it was a little
awkward, but I tried to pretend I didn't notice. I said hi, and
he said hi, and then he asked me, "Do you like ice
Well, I think we all know the
answer to that.
We walked to the place a few
blocks from here that has ice cream and pastries and coffee and
stuff, and we didn't say much, except he made some stupid joke
about wanting to open a dessert place called "Just
Desserts" and I laughed sorta too much at that. I didn't
have the heart to tell him there's already a dessert place
called that in San Francisco.
I think he was still drunk. He
was walking a little funny and smelled like Xander's dad.
When we got to the ice cream
place, he realized he didn't have any money left, so I had to
spend my piddly allowance on a giant sundae for us to split and
a cup of black coffee for him. I didn't mind, but he looked kind
We sat down at a table outside so
we could look out on the street at the people going by, and
continued to be fairly quiet. I was afraid to talk about any of
our previous conversations, and he was looking strangely shy, so
I decided to ask him random questions.
"Do vampires go to the
bathroom?" was the first one.
He stared at me with his mouth
full of ice cream and gave me a funny half-smile. I could tell
there was a smart ass remark on the tip of his tongue, but he
ended up just giving me a straight answer.
"I do. Sometimes. Less than
you, probably, but more than most other vampires."
I asked him why, and he pointed
to the sundae.
"Most vamps don't need to.
Most vamps don't like ice cream and onion rings and chocolate
chip cookies and potato chips. S'gotta go somewhere."
"So how come you like to eat
people food?" I asked.
He said, "Guess I'm not your
average bear," and stuffed another spoonful of ice cream
into his mouth.
"Do you sweat?"
"But your hair grows,
He smirked at that and nodded.
It's been hard not to. He's got a
big brown and white afro-thing going on.
I asked him a bunch of other dumb
questions like that, and I won't bore you with the rest, but
eventually he was like, "Why are you so bloody curious
about this, Red? Not thinking of becoming one of us again, are
And I remembered exactly what he
was talking about when he said that. The time I asked him about
it, when he was tied up in the bathtub and I wanted to know if
becoming a vampire would take away my pain.
So, it was my turn to be
embarrassed. I was so pathetic that day, and I let him kiss me
even though I knew he was just trying to freak me out. I'll have
to tell you about all that sometime, diary. It's not a pretty
Anyway, I must've turned bright
red or something 'cause he made some comment about vampires not
being able to blush so nicely, embarrassing me even further.
I told him I didn't want to be a
vampire, I just wanted to know what it was like for him because
if we were gonna be friends it was important for me to know
stuff like that. He got all quiet again, but also kind of smiley
which was really nice and surprising. I don't know if I'd ever
seen him smile before that.
He walked me home after the ice
cream, and on the walk I asked him another question that was
slightly less dopey than the others. I asked him if he thought
the soul he had now was the same one he started with, back when
he was William.
I told him that even though I'd
done the whole soul restoration spell for Angel, I still didn't
really get how it worked. What happens to someone's soul when
they're vamped? Does it get stored away in a magical box
somewhere until the vamp body dies just in case someone decides
to bring it back? Or is it just floating around in nothingness
for eternity? Is that what happens to everyone's soul when they
die? What about heaven or reincarnation or ghosts?
He seemed to think my questions
were pretty funny.
"You're looking for answers
I don't have, pet," he said. "I don't know what the
meaning of life is, or what happens when you die. I can't tell
you which religion is right or why bad things happen to good
people. I think this soul is the same one I started with, but
there's really no way of knowing for sure. And it sure as hell
doesn't remember where it's been."
"Does it talk to you?"
I don't know what made me ask
that, but it struck a nerve. He stopped walking and gave me a
really funny look.
"Sometimes," he said.
"Sometimes I think it does. I hear voices...arguing voices.
Sometimes...they say horrible things. I think it's the soul and
the demon, going back and forth like a little angel and devil on
my shoulder. Only thing they agree on's that I suck." Then
he shook his head and kind of laughed. "I must sound like a
"No, no that makes sense. I
mean, it's like, this thing that just moved into your body. And
there's all this other stuff in there already so it's probably
He nodded, like that made sense.
I thought about mentioning how he didn't really seem that
dramatically different now that he had this soul, how with Angel
it was so completely apparent when it was there and when it
wasn't, but for once I was thinking before I opened my mouth and
let the babble fly. I had a feeling he might be offended by that
somehow, so I just kept it to myself.
And I'm glad I didn't say that,
because really, he is different. He's quieter, and more
thoughtful, and sadder looking. And he's nicer, and seems to
dislike himself a lot more than the Spike of yore. I guess it's
just that Angelus was SO freaking evil, and Spike was never
really that completely demented, so the differences are less
When we got home there was more
awkwardness of a slightly date-like persuasion. Neither of us
knew exactly what to say or do. Were we going to do this again?
Would he call me? Did he have a phone? Was a handshake an
appropriate goodbye? Or a hug?
I settled on waving like a goon
and he just smiled.
"You can, uh, come
over...sometime," I stammered. "I mean, if you want to
uh, get ice cream or something. I'm always here. Except when I
go to the coven. But you know that. So, just...throw rocks or
God, I'm such a dweeb.
But he came back. A couple nights
later there were more rocks, and there was more ice cream and
conversation, and it was really very nice. I don't remember so
much what we talked about that time. There were three or four
other times after that and they're all sort of blurring
together. I know one of the nights, about a week ago, I took him
to the cathedral.
I've been going there sometimes,
to write in the other journal I keep for the witches, and it's
really peaceful and pretty. They have nice comfy benches in the
courtyard, and sometimes they ring the bells and it sounds so
I asked him if he minded being
around some crosses, and he said no, not as long as he didn't
have to touch them. So, we walked over there that night and sat
for a really long time, just not saying or doing anything. It
was a really good silence, though. Not an icky, uncomfortable,
"we have nothing to say type" silence, but a
"we're comfortable enough to feel like it's okay not to say
anything" type silence.
After awhile I told him my secret
about that place.
"I see ghosts here
sometimes," I said. "Over there, by the
I expected him to laugh or
question me or at least act surprised, but he seemed to know
exactly what I was talking about.
"I think I see them
too," he said. "I hear them all the time. Wonder if
there's anyone I killed buried over there."
Well, that was a little creepy.
But for some reason it made me feel like less of a weirdo.
I told him I went there to write
sometimes, that it was helping me a little to keep these
journals, and he was pretty interested in that. I told him maybe
it would be a good idea for him, and when he walked me home that
night I ran inside and got one of my blank notebooks to give to
When I brought it out to him he
gave me another one of those shy, sweet smiles and I felt really
proud of myself. I hope he's been writing in it.
I asked him tonight to show me
where he's been living, but he didn't want to. I'm kind of
scared he's sleeping in the sewer or something. I'd ask him to
stay here but, well, Giles would kill me.
I need to go to sleep now. I
think it's almost dawn.
October 15, 2002
I love the fall. The changing
leaves and the crisp, sweet-smelling air. The shopping for
notebooks and pens and folders and binders. The thrill of
flipping through a never-before-opened textbook.
It's fall here, and I've got the
air and the leaves, but there is no academic excitement in
Willow land. I miss school. I miss everything.
October 19, 2002
I just got home from a really
intense ice cream night with Spike. I feel very strange right
now. I need to get this all out before I go to bed or I'll never
I don't know why, but for some
reason I decided to ask him how long it had been since he's
Great sundae chit-chat, I know.
He asked me if I meant a someone
with a soul, or a demonic someone, and I felt pretty stupid
'cause he used to be a demonic someone without a soul, and there
I was thinking those kinds of someones didn't count. Ugh.
I told him I meant the souly
kind, the kind he ate.
"Almost four years
now," he said. "Unless you count those ones Dru did
for me, but that wasn't the same."
I guess I knew that. I saw that
stuff happening, but all the things I saw that night are
starting to blur together in my memory.
"Do you miss it?" I
asked him. "What's it like?"
"I think you know what it's
like." He smirked and pointed his spoon at me.
He had a point, but it seemed
different somehow. For me it was a twisted bender of insanity.
For him it had been a way of life.
"It's like nothing
else," he said. "To feel the life coursing through my
veins, to take a life and make it my own, to have that kind of
The look in his eyes was starting
to get a little spooky.
I don't know why I even brought
all of this up. It's just been on my mind I guess.
"But you weren't really in
control," I pointed out. "I mean, it was feeding the
bloodlust, which kind of controlled you in a way, right?"
"Well, aren't we the
insightful little addict?"
I guess he had a point. Giving
into my magic lust was sort of the same. I felt like it gave me
control, but really, it took all my control away, took me away
from myself, which I guess is what I truly wanted. I hate the
way he does that- turn things away from himself and back to me.
"So you do miss it?" I
asked again. "I know you did when you just had the chip,
"Sometimes I miss it.
Sometimes a monster's a good thing to be."
"Better than a nerd,
I realized then that I was sort
of giving myself away. I wasn't supposed to know about his past.
For some reason I've been really afraid to tell him that whole
thing happened. I thought he might question me, but I guess he
just thought I was talking about myself.
I remembered what he'd said that
night- I guess it was Christmas- about being Geek the Girl
wasn't as bad as being a dog faced boy or whatever, and I
expected a similar answer, but he didn't give me that either. He
"It is better. In some
ways." He sat there for what seemed like a really long
time, holding his spoon and staring at me. No, not at me,
through me. And then he said, "In some ways I think...I
believe that I actually chose it. I believe that I had a choice,
at some point, to accept the demon or to reject it. To try and
maintain my humanity, or to rebuild myself into the monster it
wanted me to be. I had a choice, and I made it. A test...I was
tested, and I failed."
He looked severely haunted,
diary, and I started to really notice the dark circles under his
eyes, the unshavenness, the not-entirely-cleanness, the messy,
demented-clown, graying at the roots hair. I had no idea
vampires could go gray. He's been looking crazier and crazier
"I think I know what you
mean," I told him. "I think I sort of chose what I
became, too. I liked the monster better than the girl."
I kind of startled myself, saying
that, but it was really the truth. I just hadn't thought about
it that way before. I'd chosen the monster, again and again, at
the expense of everything I loved, at the expense of what was
most important to me. Then I used the monster to try and get it
all back. So so many times. It all sort of hit me at once in
that moment, all the horrible choices I've made since I started
with the magic, and the reasons I made those choices and how
completely awful they really were.
And it also hit me how Spike had
done the same thing, how he'd reacted to that initial rejection
by rebuilding himself into the shape of a monster the same way
I'd done as a reaction to Xander's rejection, and Oz's, and the
entire student body of Sunnydale High School...
And I realized then how
completely fucked up we both are. Beyond even what people
probably think. We're talking severe pathology here. I mean,
isn't that what serial killers do? Choose the monster over the
pathetic loser they think they are? Isn't that like, the profile
of Son of Sam?
Maybe the coven isn't enough for
me. Maybe I need some drugs.
I guess there's always the tea. I
told Giles I didn't want to drink it anymore, finally, and he
said that was all right, which was good 'cause I'd been pouring
it down the sink for the past four or five weeks anyway. But now
I'm thinking some nice, bracing sedation would be kind of a
"You were only a monster for
a day," he said. Like that would have made a difference,
even if it had been true.
"No, Spike, I've been a
monster for a long time. Longer than I can even..."
I started crying, like a big
wussy moron. I tried not to let him see, but he did. He was real
sweet about it- gave me a napkin to wipe my face, and reached
across the table to squeeze my hand. And then...he didn't let it
go. We just sat there, holding hands at the ice cream shop like
Peggy Sue and...whoever Peggy Sue's boyfriend was. Neither of us
said anything, and we were looking at each other, and hand
holding for like, five minutes or so.
Then somebody put a really loud
song on the jukebox, and I jumped, and he let me go.
I don't know what it meant,
diary, but it was really sort of nice.
We didn't talk much more after
that. He walked me home, like always, but he was quiet, and I
had no idea what to say. I felt like we'd been making out or
"Where do you live,
Spike?" I finally asked him, when we got back to Giles's.
It was all I could think of. It's just been really bugging me
lately that I can't go visit him when I feel like it, the way he
He said, "In a hole, with
the mole people," and gave me a completely unreadable
smile/wink thing. "Maybe you can come over some time."
Then he left.
I feel really weird.
Oh my God. What the hell was
I just woke up, and it's 4 in the
morning or something, but I had to write this down 'cause...what
I just had the craziest dream
ever. It started out with me changing my clothes in the locker
room at Sunnydale Junior High- which I attended from 6th to 8th
grade- but I was me now, not me then. I was pulling on my old
white gym shorts and I realized I was getting my period, and I
thought this must be a dream because this has already happened
See, the first time I got my
period I was in gym class, in 7th grade, in those stupid,
idiotic white shorts they made us wear. I used to get teased a
lot, but that was like, the pinnacle. That was the event that
people who were there never forgot, and never let me forget. My
nickname was Redshorts for a long time.
So anyway, I realized I was
dreaming cause I was staining those goddamn shorts again, but
realizing that didn't make it any better. I started to panic and
tried to get the shorts off but they wouldn't go. Then I heard
footsteps coming closer and got even more upset. I was looking
around for something to put over my lap at least, but there was
nothing around. I knew whoever it was would make fun of me, and
I was praying it wouldn't be Buffy or Tara or someone else I
care about. It turned out to be Spike.
I practically screamed when I saw
him standing there, and I really felt like crying because I
thought getting teased by him about this would be the absolute
worst thing ever, but he was looking at me like...I don't know
how to describe that look, but it wasn't pity, and it wasn't
ridicule, but it scared the hell out of me.
He wasn't all messy anymore,
either. He was shaved, and his hair was like it used to be and
he looked clean and nice and good.
"Don't cry, love," he
said, and started moving towards me. I was sitting on a wooden
bench in front of my locker, and the blood was starting to
spread all onto the wood and drip onto the floor. It was a
ridiculous amount of blood, and I couldn't help but cry.
"Why won't it stop?" I
asked him, frantic. "Can't you make it stop?"
"I don't want it to
stop," he said. "Just relax. No one's coming."
And I realized that he was right.
Before he came there was a lot of noise echoing all over the
locker room- the shrieking, giggling, metal-door-slamming sounds
of a hundred girls changing at once. I couldn't actually see
anyone, but I knew they were there. But now it was gone. It was
just me and Spike.
When he got to where I was
sitting he dropped to his knees in front of me, and suddenly I
wasn't afraid or ashamed anymore. He smiled up at me and, sort
of...ran his tongue over my thigh. Totally weird to write now,
but in the dream it seemed perfectly normal. Perfectly good.
He licked some more, and
eventually got most of the blood off my legs. He was making
these moaning sounds, like he couldn't get enough, and then he
got up to the uh, shorts-covered areas and just kept on going.
At first he was just licking my shorts, but eventually he pulled
them off and...how can I say this delicately? I guess there is
no delicate way. He went down on me, right there in the locker
room, with my bloody vagina leaking all over the place. And I
really really liked it.
I liked it beyond the fact that
someone was going down on me. It was more than that. It was the
fact that I was giving him something he needed too, and that it
was something I always thought was bad about me, but it turned
out to be good for him. I was giving him life. And, you know,
tongue between the legs- not usually a terrible thing.
I came in the dream, and it was
so intense I think I might have actually done it in my sleep
too. I feel like I might have.
I'm still shaking even now.
God, that was...
What was that?
Maybe I'm spending too much time
with Spike. This is just not normal. I'm supposed to be
concentrating on me, and getting better and stuff. Not having
perverted dreams about vampires.
Tomorrow, diary, I'm going to
tell you about the other stuff in my life. I just flipped
through this thing, and it's like, the story of Spike. It's too
much. I need to stop. I'm starting to get scared.
yours in a panic and confusion,
October 20, 2002
Okay, here goes. Non-Spike
Went to the coven last weekend
for a retreat. Made soap. Meditated five times.
Had terrible dream three nights
ago about flies coming out of my eyeballs.
Heard Giles and Olivia having sex
yesterday morning. Very disturbing.
I miss Tara. Every minute of
Xander called last week. Didn't
tell him I've been hanging out with vampire who shall remain
nameless in this entry.
Collapsed in the kitchen after
Xander's phone call for no apparent reason. Forced by Giles to
drink strange blueish cleansing concoction. Went to the bathroom
for two hours.
God, could my life be any lamer?
November 1, 2002
Well, I haven't written awhile.
I've tried, but every time I sat down to do it, all I could
think to write about was Spike. I guess there's no getting
around it. He's the only interesting thing in my life right now.
He's the only reason I'm not still walking around like a zombie.
So, I guess it's okay if I tell you more about him. I know you
won't tell anyone.
We went to the movies last night,
after our ice cream. For Halloween, I guess, even though they
don't have that here. I hadn't been to the movies in what seemed
like years, and it was really nice sitting there in the dark and
letting somebody else's fantasy wash over me. Forgot how good
that feels. We shared some popcorn and our buttery fingers
brushed together in the bucket a few times. Tried not to notice
how good that felt.
After the movie Spike stopped in
the lobby to play some stupid video game, and I noticed they had
one of those photo booths where you sit on top of all your
friends and get four terrible pictures for two dollars. For some
reason it made me really sad looking at it, thinking of the
times me and Buffy and Xander would do goofy things like that
and how fun it was. Thinking of how we'd never do anything like
that again, probably.
I asked Spike if he thought I was
old- too old to do goofy, teen-agery things- and he laughed.
"Yeah," he said.
"I'm a hundred and forty-six, playin' Space Invaders, and
you're too old."
"Well, come with me,
I grabbed his hand and dragged
him over to that stupid photo booth and told him to sit down
inside. He was looking at me like I was a crazy person, which is
probably not far from the truth. The bench was too small for two
people, so I sat down on his knee and put the money in, and
thought maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. I felt
him stiffen- no, not like that- and he inhaled, and I inhaled,
and I realized I was actually sitting on his knee, but before we
knew it the camera was going and then it was over. I jumped off
quick 'cause...well, I was sitting on his knee!
He smelled really good, diary. I
don't really know why. I don't think he's taken a shower in,
like, months, but I guess vampires don't get stinky like people.
No B.O. or anything. Just...I don't know what. Spikeyness.
When the pictures came out, I
laughed harder than I have in forever because my head was cut
into weird pieces in most of them, and one of them was just my
mouth in this really funky expression and it was just very
funny. Like it used to be. But when I showed them to Spike, he
"Why didn't you tell
me?" he asked me, all angry-like.
"Huh?" I had no idea
what he was talking about.
"I look like Charles Manson
He looked genuinely upset, and I
felt like asking him, "What do you expect to look like when
you don't cut your hair, or shave, or take a freaking
shower?" but instead I said, "You don't look so
bad," which, really, he didn't.
"This is hideous. This won't
do at all," he said and handed me back the pictures.
"I've got to do something."
"Well...I've got an idea.
Why don't you come back to the house? We can fix you up all
nice, and you can do my hair and we can watch old movies and eat
"You wanna have a slumber
party with me?" he asked, eyebrow climbing to his hairline.
I don't know what possessed me. I really don't.
"It'll be fun," I said,
and it was decided.
We stopped at the drug store on
the way back to get some supplies. I went around, gathering
everything we needed in a basket, while he stood in front of the
wall of colors for twenty minutes.
"You think I should go
red?" he asked me when I went to drag him out.
"I used to be red. Not like
you. More like Ronald MacDonald. Wasn't so bad. Had black, too,
and blue once."
I tried to imagine him with any
of those colors and really couldn't, although the black had a
sort of intriguing appeal. I guess I missed the hair dyeing
portions of the life-of-Spike show.
"I like the whitey," I
told him. He nodded and tossed a bleaching kit in the basket
without another word.
When we got back to the house
Giles was gone, which was a relief. I didn't feel like
explaining our slumber party plans to him. He's already starting
to get on my case about spending too much time with Spike.
I told Spike to go take a shower
and wash his hair really well while I got the movies and snacks
all prepared. He looked sort of weird when I said that, sort of
happy and sad at the same time. Like he really wanted to take a
shower and was glad I'd offered, but didn't think he deserved
one or something. Like a dog who's been bad but you give them a
treat anyway. Or maybe he just thought I was insinuating that he
In any case, he did go do that,
and I laid out a spread of junk food all over my room. I'm not
supposed to eat stuff like that, diary. I'm not even really
supposed to eat ice cream, but you won't tell on me, right? The
witches have me on a stupid diet of fruit and rice and this
bread that tastes like bark, but I can't live like that anymore.
It was okay for the summer, but jeez, it's been five months
since I came here. Surely I'm detoxed enough.
It was a while before Spike
finished his shower, and when he finally came to my room, I'd
already changed into my flannel shorts and T-shirt that I sleep
in. I think I might have gasped when I saw him. I hope not. He
was so skinny. He was just in his jeans, with no shirt, and he
was still sort of muscular on top, but...I don't know, shrunken.
And with his wet hair all long and hanging down all over the
place, and his scraggly facial hair, he looked like some
underfed hippie or something. The urge to fix him up and get him
back to normal was stronger than ever.
"My shirt is pretty
dirty," he explained. "Thought maybe..."
"We'll pop it in the washer.
We can do your jeans too if you don't mind wandering around in
I'm such an idiot. God, I can't
even imagine how red I must have turned. Stupid, stupid.
I wasn't too embarrassed, though,
to realize how totally filth encrusted his jeans must have been
if he'd been going around commando all this time.
I dug through my drawers and
found another pair of flannel boxer shorts that I use for
pajamas sometimes, and tossed them to him.
"Go put these on," I
told him. "We're washing your pants."
He ducked back into the bathroom
and came back out in my shorts, which were actually a very nice
fit. He was holding the offending jeans out as far away from his
body as he could seem to manage.
disgusting," he said. And they were. Whoo boy, were they
After we got his stuff in the
washing machine, I suggested we commence with the shaving and
led him back to the bathroom. I looked through the cabinet,
trying to find some kind of manshaver, but the only thing around
was my Venus razor. I didn't want to risk using any of Giles's
things, so I figured that would have to do. "It's gonna
have to be girlie style," I told him, getting the Gilette
Sensitive Skin lotion ready. He tried to reach for the razor,
but I pulled it back and told him I'd do it.
I don't know why. I know he's
perfectly capable of doing it himself. I mean, he seemed to
manage just fine before, and it wasn't like the soul had made
him retarded or paralyzed or anything, but I just wanted to do
it for him. I thought it would be satisfying, somehow, to be the
one to unearth his face again.
And it was.
He watched me the whole time,
really quiet and intense. It was hard to look away from his eyes
and concentrate on not cutting up his chin. He's got the most
incredible eyes- they just look right through you. I think I've
mentioned that before. But when I was doing that, the way he was
looking at me, I don't know how else to describe it; it was
It struck me how totally intimate
it was- me, sitting on the edge of the tub, touching his face,
breathing all close to him, wearing my pajamas, and him, sitting
on the toilet, also wearing my pajamas because he does not, in
fact, wear underwear, which I really was starting to wish I
didn't know about- and I started thinking about my dream again,
and what it might possibly mean. Then I started wishing I hadn't
started thinking about it, because it made me feel really weird.
Once I was finished, and I could
see his whole face again, I felt even weirder, 'cause he looked
so much like he had in the dream. It was a relief though, that
he was still mostly the same under there.
"Tada," I said, but
that was the stupidest thing ever, 'cause obviously he couldn't
look in the mirror where I was pointing. Duh. He did reach up,
though, and run his hands over his cheeks.
"Very smooth," he said.
"And no nicks. You're a real pro."
I was still super close to him,
and he was giving me one of those mysterious half-smiles, and I
started really looking at his lips and remembering the other
time we were in a bathroom together. The time he kissed me. Or,
I kissed him. Whatever. I got that weird vertigo feeling, like
with Giles and the letter opener. The feeling of wanting to kiss
him, and then getting completely terrified because I was sure I
was going to just lean over and do it. It would be so easy, I
thought. And he probably wouldn't mind...
I managed to snap myself out of
it pretty quick, though. What was I thinking? It was ridiculous.
I leaned back and grabbed the bag
from the drug store with all the hair supplies in it, started
digging through almost frantically.
"What do we do next?" I
asked him. "Cut or bleach?"
"Probably cut. Don't wanna
waste all the stuff."
Cut. Which meant more closeness.
More touching of the intimate sort, and lips being near other
lips, and it was starting to make me more than a little nervous,
but it had been my idea after all so how could I back out now?
I told him to turn so his back
was facing me and got out the scissors. Then I realized I kinda
don't know how to cut hair.
"Um, any particular...style
you were thinking of?" I asked, staring at the drying mop
of curls in front of me, wondering if I should even try to comb
"Short?" he said, and I
laughed. As long as he wasn't gonna be picky, I figured we'd be
okay. I took a big hunk and just started chopping.
"Did Dru do this for
you?" I asked, even though I knew already that she had. I'd
seen her do it once, in the life-of-Spike retrospective. Which,
by the way, I'm starting to feel really terrible about. I really
need to tell him about that. I just have this feeling it's gonna
make him mad, and I don't want to make him mad.
"But you've been doing it
yourself since she left, huh?"
It seemed like quite a feat to
me: not only being able to cut your own hair, but doing it
without the benefit of a mirror.
"I got a barber," he
said, so quietly I almost missed it.
"A what? Did you say a
Images of white and red poles and
funny moustaches and quartets filled my mind. Spike didn't seem
to fit with those images.
"Demon barber. Back in
He seemed embarrassed about the
whole thing for some reason, so I let it drop even though I was
curious about this demon barber and whether or not he had a
moustache. I wondered if I'd be able to do as good a job. I was
just hacking away now, not even trying to keep things even. Big
hunks of hair were falling all around us and soon enough all the
white was gone.
"Do you still miss Dru?"
I asked him after a while. It was something I'd been wondering
about for a long time. I still miss Oz, sometimes. Not as much
as I miss Tara right now, but that's a completely different sort
"I don't know," he
said. Well, muttered really.
"You don't know? How can you
I should've gotten the hint, now
that I think about it. I mean, it was pretty obvious he didn't
want to be talking about Dru, or anything else really. It was
pretty obvious to anyone with anything resembling a brain that
he was pretty damn uncomfortable with the entire situation. But
I don't have a brain. This we know. Not when it comes to people,
"I haven't really thought
about it," he said, and I could feel him tensing up under
my hands. It was like sparks of electricity shooting through his
skull, buzzing at my fingers. "It's not...I'm not the same.
Things aren't the same."
"'Cause of the soul?"
"'Cause of a lot of
Well, there wasn't much to say to
that so I concentrated for a little while on finishing his hair.
Once I'd cut it into a reasonable facsimile of a style I started
mixing up the peroxide solution. And while I was doing this I
started thinking about my stupid dream again, started staring at
his naked back and his non-reflection in the mirror over the
sink and wondering about things I should have kept to myself.
I can see now, what I should have
been doing. I should've been trying to think of ways to make him
feel more comfortable, to open him up and get him to relax.
There was obviously a lot of stuff on his mind, and I wanted to
know what it was, to try and help him somehow.
"Is it different,
um....doing the deed? With a soul?" I asked as I wiped the
first glob of dye onto his hair with a highlighting brush. Cause
that's just the kind of idiot that is me, diary.
He twitched like the toilet seat
was on fire.
"What the hell kinda
question is that?" he asked, but not in an angry way. He
sounded more nervous and shocked than anything.
"Well, you said things were
"I didn't mean that! I
mean...I don't know, all right? I don't know if it's
Guess my ulterior motive in
asking that was to find out if he's been with anyone since the
re-souling. I knew he hadn't been before he got turned. I mean,
it was pretty much a no brainer. I really just wanted to know
what he'd been doing recently, when he wasn't with me. If he
went back to that bar I found him in and picked up young
prostitutes, or if he'd met any real girls or what. There was
probably a better way of getting that information.
"I-Is this hurting
you?" I asked him, after another few minutes of
uncomfortable silence. The fumes alone were hurting me. I
couldn't imagine having that crap on my scalp.
"No, it's fine. Just- Just
gimme the brush."
He grabbed it away from me and
started slopping the gunk onto his head quickly and carelessly.
I'd been doing it all gently, and I guess that was annoying to
"Are-Are you mad at
me?" I asked.
"No," he growled. Then,
"What do you care anyway? Why are you doing this?"
He ran his fingers roughly
through his hair, spreading the bleach, and it burned just
"Why am I doing what?"
He stood up then, and turned
around so I could see his face. His eyes were watery and red. I
have no idea if it was from the bleach or something else.
"Why are you being so nice
to me? Are you stupid or something? Don't you know what I
I can't even explain how he was,
diary. It was like...I dunno, something just snapped and he was
on the verge of hysteria and I had no real idea how we'd gotten
to this point. I mean, he was yelling, and his voice was all
cracky, and he was wearing my boxer shorts and his head was
covered with yellow glop and it was just too surreal for words.
And suddenly I felt like crying.
"I...no, I-I don't," I
stammered. "I don't know what you are. I know what you
were, but I don't know what you are now, or what you're
becoming. I-I kinda wish you'd tell me though, cause I'm getting
pretty confused! I mean, first you're mad because I'm being mean
to you, and now you're mad because I'm being nice to you, and
I'm not even really being that nice. I'm just asking a bunch of
stupid questions and grooming you like Mister McDoodle!"
Mister McDoodle is Giles' cat, by
the way. I'll have to tell you about him sometime.
Anyway, by then I actually was
crying, and I felt like the most socially inept loser on the
face of the planet. No matter what I did, it was wrong, and now
I was making things worse by getting all flustered and weepy.
Would you believe that once upon
a time I wanted to be a therapist?
His face fell and he rubbed his
eyes with his bleach covered hands, which caused him to yelp in
pain. He had to run to the sink to rinse his fingers and splash
water on his face. It probably would've been very comical if I
hadn't been weeping.
"I-I'm sorry, Willow. Don't
cry. Please. It's okay." He moved awkwardly towards me when
he was through cleaning up, and he seemed like he didn't know
what to do with his limbs. I tried to stop, 'cause it was
stupid, but for some reason I couldn't. The tears just kept
Eventually he sat down next to
me, on the edge of the tub, and put his hand on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said
again, and that made me feel even worse. "I didn't mean to
snap. I'm just a grumpy old man."
"No, no, I'm being
stupid," I blubbered. "I don't even know why I'm
"I'm not mad at you,
Willow," he said really quietly. His hand started moving up
my shoulder, and soon he was petting my hair. Petting my hair
like he did that one time, when he kidnapped me. But not like
that at all. "How could I be mad at you? The only
time...only times I don't want to kill myself are the times I
spend with you."
Yeah, he really said that, and I
felt something like a rock sinking down my throat and through my
stomach. Some strange combination of horror and exhilaration and
I put my hand on his knee and
squeezed, hoping I could say with my body what I was too choked
up to say with my voice. Hoping he'd understand that if he
killed himself I'd probably die too. At least inside. Whatever
embers of life he's managed to spark back up, they'd fizzle out
like damp leaves and nothing would be able to ignite them again.
I know this to be completely true, and it scares the hell out of
We sat there for a little while
longer, like two Titanic passengers, clinging to each other on
the lifeboat, and eventually I stopped crying and he got up and
washed the dye out of his hair.
It didn't turn out to be much of
a slumber party. He left as soon as his clothes were dry. He
left in a hurry, and I didn't try to stop him even though I
wanted him to stay. His hair actually turned out pretty okay.
Kind of a messier, longer, spikeyer version of what he had
I think he kept my shorts on
under his jeans. He didn't give them back to me anyway.
I tried to go to sleep when he
was gone, but I tossed and turned for hours. I was completely
exhausted, but also totally wired and bursting with thoughts and
questions and anxiety. Eventually I had to do something to calm
myself down. Something I haven't done since before Tara died.
I'm not even gonna tell you what that was, diary, but I'm sure
you can guess.
November 4, 2002
I never told Tara anything about
After the first night we were
together, when the sun was poking its first rays through the
window in her dorm room, she asked me what I was like in high
school, in junior high. I told her about Buffy and Xander and
Giles. I told her about how I'd restored Angel's soul and helped
turn the senior class into a demon-fighting army and that we
blew up the school, and she was suitably impressed. I didn't
tell her about anything before, and she never asked again.
With Tara, I could be the cool
one, at least some of the time. She admired me, and I liked
that. I liked being able to mold myself into whatever I wanted
to be, whatever I wanted her to see, whatever I wanted to see
reflected back at me when I looked in her eyes.
She was so honest with me, in her
way. She let me see her. She never hid. And I loved her. I loved
her for everything that she was. I never really gave her the
opportunity to love me back in quite that way, and now I'll
never know if she would have- what that would be like.
She wasn't like Spike. She didn't
just know what I was inside, without me telling her. She saw
what I needed her to see.
Sometimes I think if I'd just
told her, things might have ended much differently.
Spike hasn't been around again
since the haircut incident. I hope I haven't chased him away
with my stupidness again. Whenever I haven't seen him for awhile
I start thinking about the terrible things.
November 12, 2002
Spike finally came back last
night. He said he was sorry for running off and not coming back
for so long. He was confused. He needed time to think. I asked
him what he was thinking about, but he wouldn't really tell me.
Just said that it didn't matter much. All that mattered was that
we were still friends.
That made my heart go all melty
and I forgave him and myself for all the weirdness the other
night. It didn't matter. We were friends.
We went to the church and talked
about our favorite books. He's read a lot of books. It was nice.
We came back here afterwards and
watched some TV on Giles' couch. He was out again, over at
Olivia's, and we ended up falling asleep there. Or at least I
did. I think he did too, but I can't be sure 'cause I was
sleeping and all.
Anyway, I woke up to the sound of
frantic whispering in the kitchen. Spike was no longer on the
couch and Giles seemed to be home again. I strained to listen to
what they were saying, but only heard bits and pieces. Mostly
Giles saying things like "very delicate" and
"troubling situation", and Spike saying "I'm just
trying to be her friend" over and over again. It was enough
to figure out what was going on.
God, I can't even tell you how
angry it made me. I know Giles is helping me a lot, letting me
stay here and doing all this stuff for me, but this IS still my
life. He was talking about me like I was the retarded daughter
in the other room who didn't know how to make any decisions for
herself. Like he had to protect me from the dangers of Spike's
I pretended to be asleep, and I
heard Spike leaving and Giles going upstairs and slamming his
bedroom door shut. I hope that stupid librarian hasn't chased
him away forever. Who does he think he is, anyway? Why does he
want to take away the only thing I care about?
Well, I just got the lecture from
Giles. He thinks I'm spending too much time with Spike, that
it's distracting me from other "more important"
things. But it's not! I've been going to see the witches every
week, like always. And I've been doing my meditations and my
exercises and all the other stuff they want me to. I don't know
what he's talking about. He doesn't seem to understand that
being with Spike helps me a hundred times more than hanging with
those crazy witches.
It did make me feel a little
better, though. Giles knows that Spike is different now, and
that he's not gonna hurt me or anything stupid like that. He's
just worried about me, in that dad sort of way. I guess it's
kind of nice. He cares more than my actual dad ever has. I'm
sorry about calling him a stupid librarian. I love Giles, diary.
I really really do. There's just some things he doesn't
understand about me.
November 15, 2002
Yay, Spike came back. It was a
little bit weird, though.
I felt like I should tell Giles
that I was going out for ice cream with him, so I did, and he
told me in his restrained British way that he wasn't very
pleased and to be home early. But he didn't try to stop me, so
that was good.
When we got to the diner, I asked
Spike if he ever has nightmares. My dreams have been getting
really weird lately, and I was thinking about them and wondering
if vampires even have dreams. He said yeah, all the time, but he
made some stupid joke about Martha Stewart when I asked him what
they were about. God, sometimes prying information out of him is
like getting Mister McDoodle to give up his food dish.
"So, Miss Random
Questions," he said at one point. "Can I ask you
something now? It's sort of personal."
"Sure," I nodded. I
couldn't think of anything too personal to tell Spike. I felt
like he knew everything I had to hide.
"When you were with Oz, you
uh...did the deed, right?"
So, I was wrong. I didn't really
like where this was going. I felt the lump of ice cream I'd just
swallowed sort of halting in my throat and had to make an effort
to finish swallowing.
"Um, well, yeah. I did. I
mean, we did. Sure."
"So...did you like it?"
I felt that ice cream trying to
work itself back up, and had to swallow again to force it back
down. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, or...something. I
thought I might be suffocating. I flashed back to that night, so
many long and horrible months ago, when we played poker and he
tried to poke holes in my sexuality and I just wanted to stab
"I don't think I wanna
answer that question," I said.
"On the grounds that it may
lead to another argument about whether I'm gay or just
pretending, and that's not an argument I want to have with you.
"I'm not asking you because
of that. I'm just curious. You can be gay if you want to."
"What does that mean, if I
WANT to?" My spoon slipped out of my hand and clattered
onto the table and a few people turned around to stare at us. I
realized I was talking kinda loud and leaned across the table to
whisper, "I don't WANT to be gay. I just am!"
"Well, whatever. I'm not
asking about that."
"You still don't believe me!
You think I'm fake!"
He smiled in a kind of sad way,
and shook his head. "I don't think you're fake. I
just...look, just forget it. It doesn't matter. Let's talk about
Just forget it. Like it was so
Well, I managed to calm myself
down anyway, and we did talk about something else eventually,
though I can't remember what.
The thing is, diary, I did like
it. I mean, kind of a lot. And I liked it with Tara too. I loved
it, with both of them. Because I loved them, and it was
beautiful, and fun, and just...good.
What does that mean? It's
cheating, to like both, isn't it? It's disrespectful to Tara's
memory to even think about things like this, isn't it?
I've already done so much that
would have made her ashamed of me. Thinking about boys this way
again is like the final nail in her coffin, and I just can't
deal with it. I can't even think about it without crying.
November 23, 2002
I'm in my room at the coven.
Giles dropped me off here a few hours ago. I feel like I'm in
prison. I'm not supposed to be here.
It started out like a normal
night; me and Spike, hanging out, watching telly. TV. Whatever.
Giles upstairs, typing away. Clickety clack, clickety clack. And
then, suddenly, these horrible voices in my head, telling me I
had to leave. Telling me to come back here.
Those witches! Can't they use the
telephone like normal people? No, I guess I could ignore them if
they did that.
They didn't tell me how long they
wanted me for, but I get the feeling it's gonna be a while
before I can get out of here.
I told Spike I had to go, that
they were calling me.
"Right now?" he asked,
and his face got all sad when I nodded yes. "When will you
"I don't know," I said.
"I think...not soon."
That made him look even sadder,
and then, suddenly, panicked. "Do you think it's because of
me? So you won't be around me anymore?"
I shrugged, 'cause I really had
no idea. Still don't.
He grabbed my hand with both of
his and squeezed.
"Willow, there are things I
need to tell you. Things you need to know. About me...things
I've done that..."
And this was it. I could see it
in his eyes. He was getting ready to confess to me about Buffy
and the almost-rape, and probably a thousand other horrible
things, and I wasn't ready for the conversation at all because
the witches' voices were still echoing around in my brain and I
had to pack and Giles was upstairs, typing...
"I-I know, Spike," I
said. "I know all about...that."
"No, I don't think you do. I
think if you knew, you'd be afraid of me. You'd hate me. And you
"No, Spike, I know. Please,
you don't have to...I saw everything. They showed me."
"The witches. They showed me
all this stuff about your life. With magic. Like a movie. And I
know all about what happened with Buffy, and what...almost
It was all coming out too fast. I
wanted to be prepared for when this happened. I wanted to have
all the right things to say ready and memorized. I should have
made a list a long time ago!
But it was okay. It turned out
okay, I think.
He looked completely horrified
for a minute. Almost angry. And he had a right to be angry. I'd
seen all this stuff, knew all these intimate things and I'd
never told him, but then his face softened up and he looked so
vulnerable- almost like a little boy. He squeezed my hand even
tighter. It almost hurt.
"Why don't you hate
me?" he whispered. His voice was all shaky and gravelly.
"Because I know you're
sorry, and I know you didn't want things to be like that. I know
that's not what you really are."
I saw a lonely little tear slip
out of his eye and fall down his cheek, and I wanted to wipe it
away, but I thought he might get mad if I acknowledged it. I
settled for brushing a stray hair out of his face with my free
hand and trying to smile.
Just then the clickety clak from
upstairs stopped, and I remembered the witches and all the rest
"I have to go tell Giles.
He's gotta drive me, and I've gotta pack..."
"When you come back,"
he said, "Come and see me. Okay?"
I got him a pen and some paper
and he wrote down for me, finally, exactly where I could find
November 24, 2002
I am, potentially, the most
powerful person in the world. I could do anything, almost. I
could change the world, bend it to my will. I could make myself
beautiful. I could have double D cups, and cheekbones, and nice
eyebrows. I could give myself an amazing talent- painting or
music or brain surgery- and become rich and famous and
worshipped. I could build a mansion for myself out of thin air,
and live there with the army of beautiful slaves I created to
cater to my every whim. I could be a queen, diary, but all I
wanted to do was bring Tara back to me. It's not right that
she's gone. If anything, it should have been me.
It's so tempting now. Every day I
think of something I could do to make it better, make it all go
away. Sometimes I think I should start over. I could drive to a
new town, get an apartment or something, and wipe my own memory
completely away. That way the pain and the loss and the guilt
would be gone, and I wouldn't know about the power inside me so
there'd be no more temptation.
I talked to Melinda today, about
the temptations and the way the pain never seems to dull even a
little except when I'm with Spike. I asked her if they called me
here because of him and if they're trying to keep us apart.
She's the only one I could really ask. The others are too
She said that my friendship with
him was a good thing for both of us, but that it's possible to
have too much of a good thing. She thinks that's a lesson I need
to learn. She thinks I needed a break.
I don't feel like I need a break.
I don't like being here, so far away from Spike. It makes me
feel alone again, floating and empty. I feel brittle, like I
could break into a million pieces if someone touched me. I want
to go home.
November 26, 2002
I made soap today. And jewelry. I
made a big silver ring for Spike. I hope he likes it. It felt
kind of good to make stuff. To create tangible, useful things
with my hands and raw materials, without any magic at all. It
made me feel like a functioning human being, which is a pleasant
Still not happy to be here,
November 28, 2002
I just woke up from the
strangest, most vivid dream I've had in...ever. I'm not even
sure it was a dream. Could it have been real? A visitation?
Being here at the coven makes me believe something like that is
possible, but there's no way of knowing for sure.
It started out with me walking
from Giles' place down to the cemetery where Spike and I sit and
talk sometimes. The streets weren't the same, though. There
weren't any houses or buildings or anything really, just the
sidewalk and clouds. But I knew the way, and when I got there
everything was the same in the courtyard.
I sat down on our usual bench,
and waited for Spike to show up. And he did show up, eventually,
but not the way I expected him to. He came with the other
ghosts. I saw him, floating around the cemetery, and I waved but
he didn't see me. He went from grave to grave, tracing the
inscriptions on the stones with his fingers. He looked sad. I
wanted to go to him, but I knew I really couldn't. We weren't in
the same world.
And then she came to me. Tara. I
didn't see her coming. Just, one minute I was alone and the next
minute she was there, sitting next to me on the bench. She was
there and alive and beautiful, and there was so much I wanted to
say to her, but I couldn't say anything at all. I just started
She wrapped her arms around me
and let me weep on her for a long time. I finally stopped
because it felt so good to be with her again, to be held by her.
She was the same. She even smelled the same.
I tried to say thank you, and I
love you, and please don't leave me again, but my voice still
"It's okay, sweetie,"
she said, and she was brushing my hair with her fingers and I
really felt like maybe it was okay. For the first time in a long
"I don't want you to cry
anymore," she told me. "It's never wrong to love
I think I knew, in the dream,
exactly what she meant, but now I'm not so sure. It didn't
matter, though. All that mattered was that she was holding me
and kissing me and she was real again, flesh and blood.
Time passed. Minutes or hours,
and eventually she started to disappear. Slowly. Parts of her
would become transparent, then vanish completely until there was
nothing left. Until I was holding myself. Crying again.
I woke up clutching my pillow, my
face pressed against the mattress. Tears and snot and who knows
what else were on my skin, in my hair. I wanted to die. Or at
least just lie there, but I felt like I had to get up and write
it down. So, here I am, writing.
I don't know what else to say
about it. I feel like it was real. I feel like I saw her and
touched her, and now she's gone again and I can't think of
anything worse. But if it was real, in any mystical sort of way,
it must have happened for a reason. Right? She wouldn't come to
me just to tease and torture me like that. The things she said
must have been important.
Everything Tara said was
God, I was such a pathetic loser
next to her. Babbling and pretending and never really true. She
was so careful, so thoughtful. So soft and tender and
I need to go, diary. I feel
December 8, 2002
Sorry I've been so flakey about
writing. Just haven't had anything interesting to tell you till
now. They let me leave the coven yesterday, and the rest of the
time I was there, after the dream, was pretty boring. I wrote in
my other journal because I didn't have too many secrets, other
than wanting to leave. But even that sort of faded after a few
days. It turned out to be pretty relaxing, learning to make all
that stuff and doing the meditations every day. They taught me
some new focusing techniques- ways to channel my energy in
directions that won't turn into magical force without my
intending it. When Giles picked me up I actually felt a little
better than I had when he'd dropped me off. And not just because
I was getting the heck out of there.
I was worried, though, when I was
there. I kept thinking about Spike and how sad and scared he
looked when I left. The first thing I did when I got home last
night was get out that piece of paper and sneak out my window to
try and find him.
Took me awhile. He gave me
directions on how to get into the tunnels, which was easy
enough, but once I got down there it was dark and wet and smelly
and I could barely read his notes. Luckily I brought my
flashlight. I never would've found the place otherwise.
Remember how he said he lived
with the mole people? I'd heard the expression before. My dad
used to go to New York a lot for work and conventions and stuff,
and he told me about the mole people who lived in the tunnels
around Penn Station. Homeless people who had nowhere else to go.
I thought it was really sad, when he told me about that, and
kind of mean to call them moles.
Well, that's what I was expecting
to find down there, but it turns out Spike was being literal.
They really are mole people. I ran into a couple of them- kids I
guess- playing ball near Spike's hole. They had people bodies,
and they were wearing people clothes, but their faces were...moley.
Demons, probably. They were talking to each other, but I
couldn't understand what they were saying, 'cause they had
really strong Cockney accents. Scared the bejesus out of me.
I asked them if they knew where
Spike was, and they pointed me in the right direction. I think
they might have been laughing at me. I must've looked pretty
weird to them, in my sparkly new dress that I sewed at the
coven, carrying this stupid basket of stuff I made for Spike
like some Red Riding Hood wannabe. But jeez, they looked pretty
weird to me, too.
Anyway, Spike's hole really was
just that- a hole. It looked like it had been dug out of the
tunnel wall. No door. I shined my light inside and there was
nothing but Spike and a backpack and a dingy old mattress.
Wasn't really room for anything else. It didn't even look like
he could stand up in there, which was, I guess, why he was lying
He sort of jumped when he saw the
light, and called out, "Who's there?"
"It's me, Spike," I
said, and turned the flashlight back at myself to light up my
face. He fumbled around for a minute, and popped out of the hole
like a...mole? Well, a pretty mole at any rate.
"Hi," he said. And I
said hi. And then he said, "Let's get the hell out of
here." So we did. When we got up to the street I was able
to take a good look at him and, well, it didn't look good. He
was skinnier than last time I'd seen him, and his eyes looked
dark and hollow. And his arms...he was wearing a T-shirt, and
there were cuts all over his arms. They looked fairly fresh,
and...not the kind of cuts you get from a wild animal or demon.
They were the kind of cuts you get from a knife.
"What's in the basket,
Riding Hood?" he asked me, and suddenly I felt like crying.
Really bad. I just knew, in that instant, how much he'd been
hurting, and it hurt me too. I wanted to take him away from that
awful place with the creepy mole demons, and I wanted to see him
smile and laugh.
"Um, some...stuff. That I
made." I handed him the basket, and I realized how stupid
it was 'cause he didn't even have a place to put all that stuff.
There wasn't anyplace for him to put it.
He looked down at it, and then
back up and me, and his face...it was like he couldn't even
believe it, that I'd give him anything. It wasn't a smile
exactly, but it was close. It was nice. And sad.
"Let's sit, so I
can...look," he said, and we walked around until we found a
bench. It wasn't anywhere we'd ever been before. There was a
coffee shop, and an all-night restaurant, and a bus stop, which
is where we sat.
He took the items out, one by
one: the soap, which I thought might smell a little too girlie,
but I was proud of it because it was actually soap-shaped, the
paper and the pen with the little triangular holder thing that I
made specially for lefties, the incense made from the oils that
reminded me of the way he smells sometimes, the ziplock bag
filled with chocolate chip cookies with pecans, 'cause he likes
those even though I think they're gross, and the silver ring
that I thought might be too small, now that I was looking at his
hands again. He looked at them all, turned them over in his
hands and examined them like they were mysteries he was trying
I was squirming the whole time.
"You made all this?" he
"Yeah. The witches taught
"You made paper?"
"They make everything. It's
all a hundred percent natural."
Do you like them? I wanted to ask
him. Do you think they're stupid? Will you throw them away after
you walk me home? But I didn't say any of that, thank God.
"You made all this...for
"Uh huh," I nodded.
"See, the pen is for left-handed people, like you are, and
the cookies are the ones you like, and...yeah."
He put everything back in the
basket, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of breaking or
dropping something. Everything but the ring, which he tried on
when the rest of it was put away. It fit perfectly on the middle
finger of his left hand.
Then he looked at me,
so...intensely, it felt like my heart was breaking, and he said
"Thank you." But it wasn't just thank you. I can't
even explain how many other sentiments I heard in those two
I can't explain what I felt,
sitting there with him. I just...can't.
We went into the coffee shop, and
I told him about the other things the witches taught me, and I
told him about the dream, but not everything about it. I didn't
tell him he was a ghost, or any of the things Tara said. Just
that she came to me, and she forgave me, and it was painful, but
I asked him if he'd been getting
enough blood, if he needed anything, if there was anything I
could do to make things better for him, because he looked just
awful, really. He said he was fine, but, God, I didn't believe
him at all.
We stayed there till almost 4 in
the morning, talking, and not talking, and when it was time to
go I didn't want to. I wanted to take him home with me, and
never let him leave again.
He walked me back, and as he was
turning to go I asked him if he wanted to spend the night. The
thought of him going back to that filthy, cold tunnel just made
me want to kill myself.
"Don't think Rupert would
approve," he said, and I knew that was true, but I didn't
care. I guess Spike cared, though, because he left. But we made
plans to go to some special place he said he knew. Someplace he
thinks I'll like. He's gonna take me next week sometime.
It was so hard, watching him walk
away with my basket, imagining him sleeping with it on that
crappy mattress. Or not sleeping. But I knew I couldn't beg him
to stay, knew it would insult his pride, and that was the last
thing I think he needed. Same reason I didn't ask him about the
cuts on his arms, or what he'd been doing while I was away.
He actually looked pretty happy
when he left. I cried myself to sleep.
December 12, 2002
I've realized something very
important, but I can't tell you what it is just yet. I'm sorry.
I want to, really badly, but I have to tell Spike first.
I'm scared, diary. I'm scared to
tell him, and I'm scared of what I'm feeling, and I don't know
if any of this is right at all. We're going for our
"special night" tonight, and I think it might be a
good time to say something, but I don't know if I've got the
courage. What if he laughs? Or worse than that? What if he gives
me that sad, you're-such-an-unfortunate-girl look? Or worse than
even that? What if he doesn't want to be my friend anymore?
All of a sudden, I feel like I've
got a lot to lose. I hope that I don't chicken out. I hope that
it doesn't make things weird and awful if I don't chicken out. I
hope that I'm not making a completely stupid mistake.
I know how weird this is. I mean,
after what happened with Buffy, maybe I'm being a terrible
friend to her. I know she was upset about Anya. How will she
feel when it's me, her very best friend?
But I can't help it. I can't help
the way I feel. And he's practically a different person now
anyway. I'm sure that part of it will be okay, somehow. I'm sure
it'll all be okay, somehow. It just has to be.
I'll fill you in when I get home
tonight, I guess.
December 13, 2002
Sorry I didn't write last night.
I got home really late. So, I've got a lot to tell you, and it's
all kind of sloshing around in my brain, and I'm not sure if my
hands can keep up. I guess I should just start with what
So, oh! I managed to talk Giles
into loaning me the car for the night, which I was sort of
worried about. I told him it was for an educational field trip
the witches wanted me to go on, and that Spike was coming along
for supervision. He seemed skeptical, but he gave me the keys
and I went to pick up Spike.
I let Spike drive, since I didn't
know where we were going, and I think I was chewing on the
insides of my mouth the whole way there. I was so incredibly
nervous- worse than I've been in years I think. I could hardly
even talk, really, except to ask him where we were going, and if
we were almost there, every five or ten minutes.
It seemed to take forever. After
about a half an hour I had no idea where we were anymore, and my
curiosity was starting to get as intense as my worry.
Plus, Spike drives kinda bad. I'd
never been in a car with him before. It was a little scary.
When we finally reached our
destination, I was totally overwhelmed. It was so beautiful, I
can't even tell you. We were in Devon, it turned out, pretty
close to the coven, at a place called Blackpool Sands. A beach.
With sand and water and everything. But so much prettier than
the beaches in California, so much less...people-ized. It was
quiet, and dark, and it felt like we were the only people in the
world as we worked our way down to the ocean.
I guess he found the place when
he was wandering, before he ran into me.
He'd told me to bring a blanket,
and I thought to take some food just in case there was none
'cause I was hungry, so we spread out our blanket and our little
picnic close to the water and started eating.
I told him, for like, the fifth
time, how amazingly gorgeous the place was, and he smiled.
"I thought you'd like
"It feels almost
prehistoric," I said. "I feel like no one's ever been
There was a forest sort of
surrounding the beach, which I found completely incredible, and
it also turned out to be very useful. Spike went back there
after we were done eating to gather some branches, and then he
built us a little fire.
We sat on the blanket for a
while, looking up at the stars. They were so bright, and the sky
was so clear. It was like being at the planetarium. I could see
so many constellations.
I showed him Pisces, traced the
fish with my fingers and told him it was my sign. He seemed to
actually know what that meant. I guess Dru taught him about
"No wonder you're glowing
like that," he said. "Being near the water really
makes you come to life."
I hadn't really realized I was
coming to life, but when I looked over at him...the way he was
staring at me made me feel every charge of electricity running
through my body at that moment. I almost said it then, but it
didn't feel like the right time, exactly. Or maybe I was just
being a scaredy cat.
I started shivering, 'cause it
was probably twenty degrees out there, and he offered me his
coat, then realized he wasn't wearing it. I remembered asking
him about it when we first ran into each other, how he seemed
almost naked without it. Like a different person. I remembered
seeing him run past it without a second thought, on his way out
of Buffy's house, the night of the bathroom incident.
"It's okay," I said.
"You can be my windbreaker." I was pretty brave then,
diary. I crawled across the blanket and situated myself between
his knees, my back to his front, and pulled his arms around my
middle. "I know you don't generate body heat, but neither
does a blanket, right?"
I wanted to tell him how good it
felt to be this close to him, how solid and strong and safe his
arms felt, how it was even nicer than I'd been imagining- but
that would mean admitting I'd been imagining this, which I
wasn't ready to do just yet. I felt myself teetering on the
verge of nervous babbling, so I just didn't say anything else at
Until he said, "You're not
even a little bit afraid of me anymore, are you."
He was talking softly, very close
to my ear, and honestly, I was afraid. But not in the way he was
"Do you want me to be
afraid?" I asked. I think it came out a little sexier
sounding than I'd intended. Not sure if he noticed, though.
"Not really," he said.
"Just...when I was human, I was afraid of so many things,
so much of the time. You know?"
I nodded, because I did know, in
a huge way. And, also because his lips were so close that when I
nodded, my ear sort of brushed against his mouth. I squeezed his
hands, and felt my ring on his finger. He was still wearing it.
That was nice.
"Becoming a vampire,"
he continued. "It took all that away. I wasn't afraid of
anything. Suddenly I was the big, scary thing under the bed,
hiding in the closet. It was sort of liberating, I guess."
"And now?" I asked.
"Now I think I'm more scared
of myself than anything else. I'm scared of the fact that I
still miss it, after everything."
"Not the killing so much as
the life-taking. The way a person's heartbeat, their breath and
pulse could fill me up, make me feel whole. Almost human myself.
There's so much emptiness inside us, so much hunger....only one
thing that can fill it, even for a minute."
Normally talk like that would've
given me the creeps, but this time it just made me sad. He
sounded sad. Choked up, even.
"Are you sorry?" I
asked, even though it's been completely obvious for months now.
I thought maybe he needed to say it.
"I'm sorry every minute of
"I forgive you," I told
him, and it was really really true. I'd forgiven him a long time
ago, and I was sorry I hadn't told him sooner. I've only just
begun to realize how badly he needs it. "And I'll bet your
victims would too, if they knew what you've been through."
"Think their families would
forgive me, pet? Would you, if I'd been the one that..."
"You'd be dead," I
interrupted, before he had the chance to even say it. "I
wouldn't have gotten the chance to forgive you." I didn't
want to tell him that no, I don't think I would have found that
in my heart. Warren's dead and gone, at my hands, and I'll never
"Well, that's who I'm the
sorriest to," he said. "The people I killed...they're
probably better off, at peace. But the ones they left behind...I
don't deserve their forgiveness. I wouldn't want it."
"Do you accept mine?" I
I felt him smile, just a little.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Yours is nice."
"Can you feel my
heartbeat?" I thought everyone in the Western Hemisphere
could probably feel it, it was going so fast and furious by
then. And the way I was pressed up against him, my heart so
close to his, I knew he had to hear it at least.
"And my breath?" I knew
he could feel and hear that, because he was breathing himself,
almost in time with me.
"Yes," he said.
"You can borrow them,"
I told him, before I could think about how stupid it might
sound. "We can share."
His arms tightened around me, and
I felt him swallow. Twice.
"Thank you, Willow.
That...that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
It was time, I knew. There wasn't
gonna be a better time than this. How could there be a better
"Spike, I...You're being so
honest with me, and I...want to be um, honest...with
God, I sounded so stupid. I hate
how stupid I get sometimes.
"You have been," he
said. I shook my head and chewed my lips some more. I think my
heart was about ready to fly through my chest and paddle its way
out to sea by then. I thought I might throw up before I managed
to get it out.
"No, I haven't...not
completely. There's...there's stuff that...I'm scared. I'm
scared to tell you, because things are so...nice, and...I don't
wanna mess things up with us. I like being um, you know,
"You couldn't mess that up.
You, uh...you're my friend, Willow. My best friend. My only
friend, truth be told. Couldn't say anything to change
I guess that was exactly what I
needed to hear. It made me feel like I could really do this,
like it would be okay. I took a deep breath, and just blurted it
"Spike, I love you."
He was totally still for a minute
that seemed like an hour, then he took a deep breath himself,
and started to say something. I cut him off.
"Don't say anything.
Don't...please, just...I just thought I should tell you. I
thought I needed to tell you. That I fell in love with you. But,
please don't answer. You don't have to say...stuff. Just,
I was in the throes of a
full-fledged panic attack, I think, when I felt cool liquid
trickling down my neck. I thought it was spray from the ocean,
maybe, but, no, it wasn't. Then I felt his lips- warm, soft,
open, God, they were so much warmer than I expected- pressing
against my neck, just under my ear. He was kissing my neck.
Crying, and kissing my neck. I couldn't breathe. At all.
His mouth stayed in that spot for
so long, I thought it might kill me. Then it started moving,
tracing tiny paths up and down the side of my neck, onto my ear.
I tried to get some air in my lungs, and I think I probably made
some awful, un-sexy wheezing sound.
"What...what are you....oh,
I...told you not to...say...stuff." I was just sputtering
now, talking to prove my voice still worked. When I felt his
tongue working little circles, up and around my earlobe, I bit a
hole in my bottom lip. The blood tasted kind of good.
than I...expected," I said.
"How did you expect it to
feel?" he asked me. His voice was all low and gravelly and
sugary, and his hands were under my shirt suddenly. He was
touching my stomach, my bare, goose-bumpy stomach, with the tips
of his fingers.
"Dunno." I hadn't
really let my imagination get quite this far. Didn't think it
would ever get this far, but the few times I considered that it
might I figured it would be uncomfortable. Strange. Awkward. I
thought it would be like the first time I kissed Tara, the first
time Oz touched my breast. I thought I would be more afraid. I
didn't think I would be so...so. I don't know if I've ever been
I couldn't move. Or think. Or
anything. I just wanted him to never stop touching me. I wanted
his hands lower, where no man-hands have been since 1999.
"Do you want me to kiss
you?" he asked, and I think I swooned. I dunno. What
happens when you swoon? I felt like all the air got like, sucked
out of my head. I was all dopey and floppy, and I couldn't even
say "yes, please God, yes."
So I just turned my head a little
bit, and his lips were right there, and then they were touching
my lips, and we were kissing. Really really kissing. I've never
been kissed like that, diary. Never.
I don't know how to describe it.
How do you describe a kiss? It started out sort of soft, and
shy, but it didn't stay that way for long. Soon it turned
hungry, and...crazy. I dunno. His tongue was everywhere, and my
tongue was doing things I didn't know my tongue could do, and we
were both breathing like we'd been running the New York
I turned so I was facing him
completely, and there was some awkward shuffling as we arranged
ourselves, and somehow I ended up straddling his lap and
just...plundering his mouth. I couldn't get enough. I don't
think he could either. I felt like he was literally sucking the
life out of me, like he was everywhere inside me and around me
and...God, I've just never been kissed like that.
And I felt him. I felt him
between my legs, hard and warm, and I wanted it. Right there,
right then, I wanted to be on him, as close as we could possibly
It scared me, how bad I wanted
it, and I forced myself to pull my mouth away from his. I
couldn't stop myself from grinding into him a little bit,
though. God, it just felt so good. He did this little
shudder-groan thing, that I think I want to see lots more of,
and when I looked at him I felt like his eyes were digging into
my skull, the way he was looking at me. His mouth was open and
flushed from the kisses, and his tongue was just...there,
waiting for more.
we...maybe...should...uh...go," I stammered out. It was
really difficult. I didn't want to go, but it was too much. I
was feeling too much too fast, and we were on the verge of doing
something that I wanted to take more time with. Something I
wasn't sure I was ready for.
He nodded, and I nodded, and we
were in agreement that it was time to go, but my parts were
still pressed up against his parts, and I really just could not
I couldn't believe that I was
there, that he was hard- that I made him hard- and that he was
clutching onto the back of my shirt like that, and panting. It
didn't seem like it could possibly be real. And the way the
stars were so so bright, and the ocean was crashing onto the
sand, making these incredible sounds. It felt almost hyper-real,
if that makes any sense. Like everything was just a little bit
too much. I thought I might cry from it.
Somehow, eventually, we got
untangled and walked back to the car. We held hands as we were
walking, and that was almost the best part of all.
We didn't talk much as he drove
me home, but that was okay. He kept looking over at me, and
smiling his little smile, and I knew we were gonna be okay. I
knew I hadn't messed things up.
When we got back to Giles' we got
out of the car, and he gave me the keys back and then pulled me
into the most wonderful hug. It seemed to go on forever, but
didn't last nearly long enough. Then he kissed the top of my
head, and brushed some hair out of my eyes.
"I'll see you soon,
huh?" I asked. He didn't really answer, just made this
grimacey face, and I think he might have been about to cry
again. I kissed my fingers, then ran them over his lips. Then I
ran inside, 'cause I was afraid if we stood there too much
longer we were gonna start making out again, and possibly having
sex in Giles' car. I turned to wave when I reached the door, but
he was already gone.
yours in cautious joy,
December 15, 2002
This is the last entry I've got
room for, diary, and that seems appropriate. You've been a good
friend, and I thank you for that. I wish I could write something
poetic, or at least coherent, but I'm crying too hard to see
Spike is gone, diary. He's just
gone. He left me a letter, slipped it under the door last night
while I slept, and I'm going to staple it to the last page of
this journal because I don't know what else to do with it.
It hurts so bad. I can't hardly
stand it. I know there's things I could do, spells or curses or
potions, something to bring him back, to change his mind. It's
too hard. I can't deal with this anymore. I don't know what to
Here is the letter. He wrote it
on the paper I gave him. I love him so much. Thank you for
December 14, 2002
This is the most difficult thing
I've ever done. You've forgiven me for so much already, and I
thank you for that, sincerely. I only hope you can find it in
your heart to forgive this as well.
I wish that I could tell you
these things in person, but I know myself far too well to risk
it. I am weak, and a coward. One look at your sweet, beautiful
face and I would be lost, unable to do what must be done. For
you, love. Only for you.
I have to leave, Willow. I have
to leave because only in my absence will you be able to truly
heal, to grieve for all that you've lost.
I'll never be able to tell you
how much your friendship means to me, how deeply I was moved by
your words last night. If I were capable, I'd write a sonnet
that would perfectly describe my feelings for you, but I am also
a fairly awful poet. I only wish that I were fully deserving of
the blessings you've bestowed upon me. I wish that I were fit to
accept the gift of your love.
I'm not fit, Willow, and I don't
know if I ever will be. There's so much that I'd like to be able
to give you- everything you ever wanted, and some things you
didn't know you needed- but I've got nothing inside me that's
Please know that you haven't
ruined anything, that I'm still your friend, always. I've been
considering this since you left for the coven, and I really
believe that it's the best thing I can do for you. I'm so proud
of you, for the progress that you've made and the strength
you've shown. I hope that I helped you, at least a little bit,
and that without me you'll be able to find the true worth within
I love you, Willow. Truly. With
all my soul. I hope beyond words that this is not goodbye. Not
forever. I hope that when we meet again, as I know we will, you
will be able to look me in the eye and feel something close to
affection. I will think of you every minute until that day
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