Topic #18: My favorite mistake
Ask me again why I could never love you.
I lost control, Buffy. I had control, and then I lost it, and big shock, it was because of you. It always seems to be. I try, and I try, and I try, and it never comes to anything, does it now? Old Spike, he'll never change. No soul in there, so he's an animal, he's no better than the mongrels that they put down every day at the pound. More likely to take your hands off when you try to touch him than any of them, even.
But let him make me feel alive. That, he's good for. Let's use ol' Spike, wad him up like an old pair of jeans and toss him into the corner. He's good enough for a summer night's ride, but God forbid you take into the toll of things exactly what it's all doing to him in all this.
Right. That'll help. Get angry at her, when all you did was prove her right the whole time. Harris, too. Nothing galls me worse than having him be right, and me be wrong. Useless. Evil. Horrid. Monster.
Why couldn't she just feel what I feel? Why can't she realize that every time I look at her, to not touch her is agony, worse than any torture, worse by far than any time Drusilla ever sank her claws into me, worse than having to listen to Harmony rabbit on about Antonio Banderas.
Well, maybe not worse than that.
The worst part was the fear in her eyes. Used to be that was the thing I loved the best. The terror. Seeing just how much power I had now, now that William was the scary one, and not the frightened mewling pup hidden behind Mum's skirts in the corner, or crying by himself because Cecily or god alone knew who else, had torn up his shoddy poetry.
She's afraid of me.
I've ruined it all.
Lost her.
I lost control, Buffy. I had control, and then I lost it, and big shock, it was because of you. It always seems to be. I try, and I try, and I try, and it never comes to anything, does it now? Old Spike, he'll never change. No soul in there, so he's an animal, he's no better than the mongrels that they put down every day at the pound. More likely to take your hands off when you try to touch him than any of them, even.
But let him make me feel alive. That, he's good for. Let's use ol' Spike, wad him up like an old pair of jeans and toss him into the corner. He's good enough for a summer night's ride, but God forbid you take into the toll of things exactly what it's all doing to him in all this.
Right. That'll help. Get angry at her, when all you did was prove her right the whole time. Harris, too. Nothing galls me worse than having him be right, and me be wrong. Useless. Evil. Horrid. Monster.
Why couldn't she just feel what I feel? Why can't she realize that every time I look at her, to not touch her is agony, worse than any torture, worse by far than any time Drusilla ever sank her claws into me, worse than having to listen to Harmony rabbit on about Antonio Banderas.
Well, maybe not worse than that.
The worst part was the fear in her eyes. Used to be that was the thing I loved the best. The terror. Seeing just how much power I had now, now that William was the scary one, and not the frightened mewling pup hidden behind Mum's skirts in the corner, or crying by himself because Cecily or god alone knew who else, had torn up his shoddy poetry.
She's afraid of me.
I've ruined it all.
Lost her.