changemyattempt
The night's welcoming darkness was enveloping him from all sides. The only enemy to this desolate, dark wasteland of night was the headlamp on the front of the motorcycle that preceeded him. Spike's eyes were stoic, glued to the road but seeing only the past that had driven him to such an end. In all his memories he could think of nothing he loved to do more than take the lives of the pitiful humans that plagued this planet; especially the slayers. How much had he enjoyed watching their blood spill drop by drop into crimson pools beneath their feet until the life faded from their fear-filled eyes? There was no method of measurement. Yeah, he liked causing death. A lot.
Then came Buffy. Time and time again he went head to head with the slayer and for what? The elaborate schemes, the ambushes and onslaughts, even go so far as to find the Ring of Amara. Twice, no thanks to Angel. A shotgun slug to the forehead seemed like a right nice idea at the time but had he never ventured to cut out the fun and end it easily in her back yard that night he would have never seen those tears of pain in her eyes. She would've never broken him. That slayer had greater power than the others through that, he figured, and that's what made her exceptionally dangerous. Every look weakened him faster than any blow ever would.
Who had gone too far this time, he wondered? Each time Buffy rubbed her thighs Spike thought it was for him. She'd led him on and played him like an instrument for her own sick amusement. She wanted him in that bathroom. She'd given all the signals. She got what she deserved, right? No, not with that look she gave him. Looking on him like he was a monster just like when they were trying to kill each other. That look of hate had long since festered into sour milk to the point that he'd drink himself into stupor every time she flashed it at him. If she hated him so much, why did she do the things she did? Why'd she give him the moments that she gave? Why'd the one that was supposed to be the most pure treat him more like a demon when evil continually opened its arms to him? WHY?!
With a bellowing howl of anger, Spike planted his feet on the motorcycle's pegs and launched himself backward and off the bike, sending it flying off the road and into a tree, leaving it a burning, twisted heap of metal.
"You stupid bitch!" He yelled into the night at the top of his lungs, his fists clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Play ME will you?! Treat ME like a can o' worms t' be fed to the fishes?! BUGGER THAT!" He began to pace back and forth in the middle of the road. "Ya tell me that ya hate me, but you'll still part the panties when I come callin', won't you? Look at me like you want to wear my heart as a necklace and then drive a sodding STAKE in it when your... bloody.. PERMANENT PMS acts up again, right?!" His hand dove roughly into the inside pocket of his trench coat and he hurriedly pulled a cigarette out of the box with a little difficulty considering his hands trembling from the anger that had set his entire being aflame, though his speech didn't miss a beat. "Tormenting yourself, is it?! You're the cause of your own pain?! PSH RIGHT!" He shoved the cigarette between his lips and threw the rest of the pack down the road before working to get out his lighter. "Tormented you my sodding...f.. gh.." he struggled to find more words to say while simultaniously attempting to light the cigarette shaking between his lips. ".. go to sodding hell and save me a room you trollop! You'll get what you deserve, mark my words!" He pointed downward at the street to his left. "Say you wanna let go of it all," and then turns to point at his right, "but you keep openin' your legs when ol' Spike is wanderin' about! Get it right, mate! I wouldn't fuck you for practice!"
He stood there, staring down the street down which he'd just travelled the miles away from Buffy's house. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled through his nose, finally managing to calm his hate down long enough to form a comprehensable thought. ".... I don't even want ta bloody kill you anym--"
In his tirade he hadn't heard the engine of the Cadillac DeVille that had been speeding down the road. The only thing that grabbed his attention away from himself was the headlights that'd begun to shine around him from behind. He looked over his shoulder and, with a stunngingly intellectual, "BLOODY HELL!" leapt forward and onto his stomach a mere foot away from the car's front bumper. The vehicle skidded off the street and slammed headfirst into a tree much in the same fashion of the motorcycle he somehow knew he'd regret wrecking in the not-too-distant future. Spike quickly pulled himself to his feet and stared bewildered at the wrecked car. His brow lowered, narrowing his eyes curiously.
Before he could take a step toward it, the driver's side door opened and a female leg smoothly slid out until a single black slipper touched the grass, followed by another, and then what seemed to be a black haired living doll raised herself upward until she stared right at the shell-shocked vampire, slowly wiping what appeared to be blood from her lip. His eyes widened a little as though a revalation had been sent headlong into his brain. The messenger of his salvation.. once more welcomes herself into his life. But would she welcome him?
"... Dru..." he almost whispered...
Right before the human who had been originally driving the car slumped out of the driver's seat and onto the ground at the raven haired princess' feet.
Then came Buffy. Time and time again he went head to head with the slayer and for what? The elaborate schemes, the ambushes and onslaughts, even go so far as to find the Ring of Amara. Twice, no thanks to Angel. A shotgun slug to the forehead seemed like a right nice idea at the time but had he never ventured to cut out the fun and end it easily in her back yard that night he would have never seen those tears of pain in her eyes. She would've never broken him. That slayer had greater power than the others through that, he figured, and that's what made her exceptionally dangerous. Every look weakened him faster than any blow ever would.
Who had gone too far this time, he wondered? Each time Buffy rubbed her thighs Spike thought it was for him. She'd led him on and played him like an instrument for her own sick amusement. She wanted him in that bathroom. She'd given all the signals. She got what she deserved, right? No, not with that look she gave him. Looking on him like he was a monster just like when they were trying to kill each other. That look of hate had long since festered into sour milk to the point that he'd drink himself into stupor every time she flashed it at him. If she hated him so much, why did she do the things she did? Why'd she give him the moments that she gave? Why'd the one that was supposed to be the most pure treat him more like a demon when evil continually opened its arms to him? WHY?!
With a bellowing howl of anger, Spike planted his feet on the motorcycle's pegs and launched himself backward and off the bike, sending it flying off the road and into a tree, leaving it a burning, twisted heap of metal.
"You stupid bitch!" He yelled into the night at the top of his lungs, his fists clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Play ME will you?! Treat ME like a can o' worms t' be fed to the fishes?! BUGGER THAT!" He began to pace back and forth in the middle of the road. "Ya tell me that ya hate me, but you'll still part the panties when I come callin', won't you? Look at me like you want to wear my heart as a necklace and then drive a sodding STAKE in it when your... bloody.. PERMANENT PMS acts up again, right?!" His hand dove roughly into the inside pocket of his trench coat and he hurriedly pulled a cigarette out of the box with a little difficulty considering his hands trembling from the anger that had set his entire being aflame, though his speech didn't miss a beat. "Tormenting yourself, is it?! You're the cause of your own pain?! PSH RIGHT!" He shoved the cigarette between his lips and threw the rest of the pack down the road before working to get out his lighter. "Tormented you my sodding...f.. gh.." he struggled to find more words to say while simultaniously attempting to light the cigarette shaking between his lips. ".. go to sodding hell and save me a room you trollop! You'll get what you deserve, mark my words!" He pointed downward at the street to his left. "Say you wanna let go of it all," and then turns to point at his right, "but you keep openin' your legs when ol' Spike is wanderin' about! Get it right, mate! I wouldn't fuck you for practice!"
He stood there, staring down the street down which he'd just travelled the miles away from Buffy's house. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled through his nose, finally managing to calm his hate down long enough to form a comprehensable thought. ".... I don't even want ta bloody kill you anym--"
In his tirade he hadn't heard the engine of the Cadillac DeVille that had been speeding down the road. The only thing that grabbed his attention away from himself was the headlights that'd begun to shine around him from behind. He looked over his shoulder and, with a stunngingly intellectual, "BLOODY HELL!" leapt forward and onto his stomach a mere foot away from the car's front bumper. The vehicle skidded off the street and slammed headfirst into a tree much in the same fashion of the motorcycle he somehow knew he'd regret wrecking in the not-too-distant future. Spike quickly pulled himself to his feet and stared bewildered at the wrecked car. His brow lowered, narrowing his eyes curiously.
Before he could take a step toward it, the driver's side door opened and a female leg smoothly slid out until a single black slipper touched the grass, followed by another, and then what seemed to be a black haired living doll raised herself upward until she stared right at the shell-shocked vampire, slowly wiping what appeared to be blood from her lip. His eyes widened a little as though a revalation had been sent headlong into his brain. The messenger of his salvation.. once more welcomes herself into his life. But would she welcome him?
"... Dru..." he almost whispered...
Right before the human who had been originally driving the car slumped out of the driver's seat and onto the ground at the raven haired princess' feet.