"Spike, you can stop asking me to leave you. I am not leaving you to be dusted by Buffy when you can't even defend yourself." I say angrily. "Do you want me to read some more?" I finally ask after a few moments of silence.
I know he didn't want me here, but I am not leaving him to die. "Your choice mister." I say as I sit next to him on the bed.
I can feel her body heat. Damn her for sitting next to me like this. I didn't move, still facing the wall. "Crazy bint." I finally said.
If she wanted to babysit me down here, that's her call. I don't have to like it, and I don't have to like her. No matter how pretty she is or how nice she smells. Stop it, Spike.
I laid back against him, my hand resting on his side as I read the book. I don't know, maybe I was nuts, but it felt good. I began to read a poem by Robert Burns, for some reason it seemed pretty...
Now's she touching me and reading Robert Burns' poems. She couldn't torture me more if she tried. Not that the poem wasn't nice, that's bloody it, it was nice. And her hand on my side, her body laying against my back, all of her warmth invading my body, that was nice too.
It was all so comforting, like I wasn't destined to be a pile of dust soon and I hated her for it. I would do anything to get this chip out of my head and my hands around her throat, choking her love and poems and care until she died.
Instead, as angry as I was, I didn't want her to leave, didn't want her stop reading. "Read another one." I heard myself say.
Bloody hell, Spike. Just let her get in and turn you to mush why don't you?
Comments 6
I know he didn't want me here, but I am not leaving him to die. "Your choice mister." I say as I sit next to him on the bed.
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If she wanted to babysit me down here, that's her call. I don't have to like it, and I don't have to like her. No matter how pretty she is or how nice she smells. Stop it, Spike.
"Yeah, fine, read more. Whatever, I don't care."
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THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast ( ... )
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It was all so comforting, like I wasn't destined to be a pile of dust soon and I hated her for it. I would do anything to get this chip out of my head and my hands around her throat, choking her love and poems and care until she died.
Instead, as angry as I was, I didn't want her to leave, didn't want her stop reading. "Read another one." I heard myself say.
Bloody hell, Spike. Just let her get in and turn you to mush why don't you?
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