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Making Him Mine - Chapter 8

‘Where is she, Watcher?’

‘Err, hello, Spike. Did Angel let you go? Are you well?’

‘Fuck Angel, where is she?’

‘Who, Spike, who are you looking for?’

‘For the Witch, where is she?’

‘Fucking answer this door, bint! I know you’re in there.’

‘I’m sorry Spike.’

‘I know you fucking will be, when you open this door!’

‘Spike, I meant to. I really did. Only I had a mid-term and I sorta forgot.’

‘What the fuck are you babblin’ about, Witch?’

‘The spell, I’m sorry. Maybe we could do it now. I’ve still got the hair?’

‘What the fuckin’ hell are you talkin’ about? Just open this soddin’ door. Or I’ll open it for ya!’

‘No, you’ll do something…you’ll be all grrrr on my again. I really did mean to do it, Spike, I had the potion all mixed, I had the hair all ready, but I really had to get my paper in, and it was so interesting and I got a really good grade for it and…’

‘SHUT UP! CHRIST! Don’t you need to breath either? Willow, are you trying to tell me you didn’t do the spell for me?’

‘Isn’t that what you came here for Spike, and hey! You’ve just called me Willow. You NEVER call me Willow.’

Uh huh. Now this is odd. Cus what the FRIGGIN’ HELL has been happening for the last week if she didn’t do the spell? I mean, Angel came for me. Angel helped me. Angel sucked cock, Jesus Christ, Angel rimmed me for fuck’s sake – AND THAT FUCKIN’ USUALLY MEANS LOVE!

‘You’re playing some sorta Witchy mind game, ain’t yer you cu…bint!’

‘Spike, look, under the door. There’s the hair. Still intact. I didn’t do the spell. I thought that’s what you came here for. What did you come here for?’

‘Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to think here.’

So. Let’s just go through this again, shall we? Slow time.

I bit his cock.

I crashed his car.

I set fire to his pants, (yep, I saw flames too, but I didn’t think it was the moment to bring it up, yer know?)

I gave the Prom Queen a real good view of his wanking habit.

But he didn’t dust me.

In fact, the soddin’ spell –THE SODDIN’ NON EXISTENT SPELL…‘I’d fuckin’ eat you if I could get through this door, chip or no chip, you stupid bint!’

…THE NON EXISTENT SPELL just seemed to be making him love me more and more. Shit, what was the watching TV together crap all about? Or the laughter? Or the fun? And then…oh god, what was the exploring every inch of my body? What was the eating me out? What was the allowing me to fist him?

What was the letting me hold him when he cried?

What was the telling me he loved me?

WHAT THE FRIGGIN’ HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT? Oh God! My head! This is fucking with my fucking head. WHY? Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this shit?

‘Are you trying to tell me there was no spell?’

‘I’m not talking to you any more!’

‘Err, sorry ‘bout that luv, but this is kinda weird, cus I thought you’d done the spell. Hey, stop laughing…this is serious.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that someone loved you without a spell! That’s about as likely as…’

‘What did you just friggin’ say?’

‘I said, and I’d thank you to stop that incessant swearing, Spike, I said that someone loving you was…’

Loving me! He’s been loving me. For real.

Oh fuckin’ hell.

So, what the bleedin’ hell am I supposed to do now? I really don’t think that going back to LA and just saying, ‘hi sweetie, I’m home’, is gonna solve this. Cus he told me he loved me and spent all night being fucked and bitten and sucked and sucking and then he woke up alone. With Spike pissed off. No note. Nothin’. And then all the weird shit…oh god, I bit his cock! Oh shit, worse, Cordelia saw his cock! And the car still ain’t back from the shop. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.


Uh huh. Yet again I’m facing another spectacular kicking of my arse. This is going to mean grovelling. Big time grovelling. I’ll have to go back. I’ll grovel. I can grovel. I’ll beg, I’ll plead. I’ll explain.

I’ll write a letter.

Good plan, Spike. I’ll write a nice lovin, long letter. I’ll tell him all about me plan. How he fucked it all up. How SHE fucked it all up. How EVERYONE ELSE fucked it up. Yeah, shouldn’t take too long to write, then I’ll go back and leave it on his desk.



Shit this is hard.

Oh God! Two fucking hours. It’s taken two hours to write this letter. But it’s done. I think it sets a nice tone. Back to LA, shit, petrol in the mouth time again.

I've tried to atone for my sins. I’ve suffered. I’ve given up those I loved. I live a life of abstinence and simplicity. I try to earn my redemption through my actions and my intent. Yet for all this, I seem to be in a darker place today than before I was set on this path. I awoke this morning with a throbbing in my body from Spike’s pounding. I awoke with the taste of his cum still in my mouth. I awoke to an empty bed. He’s gone. He’s taken his stuff, what little he had, and he’s just gone. He came back into my life like a bolt of lightening. Static frizzled around me in his presence and I was captivated by love. But he is gone. My whole body alive with lust and wanting and need. But he is gone. I bury my face into the pillow. I am over two hundred years old. You’d think I’d be over crying, too. But I’m not. I had perfection and I’ve lost it. I’m not crying for the physical acts, although, god I will miss his body, his taste, his feel. I’m crying because I had started to forget what it was to be alone. I was given sex, yet in that gift, I found friendship and laughter and love.

But the fight still needs fighting. Need, need, need all the time. People in pain. Is my pain insignificant then? But I rise and wiping my face, I armour myself against the pain of the loneliness. And the day is long and I am weary when I return home. But as I’m locking up, I see a piece of paper on my desk. And I know instantly what it is. It’s a letter. From Spike. I hear my dead heart start to beat again. Again, life turns on a whim, on a piece of insubstantial paper. I don’t have the strength to read it.

He’d better appreciate this, the prick. I spent bleedin’ two hours of my very valuable time writing that. Fuckin’ loads of revisions. Twenty bleedin’ rewrites at least! Felt I wanted to get the tone just right though. Cus tone’s important. Wanted to spend some time explaining everything. So he’d know. Wonder if he’s read it yet?

So, this is it. I take the piece of paper in my hand and start to read,

Blah Blah

Got Red to do a Love Spell. Needed yer hair. Sorry about that. Wanted you to love me. Cus I do. You, that is. Thought it had worked, thought you did. Love me that is. She chickened out (BITCH). Sorry about the car and Cordy and the cock biting thing.

Enjoyed the rest though!

So, I guess you really do?

Love me that is?

Cus if you do…SODDIN’ get yer arse downstairs NOW and shag me. Poof.

Luv Me


Yeah, on reflection, that set the tone just fine. Set the tone of our relationship from then on. He knows I’m a sensitive, articulate demon who he is lucky to love. I know he’s a bleedin’ nancy boy who acts like he’s had a friggin’ love spell cast on him. Cus I still get to piss him off. I still do the smashing and the breaking and the tearing and the screaming and the making his life hell. Why? Cus I can. I can and he loves it. He loves me whatever I do and it’s real. So if I don’t smash and break and scream all the time, if sometimes I let him read his books to me with my head in his lap and sometimes I invite his humans in and make him watch videos with us and sometimes I take him to the beach at night and swim with him in the deep, cold water, it’s because I want to. Cus we’ve got eternity to explore the limits of this love of ours. And I have a feelin’ I won’t ever find something that’ll piss him off enough to stop him lovin’ me.

Don’t mean I won’t stop trying though.


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