On Me - Chapter 7
No sign of Spike in any of the
places we've been to together, and even though it's nearly daybreak, I continue
withthis futile quest. The thought is beginning to dawn on me that he may just
have decided to leave me. I try to remember anything unusual about this evening.
But I can't. It was just as every other evening since we started to inflict
this pain on each other. Could it be possible that Spike finds this situation
as destructive as I do? Is it possible that he is looking for more from me than
I've been giving him? I stop and lay my head down on my hands. Have I been so
blind that I've missed the signals Spike's been trying to give me? I've seen
how he has been with Cordelia and Wes; has he been making that effort for me?
And I know now that I will never see Spike again; he has left, and my last chance
of some semblance of happiness has gone with him.
Course, killing me ain't as easy as just dumping me in the docks to drown. Cus I don't need to breath. But they don't know that, so I play dead and allow myself to sink slowly out of sight. The salt water stings like whips on every tear and cut I've been given, but that pain is nothing to the agony inside, which I think is gonna finish me off if I don't do something about it soon. I swim painfully over to a ladder and drag myself out of the water, keeping to the shadows, and find a manhole to get back into the sewers. Nearly dawn. I have to decide what to do. Nothing but sheer desperation will make me go back to Angel. Although I've thought about nothing else but getting home to him all through this ordeal, I can't bear the thought now of him seeing me like this. My nose is smashed; one eye's closed with a large gash and swelling; it feels as though one of my ears is nearly off; I know quite a few ribs are broken, and then there is the shard of glass cutting my life away from the inside.
But it's the thought of that piece of glass that makes the decision for me, cus I can't get it out by myself, and that's kinda shit really, cus it's not the kind of thing you can just ask someone to do for you. So, one way or another, I'm fucked, and I'm probably gonna die of blood loss. And I'd rather be fucked back at Angel's than bleed slowly to death here in the sewers. So I head off back the way I came, and it's OK cus I've got all day to fill, cus it ain't like I'm moving my usual speed. In fact, truth be told, I'm not even walking, just dragging myself along through the filth of LA's underbelly, and even that's agony, as one wrist was shattered sometime during the night by a biker chain, and an elbow with a tyre iron. Guess it was real funny seeing me tying to crawl away with all my limbs broken.
So, I'm going kinda slow and also havin' to stop when I hear LA's demon population movin' around, cus I'm giving the feared name William the Bloody a whole new meaning at the moment, and I couldn't defend myself against a kitten with sharp claws. But I've got all day, and it's like not anyone is waiting up for me.
I can't sleep. I can't feed. I'm pacing the flat in a state of despair. And I'm not alone. Cordelia is here, crying quietly on the couch, although she is trying to hide it. Wes is on the phone, speaking to Giles in the slim hope that Spike has gone home to Sunnydale, but he's not been seen. And I am increasingly worried. I have the feeling that he hasn't just left me. Cordelia says they were going out to a gig tomorrow: one he wouldn't miss. And I've found his CDs in the kitchen, and I know he'd never leave his beloved music, and, and, well, it just doesn't feel right. I don't know where to put myself against the invisible, unfightable enemy that is despair. I can't get an axe, or a stake and stride into action against something which is destroying me from the inside. I just want Spike back, here, where I can hear his cursing, smell his cigarettes, hear his music, taste his awful booze and, oh, taste his cum and his skin, and feel his mouth on me. It'll be sunset in an hour, and we are all setting off again to sweep the local bars and ask the local demon population if anyone has seen or heard of him. One more hour to action, one more hour of agony.
I reckon in a hour I'll be home. Maybe another mile to go now. Twelve hours of dragging myself through human shit, twelve hours of agony and ripping, and I know I will never forget this trip, this journey though hell. Nothing the Initiative put me through was as bad as this; nothing Angelus put me though was as bad as this. I wonder if this is what hell was like for Angel.
I keep doggedly on, pulling myself on my broken wrist 'til it can't hardly hurt anymore and, eventually, I'm at the ladder that leads up to the apartment. I drag myself slowly up and fall onto the smooth, cool, wooden floor that smells of vanilla and wood smoke, and I want Angel. I want to feel his arms on me, and I want to want to fall into his embrace and never wake up again from this straight jacket of agony. But he's not here. The fucking wanker is not here. He's not even bothered about me; he's probably off helping the helpless who are NOT me. Bursting in and rescuing them, just like I've been wishing he would do for me tonight. I drag myself over to the couch. And that is it. That's as far, and as much as I can do now. Maybe I'll be the first vamp to be dusted by blood loss. It's beyond me to care anymore. Now it's up to fate, or the powers that fuck, whether I live or die cus, as far as I'm concerned, I am dying - and in a soddin' mortal and frightening way.
We do all the bars we can think of, asking questions, paying money, talking to the demon scum of the earth, but nothing. No one has seen or heard of Spike. I call it a night, as Cordelia is strung out, and even Wes is looking drawn. I take them both home before driving sadly back to my now empty apartment. I can't believe I will no longer walk into the building to be assaulted by his hideous music blaring out from below. I can't believe I won't have him waiting for me, even if it was only to suck me until I screamed his name. I can't face the thought of life without him. But I guess I won't have to, because the minute I get into the office, I smell him. And over his smell, the unbelievable smell of pain and blood and shit and cum: a flood of cum from different men, layering over him. I practically fall down the stairs, and my legs buckle when I see the figure huddled unconscious on the couch. He is a mass of damaged limbs and broken skin. I take him gently in my arms, cradling him across my lap. I try to assess the damage, but it's too bad to tell like this, and I need to get his clothes off and wash some of the filth off him. God, has he been swimming in shit? I carry him into the bathroom and run a hot bath, undressing him from the filthy rags he has been left in. When I put him into the water, he starts to revive, but not enough to keep his head above the water, and although he doesn't need to breath, it's just too weird to have him under the water while I try to wash him off. So, shedding my clothes, I slip in behind him, pulling his back to my chest and holding him gently with one arm, whilst I dribble hot water gently over him with the other.
The most critical thing, is for him to feed, as that will speed his recovery. So, I bite my wrist and hold it to his mouth. But his face is so swollen, and his lips so torn I don't think he can suck. I tip his neck right back, open his mouth and drip the blood in, stroking his neck gently to make him swallow. He gags badly. I just know that he has had quite a lot down his throat tonight, and that his instinctive reaction is to fight back, so I start a quiet monologue for him. Nothing really. Just simple words of love and comfort. I tell him how brave he was to get back to me, how much I missed him, how I was out looking for him, how worried Cordy and Wes were, and how everything will be all right, because I love him and will never let him go again, never let him get hurt again. But he doesn't hear me. He is deeply unconscious and in his own world of pain.
I am still in that factory, but now I am dreaming that Angel came to rescue me, and that he is holding me in his arms and telling me he loves me, and that he will never let me get hurt again. But it doesn't feel like I am still there. And why can I feel water all round me, soaking my wounds and easing my pain? And I realise that I am not dreaming, that Angel's arms are around me, holding me gently, and his hands are bathing my wounds, and, oh god, he is whispering to me about love and forgiveness. I feel I am falling from the sky away from myself and my pain towards something I have been looking for all my life.
I lift him out of the bath and carry him to the bed. I start to pat his wounds dry and assess his injuries. The broken wrist and elbow are the most obvious, and the bruising around his ribs a sure bet that they are broken, too. His nose is smashed but healing already, and the closed eye is looking slightly better than when I first found him. But something is badly wrong here; he is still bleeding profusely from where they abused him, and that shouldn't be. Vampire healing should have stopped that long ago.
Oh God, I have to tell him. But how? How do you tell someone something like this? But if I don't, I think I will die from the pain and blood loss. 'Angel....'
'Shhhhh. Spike, don't try to speak; just lie still
and let me help you.'
'Angel!' Shit, I start to cry, and I can't help it: the humiliation is too much. It isn't as if we are even friends, but I need him to do this for me.
My heart will surely break at this. William the Bloody is crying from something that humans did to him, he, who has been top of the food chain for so long is crying and in pain.
'Angel! Inside me, glass,
it's still there. I'm bleeding... please....' Oh God, how can he bear this?
The humiliation. What can I do to ease this for him, whilst I do what I have
'Shush, little one.'
He's turned his face away from me, but I gently take his chin and turn him back to look at me.
'Look at me, Will.' I fix his eyes with my gaze, not allowing him to turn away from me.'You are my childe, Will, and I love you, and I will do this for you willingly. Lie still, little one, and let me help you. 'It's not difficult to find the shard of glass; it's deep and causing a lot of damage. But I manage to get it out without making the wounds deeper. Spike is lying incredibly still, and I look at his beautiful face twisted in such pain. I know I have to do something quickly to start the healing process for him. Without hesitation, I slice my tongue deeply with one fang and bend over to Spike's crushed and broken lips. I gently push my tongue inside his mouth and let the blood drip down his torn throat. I swirl the blood over his lips and up the cuts and bruises on his face to his closed eye. Keeping the gash in my tongue open, I allow some blood to pool into the eyelid then wipe it gently over the bruising and swelling. Spike is looking at me with his good eye. I can't read him, but he is not rejecting me, so I continue with my ministrations.
This is what I wanted to come home for. This is what I dragged my sorry butt through those tunnels for, but didn't really believe I would find. But this is real. I'm lying naked on Angel's bed with Angel naked beside me, and he is... oh God, he is sucking on my torn ear, licking blood around the wound, moving his tongue down to my chest and swirling his precious blood over every cut and bruise. I can feel the healing process accelerating. My Sire's rare and powerful blood, mixing with my own to create a heady, healing mixture. He's moving down my body and... jees, I don't believe it! I'm getting hard. After everything I've been though tonight, I kinda thought I might be off shaggin' for a while. But Angel's touch is stirring memories and passions.
'Feeling a bit better now, I see.' I look up at him with a low chuckle when I see his cock swaying up against his belly.
'Later, Spike. You need to heal first, and I think this will help.' And with that, I move down between his legs and, gently as I can, prize open his cheeks and push my tongue slowly, but insistently, into his entrance. Spike gasps, and I look up, concerned that I may be hurting him.
'Oh, yeah, mate! Just you keep going there.'
So, making the wound on my tongue even deeper, I push the life-giving blood deep into to him, and it starts to wash away the pain and the humiliation, and Spike is actually moaning and starting to thrust up off the bed towards me.
'Spike! Lie still. We are not going to have sex tonight; you are gonna sleep and get well. Spike! STOP. We have all the time in the world for this when you are better,' and, at that, Spike relaxes back onto the bed with a low groan of frustration, but overlaid with an unmistakable sound of contentment. With a low chuckle, I continue working on his body, until every wound has had a fair share of blood.
I shift in the bed until I am sitting up against the headrest and pull Spike into my arms, cradling his back against my chest. He is very sleepy now, but there's one more thing he needs to do before I can let him sleep. I open up my wrist with a deep wound and press the swelling, bloody cut to his lips.
'Drink, Spike. This is my blood, and I shed it for you.'
He latches on greedily and begins to suck, and, ohhh, the age old game begins, and if I didn't already know that we have passed into some new place where love is now possible, then I would know it from this act. Because here, in this bed, there is only us, only the feel of him draining me, setting every nerve in my body on fire with pleasure as each tiny drop is sucked from my body. I start to feel my head clearing of all the pain and anguish of the past few weeks with Spike.This intimate connection drains away the blood that held that pain.
Dear God, my dear God, Angel. He is giving his blood for me and, ohhh, the taste of his passion as it washes through me makes my body sing again. The terror of the night is being drowned out by this powerful feeling. What pathetic human events could hold sway against Angel's flowing blood? And I know it's going to start soon .. and, yes, there it is. I start to hear his thoughts and his feelings and… oh god… Angel loves me… and Angel wants me. I am rushing through a dark tunnel, and Angel is the light at the end. He is home when I am lost, and he is forever.
He's fallen deeply asleep, and I am moved beyond this place. I am empty and flying free of this constraining body. The blood loss sets me free from the human body encasing me, and I am pure, unfettered demon. I allow it to happen. I move through the dark city; I seek out those that did this to my boy; I find them asleep; I watch them, and I tell them in quiet whispers that they will hear as nightmares, that Angelus will be back for them. And then I feel myself returning to my body, and the soul lays down heavy upon me, and all is dark.