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For a long time, Spike couldn’t do anything but stare blankly at the desk. He couldn’t move, and didn’t want to think. How could she do that to me? How could she? Every time he thought of what she must have read, what she must have thought of him. Did she come in here just to get a good laugh? Was it some sort of revenge? Had he done something to deserve to be embarrassed and humiliated?
How long had she been doing it? Obviously if she had a whole notebook as a result of her crime it had been going on for sometime. Why hadn’t she said anything? Did she get off on pulling one over on him? Mocking him behind his back? Was she angry about something?
He had always been extremely protective of his poetry. It took his agent, Dru, and several of his colleagues over a year to convince him to publish the poems before, and even then he was far from comfortable with the whole situation. The books—they were one thing. He could distance his emotions from those. But he could never distance himself from the poems. They were him in his rawest form, his feelings and thoughts completely bare, vulnerable, nothing to protect them or him.
Of all of the notebooks, why did she choose the one she did? Was it even possible that she only read one? No, it was entirely more likely that she had read all of them—including the red one. Damn. She wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand the poems that were less than flattering to her. She wouldn’t understand that sometimes he just wrote to work through his feelings…she probably thought the worst of him. There was only way to find out.
The notebook was oddly alluring and repulsive at the same time. He needed to know what had possessed her to violate his privacy that way. He needed to know what she thought when she did. He wanted to throw it across the room, burn it, destroy it. Because maybe that would hurt her as much as she had hurt him.
With a sigh, he picked up her green book and flipped through it. It looked like a bunch of random entries. He held it open on the first page, skimming over her small, girlish handwriting.
I’ve never had a diary before. Not sure what I should write. I guess whatever, huh? I’ve started this because there are so many things to write down. Of course I don’t know what to write, yet. Maybe inspiration will strike.
More of the same type of babbling for several pages, and then his eye caught short, indented lines. Had she tried to write something herself?
I know I shouldn’t read his poems. I shouldn’t even go in his office. But it’s hard to stop. Nothing has ever touched me like that before, and it feels like an addiction. They inspire me, somehow. Everything he does inspires me, but I want to do what he can do. I want to be able to write and move somebody to tears. Or, I don’t have to write. I just wish that I could create something beautiful. Oh well, here’s my first silly attempt. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.
i love you, need you, want you,
i need new words to say
the old ones are dogged.
craving, addiction, desire, possession.
all inadequate in the face of the flame.
i douse it all with teardrops
when what i need is rain.
“Oh, Buffy…” he breathed. “Buffy, Buffy, Buffy…” He could already feel himself calm down, already feel the sweet innocence of her words drown the hurt. Intrigued, fascinated, moved, he continued to read. Some of the passages nearly tore his heart out.
There’s something wrong with me. I’m not sure what. I think he knows it too. I don’t do things right. I know he loves me—but does he know I love him? Sometimes I’m scared that I don’t show him enough, or tell him the things he needs to hear. I feel like there’s a part of me locked off from him, and he needs it and I want to give it to him, but I can’t. What if he gets tired of waiting for me to figure it out? I think he might be
The sentence ended there, and the rest of the page was blank, as though she meant to go back and write more, but she never got around to it. There were similar passages of self-doubt scattered through the notebook, and each one he read made his heart bleed.
Tara asked me today why I can’t stay away from his office and his stuff. She doesn’t understand. She says he won’t either. She’s afraid of what he’ll do if/when he finds out. I think he’ll be really angry—but do I need to be afraid of him? I don’t think so. He’ll scream and shout a bit, I’m sure, but in the end, he’s Spike, right? Tara doesn’t think so. I can’t explain that I need to be close to him, in every way possible. I should just ask him…there’s a chance he’d let me read them. But he wouldn’t understand either.
Spike frowned. So she told Tara and what had Tara’s response been? Obviously some sort of warning. What did Tara think he would do? What did she tell Buffy he would do? He was pleased that Buffy obviously didn’t give any heed to whatever her dire warnings had been, but his suspicions of her grew.
I wrote another poem today, in class. I wish I could show Spike. He’d help me with it. That’s his job, right? I don’ t know.
my lover's eyes are a june-july blue
i fear that drowning deep
i open my mouth to speak of my gratitude
but all you taste are kisses
the right word could spark recognition
confirmation that i feel it too
and i do
i do
He was impressed with her poetry. For a beginner, it wasn’t bad. He had certainly seen much worse. She fumbled in a few place, and it was very clear that she was mimicking his style instead of searching for one of her own, but overall, they were strong and heartfelt. They touched him deeply.
i envy you your tongue, your mouth
so loyal to your mind's wanderings
your heart's path
mine do more than fail me
they send me accusing
i see you walking on the other side
won't you come for me?
I hurt him yesterday. Didn’t mean to. Don’t know why I did. Wish I could take it back. I try to apologize, but he says he’s fine. His poem says something different. I wish he wouldn’t lie to me like that. How can I make anything better if he won’t tell me?
He stayed up, all night. Reading. Re-reading. More than once, he cried a little at the brutal honesty, the insecurities, the way she tried even when she doubted herself. The problems at school was chronicled, reawakening his rage. God, why couldn’t they just leave her alone? The fantasies she had, the dreams…
I want to help people, somehow. I doubt I’m very good at helping though. I’d probably just make everything worse. I want to get my masters though in child development. I don’t know if I ever want my own kids, but there are so many that need help…I wonder if Spike wants kids? He never mentions it. I never bring it up. Easier to let that sleeping dog lie, I think.
Yeah, that was something they would have to deal with at some point. As soon as Spike figured out what he wanted, he’d let her know.
By the time the first hints of dawn lit the office, he had read through the notebook twice. If he had been exposed when she read his work, she was completely vulnerable. He could do whatever he wanted with the knowledge he had of her. He could use it to cut her, dress her down, make her bleed from the inside out. And she knew it. She gave him this type of ammunition when he would have the most reason to use it, gave it to him willingly.
Spike absolutely could not be angry with her. He had no reason to use it against her. He couldn’t. He had been so hurt because he thought she would use his words against him… they inspired her and tore her open and instead of hiding that, she showed him. He half expected the final entry in the book to be Trust me as much as I trust you…
Deeply ashamed of himself, he scrawled at the bottom of one of the pages. “I’m sorry.”
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wow
From: (Anonymous)
Yes!
My husband has found and read my writing a few times, both in notebooks and my online journal, and when he reads it, he gets pissed because he doesn't understand that what I write in poems isn't the whole truth, and that sometimes the words go somewhere that I didn't expect, and poems help me work it out. So he gets himself mad. I don't mind if he reads them, as long as he understands that he's taking a risk be doing so.
Actually, it sounds like Buffy does understand--she took a huge risk too.
From: (Anonymous)
Re: Yes!
calliope
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*weeping*
From: (Anonymous)
Oh my God!
P.S. Make him have to beg!
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Re: Oh my God!
From: (Anonymous)
Re: Oh my God!
From: (Anonymous)
WOW!
From: (Anonymous)
no subject
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um...
Kudos, mi chica :)
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fuckin' awesome
hm, you don't call that friending? well, did you enjoy it anyway?
::giggles while flicking an exposed nipple::
From:
Re: fuckin' awesome
::giggles while flicking an exposed nipple::
::snorts:: Oh, I like you :)
From: (Anonymous)
::Sniff, sniff::
Love ya,
Kris :)
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I'm addicted.
I friended you so it will be faster to get the updates. I'm addicted. Really. really addicted. So when is the next installment? When? Tell me please... I need it now! :)
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no subject
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no subject
Hope to see the next part soon. I of course am hoping that he goes after her, but I know that you are led by the dictates of what the characters want to do.
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Beautiful
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this is spike.
this temperament may not be caused by his writing, in fact i suspect the opposite. his life, up to and including this point, has ben a series of emotional twists and turns. it feeds his craft. but it's not only food for his pages; it's his life. only now, it seems, is he beginning to understand that there's another person that has become an integral part of his world: all of it.
he has to open up. he can't afford to shut down and expect the one he loves, the one that loves him, to accept him in pieces. buffy wants all of him, even the broken, bloody parts. so she has given him all of her through the medium that he understands best: pages. as you say, she's given him the ammunition by which he could destroy her knowing that he never would. and now she silently begs him to do the same.
it's a step on the right path. they need to talk. they need to sit down, without any preconceived notions of what to expect, and just talk. i hope they will one day soon.
this was a beautifully written chapter. thanks for asking me to be a part of this story. i am honored.
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no subject
I get all sexy or thoughtful or hubbieloving or creative (also thanks to you Xionin) and I love it!
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no subject