PART 12 - "L" for Lonely
Spike stared at the closed crypt door. Hoping against his better
judgement that Xander would change his mind and come back. *Yeah well, why
should he? When HE gets horny he can always do his ever-horny ex-demon.*
Spike shook his head. He'd file this under "d" for doomed. Or perhaps
"p" for pathetic.
He plopped into his armchair. Something was uncomfortable. He fished
around and came up with a plastic blue lid. He looked around and saw that
Anya's Tupperware dish was still sitting on the lid of his stone coffin. He
dropped the lid to the floor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying
to push everything away, the hunger, the hurt. *Forget about the last 24 hours*
he told himself, knowing he couldn't. Short of a lobotomy, nothing could erase
those memories.
He smoked three cigarettes in short succession. "Bollocks," he
finally said. It was time to get up and do something. Brooding wasn't his
style. He climbed into the cave underneath his crypt and rummaged around until
he found his stash of brand new clothes. No black T-shirts left. He shrugged
and tore the price tag off a blue T-shirt before he pulled it over his head. He
stuck a crude wooden stake into his back pocket. Then he grabbed his leather
duster, but when he noticed that it needed another dose of leather care cleaner
he decided to wear his brown leather jacket instead. One of his nicer trophies,
stolen out of Agent Asshole's locker at the university gym. He ran his fingers
through his hair and picked up the blanket he always used to hide from
sunlight.
He needed to get out. Find himself a nice bit of trouble. Perhaps kill
something nasty. Stock up the fridge. Steal some stuff. Keep the mind from
replaying that kiss. Perhaps get thoroughly plastered to get that blasted
imagination of his to bloody shut up. So it was daylight? Fuck daylight!
He clambered back up into his crypt, picked up the empty container and
its lid and disappeared into Sunnydale's world of tunnels.