Chapter 5

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair, trying to avoid making eye contact with the only other person in the infirmary’s waiting room. To her dismay, it was a girl she recognized from one of her classes last semester, so she was keeping her head down, hoping the other girl wouldn’t notice her.

“Hey, you’re Buffy, right?”

She glanced up, giving the girl a thin smile, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment just at being spotted here. It was silly; it wasn’t as though someone could tell she’d been raped just by looking at her, and yet she felt like her secret was emblazoned on her forehead. “Yeah. You’re… Cindy?”

“Cindy Pritchard. What’re you in for?”

“Um… cramps. I get bad cramps.” She pressed her hand against her lower abdomen in a half-hearted demonstration.

“Oh, you should so try this new birth control I’m on,” Cindy offered helpfully. “I used to get the worst cramps, but the pill totally gets rid of them.”

Buffy gave her a vague nod. “Thanks. So, uh… what are you here for?”

“Chlamydia. Those losers at Pi Sig don’t know how to wear a condom.”

Buffy shuddered involuntarily at the reminder that she could have an STD of her own. Rapists generally didn't do their victims the courtesy of using a condom.

“Buffy Summers?” the receptionist called.

She stood quickly, eager to escape Chlamydia Cindy. “Well, you know, good luck with that,” she said over her shoulder as she followed the nurse back to the exam room.

*****

Buffy took a seat on the examination table, clutching the paper gown tight across her chest. She shivered as the cold, padded plastic touched her bare thighs, and she hunched her shoulders, crossing her legs at the ankle to draw herself in as small as possible.

The counselor she’d seen had insisted that she immediately get checked out by the campus infirmary. It was too late for a rape kit, but they were giving her a pelvic exam anyway. A nurse had already drawn blood to test for pregnancy and STDs, and Buffy nervously fingered the bandage on her inner elbow. The needle prick was probably already closed by now, but she resisted the urge to rip off the dressings lest she have to explain her super healing.

She glanced up as the doctor came in, a frazzled, overworked woman who spent most of her day dishing out STD treatments and busting kids who were looking for excuses to get out of class. After a perfunctory introduction and a quick glance at Buffy’s chart, the doctor asked her to lie back on the exam table.

“How long ago was the assault?” she asked, pulling on her rubber gloves.

“A w-week and a half ago,” Buffy stammered.

“Any significant bruising or other injuries you noticed?”

“Bruises… on my arms,” Buffy replied. “And – and my stomach.”

The doctor checked her arms, and then spread open the paper gown to examine Buffy’s stomach. “Well, they’re gone now.”

Inwardly, she cringed. “I heal fast.”

“Put your feet in the stirrups and scoot down to the edge of the table,” she instructed, taking a seat on the stool between Buffy’s propped-open legs. Buffy winced as the doctor spread her knees further apart, exposing her vulva. Hearing her reaction, the doctor asked, “Does that hurt?”

“N-no. It’s just… you know…”

“Have you felt any lingering pain or soreness in your vaginal area?” she went on, making no effort to soothe Buffy’s embarrassment. “Bleeding? Painful urination?”

Buffy shook her head to all the questions, wondering why she was even here. Her Slayer healing had taken care of any physical signs of rape; she wouldn’t have been surprised if the doctor had called her a liar.

The insertion of the cold metal speculum made Buffy gasp, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her discomfort worsened. Oh, God, just make this be over. I’d rather be dismembered by a pack of Fyarl demons than have this woman poking around down there.

The doctor talked her through the pelvic exam and a cotton swab for more STD testing, which didn’t help in the slightest to make it less unpleasant, and then instructed her to sit back up.

“Are you on any type of birth control?”

“The pill,” Buffy said, for once thankful for her mother’s obstinacy. After finding out she’d slept with Angel, Joyce had forced her to start taking birth control, saying that if Buffy couldn’t be trusted to make wise decisions about sex, at least she’d have the reassurance that she wouldn’t get pregnant. Buffy had simply accepted it, thinking it was probably not the right time to explain to her mother about vampire physiology.

“Well, we’ll have you tested just in case. That and the results of your other tests should come back within the next several days. We’ll call you when they come in.”

After a few more instructions, and a strong recommendation that she make a weekly counseling appointment, the doctor left the room. Buffy had held back the urge to cry throughout the entire exam, but now as she was getting dressed, she couldn’t help the tears that slid down her cheeks.

*****

Willow had been incredibly relieved to hear that Buffy had sought help, and even offered to go with her to her first regular appointment with the counselor, but Buffy insisted on going by herself. Although she didn’t let on, she felt a slight distrust in her best friend. She had told Willow about the rape in confidence, and yet the first thing Willow had done was tell Xander. She didn’t really begrudge Xander the knowledge – after all, he was her best friend, too – but it had been her place to tell, not Willow’s. Now, she certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to a counselor with Willow there.

Buffy had obediently sat and listened during the first session, as the counselor – a balding, middle-aged man who clearly had no idea what it was like to be a nineteen-year-old girl – went through the standard speech about it not being her fault, and so she shouldn’t feel guilty or ashamed, before ushering her off to the infirmary. It was all canned, and nothing Buffy didn’t already know, but that objective knowledge didn’t stop her from feeling the way she did.

She didn’t have very high hopes for these sessions, but she went to the appointment anyway, determined to give it her best shot. She was surprised when she was assigned to a different counselor than the one she’d previously seen. This one was a woman in her thirties who introduced herself as “Dr. Marshall, but you can call me Rebecca.”

“What about the guy I saw the other day?” Buffy asked.

“Who, Neil? He just happened to be on walk-in duty. You were assigned to me because I specialize in sexual assault.”

“Oh. So, are you gonna tell me it’s not my fault, too?”

Dr. Marshall smiled. “It probably bears repeating. But if there’s something else you’d like to talk about, that’s okay, too.”

Buffy shrugged noncommittally. When she was freaking out and things with Riley were falling apart, it had seemed so important to do this, to make her confession, but now that she was here, the idea of talking about it felt horrifying.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Buffy replied stubbornly. “I can’t remember anything.”

The counselor nodded. “Okay. How did you discover that you’d been raped?”

“Um, how do you think?”

“I think you probably woke up after a party, maybe in someone else’s bed,” Rebecca said gently. “The night before was fuzzy, but you felt sore and had bruises, maybe your clothes were torn… am I right?”

Buffy just gave her a blank stare. “So you read my file. Good for you.”

“Yes, I read your file. Yours and dozens of girls like you, Buffy. You’re not alone in this; there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

“Gosh,” she replied with a sarcastic laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Okay,” Dr. Marshall said, in a tone that suggested she ran into this kind of unwillingness to talk from many of her students. “What are you hoping to get out of this, Buffy? Maybe if you tell me what you’re looking for, we can figure out the best way to get there.”

“How do I make it go away?”

“Well, it’s not that simple…”

“I’m sick of feeling like this,” Buffy interrupted. “I’m sick of wondering if every guy I pass is the one who raped me. I’m sick of my best friend looking at me like I’m a small animal she needs to nurse back to health. I’m sick of wanting to throw up every time my boyfriend touches me. I just want it all to go away.”

“How is your boyfriend handling the situation?” she asked, latching on to something that Buffy might be willing to discuss. “Is he being supportive?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Dr. Marshall said, clasping her hands in front of her and leaning forward sympathetically. “I understand that it can be a difficult subject to broach, but he may be making you uncomfortable without even realizing it.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Buffy insisted. “Do you think he wants to hear that some other guy screwed his girlfriend?”

“He may not want to, but I think he needs to hear it if he’s going to understand what you’re going through. It’s important to be honest with him, Buffy, to explain why you’re not comfortable with intimacy, so that he can give you the support you need.”

Buffy paused, considering this. “What if I tell him and he’s not supportive?”

“Then it’s probably not a good relationship for you to be in right now.”

“I’ll think about it,” she conceded.

*****

Buffy thought about it the entire rest of the day, until she went out for patrol later that night. She still couldn’t fathom telling Riley. Somehow, even though she knew deep down that he wouldn’t be angry or disappointed in her, she couldn’t let go of that frightening possibility.

She didn’t have to wait long before a vampire crossed her path, but it didn’t do much to distract her from her thoughts. She’d been doing this for so long, she could practically slay on autopilot, leaving her brain free to continue her reflection.

She carried her secret like a weight on her shoulders, the opposite side of her Slayer coin. In place of the strength, skills, and noble destiny she had hidden for so long, she now concealed her weakness, her shame, and her relegation to being a victim. She now had a new secret identity, one that not even those closest to her needed to know about.

Suddenly, the vampire she’d been fighting punched through her thoughts, knocking her to the ground, and she realized that she’d let her defenses slip while not paying attention. She lay flat on her back, and she knew she should get up, could practically see herself bending her knees and kipping to her feet, but she didn’t move.

She only hesitated a second, but that was all it took for the vampire to leap on top of her, fangs at her throat, and in that moment, she just didn’t care.

Before she felt the piercing pain of the bite, the vamp exploded into dust, and Spike stood there peering down at her. A look of disappointment flickered across his face, and he turned away, striding back toward his crypt without even offering her a hand up.

Quickly regaining her wits, Buffy scrambled to her feet and gave chase. “Spike!” she called out, causing him to pause and turn back in her direction.

“Why did you save me?” she demanded, once she’d caught up to him.

He shrugged, in an effort to seem nonchalant. “Didn’t know it was you.”

“Oh, so now William the Bloody is saving innocent victims from vampires?”

“Well, demons are the only things I can kill, yeah? Doesn’t much matter whether there’s a victim or not.”

Buffy gave him a disbelieving look. “Whatever, Spike.”

“Okay, fine,” he relented. “I knew it was you.”

“And again, I ask – why did you save me?”

“’Cause someday, I’m gonna get this chip out of my head,” he replied, pointing to his temple. “And when that happens, first thing I’m gonna do is find you and kill you.” He shrugged again. “Takes the fun out of it if you’re already dead.”

It was pretty much what she’d expected him to say, but for some reason it wasn’t as satisfying once she’d coaxed it out of him. “Fine,” she said, turning on her heel.

“Question is, love,” his voice stopped her, “why’d you let him get you?”

“I slipped up.”

“No. You don’t slip up, not with the likes of him. Pillock could barely throw a punch.”

Buffy spun around. “What do you want me to say? You ruined my suicide by vampire? Is that what you want to hear?”

She might have imagined it, but she thought she saw Spike flinch. “Is that what it was?” he asked.

“Not… intentionally.”

“But you wouldn’t have minded if it… Christ, Slayer, is this ’cause of that rape business? You need to get yourself some help.”

“I’m getting help,” she said through gritted teeth. “But thank you for your concern.”

“I didn’t mean it like – hey, wait a minute!” he said, grabbing her arm as she started to walk away from him.

“What is this, Spike?” Buffy demanded.

“What is what?”

“This. You. I’m supposed to be your enemy, and it’s like you’ve been going out of your way to be nice to me ever since I told you about… you know.”

Spike’s mouth dropped open, momentarily at a loss for words. “I just… I don’t like… seeing you like this,” he mumbled.

“I don’t want your pity!”

“’S not pity. It’s… I dunno. Empathy, I guess.” He stared down at his boots, as though embarrassed to meet her gaze.

“You know how it feels to be raped?” she challenged him, her voice laden with sarcasm. She was pretty sure Spike’s only experience was on the other side of that situation.

Spike clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, as though biting back his initial retort. “Meant more I know what it’s like to feel helpless. High and mighty Slayer, reduced to a victim.”

“Slayer of Slayers,” Buffy replied with dawning comprehension, “unable to hurt humans.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, as though agreeing to an unspoken truce.

“Go on home,” Spike told her, his expression softening. “I’ll take care of any beasties that’re out.”