WARNING: There is a rape/non-con in this chapter! I tried to balance it out with something sweet but if you have issues with it, you probably shouldn't read!




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Chapter 4


Spike stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his slim hips. As soon as he opened the bathroom door, Drusilla's mad giggling and playful barks reached his ears. The corners of his mouth lifted in hint of a smile. His princess was finally home. No more soddin' slayers messing with his head and making his world spin off its axis. The familiar embrace of his black goddess would make everything right again. Rid him off this ridiculous notion of doing anything else but killing a slayer.


As completely nutty as his Dru could be, she was the one that'd been his love for decades. One just didn't throw away something like that.
“Had a good night, pet? Found lots of pretty little girls to eat?” As Spike rounded the corner and caught his first glimpse of Dru, the slight smile froze on his face and numb coldness spread its way throughout his core. She didn't! She wouldn't!


Dru stood in the hall looking as innocent as a little girl on Christmas Eve, baking cookies for Santa. But the state she had been in before she noticed him would definitely tick her off Santa's do-gooders list. The audacity of her throwing this into his face, and not even looking guilty while doing it...damn if that didn't piss him off no end!


The reason for her merriment was currently squeezing her breasts with passionate abandon. He didn't even notice Spike come in. The big bulky guy that might pass for a human, if it weren't for the horns and disgusting slime dripping from his skin all over Spike's floor, was groping every part of his woman's body, and she was letting him?


Anger wrapped in a red veil fell over his eyes, clouding his mind as he marched straight to them and shoved the demon away from Dru. The slimy creature stumbled back and crashed to the front door. He glared daggers at Spike, ready to scream profanities at him for interrupting his make out session. One look at the enraged vampire and the demon's jaw snapped shut.


'How can she do this? The bitch!' Hadn't he always given her everything she wanted? Hadn't he been the one to take care of her when she had one of her spells, or when Angelus inflicted his sick torturous plays on her, leaving her bloodied on the floor like a dirty rag? Hadn't he sodding listened to her nonsense about tea parties and stars speaking to her every day since he'd been turned?


And bloody Miss Edith! How many times had he had the itching need to tear her head off and hurl her into the fireplace? Daft Dru with her sodding dolls, she probably loved them more than she'd ever loved him. Bloody laugh riot, that was.


He'd suffered for her at the hands of Angelus and Darla and the only reason he hadn't left was her! He defended her when the others treated her like dirt and talked at her as if she didn't matter. She did matter; she mattered to him...but it was obviously one-sided. Spike felt sharp daggers of betrayal thrusting into his gut, twisting and making him bleed.


He'd always suspected she wasn't the most faithful of woman. Hell, he knew it, but to actually see it, to have his face rubbed in it...that was more painful that he'd expected, and that only served to fuel his rage. She was not going to make an even a bigger fool of him, he'd make sure of that.


“This is it! This is bloody well the last straw, you sodding bitch! Do you think you can just walk in here and snog this git right in front of my face?” He sounded incredulous even as the outrage was getting him so worked up that he could barely draw breath enough to speak.


“I brought a dollie. Don't you like it, my sweet William? Jack is going to have a cup of tea with me and Miss Edith.” She innocently batted her eyelashes at him, her lips swollen and red from another male's vigorous kisses.


She sounded so flippant, so indifferent, as if she didn't know she had just swept away his carefully built card-house of lies. Well, Spike didn't believe that. She had to know. Bloody bitch had always known more than she let on, pulling the strings and hiding behind the facade of an innocent helpless little girl. All Drusilla ever did was play him. Manipulate him. Why couldn't she still let him pretend? Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore; he could feel it building inside him, a ravenous beast ready to claw its way out.


Spike started to laugh hysterically. The kind of laughter that not only kept a person from being amused, but prompted one to run for the hills. It was the laughter of a man at wit's end.


Jack wisely slipped out of the apartment and out of the line of fire. Spike didn't even notice his departure.


Once Spike managed to stop laughing, the dull throbbing pain took over again, leaving him oddly defeated. Every muscle in his body fell slack in defeat and Spike could feel the shards of his broken heart embedding themselves into his whole being, tearing his veins apart in their wake.


It hurt. The fact that he'd loved his sire for more than a century and she'd never felt the same way about him. The fact that nobody ever might.


Well, Spike was now officially through being love's bitch. No more chasing after something that didn't exist. From now on, he was his own man. A lone wolf! It was time to show Drusilla that he had balls and she could no longer step all over them, figuratively speaking, of course.


“You know what, Dru? You can have all the freakin' dollies you like, but you're not gonna string me along any longer 'cause I'm done with this. Don't call, don't write. I'm bloody tired of playing second fiddle! Go find your pleasure elsewhere, 'cause this vamp is off the bloody menu. Goodbye, pet!” Spike turned on his heel and waved her away with his hand, ready to storm out in righteous glory.


“You were never mine to begin with.” Drusilla's quiet voice reached his ears just as he was about to open the front door. He turned to face her and looked her dead in the eyes, ignoring the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach that her oddly lucid look had stirred in him.


“'S not like you didn't let me know as often as you could, right?” Spike's voice, bitter and hoarse with unshed tears, showed a vulnerability that he’d tried so hard to hide. Spike opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. Way to ruin his dramatic exit.


Well, let her take care of herself on her own. Let her realize how much he did for her and how lost she'd be without him at her back and call at the snap of her manicured hands, which by the way, he took care of too. But this vamp wasn’t coming back; no way in hell!


He sighed and realized something.


He was still wearing the towel. And nothing else.


“Bugger.”


He slumped his shoulders in defeat. It was too late now to go back and grab his kit. Good thing he’d left his beloved duster in the car last night. It would smell of Dru though, since he’d lent it to her 'cause she was complaining about being cold.


'Bloody princess, indeed!'


He'd just nick something and then get so plastered that he wouldn't be able to remember his own name...or hers. See? He already didn't!
“Who am I kidding? I'm pathetic.” He laughed humourlessly and sniffled in misery as he made his way half-naked down the sidewalk and towards his DeSoto.


It was time to focus and get on with his mission of finding the slayer. Well, after he got wasted good and proper.


******


Buffy was dragged through the maze of corridors, stumbling upon the concrete and occasionally falling onto her hands and knees. She'd never be able to tell which way she had come from. She'd never be able to escape. The thought brought her the now familiar feeling of hopelessness.


Suddenly Lukas stopped in front of her and Buffy crashed into his back.


“Watch where you're going, bitch!” Lukas snarled at her and backhanded her across her face. Buffy's head snapped to the side and she could detect the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth. She heard a creaky sound of a door opening and she was shoved inside a room. She hit the floor hard, scraping her hands knees as she tried to cushion the fall. Before she could recuperate, a rag was thrown into her face.


“There's soap and a basin with water to your right. Clean up. I'll come for you in five minutes. And if you're not ready by then, there will be hell to pay!” He chuckled menacingly and slammed the door behind him.
Shaky hands fumbled around in the darkness, trying to find the basin. Suddenly her hand brushed against something metallic and cold, but her rush to find it jarred its precarious position and Buffy could feel a few droplets spilling over the rim and onto her fingers. Her breath caught painfully in her throat as she waited, but fortunately she hadn't toppled it over. Her harsh exhale of relief echoed off the stone walls of the chamber. If she’d spilt it...she shuddered to think what would ensue. She chuckled humourlessly. Nothing could be worse than what would ensue.


Her trembling hands soaked the rag in the water and she hastily tried to clean herself. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilt over, falling soundlessly onto the cold floor.


Anxiety continued to rise inside her as she imagined the horrors just few minutes away. What would it be this time? She wished she'd just get beaten to the brink of death. That'd be the lesser evil, wouldn't it?


Humanity had no meaning in this place. Quite the contrary; it was to be ridiculed.


Punished.


She felt like an animal chained to a spinning wheel, going faster and faster until there was nothing left of her but spilt guts and shattered dreams.


Life, freedom, feelings. There was no place for them here. This was hell and she, its most valued possession. She'd been turned inside out, seen her own flesh bared and bloodied as her blood and tears spattered onto the floor in soundless drops while listening to the laughter surrounding her.


Taunting.


Humiliating.


The clients. Origin didn't matter, only money. Humans, demons. Anyone with enough cash to make their most perverted dreams come true in blindingly excruciating colour. Inflicting torture on those incapable of fighting back, of resisting. Sick and twisted, all of them.


Echoes of her own screams resounded within her mind and she flinched. Buffy could slowly but surely feel her grip on sanity slipping away. Fear welled up inside her before she could stop it. Fear of finally losing her mind, of the fate awaiting her, of the uncertainty spreading through her like wildfire, setting her nerves and cells ablaze in an endless fury. She couldn't afford to leap off the edge called reality. What if she ended up being locked inside the darkness of her own mind forever?


Goosebumps erupted on her skin and suddenly she felt very cold. And alone. Her heart was racing so fast she could feel it in her throat and hear the deafening rush of it drown out every sound in the chamber.


She desperately tried to block out her surroundings and get into her own little world where she was safe and cared for. Where there was someone holding her and stroking her hair while whispering reassuring nothings into her ear. But she couldn't, and the thought of it intensified her fear even more.


The creaking hinges announced that the door had been opened and Buffy tensed. She felt the irresistible urge to run, but she knew it would get her nowhere, so she stood up on trembling legs and waited for Lukas to lead her away.


Lukas took the chains binding her hands and dragged her wordlessly behind him.


Buffy trembled in horrified anticipation of having the last vestiges of her innocence torn away to be mocked and ridiculed. Lukas was obsessed with innocence.


Buffy had been violated in every possible way, except for one. She still had her hymen. Impossible, yet true.


Most of the clients paid for the possibility of having a helpless slayer at their hands for them to vent their frustration on by beating her until she coughed up blood. She had her skin stripped off by the violent beatings of whips and salt and acid poured onto her raw flesh. She'd been tortured with every possible tool she could think of. None of them were satisfied until she fell unconscious at their feet.


Some of them needed to compensate their own importance by making her feel like dirt. Making her lick their shoes while crawling around with all her appendages bound, laughing at her. Making her suck them off, ramming their shafts down her throat until she gagged and choked, and if she spilt their semen, she'd have to lick it off the dirty floor.


Sometimes there were more of them. One fucking her mouth while the other fucked her ass. The others watching and waiting for their turn. The pain of it was excruciating, the blood running down her thighs. She hated it. Them. Their disgusting groans, the slaps of their flesh against hers, their hungry leers. She felt like a devil's whore.


None of them were allowed to bust her hymen though. Lukas said it earned him more money when she was still a virgin where it counted. He said the innocence was, after all, her highest selling attribute. The lure of violating the one thing they hated the most was very alluring. Plus, nobody seemed to offer payment high enough to appeal to him; not enough to be worth jading her.


However, every time she walked this path the paralysing fear that someone had, enveloped her in its suffocating embrace. She clung to this last epitome of her innocence, to her virginity, with everything she had. Not that it mattered what she wanted or thought.


She was jerked to a halt. Deafening silence surrounded her and she was shoved into a room. Lukas disappeared, slamming the door behind him, and she was left alone with a client.


“What a tasty morsel you are, Slayer. Now, if you're a good girl, it won't hurt...much. Get on your knees, bitch!” She could hear malicious glee and excitement in his voice. His disgusting hands pawed at her naked flesh and her stomach turned. She couldn't do this anymore! She felt dead inside, yet alive enough to feel every drop of crimson suffering.


Breath hitched in her throat as tears cascaded down her cheeks in rivulets of pain. She couldn't find it in herself to not let them see her despair anymore. She could feel her sanity slipping away as she lost herself in an imaginary world. The world around her blurred and disappeared in a blink of an eye, sounds getting further and further away until the only thing left was her inner harbour of solace.


Buffy expected an illusion of her mom or dad to appear at any moment, but they didn't. It was different this time too. It felt so real, every detail drawn to a perfection. First, she still couldn't see, even though it was just her imagination and that had never happened before. Maybe she really was losing her mind.


The sweet smell of flowers, fresh air and the sound of falling water surrounded her, drowning her in their tangibility. She inhaled the comforting essence of peace and calm as she let sunrays warm her flesh, unseeing eyes staring off unfocused.


She could feel the presence of another person as surely as she felt the thick carpet of grass and earth under her bare feet. His presence was a solid certainty, his aura surrounding and merging with her own in an endless spiral of colour and emotion. It felt so real; he felt real. He didn't feel like a figment of her imagination, not just someone she conjured up to help her carry on.


She didn't need to touch him to know he was in fact a man, she just knew it. Felt it in his very essence. He was pure masculinity.


He was there, waiting for her. Ready to take over her burden and to be there for her. Buffy felt the man walking closer to her, could hear the grass rustle beneath his feet as he approached her cautiously. She wished she could see his face, but the feel of him as he suddenly enveloped her in his strong compassionate arms seconds after was more than enough.


They both sank to the ground and Buffy curled up in his arms, sitting sideways on his lap and letting him rock her back and forth. She got lost in the reassuring warmth of his embrace as he rubbed circles on her back, and she let her tears silently fall onto his shoulder, soaking up the fabric of his t-shirt.


She should be repelled by any man touching her so intimately, by such a close proximity to another person, but how could she? How could she do that when she felt his heart and knew he'd go to the end of the world and back to stop her from hurting?


He didn't demand, shout, humiliate or hurt her. He couldn't be real. But he was all she had. He was more than she could ask for, even if this was just a stolen fragment of time.


But time didn't have any meaning here. It could have been hours or mere seconds, blurring together, creating a mirage, a canvas upon which she drew her illusions in an outburst of lively colours. The only place she wasn't lost in darkness and black despair.


There was no pain, no fear, there was nothing but him and the soft skin of his cheek resting against her forehead, the alluring scent of strength, safety and freedom within her reach. She inhaled his scent and a genuine smile graced her face. She nuzzled into his neck and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there for a few seconds.


Buffy enjoyed the feeling of being safe and loved while it lasted. He tightened his hold on her as if he anticipated her longing for closeness and her fear of it being mercilessly ripped away. Maybe he could feel her just as much as she could feel him.


He was a raging ocean during the storm, always changing and unpredictable, threatening to swallow her in his depths, to possess her in his passion and never let her go. He was dangerous, yet she didn't fear him. Because there was so much more to him. Tenderness. Love.


She unclenched her hands from where she'd been desperately gripping the front of his cotton t-shirt in an useless effort of preserving the moment, and instead encircled his slim waist. She wanted to crawl into his skin, to never let go of him, to stay there forever. It was the only place she mattered.


He ran his fingers through her silky locks, twirling the ends between his fingers and massaging her scalp in an effort to make her relax. Buffy sighed in contentment and pressed her soft, moist lips against the cool skin of his neck. He had the softest skin, like the finest velvet. Smooth and flawless, cool against her own fevered skin. The contrast was calming and oddly comforting.


His lips touched the shell of her ear as he whispered to her with quiet intensity. His voice was rough, tender, sultry and calming all rolled into one, betraying his complexity.


“I will come for you. Don't give in, luv. I promise, I'll make it go away.”


Buffy could feel his hand touching her jaw and chin tentatively, and she could feel a strangely wet sensation on her skin.


“You're bleeding.” he said with his voice full of concern.


Suddenly, the harsh blow to her face ripped her solace away and reality came rushing back with the disturbing sound of her own blood being coughed out and trekking down her chin.


Buffy was once again left facing the real world all on her own. She didn't even have time to acknowledge the oncoming rush of all the pain that'd been inflicted not only physically, but also emotionally. The last thing Buffy'd felt before she fell unconscious was a fist punching her in the face.


TBC