I'm Sorry, Wills
I've been staring at those two words now for 10 minutes, and with each minute they seem more and more inadequate. I don't know what else to write though, so I guess they'll have to do. Never was too good with the book learning. You would know; you're always so good with words. Is there a right thing to say in a situation like this? Are there any words that will take all the pain away? I wish I knew-- then maybe this wouldn't be so hard.
I hate that you're going to be the one to find me, and this note. Your last memories of me shouldn't be my pale, empty, lifeless shell of a body, but I just can't hang on. I feel so numb inside. It's a scarier feeling than facing a hundred vamps with no stake. I have to make it end.
I want you to know why, you deserve that much at least. If you can understand, then maybe you can explain it to the others and not make me seem so pathetic. Even if that's how I feel.
It's all his fault. I hate him: that bleached blond, bumpy-faced, leather wearing, fucking bastard.
We usually don't keep secrets from each other and I'm sorry I started with this one. I probably should have talked to you a long time ago about this, but it's too late now. I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to.
The past couple of months have been torture. It's hard finding the words to describe it. I feel like I've been split into two different people. There's the one you guys see every day cracking jokes about G-Man's thing for tweed or Deadboy's lack of pulse issues. He's the one with the easy smile, and the knack for breaking the tension. There is also the one who comes out at night who only he sees. That Xander doesn't smile, and he doesn't have any jokes. All he feels is the pain and the misery and the sick need for it not to end.
I don't even know why he started it, and I've been too scared to ask him, in case he decided to stop. He just wrangled an invite into the apartment from me one night, and before I knew it we spent every night together, and I'm not talking about slumber parties.
Did you feel any of this insecurity when you first met Tara? Probably not, since I doubt Tara has the tendency to go into gameface and bite herself to get the taste of blood when she climaxes. Unless there is something about your sex life you haven't told me.
Spike did that every time; I guess because he couldn't bite me. I could see him get that look in his eyes when he was reaching his peak, as if I were a slab of prime steak. I know he would have bitten me if he could, but I could never bring myself to care.
It just felt so right to be with him. I finally felt what I didn't even realize was missing from my life. Whenever we were together my world made a kind of sense that it never did before with girls. He made me feel whole, and I gave myself over to him completely in the hopes that maybe I did the same for him.
That all changed afterward though.
Spike isn't much of a cuddler. He gets out of bed, puts on his clothes and leaves without a word, leaving me with an almost overwhelming feeling of emptiness inside, and I hate him for it.
That's just it though-- I don't hate him, I love him. I love Spike. He just doesn't love me back.
Tonight I needed something to fill the void, a kind word, a contented grunt: some acknowledgement that I meant something to him, so I said it. I opened my mouth, inserted my foot and watched my world disintegrate before me. He was doing up the fly of his jeans when I reached out my hand, gently laid it on his bare back and said, "I love you Spike."
He actually laughed at me. The sound of his laughter was like acid on an open wound. It was so mocking and full of contempt. He didn't even turn around; he just continued to get dressed.
I don't know why that should have surprised me. Did I actually expect him to love me back? Marvel at my track record: a self-obsessed cheerleader, a homicidal Slayer, and an ex-demon who couldn't leave fast enough after losing her ex status. Why did I think this time it could turn out any better?
But you. My Willow. I know you love me, and that's the only thing that has made me have any second thoughts about this. It's not enough though, not after what I did.
That empty feeling I used to get after Spike and I had sex was like a waterfall of emotion compared to the hollowness I felt when he laughed at me. His scorn made me want to curl up in the deepest darkest hole I could find, and hide away from the world.
That didn't last long. The rage hit me so hard and fast, filling up the hollow core inside me.
You know that old saying about being angry enough to see red? It's true. My world turned crimson and I could feel the blood pumping through my body, the rushing sound of it ringing in my ears. All I could think was that nobody laughs at me, nobody laughs at me.
I reached under my pillow and brought out the stake I keep for emergencies. I rammed it into his back, through his heart and out through his chest.
The rage was gone before the stake even made it through, but as I seem to keep saying, it was too late. He exploded into a pile of dust and scattered over the floor.
I loved him so much, but I killed him anyway. What does that say about me? Why couldn't he love me back, Will? Am I that repulsive? Why couldn't he just love me?
And if I could kill the man that I loved, who else could I kill? Who would be next on my list? I can't live with the knowledge of what I have done or the possibility of what I could be capable of, so it's just better for everyone if it all ends now.
I wonder if it will hurt? I hope it does: then maybe my last few moments will be filled with something other than this nothingness; this numb feeling creeping through my soul. What was it that Spike said just before the battle with Glory? It's always got to be blood. Blood is life; it's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead. Seems kind of fitting now I guess.
Please don't come into the bathroom after you read this, you don't want to see. Just call Giles, he'll know what to do. He always knows what to do.
I'm sorry, Wills. I hope you can forgive me.
All my love,