I retraced their steps. I retraced our steps. I retraced the worn tread on the cheap motel shag carpet, pacing pacing pacing trying to figure out where they are where they were why why why she left me for him.
He used her he abused her he worshipped her and he left her. He went GOOD!
But she needed him. Needed his bleach blonde punk swagger. His whispered terms of endearment. His cock pushing inside her, battering against her, fucking and fucking and fucking.
I gave myself to her. Mold me in your image do what thou wilt I'm yours forever and ever, until my bones turn to dust. She had everything.
And when I woke up in an empty bed, I had nothing. No coolness, no softness, no tender flesh waiting for me to nibble suck lick fuck until she screamed. I had no Drusilla.
I needed her. I needed her back with me, back against me, back writhing, crying my name, screaming over and over how fucking wonderful it is. I had to find her. I had to find her again and make her mine.
Whatever it took.
I left the motel, left without paying, 20 extra bucks in my pocket, 20 bucks and an ATM card Dru gave me - I didn't ask where or who she got it from, just took it thankfully. She's always finding things like that. Credit cards, smooth rocks, rolls of cash, clothing, shiny pieces of glass, drugs.
Trinkets to bestow on me. Treats for her pet. I was her pet. I loved it. She controlled me -- heart body and soul.
I drove all day, going through all the small towns, all the small places off of the map where motels are so happy to get customers they don't ask questions and they don't mind the stains on the bedding, the stains of blood and lust. I didn't see them, and everyone I asked, asking them about a tall bleach blonde and a willowly woman with long dark hair, hadn't seen them either.
I drove further and further down, traveling along the gulf, through woods and beaches, trailer parks and casinos, until I crossed the lake, until I was surrounded by water and a bridge, shining lights and the Superdome waiting for me on the other side. I was on the road to New Orleans. Driving into the city of sin, of decadence, of darkness and delight.
I'm wired with exhaustion when I walk into that dingy smoky dark club that we spent many nights in. I haven't slept in days, driving and thinking and trying not to cry trying not to lash out and smash something.
Things are hazy but sharp, spun glass, angel hair slicing across my face in a cotton candy world. Flashes of memory bubble through my brain as I walk further into the club. Velvet and lace swaying as she danced. Coolness against my hand - was it a beer bottle or was it Drusilla's cunt? And the fire. The ever-present fire that burned in me -- the fire of mortality. The fire for her.
I stumble to the bar and sit on an empty stool, mumbling to the faceless bartender. A cool bottle of beer is placed before me, and I drink slowly, hoping in futility that the cold of the drink will clear my mind before the alcohol kicks in.
I turn away from the bar, looking towards the few people dancing slowly to the wall of sound coming from the speakers. She'd dance to this. She'd slowly wave her arms, spinning in the darkness, flashes of light around her. Her eyes, her jewelry, her bright shining teeth cutting through night.
A blur crossed my vision. I looked up, trying to focus. There was a woman standing in front of me, a familiar woman, around my age. She was a vamp. She was trouble.
She was so familiar, it hurt, tearing at the back of my mind.
The girl smiled bitterly, sharply, tiredly. "She went back to him, huh?"
And it meshed together, comprehension dawning in my mind. She was like me. Lost in the desire and pain and sheer need that flowed through a room with a trace of rose and lavender.
Drusilla touched her. Drusilla touched her like she touched me. But she was different -- she'd been changed. I was still mortal. Painfully mortal. Hot blood running through my veins, air in my lungs, pulse in my neck.
I looked at her with my tired bloodshot fragile eyes. I'm trying not to cry damn it Faith don't fucking start crying. I look up at her and I just nod slowly, not speaking a word, not having to speak a word.
She nods knowingly. "Yeah," she says, taking a drag off of her cigarette. "They come here some nights...she still likes to dance..."
I closed my eyes, my hands balling up into fists as I rub my eyes, trying to contain the scream that wanted to come out so badly. It didn't work.
It was coming out. The anger the rage Drusilla walking out Spike returning the doctors and their fucking sympathy and underneath it all, rising to the surface ready to explode Buffy with my knife, slicing into my stomach the razor hot pain sliding along my body the freefall the pain the pain the pain.
I gave a short harsh pained scream, my vocal chords tearing. My fist slammed down on the bar, splintering the wood. She was here. In this town. Near me. I took a deep breath, thinking I could smell the scent of faded roses and corruption that followed her everywhere. I gave one harsh sob, shuddering, then slowly lifted my head, trying to compose myself.
"Where are they hiding?" I ask, my voice rough.
She frowned for a second, then scribbled on a napkin. "They're here," she said, sliding the napkin over to me.
I took it in my hand, feeling the rough paper in my hand. "Thanks," I say thickly, trying to force myself to remember that the napkin was important, that I needed it.
She looked right at me, her eyes reflecting the lights of the club. "Get her back," she said softly, barely audible over the loud music. "You...you belong together..."
I looked at the girl, the woman who'd never grow older, the woman who'd stay young and hard forever, and then slid out of my seat. "I'll find her," I said determinedly. "I'll find her."
It was an abandoned warehouse near the projects. Not a place a young white girl should be found in the early morning hours. I've faced worse...I think. It's a blur again, a flash of light and sound and ash falling.
It was easier to break into than a few squats in Hollywood. I slid in and stood for a second, checking out the surroundings, tracking movement.
A single crack of light under a door. The occasional moan from behind it.
She was there.
He was fucking her.
She was ENJOYING it.
I walked into the room. They didn't see me how could they see me? They were preoccupied.
She was under him, writhing under him, twisting under him, like she used to twist under me under my fingers, under my thumb circling round and round and just so right there fucking perfect.
His hands were all over her, stroking where I used to stroke, touching what was mine. And she was loving it. She loved it, and she cried out for more, crying out his name how she used to cry mine, crooning it, whispering it, groaning it over and over like a mantra like a fucking song. It used to be me. She used to be mine.
And she screamed. She screamed when she came, came under him bucking and crying and asking for more more more more please Faith more Faith but now it wasn't Faith it was Spike.
And he cried out and he thrust and he fell on her, dirtying her, fouling her with his maleness, with his come, with his cock. And then he rolled off of her, kissing her as he curled up next to her, kissing her lips with his thin ones, smearing her lipstick, caressing her cheek.
And she laid there, her head back against the pillows, her hair a mess of tousled curls, her lips glossy, her nipples hard and her cunt...she was wet, she was wet with him, but there was more. There was her down there, that cool sweetness that I longed to taste again, taste without the bitter semen ruining it. He changed her. She wasn't mine anymore. She was his.
I screamed. I screamed and I ran and I didn't even know I had a stake in my hand until it was out and plunging into his chest, plunging like a cock into a woman fucking him with it over and over and you like that big boy you like getting fucked you like it don't ya girl every girl likes it
And I fell, my face hitting dusty pillows, my knees landing on the bed, the empty space where he once was.
She cried out, screaming shrieking a high pitched growl that I only thought animals could make. And she hit me, slapping me across my cheek, her nails cutting into my face.
I fell back against the bed, facing her. Terror raked through my insides as I saw her, kneeling on the bed, her face changed, her eyes wild. She screamed at me again and lunged, fangs and claws bared.
I dodged. She tried to lunge at me again, but I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her, holding her down. "He's gone!" I shouted. "He's gone he's dead and you're MINE!" I kissed her, I kissed her viciously, biting her lip, clutching her to me desperately. Please be mine, please don't kill me, you're mine mine mine mine mine.
She changed, her body relaxing, languid, surrender. I ran my hands over her, reclaiming territory. This was mine and that was mine and it was all mine and he'd never touch her again never ever again because she was mine. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against me. Her lips nuzzled my neck, coolness against my burning veins, just a hint of teeth. My hands slid down between her legs, I couldn't drink there, not yet, it was still corrupt, still polluted with him. But I had to make it mine, I had to touch.
I rubbed her. I caressed her. I twisted my fingers over her into her sliding back and forth in and out over and over and over and she was writhing and screaming and begging --
She was begging for me. Me. Not Spike. ME.
And I kissed her forehead as I made her come, as she bucked under my hand as she shrieked my name. I kissed her forehead, marking her like Cain, marking her forever.
She was mine.