Call
She’d tried to sleep. The night was steaming, the air still and humid. Not for the first time she cursed the lack of air conditioning. Tired of tossing in sweat soaked sheets, she wandered the house, resenting Dawn’s blissful repose. Her stupid sister could sleep through anything.
She tried a class of ice water. When it failed to refresh, she tried dumping a second glass on top of her head, finding brief relief as it soaked down the front of her nightgown. As it warmed to her body, she realized she was now even more uncomfortably damp.
She plodded through the living room, heading back towards the stairs. She jumped with surprise at the ringing of the phone as she passed it. Looked up at the clock on the bookshelf. “Three A.M.? Who...?”
She picked it up warily, expecting at best a wrong number, or more likely a crank call. “Hello?” She was right. Heavy breathing. “Hello?” she repeated, preparing to hang up.
“Buffy?” The voice was faint, crackly.
“Who is this? Hello?”
“Buffy? Is that you?”
“Spike?” She felt her heart leap in her chest. “Spike, is that you? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...I’m so sorry.”
“Spike, what’s happened? Where are you?” She tried to breath evenly. “Spike, talk to me. Talk louder. This line is horrible. Are you back?”
“No, I...” She could hear the tears in his voice. “Buffy, I love you.”
“You sound drunk. Are you drunk? Where are you; I’ll come get you. Spike?”
“You should forget me.” There was a pause. “Please don’t forget me.”
“Spike, you listen to me. Concentrate. Come home. Whatever you’re doing, wherever you are, just come home.”
“I’ll...I’ll think about it. I miss you.” She heard the click as he hung up.
She held the receiver to her pounding chest. “I miss you, too.”