Shattered
Chapter
1 of “The Evolution of Spike”
By Chani
You’re an evil, disgusting
thing.
Spike chugged the bottle of whiskey, the slayer’s words echoing in his mind. Unable to stop the flow of thoughts, he relived his personal hell over and over.
The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.
Not true. Complete lie. In fact, she was the one to initiate their encounter. Not him. She had wanted him. So bad, in fact, that she forced her clothing out her way, unzipped his jeans and took him deep inside of her. He was shocked. Amazed. Thrilled. It was the best night of his life. The problem with nights, though, is that they end. Just like everything else.
He finished off the bottle and reached for the next one.
Stupid bloody bint, the slayer was. The bitch was trying to drive him mad. And she had succeeded.
You’re beneath me.
She had thrown Cecily’s words in his face. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know about the bloody bitch he had loved when he was William. The words served her purpose, just the same. She said it to hurt him. Crush him. And it was so much more effective than all those right hooks to his nose.
This freak show is over.
Freak show. With him starring as the main freak. She had made that clear. He wasn’t worthy. He was evil. He had no soul. The underlying meaning to all of it was that he wasn’t Angel. Angel was the exception to the rule. The only vampire good enough for a slayer to shag.
It didn’t matter that Angel had never made her eyes bug out of her head when she slid him inside of her. Or that Angel never filled her so completely that her breath caught in her chest because she was afraid she’d split in two. It didn’t matter that Angel never made her body respond with such raw passion that she left claw marks all over his body. It didn’t matter that she never wanted Angel so much that she had to make love with him in every position she could imagine – all in one night. Nor did it matter that shagging Angel wasn’t powerful enough to bring a house to total ruin. And it certainly didn’t matter that Angel never made her body’s release so intense that she lost complete control of her emotions and wept like a child in his arms. In the end, all that mattered to her was the fact that Angel had a soul.
And he didn’t.
So three days ago, right after their incredible night together, she struck him with the final blow. Blow. Yeah, he wished.
The grand finale. The destruction of his world. And he hadn’t had a drop of blood since. The bitch may as well have stuck a stake in him.
We aren’t lovers. We never will be. And this…this was nothing. It meant nothing to me. Nothing.
Her last thought was left unspoken, but he heard it just the same: he was nothing. It’s not like she was the first one to ever point it out. As William, he had been a pathetic shell of a man…all poetry and niceties. It had gotten him nowhere. His supposed friends made fun of him. The girl he loved deemed him beneath her. He had no respect. No love. No life.
But as Spike, the big bad, things were so much better. People feared him, if only for the few seconds it took for them to realize he was about to kill them.
He drained the second bottle and threw it across the crypt, tears clouding his vision. The glass had shattered, leaving shards everywhere. Shattered. Like his life.
He grabbed the third bottle and opened it, tossing the cap aside.
What the hell had happened to him? Where had he gotten so lost along the way?
Why can’t you kill her, Spike?
This time it was Dru’s voice. She had known, long before he ever suspected, that he loved the slayer.
She’s all around you…laughing.
Dru was right. The slayer toyed with him. Used him. Abused him. She was the reason he lost Drusilla again.
He could have had her back. She came to get him, rescue him from mediocrity yet again. Or did she?
He remembered the night at The Bronze. Drinking from that dead girl. Dru had to kill the girl for him to feed. Vamping out wasn’t as easy as it should’ve been. And drinking wasn’t as fun as he’d remembered.
Yeah, the blood was good. Warm human blood always beat the hell out of blood bags. But something felt…off. Strange. He couldn’t explain it. Truth was, he didn’t want to think about it.
He got up out of the chair and stumbled, almost falling back down again. The third bottle was gone, and the fourth one quickly followed. But he still wasn’t drunk enough. He needed more booze. The first thought that popped into his head was The Bronze, but he might run into the slayer or her rabid pack of friends, and that wouldn’t do at all. His mind focused on all the bars in Sunnydale he knew about, and after fighting to stay vertical during his journey to the door of the crypt, he decided that the closest bar he could find would be the best choice.
Sod it all. He wasn’t doing this anymore. It was time for love’s bitch to stop bending over and taking it up the…
You smell like ashes.
Dru’s words interrupted
his thoughts as he closed the door behind him.
He had believed her
statement to be a wish, rather than a vision.
And the slayer wanted the same thing, he was sure. Well, by morning all the bitches could do a
little dance.
Because he was going to
see to it that they’d finally get their way.