RATING: NC-17, for smut, bad language and adult situations
SPOILERS: Through Hell’s Bells
DISCLAIMER: Only in my dreams.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hell’s Bells made me wonder “who is this chick?” and how did
Spike con her into going to a wedding.
DISTRIBUTION: Wow, really? Just let me know where so I can tell all my friends!
FEEDBACK: Yes *please*!
Part 2: These Things Never End Well
You wanna know a big word? Not a stupid big word, like
antidisestablishmentarianism, but a meaningful big word, a word so packed chock
full of stuff, that it has to be big enough to contain
it all? Ignominious. You can try to define it, but
ultimately you fail because the sound of the word itself contains meaning. So,
let’s try to use it in a sentence, shall we? How about: My ignominious fucking
exit from a perfect fucking stranger’s wedding fucking pissed me the fuck off.
How about that, boys and girls?
“Let me go, you shit!” I wrench my arm out of Spike’s grasp, pulling away from
him. I’ll fucking walk home, thank you very much. No, I’ll stomp home. I take a
perverse satisfaction in the solid thump my boots make every step of the way.
Stomping as hard as I can, I march down the tiled hallway, just to hear that
“Stupid fucking fuck. Fuck.” Every stomp now gets a
fuck. Fuck thump fuck thump. “Stupid fucking hottie. Stupid stupid stupid fuck fuck fuck.”
“Nice vocabulary, pet.”
“And YOU! You can just fuck off! Okay? Okay! I’m not stupid. I know what this
was about, but Jesus Fucking Christ, could you be just a little less—“
“Evil?” I stomp and thump back to where he’s slumped against the wall and get
right up into his evil undead face.
“Obvious.” The word is a snarl, and I know my expression is ugly--but I don’t
care anymore. “I know the deal, you asshole. But the tonsil-hockey-- excuse me
while I VOMIT, by the way--was a little much. And this!”
I wave my already bruising wrist in his face, “I’m not a fucking handbag! You
don’t just grab me on your way out!” I’m shrieking,
I’m so pissed off. I just want to snatch his cig and put it out in his eye.
“Dunno about that, pet. I did last time.” Oh. Oh. Time goes all cliched and
stands still just for me. I’m not breathing, I’m not thinking, my heart’s not
beating, he did not just say that. Oh no. But my leg is moving quite fast, yes
really very fast. Right up until the split second that my knee slams into his
crotch. Oh goody, now he’s moving and it’s the evil undead’s turn to shriek
like a little girlie girl.
I retrieve his smoke from the floor and indulge in a little Marlboro Moment,
inclusive of the sight of Spike writhing in pain. Then I kick him again. Same
place, different blunt object. Steel toes rock.
Time to pull a Last Action Hero and fade away. Not so
good at the fading, but I can stomp with the best of them. Watch me stomp, big
All the way around the corner, where I hide. Scrunched
against the wall, I light up another off Spike’s
cherry, grinding the cashed smoke into the linoleum with my boot. My hands are
shaking. Shit. I will not cry. I am not going to cry. Dammit!
I’m not stupid; I’m a fucking idiot. It took me, like, two seconds to figure
out why I was here. I should have bailed right then. But then there was the
groping and the face sucking, and the complete lack of anything resembling a
brain. Shit. This entire wedding date thing has been one giant cluster-fuck.
Dawn didn’t even fucking recognize me, and my competition is a freaking
radioactive leprechaun. Christ, why do guys always go for those little
miniature girls? She’s like three feet tall, for Christ’s sake. What’s that
How do I let things get so fucked up? I could be rebound girl. I could even
enjoy it. Hell, I would have been happy as one-night-stand girl. But this. I am not this. I am not a handbag.
“Eeeeeeeeeeyaaaargh!” Ow ow ow! Why do I always do
that? And, shit, why does he always sneak up on me? He should wear a little
bell or something, I swear.
Besides, what was that? I’m sorry, ooooh. Real sincere, watch the ho- biscuit just melt into the baby blues, not. Not this
time. What, am I supposed to respond to the lame apology or something? Uh uh. Ignore him, don’t answer, don’t
look. Pout. Try not to fucking cry. But do not answer.
“I am sorry, you know.” He slouches against the wall beside me. “It’s just…
Ignoring the vampire, la la la, not listening, I’m not listening. Of course I’m
listening. Chick here, tale of romantic woe, et
cetera. Poor, wounded hottie. No, don’t feel sorry for
the heartbroken fiend who fucked you blind then dragged you to a wedding to
make his ex jealous. Shit. At least I can try to look like I’m ignoring him.
“Did it work?” I can’t help it. It’s like a car accident--you have to look. In
my case, speak. Give me details, buddy, details. I want to know how much glass
is on the road and that you are bleeding heavily. You had better be bleeding.
“Good.” Serves you right, you bastard.
“Wanna get a drink?” It’s like, noon. Who drinks at noon, on a Saturday, no less? Vampires, I guess. Show’s what I
know, but I think we’ve covered that.
“Schoo, then, I tell her, I tell her ‘that was the plan,’ y’know I’m e- evil,
but I won’t … I don’t know why, it’s wrong or some sodding crap like that.”
Spike is smashed. I can tell because his head is on the bar. I’m perceptive
that way. Poor, evil Spike. I’ve never seen the inside
of a crypt before. Now I never will. Poor, poor me.
“That’s sooooo ssssad.” I hope I don’t fall off my stool. That might hurt.
Whee! Everything is all whirly. Spin, spin, like a record
baby right ‘round… ugh.
“I think I’m gonna puke now.” Wow, vampires move fast. And hey! Look at
that, there’s three of him. Why didn’t he tell me he could do that? Can I have
the one that’s not in love with a leprechaun? Poor, poor me.
“You shoulda warned me you were a weepy drunk, pet.”
Sniff. Fuck off, you evil man thing, evil you person like.
“Bleeeeeeargh-ooof.” I like tile, so cool, soothing.
It feels good, soft and pretty, only not. He’s patting my head. That’s nice. “I
wanna go home.” Home home home, home is where the
heart is… I have never been so completely shit-faced in my entire life. I knew
there was a reason people don’t start drinking at
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