ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,888
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,888
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
CLARITY OF PURPOSE
CHAPTER 169 – CLARITY OF PURPOSE
NOVEMBER 18, 2009
TUESDAY
12:30AM
William picked up the bottle, then put it down again. All night he’d been trying to resist, knowing he’d done enough drinking in the past few days, to last for quite a while. At least, it felt like it should. However, the abrupt lack of alcohol was now leaving him feeling shaky and disoriented.
“Bugger this,” he mumbled, as he gave in and poured himself a shot. Downing it in one gulp, the relief was short lived, as a severe burning sensation in his stomach nearly doubled him over. He banged the glass down on the edge of the counter, and missed.
Ignoring the shattered glass, he frantically yanked open the refrigerator door, and grabbed an open pint of half-and-half, and drank it down from the carton. He gritted his teeth, nearly gagging on the taste of the almost spoilt milk, but his stomach felt better.
Miranda turned upon hearing the breaking glass, as did most of those at the bar. She turned to look at the man standing in front of her, and he nodded to the bottle of beer she’d been holding in her hand. “Oh yeah. Sorry, here you go,” she said, distractedly.
William was squatted down, cleaning up the glass when she walked up behind him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Spike?” she persisted.
“It’s nothing, just broke a glass,” he said lightly, looking up at her with bloodshot blue eyes.
“Yeah sure, and that just happens to be the third nothing you’ve broken tonight.”
William stood up in a quick movement, causing Miranda to move back. Angrily, he stared at her, then pulled out his wallet and put a ten-dollar bill in the cash register. “There, that’ll pay for your bloody glasses.”
Eyes narrowing, she met his stare. “I’m not worried about the fucking glasses, you big jerk. I’m worried about you!”
“Sorry,” he said, after a moment. “It’s just a bad night, is all.”
“You know, you’re really so damned cliche. Then again, it’s almost Zen like, if you think about it. Man works at bar, man becomes one with bar.”
“Miranda, what in God’s name are you talking about?” he asked, turning to face her.
“Want me spell it out for you?”
“Only if it’ll keep you from prattling on in some sort of secret female code,” he shot back, frustrated.
“Okay, how’s this? You’re a drunk, Spike. A drunk working at a bar.”
He turned, slamming the palms of his hands on the edge of the counter. “I’m not a drunk,” he said, through clenched teeth. William could feel the muscles in his back and arms twitching, much like they did right before fighting demons. He rolled his head and felt the satisfying cracking of his neck’s vertebrae.
“No? Well, you’re either doing a really good impression of one, or you’re this close to becoming one,” she said, holding up her fingers an inch apart.
“I’m not, I’ve just been...I’m not!”
Miranda looked at him, until he looked away. Putting her hand on his arm, she asked, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten something?” He started to protest, but she stopped him. “I mean really eaten a half-way decent meal? Not just a bag of chips or some shitty junk food?”
He looked up at her, his mouth moving as he tried to recall. Finally he shook his head, “I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean I’m a drunk,” he said, straightening up, with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Maybe not, but it sure looks like you don’t give a crap enough about yourself to even eat something! I mean, come on Spike. That’s pretty fucking basic personal maintenance; right after washing oneself,” she said, resisting adding a comment about the none-too-fresh odor he was sporting this evening.
He gave Miranda a hard stare. “You done?” William asked tersely.
“For now,” she returned blithely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00AM
He couldn’t take being there anymore. For the past hour and a half, all he’d done was mutter to himself, and try to avoid both Miranda, and taking another drink.
He walked down to her end of the bar, and stood waiting for Miranda to acknowledge his presence. She didn’t. Instead, never breaking stride, she continued to wipe down the latest spill with a bar rag.
William exhaled softly. She wasn’t going to make this any easier.
Finished, she threw the rag underneath the bar. Slowly she looked up at him, as she took the cigarette that hung from her mouth, and ground it out in the nearest ashtray.
“You want something, Spike?”
“Um, yeah. Actually,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was wondering if you’d mind if I knocked off early, seeing it’s rather slow. There’s some things I need to...”
“Go ahead,” she answered a bit too sharply, “Mike and I can close up.”
“Right then,” he said.
William reached for his coat under the bar, hesitating a moment when his hand started to pull the near empty flask out of his pocket. It had been his usual habit to fill it up at the end of his shift. Not tonight, though. Standing up, he slung his coat over his shoulder. With a short nod to Miranda, he left the bar through the door leading to the kitchen and basement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5:30AM
LOS ANGELES
As if the unintended and very short twilight sleep had cleared his head, William suddenly awoke, with clarity of purpose he hadn’t felt for a long while. He packed up a small bag of his belongings, and headed out, after first leaving a note on the bar for Miranda.
A couple of hours later, with the morning sun now bright in the sky, William turned into the Wittman’s driveway in San Marcos. Wearily, he turned off the engine, laying his head on the steering wheel for a few minutes. Finally, he got out of the car, and grabbed what he’d brought with him from the back seat and went upstairs.
“Home sweet home,” William said softly, as he let himself into his apartment. “More or less.”
Going directly into the bathroom, only stopping long enough to throw his bag onto the bed, he stripped off the clothes he was wearing and got into the shower. It was a small luxury, but feeling the decent water pressure for a change, made him feel better.
William chose a favorite pair of soft gray sweat pants to wear, comforted by the memory that Elizabeth had bought them for him. And disregarding anything black, a long-sleeved, blue T-shirt chosen by her as well, went over his head.
Going out to the kitchen, he looked around for something he could make himself to eat. Holding his breath, he opened the refrigerator, prepared to smell spoiled milk. He let out his breath, curious that there was nothing there except for an old half-gallon of water, and two unopened jars - one of salsa, one of applesauce.
Luckily, he found a can of chicken noodle soup in the cupboard, and warmed it up. To him, the little pan of soup smelled delicious. William spooned half of it into his mouth with a ladle before it even finished cooking, burning his tongue in the process. Finding half a package of unopened, saltine crackers was a bonus. He quickly discovered that the hot salsa alone was too spicy for his stomach, but combined with applesauce, and on a cracker...voila! As far as William was concerned, it was the finest haute cuisine.
He took his meal out to the living room, turning on the radio for company. The strains of a classical piece he hadn't heard for a long time filled the room, making him wistful for the time when he still believed in all the innocence and beauty such music represented. A time before he knew of all the ugly and evil things in the world, things to which he'd become a part.
Sighing heavily, he put down his plate. No use putting off what he'd come back here to do. Going into the bedroom, he knelt down, and pulled a small journal from underneath his bed. Opening it up, he found the little card tucked between the pages.
Taking the card with him into the living room, he located his cell phone, and turned it on.
After dialing a series of numbers, he finally heard a tinny ring on the other end.
"Hello," said the familiar voice.
"Mr. Giles?"
"Yes, who is this?"
“William. William Worthington.”
There was a moment's pause, when William thought that maybe they had been disconnected. "Mr. Giles?"
"Yes, sorry. I'm here,” he heard the other man clearing his throat, "What can I do for you, William?"
"I think...I need your help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4:30PM
LONDON
Giles hung up the phone, and reflecting on the last half-hour’s conversation with William. Looking over the notes he’d scribbled as they talked, he took a fresh notebook out of his bottom drawer, and transferred his notes, filling in other things he remembered, as well as questions he wanted to ask William later. On the notebook’s cover, in permanent marker he wrote the words, “William Worthington, 2009 (Formerly William the Bloody, aka Spike”), then put it into his locked file cabinet.
He sat back down at his desk, and pressed the button to the outer office.
“Yes Mr. Giles?” Asked his secretary.
“Get me British Airways.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:30AM
JULIAN
The floor no longer seemed so nice, as Buffy awoke, shaking with the chills. She tried to move, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Never in all her days of slaying had she felt so utterly helpless and miserable. Teeth chattering, and tears rolling down her face, she somehow pulled the brown paper wrapping over to her and tried to curl it around her as best she could.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:30AM
SAN MARCOS
William knew the next thing he had to do, the most important thing, would be even harder than the phone call to Giles had been. Glancing at the clock, he wished he’d come to the decision to go and speak to Elizabeth earlier, that way he could’ve possibly seen her this morning. Still, perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a good idea. He didn’t want to only talk to her for a few minutes, before she had to go off to work. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, especially not her; he owed her more than just a few minutes.
Nerves and exhaustion set in, and he decided that the best thing he could for now would be to get some sleep. Going into the bedroom, he set the alarm clock to awaken him a couple of hours before then.
Before crawling under the covers, he reached over and pulled the small box off of his bedside table and opened it up. Wistfully, he looked at Elizabeth’s necklace and ring for a while, his fingers tracing the outline of them. With a sigh, he replaced the lid.
Turning on his side, he pulled her pillow near to him, and was soon asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00PM
JULIAN
Buffy didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she had stopped shaking, as her fever had once again risen. Her brain felt like it was baking inside her own skull, and the sun, now steaming into the room, wasn’t helping. Her ears were ringing, too. They’d done that earlier, but she vaguely thought it might be the phone ringing somewhere in the house, and cursed herself for not having thought to bring it upstairs with her.
So much for cell phones being lifesavers.
Water. She needed water. Lifting her head up a little, she saw the half empty bottle that had been under the couch a couple of feet away. The effort made her head pound, but she persevered, and reached for the bottle.
Stale or not, the water tasted wonderful to her parched throat, wet and wonderful. Even though she could’ve drank many times that amount, she made herself stop after drinking only about half. For one thing, if drinking it made her throw up, she wouldn’t have any water left up here at all.
A few minutes later, she rationalized that if it hadn’t made her throw up yet, it wasn’t likely to, and she was so thirsty that drinking the rest was all she’d been thinking about. Also, she rationalized that if the rest made her feel better, she might be able to get to the stairs and at least go down them on her butt.
She reached for the bottle and it tipped over, rolling out of her grasp. William’s picture, which had prevented it from rolling under the couch and to the back wall, was moved just enough to one side, so that the bottle easily kept rolling.
“No, no,” Buffy croaked, trying to reach in time. She sat up, and tried to get to her knees, but she collapsed before she’d even gotten a foot. Hot, angry tears choked her, as she lay back down on the hard floor.
The last thing she remembered was staring at the picture of the cool waters of Clear Lake as she passed out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00PM
SAN MARCOS
William opened his eyes as the alarm went off, confused momentarily by his surroundings. As his eyes took in the familiar room, he exhaled and relaxed back against the pillows.
His eyes nervously darted to the clock to check the time. Elizabeth would be home in less than two hours. His heart pounded nervously at the prospect that he was actually going to the house to see her; talk to her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing through his hair with a wet comb, William studied himself for a moment. In his head, he heard the words she’d spoken.
“Who are you? I look at you and I don’t see William anymore, and I don’t see Spike! I don’t know what I see anymore.”
William wasn’t sure what or who he saw either; hadn’t for quite some time. That was the problem, and he hoped that the wheels he’d set in motion earlier might somehow be one of the steps to rectifying that; if not, then what was the purpose of his existence?
All William knew, was that he had to see Elizabeth; talk to her, and make some sort of amends for the other night, even if only to give her the opportunity to tell him to bugger off face-to-face, and with him sober. She’d come to Los Angeles to find him. She’d come to him, and all he could do was to throw her feelings back in her face, in every imaginable way; from insulting her, to practically...
He also needed to tell her that he would be going away for a while, for both their sakes. He wondered would she even care at this point, or feel relieved?
Either way, he had to do what he must - to be able to be hers, if she would still have him - to be a man. More importantly, to be his own man for once, if that was even possible. And as to that, William had his serious doubts.
After dressing in a pair of blue jeans and a dark green pullover, he went into the kitchen and turned on a teapot. As he waited for it, he looked in the cabinets for something else to eat. In one of them, near the back, he spotted half a pint of Jack Daniels. He pulled it forward, and put it on the counter. Uncapping it, he poured a healthy shot into the teacup, and lifted it to his mouth, then hesitated at the last moment.
“Oh bugger it!” William said, pouring it out in the sink, instead. The smell of it, washed over him, and he could imagine, even craved, the calming effect it would’ve had on him. Still, he couldn’t chance going to the house not being completely sober. How could he expect Elizabeth to listen to him, if she thought he needed alcohol in order to talk to her?
The time for running away was over.
END CHAPTER 169
NOVEMBER 18, 2009
TUESDAY
12:30AM
William picked up the bottle, then put it down again. All night he’d been trying to resist, knowing he’d done enough drinking in the past few days, to last for quite a while. At least, it felt like it should. However, the abrupt lack of alcohol was now leaving him feeling shaky and disoriented.
“Bugger this,” he mumbled, as he gave in and poured himself a shot. Downing it in one gulp, the relief was short lived, as a severe burning sensation in his stomach nearly doubled him over. He banged the glass down on the edge of the counter, and missed.
Ignoring the shattered glass, he frantically yanked open the refrigerator door, and grabbed an open pint of half-and-half, and drank it down from the carton. He gritted his teeth, nearly gagging on the taste of the almost spoilt milk, but his stomach felt better.
Miranda turned upon hearing the breaking glass, as did most of those at the bar. She turned to look at the man standing in front of her, and he nodded to the bottle of beer she’d been holding in her hand. “Oh yeah. Sorry, here you go,” she said, distractedly.
William was squatted down, cleaning up the glass when she walked up behind him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Spike?” she persisted.
“It’s nothing, just broke a glass,” he said lightly, looking up at her with bloodshot blue eyes.
“Yeah sure, and that just happens to be the third nothing you’ve broken tonight.”
William stood up in a quick movement, causing Miranda to move back. Angrily, he stared at her, then pulled out his wallet and put a ten-dollar bill in the cash register. “There, that’ll pay for your bloody glasses.”
Eyes narrowing, she met his stare. “I’m not worried about the fucking glasses, you big jerk. I’m worried about you!”
“Sorry,” he said, after a moment. “It’s just a bad night, is all.”
“You know, you’re really so damned cliche. Then again, it’s almost Zen like, if you think about it. Man works at bar, man becomes one with bar.”
“Miranda, what in God’s name are you talking about?” he asked, turning to face her.
“Want me spell it out for you?”
“Only if it’ll keep you from prattling on in some sort of secret female code,” he shot back, frustrated.
“Okay, how’s this? You’re a drunk, Spike. A drunk working at a bar.”
He turned, slamming the palms of his hands on the edge of the counter. “I’m not a drunk,” he said, through clenched teeth. William could feel the muscles in his back and arms twitching, much like they did right before fighting demons. He rolled his head and felt the satisfying cracking of his neck’s vertebrae.
“No? Well, you’re either doing a really good impression of one, or you’re this close to becoming one,” she said, holding up her fingers an inch apart.
“I’m not, I’ve just been...I’m not!”
Miranda looked at him, until he looked away. Putting her hand on his arm, she asked, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten something?” He started to protest, but she stopped him. “I mean really eaten a half-way decent meal? Not just a bag of chips or some shitty junk food?”
He looked up at her, his mouth moving as he tried to recall. Finally he shook his head, “I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean I’m a drunk,” he said, straightening up, with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Maybe not, but it sure looks like you don’t give a crap enough about yourself to even eat something! I mean, come on Spike. That’s pretty fucking basic personal maintenance; right after washing oneself,” she said, resisting adding a comment about the none-too-fresh odor he was sporting this evening.
He gave Miranda a hard stare. “You done?” William asked tersely.
“For now,” she returned blithely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00AM
He couldn’t take being there anymore. For the past hour and a half, all he’d done was mutter to himself, and try to avoid both Miranda, and taking another drink.
He walked down to her end of the bar, and stood waiting for Miranda to acknowledge his presence. She didn’t. Instead, never breaking stride, she continued to wipe down the latest spill with a bar rag.
William exhaled softly. She wasn’t going to make this any easier.
Finished, she threw the rag underneath the bar. Slowly she looked up at him, as she took the cigarette that hung from her mouth, and ground it out in the nearest ashtray.
“You want something, Spike?”
“Um, yeah. Actually,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was wondering if you’d mind if I knocked off early, seeing it’s rather slow. There’s some things I need to...”
“Go ahead,” she answered a bit too sharply, “Mike and I can close up.”
“Right then,” he said.
William reached for his coat under the bar, hesitating a moment when his hand started to pull the near empty flask out of his pocket. It had been his usual habit to fill it up at the end of his shift. Not tonight, though. Standing up, he slung his coat over his shoulder. With a short nod to Miranda, he left the bar through the door leading to the kitchen and basement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5:30AM
LOS ANGELES
As if the unintended and very short twilight sleep had cleared his head, William suddenly awoke, with clarity of purpose he hadn’t felt for a long while. He packed up a small bag of his belongings, and headed out, after first leaving a note on the bar for Miranda.
A couple of hours later, with the morning sun now bright in the sky, William turned into the Wittman’s driveway in San Marcos. Wearily, he turned off the engine, laying his head on the steering wheel for a few minutes. Finally, he got out of the car, and grabbed what he’d brought with him from the back seat and went upstairs.
“Home sweet home,” William said softly, as he let himself into his apartment. “More or less.”
Going directly into the bathroom, only stopping long enough to throw his bag onto the bed, he stripped off the clothes he was wearing and got into the shower. It was a small luxury, but feeling the decent water pressure for a change, made him feel better.
William chose a favorite pair of soft gray sweat pants to wear, comforted by the memory that Elizabeth had bought them for him. And disregarding anything black, a long-sleeved, blue T-shirt chosen by her as well, went over his head.
Going out to the kitchen, he looked around for something he could make himself to eat. Holding his breath, he opened the refrigerator, prepared to smell spoiled milk. He let out his breath, curious that there was nothing there except for an old half-gallon of water, and two unopened jars - one of salsa, one of applesauce.
Luckily, he found a can of chicken noodle soup in the cupboard, and warmed it up. To him, the little pan of soup smelled delicious. William spooned half of it into his mouth with a ladle before it even finished cooking, burning his tongue in the process. Finding half a package of unopened, saltine crackers was a bonus. He quickly discovered that the hot salsa alone was too spicy for his stomach, but combined with applesauce, and on a cracker...voila! As far as William was concerned, it was the finest haute cuisine.
He took his meal out to the living room, turning on the radio for company. The strains of a classical piece he hadn't heard for a long time filled the room, making him wistful for the time when he still believed in all the innocence and beauty such music represented. A time before he knew of all the ugly and evil things in the world, things to which he'd become a part.
Sighing heavily, he put down his plate. No use putting off what he'd come back here to do. Going into the bedroom, he knelt down, and pulled a small journal from underneath his bed. Opening it up, he found the little card tucked between the pages.
Taking the card with him into the living room, he located his cell phone, and turned it on.
After dialing a series of numbers, he finally heard a tinny ring on the other end.
"Hello," said the familiar voice.
"Mr. Giles?"
"Yes, who is this?"
“William. William Worthington.”
There was a moment's pause, when William thought that maybe they had been disconnected. "Mr. Giles?"
"Yes, sorry. I'm here,” he heard the other man clearing his throat, "What can I do for you, William?"
"I think...I need your help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4:30PM
LONDON
Giles hung up the phone, and reflecting on the last half-hour’s conversation with William. Looking over the notes he’d scribbled as they talked, he took a fresh notebook out of his bottom drawer, and transferred his notes, filling in other things he remembered, as well as questions he wanted to ask William later. On the notebook’s cover, in permanent marker he wrote the words, “William Worthington, 2009 (Formerly William the Bloody, aka Spike”), then put it into his locked file cabinet.
He sat back down at his desk, and pressed the button to the outer office.
“Yes Mr. Giles?” Asked his secretary.
“Get me British Airways.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:30AM
JULIAN
The floor no longer seemed so nice, as Buffy awoke, shaking with the chills. She tried to move, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Never in all her days of slaying had she felt so utterly helpless and miserable. Teeth chattering, and tears rolling down her face, she somehow pulled the brown paper wrapping over to her and tried to curl it around her as best she could.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:30AM
SAN MARCOS
William knew the next thing he had to do, the most important thing, would be even harder than the phone call to Giles had been. Glancing at the clock, he wished he’d come to the decision to go and speak to Elizabeth earlier, that way he could’ve possibly seen her this morning. Still, perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a good idea. He didn’t want to only talk to her for a few minutes, before she had to go off to work. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, especially not her; he owed her more than just a few minutes.
Nerves and exhaustion set in, and he decided that the best thing he could for now would be to get some sleep. Going into the bedroom, he set the alarm clock to awaken him a couple of hours before then.
Before crawling under the covers, he reached over and pulled the small box off of his bedside table and opened it up. Wistfully, he looked at Elizabeth’s necklace and ring for a while, his fingers tracing the outline of them. With a sigh, he replaced the lid.
Turning on his side, he pulled her pillow near to him, and was soon asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00PM
JULIAN
Buffy didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she had stopped shaking, as her fever had once again risen. Her brain felt like it was baking inside her own skull, and the sun, now steaming into the room, wasn’t helping. Her ears were ringing, too. They’d done that earlier, but she vaguely thought it might be the phone ringing somewhere in the house, and cursed herself for not having thought to bring it upstairs with her.
So much for cell phones being lifesavers.
Water. She needed water. Lifting her head up a little, she saw the half empty bottle that had been under the couch a couple of feet away. The effort made her head pound, but she persevered, and reached for the bottle.
Stale or not, the water tasted wonderful to her parched throat, wet and wonderful. Even though she could’ve drank many times that amount, she made herself stop after drinking only about half. For one thing, if drinking it made her throw up, she wouldn’t have any water left up here at all.
A few minutes later, she rationalized that if it hadn’t made her throw up yet, it wasn’t likely to, and she was so thirsty that drinking the rest was all she’d been thinking about. Also, she rationalized that if the rest made her feel better, she might be able to get to the stairs and at least go down them on her butt.
She reached for the bottle and it tipped over, rolling out of her grasp. William’s picture, which had prevented it from rolling under the couch and to the back wall, was moved just enough to one side, so that the bottle easily kept rolling.
“No, no,” Buffy croaked, trying to reach in time. She sat up, and tried to get to her knees, but she collapsed before she’d even gotten a foot. Hot, angry tears choked her, as she lay back down on the hard floor.
The last thing she remembered was staring at the picture of the cool waters of Clear Lake as she passed out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2:00PM
SAN MARCOS
William opened his eyes as the alarm went off, confused momentarily by his surroundings. As his eyes took in the familiar room, he exhaled and relaxed back against the pillows.
His eyes nervously darted to the clock to check the time. Elizabeth would be home in less than two hours. His heart pounded nervously at the prospect that he was actually going to the house to see her; talk to her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing through his hair with a wet comb, William studied himself for a moment. In his head, he heard the words she’d spoken.
“Who are you? I look at you and I don’t see William anymore, and I don’t see Spike! I don’t know what I see anymore.”
William wasn’t sure what or who he saw either; hadn’t for quite some time. That was the problem, and he hoped that the wheels he’d set in motion earlier might somehow be one of the steps to rectifying that; if not, then what was the purpose of his existence?
All William knew, was that he had to see Elizabeth; talk to her, and make some sort of amends for the other night, even if only to give her the opportunity to tell him to bugger off face-to-face, and with him sober. She’d come to Los Angeles to find him. She’d come to him, and all he could do was to throw her feelings back in her face, in every imaginable way; from insulting her, to practically...
He also needed to tell her that he would be going away for a while, for both their sakes. He wondered would she even care at this point, or feel relieved?
Either way, he had to do what he must - to be able to be hers, if she would still have him - to be a man. More importantly, to be his own man for once, if that was even possible. And as to that, William had his serious doubts.
After dressing in a pair of blue jeans and a dark green pullover, he went into the kitchen and turned on a teapot. As he waited for it, he looked in the cabinets for something else to eat. In one of them, near the back, he spotted half a pint of Jack Daniels. He pulled it forward, and put it on the counter. Uncapping it, he poured a healthy shot into the teacup, and lifted it to his mouth, then hesitated at the last moment.
“Oh bugger it!” William said, pouring it out in the sink, instead. The smell of it, washed over him, and he could imagine, even craved, the calming effect it would’ve had on him. Still, he couldn’t chance going to the house not being completely sober. How could he expect Elizabeth to listen to him, if she thought he needed alcohol in order to talk to her?
The time for running away was over.
END CHAPTER 169