Title: Windows
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie
Rating: R but just for language.
Warnings: Angst. Again.
Summary: Because sometimes, you feel like writing something depressing.
Characters: S/X, Spike’s POV
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I only own what I wrote.



I’m glad I don’t have a reflection. I don’t think I could look myself in the face. I can barely look at him.

It’s not about lying. I’ve spent my entire life lying to people. Never to myself, not before this. But now I am. Lying to myself when I think he doesn’t notice. He notices.

I can see the look in his face, when I come home after I’ve been with her. I go to her in the evening, we fight and fuck, and I know I smell like her when I go home to him. Black Roses. But the look in his eyes when he smells her on me… I wish I were blind.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. And his, now, are empty.

When I go to her, her face is a picture of delight and happiness. My dark princess loves it when I come to her. She is my Sire, and that bond can never be broken. By coming to her, she knows that she still has that hold over me. I don’t think she really wants me. It’s just because I’m with someone else, that she wants me to be with her.

When I come home to him, his face is cheerful, but his eyes…dead. Dull, cold eyes. But he kisses me, and I moan. I want him to know that he still does it for me, even though I’m going to her.

So why do I tell myself he doesn’t care? Just because he hasn’t said anything? I can see it in everything he does. When I go to rid myself of her scent, his shoulders sag, because he knows what I’m doing.

The worst, though, is after he and I make love. I shower again.

Part of it is that I just want to make sure I don’t smell like him when I go to her. It will only give her more power over me. Make her more smug. But that’s not the only reason. When I make love to him, I feel dirty afterward, because of the look on his face.

He always looks as if every touch, every kiss, every thrust kills him. As if he thinks every time I’m touching him, kissing him, thrusting into him, that I’m not thinking of him. He thinks I’m thinking of her.

The truth is, I’m thinking of him when I’m with her. Because it’s him I love. But it’s her that I’m bound to.

And every time I look at him, I wish I hadn’t.

I never want to see that look on his face again. I don’t want to see his dead eyes, his false smiles. But how can I leave, when all I want is to be with him?

Why can’t I stop going to her? She is my Sire. She made me what I am today. If it weren’t for her, I would never have met him, because I would be dead by now.

His eyes have always told me what he was thinking. Now, all I see is pain.

I used to look at him and see shining brown eyes. Pure joy, lust, love. Everything around us would disappear into nothing every time I looked at him. There was only him. I used to love to look at him.

Now, his eyes are just broken.

Now, I never want to look at him again.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. And I’ve broken his. Broken him.

END