This idea came to me when I got the four billionth request for the
Backstreet Boys' 'Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely' on the air the other
night and I've been absolutely obsessing over it since (the idea, not the
song). I know, I know, finish what's started, and I will. Edge of Lies will
be finished tonight and Fast as You Can will be finished this weekend.

-----

Misery Minuet (1/?)

Willow wrapped her arms tightly around herself, pulling her cold, broken
heart in closer. She felt dead inside. She felt like everything inside of
her was wrong or stupid. All the mistakes she had made were ripping her
apart. She was humiliated and confused and depressed.

But worst of all, she was lonely.

The leaves framed the path through the park like a picture. A portrait of a
sad girl who didn't know which way to turn. Buffy had enough problems with
her lover reverting back to his souless state. Oz and Cordelia refused to
talk to her after the kiss they had witnessed between her and Xander. And
the person who should be there, Xander, wasn't.

She sunk onto a bench, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples with two
fingers.

"Penny for your blood, luv?"

Willow jumped, instinctively reaching for the stake in her left pocket. He
was too fast though, before she could get to it, his cool fingers had
enveloped her tiny hand, squeezing tightly enough to send a sharp pain up
her arm.

"Not s'much." He plucked the stake from her pocket, tossing it in the bushes
behind them. He sat next to her on the bench, stretching one leg out,
keeping the other bent in a defensive stance.

He sighed.

Willow glanced at him curiously. "Who are you?"

He chuckled. "The name's Spike, luv."

Her eyes widened. "You're..." She trailed off.

"Right. Spike."

"Spike?"

"Already bored." He leaned back, casually looping an arm around the back of
the bench the two sat together on.

"Sorry." Willow answered quickly.

"So. What do you know about me?" Spike asked, his hand wandering to her
shoulder. "Because I know a bit about you, pet. Name..." He eyed her.
"Address..." He snaked down to cup her breast, delivering enough pressure to
paralyse the girl with fear. He leered at her suggestively. "And what a fine
name'n address they are." The vampire gave her a crooked grin. "What? Do you
water those things and make sure they get plenty of sun?" He massaged her
deeply, feeling her pert nipple beneath the layers of fabric.

"I kn-know you're supposed to be in a wheelchair." She managed breathlessly.

"Yeah, well, you keep a good quiet 'bout that, dollface. I don't want
Leather and Lace on my ass, again. They're both off their rockers, they are.
Not to mention Buffy the Do-Me-Now Slayer. Between Dru's nonsense whims, the
Slayer's left hook, and Peaches' constant need to rut with anything that
will hold still long enough, I need a bit of time to myself."

Spike sparked a cigarette, raising the glowing stick to his lips. He
breathed in deeply, holding the nicotene in before exhaling. The smoke flew
from his lungs in two streams of white.

"What do you want?" Willow asked quietly, shrugging off his arm.

"Not a bloody thing, luv."

"You're not going to-to kill me?"

"Nah. Don't want to work Daddy-dear into a tizzy. Might get gel in his
eyes." He looked her up and down. "But there may be something..."

-----

Spike hadn't taken her slowly. He hadn't been particularly gentle either,
but it hadn't hurt as much as she thought it would. After he had broken her
maidenhead, it had been tolerable. Willow had almost been too afraid to
enjoy it.

Or to stop him.

She thought the constant stream of orgasms would never end. Over and over
again he had done her, in full demon face. His glowing yellow eyes taking in
the entire raping.

Willow thought, naive as she was for thinking it, that Spike might really
like her. She was so vulnerable, in such a position of wanting.

And he was giving her what she needed.

Over and over again.

Willow had finally passed out with a smile of pure pleasure on her face. She
felt just a little more whole. More complete.

-----

She was still smiling when she opened her eyes, looking up at the stars
sprinkling the black satin sky.

Then reality hit. It hit hard. Like a slap to the face and a kick in the
ribs.

Spike was gone. She was lying on the cold, damp asphalt. Where he had taken
her was painful, an intense burning. A cigarette, unsnuffed, smoked beside
her. A wad of bills lay crumpled next to her face. Her clothes were ripped
and out of order.

And there was blood dripping from her neck.

-----
MARCH 2005

The girl breathed in deeply on the cigarette, thrusting the smoke from her
lungs. She glanced around the coffeehouse, taking in the mother with and
small child, the young man reading a book in the corner. She looked at him
closely. She could see his pain, etched in his face. It was all over. The
book was one of pain and abuse, she could read the words over his shoulder,
even from across the room. He was thinking of lost love, his thoughts
screamed at her.

Into the ashtray the cigarette was snuffed, she twisted it three times,
watching the dying smoke rise up from the ceramic.

She sighed, brushing the hair from her face. She picked up the pen in front
of her and began to write, she wrote her own thoughts. Ones of lost love,
ones that screamed like so many others' did.

-----

JANUARY 2000

Willow clawed her clothes back to some recognisable form. She was a mess.
The rain drops fell slowly at first, turning to pouring rain in moments. She
sunk to the ground, cradling her knees close to her chest. She rocked back
and forth on the path. The cloud's tears hit the pavement around, slapping
the asphalt harshly.

Her eyes were wide with fear. Regret. Happiness. Anger. Sadness. Joy.

Loneliness.

-----

She could hide. She could hide it all. She'd been doing it for years.
Usually without knowing it. Pain was a sneaky enemy. It came from out of
nowhere, knocking you off your feet and making sure you were down. Then it
slowly seeped into you. You feed it by giving into it. You hide it from
everybody else, keeping it to yourself. Like your little secret. A dirty
secret you couldn't tell anyone because they might think less of you. They
might hate you. Might think you're dirty, like the secret you were hiding.
The pain becomes a powerful elixir, alcohol with a kick. The dependency
rages, making you act like an addict needing a fix before they go crazy.
It's a dirty little secret. Hidden. But dirty.

Willow felt dirty.

She hid the marks. The evidence of her indiscretion with the vampire. She
sighed at her own dramatics. Indiscretion with the Vampire. The next Anne
Rice novel.

Too bad Anne wasn't here now.

She hated him for what he did. But she didn't stop him. She couldn't. She
wanted it. She knew she had. She didn't push him away, didn't even think
that it was wrong.

Until after.

-----

The shadows on the ceiling loomed over her. Like someone approaching her,
mind on passions, eyes glowing, ready to...

Willow bolted straight up in bed. She felt like she was drunk as she
stumbled out of the house. Her feet were moving, but not where she wanted
them to go. She unwillingly found herself where she knew she shouldn't be.

But she had to be there.

It was so terribly vague. The thoughts pounded inside her head, like someone
running back and forth in a tiny room, slamming into one wall, then the
other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Yes, no. Yes, no. Yes, no.

Yes.

Eyes focussed on her.

No.

He stepped toward her, hand outstretched.

Yes.

She shook like a leaf, the moonlight illuminating her scared face.

No.

His coolness enveloped her.

Yes.

She pulled the material aside.

No.

He leaned down.

-----
MARCH 2005

The girl smoothed the silky black locks from her face, toying the even ends,
winding and unwinding the strands around long, thin fingers. She glanced at
her hand as she returned it to the table. A long scar ran from the tip of
her index finger to the underside of her palm at the base of her wrist. A
flash of pain ran through her as she remembered.

-----

JANUARY 2000

"Shh." She whispered, drawing a finger to her lips. "Listen."

He fell silent, staring past her. Listening.

He broke the quiet after a moment. "What?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Don't you hear it?"

"No." He murmured in resignation. "What is it?"

She looked up. "My heart beating."

-----

MARCH 2005

She tried to shake off the vision, glancing at the cooling coffee in the mug
in front of her. She swished the cup, a dark brown ring circling the inside,
indicating how long she had been sitting there.

-----

JANUARY 2000

"How terribly sappy." He remarked.

The blade shone in the moonlight.

"You make me want to be a better vamp and all that." He said with a sneer.

A moment passed. A slice, a cry, and blood on the knife.

"Not really though."

-----

MARCH 2005

The bell hanging from the coffeehouse door chimed in a customer. A young
woman approximately in her thirties stepped into the establishment, a heavy
black bag in tow. She looked about the nearly empty cafe before choosing a
small table in the corner, turning her back to the other customers.

The girl stared at the woman, reading her thoughts. She saw secrets, lots of
secrets. This woman was not like other people. Her eyes could tell a
thousand tales, but she was too afraid to let anyone look into them long
enough to hear her story.

She reached for a cigarette, only looking back up again as the woman fumbled
with something hidden in her bag. A folded newspaper, she identified. Old,
maybe two weeks. She sniffed the air innocently. Not local, the newsprint
was different. Foreign. This woman had just come back from somewhere far
away.

-----

JANUARY 2000

"I'll take you somewhere far away. Italy, Paris, whatever you want--"

"No. You won't."

"I promise."

"Empty. Empty promises. Besides, it's too late."

"It was your choice."

"You tricked me."

"I didn't."

"You said you loved me. I heard you."

"No. You heard what you wanted to hear."

"You'll kill me!" The panic rose in her voice.

"I don't plan on it."

"You already are."

-----

MARCH 2005

She blinked twice, flicking the lighter. The flame jumped quickly, encasing
her face in a glow. Her hand went to an itch on her neck. She touched the
skin lightly, closing her eyes.

-----

JANUARY 2000

"Do it."

"I don't want to. I don't want to do this anymore. They're starting to ask
questions."

"So let them. I don't care."

He ripped the fabric of her top, savagely plunging his fangs into her neck.
The warm flesh surrounded his teeth as the warm, sweet blood flowed over his
tongue and down his throat. He shook as the nectar ran through his veins,
the life force pumping viciously. He felt the familiar weakening in his
knees as the eroticism of the feeding hit him. It was overpowering. But he
couldn't stop. Not this time. He continued to drink in the very composition
of her, dragging her innermost necessities out and nourishing himself with
them.

He pulled away abruptly, a trickle of blood rolling down his chin. She fell
limp in his arms. He shook her angrily, with a sudden realisation.

"No--" He whispered. "I--I didn't. I didn't take too much."

Her head rolled back, her lips parted slightly.

"I didn't take too much."

-----