He won't talk to me.
Not that I'm the gifted conversationalist. I happen to like the silence. And the dark. It's soothing. A good atmosphere for thinking.
But this silence...it's not good. It's tense and uncomfortable and it makes my heart hurt. The Spike I remembered never shut up. Even when I used to gag him, he'd still try and taunt me through it. Mister Motor-mouth. He even talked to himself.
Now he barely makes a noise. Even his boots are silent on the hardwood floor. I wouldn't know if he ever moved or not if I wasn't always watching him like a hawk. He goes from room to room in my apartment like a silent ghost. A silent ghost who jumps at the slightest noise.
I don't like it.
I remember he used to command any room he entered. Why wouldn't he? He's beautiful, my Childe. He exuded confidence and cocky assurance that he could take anyone and anything.
As I sit here watching him out of the corner of my vision, I wonder where that man has gone. Spike doesn't want to come fully into the room. He skirts around the edge as he goes from the bedroom to the kitchen.
What has happened to my beautiful boy?
I wish he would talk to me. I've tried to get him to open up, but so far, nothing but silence. He hides in the bedroom or near the corner of the kitchen between the refrigerator and the stove. Every once in awhile I'll find him sitting on the stairs next to the elevator, his head resting against the wall, staring sightlessly across the room.
One night I had come home early from work and I heard the shower running in the bathroom. I figured he'd been taking one while I was gone, considering he never went near the bathroom when I was around. I went to knock on the door to offer him a clean change of clothes -- he had yet to take off the ones he was wearing, which was kind of unsanitary, but I wasn't going to push -- and I heard crying under the sound of the shower.
I had wanted to go in and hold him and tell him everything would be okay. But I couldn't touch him. After that first day when I found he was still alive, I haven't been able to get near him. I walk within two feet of him and he visibly flinches and backs away, pulling in on himself. Its almost as if he was trying to make himself as small a target as possible.
Death was too good for them.
"Spike?" I call to him as he skirts along the edge of the room again, heading back towards the bedroom. He stiffens, his whole body going tense, as he pauses mid-step. He does not turn, however, nor does he ask me what I want, so I continued on my own. "Would you like to come out with me tonight? There's a movie I wanted to see..."
Okay, so I really could care less about going out to the movies, but it was an activity I knew that Spike enjoyed. Especially considering I don't have a television.
He shook his head no -- barely -- then continued on to the bedroom.
I'm beginning to hate the silence.