Sometimes you can push a man, even an undead one, only so far.
First, he comes to my town and attacks me like some bumbling idiot because he
doesn't have the patience or the foresight to stick with his "carefully
constructed" plan. Predictable. Then he taunts me with Buffy's obvious
indiscretions. Typical. Chains me up, so some moronic child molester can try his
best to torture me. Fine. Here's a hint though, I've been to hell, and it's
going to take a little more than one idiot who can't get it up for anyone over
the age of 10 to get to me. He comes to my town, gets outsmarted and leaves?
I've spent the last two hundred years or so perfecting that move. If there's
leaving to be done, I'm the one who does it. I make the move; I call the shots.
I am his God. I made him. Without me, he'd be a pile of dust in a pine box.
Hell, considering where I found him, he would have been lucky if he'd done that
well. What thanks do I get?
So, on a bright, sunny fall day in Sunnydale, I find myself sitting in the
darkness, staring down at my wayward childe. He always was foolish enough to
trust his minions to protect him while he slept. That's one lesson of mine that
he never seemed capable of learning. Never trust anyone. Trust is for suckers,
for simpletons. Sure, use people; take them for everything that they have. Suck
them dry, but never offer something of yourself in return. Never let down your
guard. Take control.
I may live with this soul for the rest of my unnatural life, but that is one
lesson I'll take with me. Control is the key. I nearly lost it with Buffy,
nearly. I let her lodge herself in my heart and I felt it slipping. The trauma
over Faith was a godsend. While Buffy was off chasing her tail, trying to figure
out what to do, I regained my control. I looked into the mouth of hell and said
no. Then, I left. That is what I do. I control. I dominate. I destroy. I leave.
And now, after all that I have been through, he comes along and thinks he can
take my control away from me again?
If you start a job, you always see it through to completion. Never leave
something dangling because it will always come back to bite you in the ass. The
weight of the chains in my hands feels good. The smooth metal links sliding
against my skin reminds me of the good old days. The days before Drusilla when
Spike and I would play our little games. The days before the distractions and
the jealousy. Yes, it's time to teach Spike a new lesson.
Never leave daddy hanging because he'll always bite you in the ass.
Thankfully, Spike still sleeps like the dead. Foolish boy, naively unaware as
he drifts in dreamland. The bed groans softly under my weight as I sink into the
mattress. Shoddy craftsmanship. He never did have the patience to find the very
best. Instead, he takes the first thing that comes along. Sort of like the bitch
I dusted on the way in. Vapid. A weak excuse of a replacement for Dru, who of
course was a weak excuse of a replacement for me.
As always, it comes back to that, this childe of mine and his obsession for
me. It, of course, was the thing that initially drew me to him. A scared little
pup, lost and alone in a den of wolves. He'd been by himself for some time
before I caught up with him. Lonely. The wretched thing had been abandoned by
his family. Just one too many mouths to feed, so he had to go. He never had
anything he could call his own until he met me.
I was his deliverance, or so he thought.
I gave him my complete and undivided attention. Unlike Darla, or perhaps
because of dear old mom, I knew the importance of that bond. So, I coddled him.
I fed him. I bathed him. I made him mine so that he would stay that way until
the day I died. With Spike in hand, I'd left the fold and begun to build my own
empire. He had gone along willingly, doing everything in his power to please me.
Those were the days.
We had been quite happy together, then I met Drusilla, and everything
changed. The darkness in me was drawn to the goodness in her. My lust for that
goodness was beyond my control, so I decided that it had to go. It was all too
easy to pervert that goodness, but it had changed everything.
The manacles clank ever so slightly as they close over his wrists. I find
that I cannot prevent the smile that threatens my habitually deadpan expression.
Just one more transgression that he will have to pay for.
Since I made Drusilla, my childe has been a constant irritation. He's plotted
and planned, joked and cajoled, threatened and punished. He's tried to destroy
everything I hold dear. In short, he's done everything in his power to attract
my attention. He's done everything he can think of to try to make our
relationship as it once was. Now, when all of that has failed, he's turned to
the single remaining element of my being that I've managed to hold onto.
As I sit here in the darkness, I know that I'm playing into his hands. I'm
giving him my attention. As I am inclined to do, I am making my life all about
him. I'm an addict; I always have been. I obey my impulses, my passions. I have
no willpower. That is why I run. If I am to be completely honest, I must admit
that my control is tenuous at best.
He knows that.
The chain slides easily into the hook above the bed. It's convenient, that
hook. Funny how things have been that way all day. The moronic minions. The
vapid girlfriend. The hook above the bed. My naked child. Yes, I'm doing just
what he's hoped for and somehow, I find that I don't care.
For once, it doesn't matter.
He's mine and when he wakes, I will show him what it means to have my
complete and undivided attention.