Part Four
Buffy sighed and propped herself against the door, trying to ignore how hard her heart was hammering.
So not good. So completely not good.
“Who turned out the lights?” Spike demanded gruffly, huffing as he pulled himself to his feet.
She tossed him a wry glance, but it was lost in darkness. Stupid vampire makes me waste perfectly good glares. “Shut up,” she snapped instead, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Jus’ sayin’, luv. If I can’t see a bloody thing, it’s dark.” There was a brief pause. “What happened?”
“You pushed me into a broom closet. That’s what happened.”
“Ohhh, kitty’s got claws.” A beat. “I’d hope you’d realize how big the average broom closet is, kitten. It’s not that small. More likely a panic room.”
She decided to ignore the fact that she had thought the same thing before, well, being shoved inside. Instead, she grumbled and forced herself to her feet. “Perfect. This is just perfect.”
The next thing she knew, Spike was right in front of her, practically pressing her into the door. “Move over, pet. Gonna test the door.”
“It’s locked,” she said, frowning at the tremor that commanded her voice. The hell? “I already tried.”
“You’re not up to full strength, remember?” Without waiting for her reply, he closed his hands around her upper arms and forcibly moved her to the side. The sensation was brief and slightly heady, and he had already turned back to her by the time it occurred to her that she should be angry at his rough insistence. “Bugger all.”
“I told you.”
“The door’s locked.”
“Yeah.”
“An’ we’re stuck.” He paused, and she could have sworn that she saw his eyes flicker over her thoughtfully. That was impossible, of course. She couldn’t see a thing. “In here. Together.”
Buffy flushed, and on the same beat, they moved to their own respective corners in the room—as far from each other as possible, granted their options. She slowly slid to the floor again, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Why do you even care?” she asked after a minute, feeling small and vulnerable, and hating herself for it. “I’m under the impression that I’m vampire lunchmeat any way I look at it.”
“Well, we can’t get the door open, an’ I wager it’s better to be stuck in here with someone than bore myself to death. Or…more to death.” With a sigh, he reached for his cigarettes. “’Course, it can always go the other way if your yammerin’ gets outta hand.”
“Well, don’t piss me off.”
“Wouldn’t be talkin’, pet,” he retorted nastily, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. She stifled a cough. “Seems to me that you’re not in the position to be givin’ orders.”
“If you think I’m going to take orders from you, it’s better you just kill me now.”
“An’ miss out on all this fun? Not a chance, sweetheart.” A beat. “’Course, I’d get close to that door, if I were you. The second it opens up—”
Buffy smiled sweetly. “You’ll be dust by then.”
“Is that right?”
“Giles isn’t here to drug me up, is he? Slayer strength comes back and hence…Spike-dustiness.”
“Won’t happen.”
It was her turn to be pessimistic. She arched a brow and leaned back. The wall against her shoulders was comforting in a bizarre fashion. “And how?”
“Killed me a few Slayers, pet. Can’t give me the willies with that kind of talk, pet.”
“Yeah. And I’ve staked me a few hundred vamps. You’re no different.”
The boom of his laugh provoked both a grin and a snicker. Such confidence was not in the least attractive. “An’ you assume your precious Angel is?”
The mention of Angel threw her, but she refused to let it show. “He has a soul.”
“Yeh. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
A growl rumbled through her throat. “It’s not going anywhere this time. We’re not going to…there will be no…of us…doing things that would make his soul go away. I mean, don’t you think he’s learned his lesson? Don’t you think I’ve learned mine?”
“Kitten, you’re what…eighteen today?” Her eyes had finally decided to adjust, and immediately followed the sound of Spike’s voice, projecting off the wall opposite her and outlining his familiar face against the darkness. A flicker of orange marked his mouth. She wondered how many cigarettes he would go through before she choked on secondhand smoke. “Yeh. Rite of passage, an’ what all. You’ve been with…hmmm…let’s think. Oh right. Peaches…an’ that’s it. I’ll admit, he’s a cool one to wait as long as he did. His accounts of the past weren’t as flatterin’, an’ judgin’ how he acted as that soulless git, restraint is not his middle name. You think in a century you’re the only one to have given him a happy?”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Well. Gee. Let’s think. Happy for Angel equals no long soul. Basing it on—”
“An’ there’s another thing. Demons really don’ separate the line between sex and violence. Ask Peaches sometime…I know he has a few skeletons hangin’ in his closet. Things he’s too bloody proper to admit.” The falsity behind his laugh made her shudder this time. It reeked of the truth—the side of the truth she would never bring herself to fully investigate. “Gotta admit, never really thought of good ole Angelus as proper.” He shook his head, taking a long drag. “Anyway, the point, luv, is that no man…regardless of his bloody lot in life, can go that long without…well…you get it.”
The thought made her nauseous. “You pig.”
He snickered. “How stunningly original. ‘S the truth, Slayer. Can’t blame me if you’re not strong enough to handle it.”
There were no words to describe her disgust. “Just because you—”
“Not me, pet. Don’ turn this around on me.” She saw his hands come up in suggestion of mock peace. “An’ don’ get your knickers in a twist. I’m payin’ you a compliment, here. Angel got his rocks off before he met your precious self, but at leas’ it din’t make him happy. Or at least, not enough to drive his soul away. Bloody bastard din’t love any of those bints. God, if you think that’s all there is to it, then you’re gonna be mighty surprised when you start goin’ out there in search of a comfort fuck every five seconds.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
Spike arched a brow at her pointedly. “What? Just ‘cause I’m evil means I lack emotion?”
That wasn’t true. Buffy knew it wasn’t true. If anything, Spike was commanded by emotion. She’d seen it when he came to her before—to help her stop Angelus. She’d seen it just a few months ago, when he showed up a slobbering, pitiful, recently-dumped drunk. And yet, she couldn’t help but go for the dig. Couldn’t help but lash out, as it was all she had right now. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”
The humor behind his snicker rivaled brewing irritation. He was hurt—she could tell—but he fell to sarcasm rather than anger. “A vampire slayer that knows jack ‘bout vampires. Look out world; here she comes.”
“I know all I need to know about vampires,” Buffy retorted. “Vampire equals evil. Evil equals nice pointy weapons. Nice pointy weapons equals dust, ergo no more vampire.”
“What about the hunt? You knew enough to threaten me with Dru, if memory serves.” At that, he flustered. “Which, by the way, made the list of the many reasons I’m gonna kill you.”
“Because you never tried to kill Angel?” she snapped defensively. “And besides…this is a stupid argument. You can’t love! You have no soul. You don’t know what love is…what feelings are. It’s all lust to you. There is no difference.”
A nerve had been hit—she knew without needing to hear him speak. And before she could wallow in regret, the vampire was on his feet, stalking toward her, his eyes raging. “How can you explain me an’ Dru?” he demanded, slamming an angry fist to the wall behind her. “If sex is all we care about, why the bloody hell would I stay with her? Don’ tell me it was ‘cause of deep, philosophical conversations. I’m sane; she’s not. She likes the idea of destroyin’ the world; I don’t. But I would’ve gone through time for her. I could have anyone I—”
“Wow. Ego much?”
There was a beat there when she thought she might have pushed him over the edge. His eyes blazed and his fangs descended. The hatred in his gaze made her inner little girl shrivel up in fear, but somehow—just as rapidly as they’d flared—the sparks of anger began to fade.
What the hell was he trying to prove? Spike wasn’t the type to sit there and his chat his dinner up before sinking his teeth in. However, against all odds, he withdrew and ran a hand through his platinum strands. “Don’ knock what yeh don’ know ‘bout, is all,” he concluded softly.
Why she would continue to patronize him, even she didn’t know. She found it nearly impossible to keep her mouth shut. “You stayed with her because she made you,” she retorted. “That’s what Angel said about him and Darla. About pretty much all vamps and their…makers or whatever.”
Spike stared at her for endless seconds before small, humorless chuckles commanded his body. “Yeh. He would say that.” He turned back to her, and she realized, belatedly how close he was. For the first time next all evening, she felt she saw fully him. “Bet he conveniently left out the part where he followed his dear maker to China where Dru an’ I were havin’ a bloody bloodfest durin’ the Boxer Rebellion. He was gaga over her, sweetheart, even with a soddin’ soul.” Spike laughed again. Coldly. “Bloody tore him apart when she told him to sod off. Couldn’t stand the humanity in him. Then you came along an’ suddenly he’s all heroic…stakin’ the girl that loves him to save the Slayer. Don’ you think he regrets it? Even jus’ a li’l?” When she didn’t answer, the vampire chuckled and turned away again. “Sure made a fuss ‘bout it to me an’ Dru last year. Our ‘happy family’ was missing its matriarch.”
Buffy was silent for a long minute. In all honesty, she’d never given the matter much thought. Angel was not the type to willingly discuss his feelings or past inadequacies. What she knew about Darla was limited to the attack on her mother and that she used to be Angel’s one-and-only. It had shocked the hell out of her when Angel found the courage to end his sire—almost as much, she was sure, as it had shocked him. The look of betrayal as Darla tasted dust had seen to that.
Darla was most assuredly evil. There was no questioning that. Angel had known it as well as anyone, but it had taken him a century to end her.
Buffy shuddered. Doors were opening to a selection of rooms she had never before thought to explore. It was very possible, of course, that Spike was stringing her along to believe more by her own influence rather than confront the issue. However, the art of the mind game was not his forte. If he wanted to hurt her, he would—and not through words.
For the moment, they were merely talking.
“Why?” Buffy found herself asking. “Wait. No—”
He blew out a pillar of smoke and was pensively silent for a long minute. She expected him to mock the inquiry, but he did not. “Why?” he repeated. “Why’d he go back to her, is that it?”
“If he knew what she was…yeah.”
“Well…have you ever been a vamp, pet?”
The question was asked sarcastically but she grinned in spite of herself. “Well…now that you mention it…yes, I have been.”
He arched a brow. “Tryin’ to be serious, here. No need to get cute.”
“One day, two years ago, everyone’s worst nightmares began coming true, courtesy of Lucky Nineteen.” Buffy hissed a sigh. “One of mine…well. I turned into a vamp for about thirty minutes. Longest half hour of my life.”
There was a brief, astonished silence. “You’re not yankin’ me, are you?”
“Do you see a chain around here?”
“Well, don’ know exactly.” She heard him rustle to his feet, sparks flying off the end of his cigarette as he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out. “Din’t give you a full search, luv. Don’ know what sort of goodies you might’ve packed with you.”
“Ass.”
Spike ignored her. “Angelus went after Darla ‘cause she, me, an’ Dru were his only relations. Don' know what I’d do ‘f some nancy tribe of gypsies tried to wire me up. Couldn’t rely on Dru, that’s for bloody sure.” He huffed, and she could tell that he was masking a greater hurt. “She doesn’ like me as it is.”
“Are you looking for sympathy?”
He arched a brow at her. “No. I’d hope you’d know be better than that.” Spike moved suddenly, and, to her utter dismay, slid to the floor beside her. Buffy forced herself to bite her tongue. She knew that he wanted a response, and she wasn’t about to oblige. “So, how’d it feel, Slayer? The bloodlust? That taste of the dark side. Did you enjoy it?”
She shuddered. “It was my worst nightmare. You do the math.”
“Worst nightmare? Those are the best types.” He flashed a condescending grin. “Come on, pet. You don’ expect me to believe that you din’t think, jus’ for a split second that you could get used to the extra strength. ‘Sides, your bein’ vamped would solve Angel’s problem right quick. Wouldn’t be bloody human ‘f you—”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t human!” Buffy snapped. “You can’t lecture me on things you know nothing about.”
“Nothin’?” Spike retorted incredulously. “An’ what, you fancy yourself the Mistress of all Humanly Knowledge? I got a lot of years on you, Goldilocks.”
“I’m sure you have a point.”
Perhaps it was the aggravation searing through his tone that made him reach again for cigarettes. Buffy thought it more likely that he was trying to annoy her. “You can’t stand there an’ tell me the thought din’t cross your mind,” he objected, then feigned a gasp of shock. “You mean the Slayer has a naughty side? Well, we already knew that, din’t we?”
“My God! I swear!”
“Yeah, yeah. Swear all you want.” He lit up and she could see him again. Brief, flickering light. His dancing eyes told her that he knew just how much she hated smokers, and just to irritate her, he blew in her direction. “No one can be that pure without wantin’ a taste of life on the wild side.”
“Would you please put that thing out?” she asked, waving at the smoke. “Some of us do have to breathe.”
“Humanly hazard,” he replied, indulging on an extra long drag. “Not like these things’ll kill me. Kinda impossible when you’re already dead. An’ furthermore, why exactly should I care? You’re forgettin’ that I hate you.”
“There are less annoying ways to kill me.”
“Yeh.” Spike grinned tightly. “But you’re so cute when you’re angry.”
“Tick tock,” she retorted. “The more time you waste, the more it buys my strength to return. Then your ass is mine.”
Wrong thing to say around Mr. Everything’s-An-Innuendo, and she realized her mistake a second too late. If possible, the condescending smirk his lips grew even more condescending. “Kitten, all you gotta do is ask.”
This lack-of-strength thing was beginning to really piss her off. Buffy tried to shove him, but he barely budged. There had to be something she could do to wipe that arrogant look off his face.
“So,” he began again, his voice annoyingly conversational. “What else? There’s gotta be somethin’ to do in here to keep us occupied till your Watcher decides to bust you out.”
“I like the idea of you leaving me the hell alone.”
He continued, ignoring her. “Wish I had a deck of cards or somethin’.” They locked eyes again. “Okay, so in the tryin’ to keep from gettin’ too horribly bored…what’s your favorite flick, Slayer?”
“What?”
“Come on. Got any better ideas? Start yappin’ an’ keep my mind off my stomach. I’d rather be hungry an’ busy than full an’ bored. Take your bloody pick.”
A cold, dark air beset her. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“Bollocks. Everyone has a favorite.”
“Do I look like everyone to you?”
“Come on. What else ‘s there to do?”
“I’m not here to humor you.”
“Right. You’re here to feed me. All things considered, I’m lettin’ you off easy.” A sigh sounded through the air as he shook his head. “An’ my tummy’s gonna start makin’ with the rumblies sooner or later. Get to the topic, pet. Favorite flick?”
“I told you,” Buffy retorted with a huff. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“What was the firs’ thing that came to mind, then, ‘f you’re gonna play it that way?”
“Why do you care?”
“Why don’t you? Come on. The longer you yap, the longer you live. ‘Sides, it’ll keep us both from dyin’ of boredom.”
Buffy was quiet for a long minute. In the end, there was nothing to gain from being contrary. “Ferris Bueller, I guess,” she murmured with a long, defeated sigh.
“Hmmm. Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Why?”
“Ferris reminds me of Xander…if Xander were smaller, confident, and popular.” A small grin tickled her lips. “Willow is Cameron. The thought of skipping school is one of the seven deadly sins in the world according to her. But Xander definitely has Ferris potential. He just never lets it out.”
Spike nodded reflectively. “Xander’s the tall, gangly kid, right?”
She frowned in irritation “You kidnapped him and it took you that long to remember who he was?”
“Oi. I was half drunk.” At her pointed look, he shrugged and conceded, “Well, all right. Mostly drunk. Soberin’ up after a bad break split’s not somethin’ to aspire to, Slayer. Don’ s’pose you ever let yourself have a taste of the wild side when you—”
“Shut up.”
“Thought not.” There was a brief silence. “He fancies you, doesn’ he?”
“Who?”
“The boy.”
“Xander?”
“That’s what Angelus said.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”
“Jus’ makin’ conversation. No need for the defensive melodrama.”
That wasn’t what had her concerned. “Angel actually took the time to tell you how much Xander annoyed him even after he lost his soul?”
Spike shot her a surprised look, then chuckled incredulously. “You really have no grasp of jus’ how much you affected that bloke, do you? If he wasn’ tryin’ to find a way to kill you, he was definitely achin’ for another go.”
Something dark shuddered down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“Don’ act so innocent,” he retorted dryly. “Y’know exactly what I mean. Angelus was a bloody prat who cared ‘bout nothin’ outside shaggin’, killin’, an’ playin’ those sodding mind games with his food. Puppies nailed to walls, an’ the like. Nice bedtime stories for the kiddies. Some if the things he did were so…hell, there were times even I thought he crossed the line.”
She arched a brow at him.
“Don’ look so surprised, kitten.”
Disbelieving silence.
He sighed when he saw he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, playing that hand. “The point is you shouldn’t go all blushing virgin on me. You’re old enough to—”
“You’re telling me that I shouldn’t be disturbed that my boyfriend wanted to rape me?”
Spike sighed in aggravation. He was being uncannily patient—not at all to character. “You’re lookin’ over the big picture. He wanted to kill you more than anythin’. Since when is killin’ you okay an’ wantin’ your pussy so bloody shocking? Creature of the night, an’ what all. Don’ think there’s ever been another of my kind that I hated before him.” There was a brief pause. “An’ strictly speakin’, like I said, sex an’ violence are pretty much one in the same for a lot of demons. For a vamp to make the distinction is a stretch. Angelus knew—yeh—but some of us…well…you get it.”
An arctic breeze commanded her tone, though she didn’t know where to aim it. “Why protect him then? If you hate him so much?”
“I’m not protecting him.” Spike tensed at the suggestion. “More general defense for my kind. Trust me, pet—if you want rid of Peaches, you have my blessin’.”
To that, she had no reply, and silence inevitably set in. And then her mind couldn’t help but wander.
How long would the Council have them wait before checking in? Did they care succeeded? Did they care if she didn’t? If she died, what did that prove?
Her stake was on the other side of the barrier, and odd as it was, she was almost glad. Despite appearances, it was much better being trapped with someone rather than alone. Even if that someone was the bane of her existence.
Better not to let the conversation die. Her options were to keep talking or risk a bored Spike, and a bored Spike meant a murderous Spike. Despite his reasoning, she was continuously amazed that he had refrained from indulging a sweet tooth. Slayer blood was reputed to be the richest in the world, which only served to confuse her more. Spike had talked plenty, sure, and made his fair share of threats. And yet, he hadn’t laid a finger on her—not even when she provoked him.
It was such a far cry from the Spike she’d thought she knew.
“What happens on Saturday?”
“I kill you.”
He wasn’t playing—she knew that because he wasn’t Angelus. That was abundantly clear. Spike wasn’t Angelus. One couldn’t hold a conversation with Angelus—not without a hefty set of bars and plenty vials of holy water standing firm in between.
It was this motivation that prompted her to ask, “What’s your favorite color?”
The vampire’s brows perked with interest. “Huh’s that?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, so that was you?” That irritating smirk returned. “Jus’ making sure I wasn’ delusional.”
“Good God! Would you save it, already?”
“Well, aren’t fickle tonight?” Spike’s eyes were dancing—not threatened in the least. “What’s my favorite color?” He pretended to consider. “I s’pose it’d be black.”
Buffy made a face, still fidgeting with the need to pound him in the ground and then some. “Black’s not a color.”
“Sure as hell is.”
“It’s a shade, you moron.”
“Watch it, Summers,” he berated mockingly, lighting another cigarette. “You’ll hurt my tender feelings.”
“This is me not caring. Name another color. An actual color.”
“That is an actual color.”
“God!”
“No need for that,” he said glibly, then sighed and leaned back comfortably. “Oh, let’s see. Red. There? That’s a bloody color, right?”
A sigh rolled off her chest. Buffy didn’t realize how angry she had become until she caught herself counting backward from ten. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Why so interested? Gonna buy me a prezzie?”
“A muzzle, if you’re lucky.”
“Throw in a few chains an’ you’ll—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” She huffed indignantly. “Honestly, are you seriously trying to press me?”
“Depends on the context, pet.” Spike took another long drag off his cigarette. “But that’s beside the point. Aside the boy, why’s Ferris Bueller your favorite flick?”
“To shut you up, mostly.”
“You’re breakin’ my dainty heart.” His eyes flickered. “Come on. There’s gotta be a better reason than Stay Puft.”
She was quiet for a long minute. “I guess I like it because it symbolizes everything I could want out of my high school career.”
“How you figure?”
It was so odd to hear sincere interest in his tone. She’d become so accustomed to raw contempt.
“Well…look at him. He fakes illness and has the best day of his life. Of course, by the time I was old enough to…well, let’s just say Mom rarely fell for it.” Buffy laughed humorlessly. “His major concerns are…well…you’ve seen it, right? With an eternity on your hands, I’d be on a non-stop movie-fest.”
That earned a grin. “An’ then some, pet.”
“Well…Ferris embodies everything I can’t have. One good day. A normal family. A world where the number one concern is getting a car instead of fighting demons. And hello to a normal boyfriend.” Spike’s brows perked challengingly. She had spoken before thinking. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Angel. I do. It’s just…”
“He’s not normal.”
“In a nutshell.”
“An’ you want normal?”
“No. Yes. Not exactly.” It was stupid—talking about this. Sharing personal matter with a soulless fiend was never strategically a good move, but he had opened the floodgate. Unwittingly, perhaps, but it was open, and there was no going back. “It’s not just that he’s a vampire. It’s…he’s Angel. He rarely opens up. I know that he…I just get jittery when he’s near.”
He laughed outright. “That’s jus’ bein’ clever, pet.”
The remark earned a glare.
“’m jus’ sayin’,” he continued, “you want it all an’ that’s not somethin’ you’re lookin’ to ever get. Normal Average Joe boy…someone who doesn’t spend more time brooding than he does talkin’ to you.” He shook his head with another chuckle. “That’s what really annoys me ‘bout Peaches. He—”
“You wouldn’t know anything about it,” Buffy snapped. “You’re Mr. ‘I’m Evil Ask Me How.’ Angel can’t see passed what he did because what he did was terrible. You don’t get that. Don’t give me advice or…lectures on things you can’t possibly begin to understand.”
That had undoubtedly struck a nerve. The next thing she knew, Spike had leapt to his feet, and his eyes were blazing. “You wanna play, bitch? Fine then. I’ll play.” He flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and extinguished the bud beneath his boot. Then he was right in front of her. She hadn’t said anything particularly climactic, but a vampire needed no reason beyond hunger to trigger outrage. However, when she waited at his feet, he halted and schooled himself to uncharacteristic restraint. “Here’s what I understand. I know you bloody humans make more with the dramatics of livin’ than you do the actual livin’. Every sodding generation’s the same—an’ all die off before they can warn the next one. I got me forever to learn what this gig’s all about. Don’ fancy ever carin’, of course, but the option’s there. It’s not a problem for me—it’s the saps with consciences. An’ Slayers. I know a bloody lot ‘bout Slayers. You don’t have as much time. You hardly have any time. An’ look at this…you’re gonna waste away what time you got by playin’ mind games with some prat who has forever to brood? This ‘s it, pet. All you’ll ever have.”
With a grunt, she pulled herself to her feet, holding his fiery gaze despite the temptation to look away. Words hurt, yes, but the truth hurt more. It was something her friends were particularly sensitive about—her imminent death. A second time. A final time. There was something to admire in such blatant honesty, even if she resented it.
She would die before admitting it. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
Spike huffed contemptuously and took a boisterous step forward. And again until he was pressing into her, inside her bubble. He didn’t thrust his hips forward—he didn’t need to. And despite the suddenness of it, Buffy wasn’t surprised to feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of her skirt. It didn’t surprise her, and it didn’t disgust her. She wanted it to disgust her. God, she wanted disgust so badly, but it refused to come. After all, he had warned her that members of the demon world did not easily distinguish sex and violence. Something dark shivered up her spine. Was he thinking he’d provide a demonstration? It didn’t seem entirely unlikely—but again, Spike wasn’t one to fuck his food.
If she ever pushed him over that edge…the consequences would be heady indeed.
She didn’t know what he was trying to prove aside reasserting his dominance. Spike wanted her to know that he was in charge. That despite his clemency, he could kill her anytime he wanted. He could do anything to her anytime he wanted. There were no words. No threats. Nothing aside the feel of him against her, his erection pressing into her stomach, his eyes dark with intent.
Forever passed before he moved away. She didn’t know which was worse—the cold body pressed against her or the colder air that struck her when he left. She was ashamed when he left her panting. Without forward indication, something had changed. Something significant.
His back was to her. The dark did little to conceal the trembles seizing his wiry frame. He had felt it, too. Whatever the change was—however great or small. Perhaps they had reached a plateau where anger no longer touched them.
“You back to havin’ a death wish?”
“Go to hell.”
And perhaps not.
TBC
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