When he comes home to me at night, he smells like roses. I kiss him, and he moans, but his neck smells like roses.
I've smelled roses a lot, but this is different. I've never smelled roses on him. It would be different, I suppose, if he'd brought me roses, or been doing something with roses…but I know he has done neither.
Roses.
Normally, he smells like cigarette smoke, leather, and just him. He never used to moan when I kissed him. He would whimper, and gasp, but never did he moan. And that scent clings to him.
He showers now, before we make love. He never used to shower before. We usually showered together, but the nights he comes home smelling like roses, he showers alone, and we make love quickly. Then, he showers alone again, to get rid of my smell.
Why wouldn't he want to smell like me?
And why would he smell like roses?
I know the answer, but I don't want to admit it to myself. She must be back in town. I always knew that if she came back, he would leave me. I never thought that he'd…go to her. At least not without leaving me. She must be back for him, but why hasn't she taken him away? I know he would go. She is his maker. Sire. He loved her for a hundred years. He's lived in my home for two, loving me. I can't possibly hope to compare to blood, bonds, and roses.
It's painful, to know that I have him here, but he's not with me. He's with her. It still doesn't make any sense to me, why he hasn't gone away with her. He spurned her for Buffy. Zapped her with a cattle prod, almost staked her. But that was different. With Buffy, it wouldn't have mattered if he had gone to her…Buffy didn't love him. He tried to prove his love to Buffy, and she was unreceptive.
Is that what I'm doing wrong? Is that why he won't be with me? Because I love him as much, or more, than he loves me? If I told him that he could be with her, and I didn't care, as long as he wasn't with me, would that make him want to be with me? Instead of her?
It hurts inside, like needles jabbing themselves into my heart. Slicing through my skin like butter. Leaving me broken, bloody, and hurting.
He smells like roses.
It's only right that he should prick me with the thorns.