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Chapter Title: Crawling
Author: Chad
E-mail: chad_m_@hotmail.com
Rated: R
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, but the story is.
Summary: After all the heartache and four years of marriage, Buffy and Angel’s relationship finally comes to and end when he cheats on her. B/A, B/S, and A/C.
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*Crawling*
~Linkin Park~
//Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real//
“Chrissie, sorry! I was delayed, the babysitter arrived late today,” Buffy smiled fondly at her secretary who was busy typing away at her computer. “Any messages for me?” she asked him, hanging her coat in the coat rack.
She looked up at her and handed a few notes. “That guy . . . from that party last week? Eric something? Well . . . he called like . . . fifty times already and left fifty messages along with it. Do NOT call him,“ she warned, Buffy nodded in agreement, “Spike just called fifteen minutes ago saying that he’ll be home early tonight for some . . . downtime,“ she coughed the last word with a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes.
No matter how much Buffy assured Chrissie that there was only friendship between her and Spike, the young woman would still not believe her. “You also have a new client that Bob the Terror wants you to take,” she answered, “He says he’s a very important customer and that he only trusts you with him.”
“It’s because I’m stylish and I’m modern. It’s what people look for these days,” Buffy replied, “They wants their homes designed simply, but lavishly.”
“Whatever you say,” Chrissie sighed.
Buffy smiled once more before entering her office. Large and romantic with large windows that overlooked the ocean and beach. She sat down on her chair just as the phone rang.
//There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self control I fear is never ending
Controlling, I can't seem//
“Hello?”
“It’s Bob,” the voice answered, “Did you get my message?”
“Yes I did.”
“Good, you are to arrive at his place at 2:30 this afternoon, understood?”
“Okay, can I check to make sure my schedule is open?” she asked, sighing at the man’s thoughtlessness. Bob Richards was a great man who built this well refined interior designing company on his own back, but the guy had to lighten up.
“I already asked Chrissie, she’s said it’s open ‘til four,” he told her.
Buffy nodded and took out a legal pad. “Can you give me a low down?”
“A low what?” he asked, utterly confused.
“More information?”
“Oh, his apartment is basically filled already. But he wants a change. It’s too . . . Victorian in his opinion. He wants everything simplified. Colors, he’s open for. Although not too over the top. Hates lime green or anything else that is green except for plants and such. He wants custom made furniture, and he also wants a playroom done and stay away from his office. He plans to do that on his own.”
“Why do you hate me?” she laughed as she wrote it all down.
“Because fate has intended for me to,” he replied back.
“Okay, does this client have a name?”
“Liam O’Roarke . . . “
//To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced
That it's just too much pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure//
Buffy stared at the fancy apartment building, just a few houses away from her own, with a sense of dread and fear. People passed her stunned form, not even bothering to take notice of her and vise-versa. She was so close to reliving the past . . . so close to falling into a hysterical mass of pain.
She had told Bob that she didn’t want to take this job, refused to do it actually with Willow‘s resolve face masking her features, but then he had threatened to take her entire career. And there was no way she was going to loose her job. She had worked her ass off trying to get to the top, and now she finally was.
And plus, she was over it. She was over him, she was over the WHOLE situation, and she . . . was . . . over him.
She gulped.
Yeah right. She almost laughed. Who could get over the love of your life? The one person who you were destined for? Who can forget the marriage vows that she shared with him? The kisses and the gentle caresses in the night? The promises of love uttered between moans? Who could forget that? WHEN can a person start to forget that?
‘When he starts cheating on you,’ a voice in the back of her head answered.
Again, Buffy gulped.
She continued to gaze at the building, examining the granite marble steps that led to the front door framed in gold. Within these walls was Angel . . . and Connor. And maybe even . . . Cordelia.
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she took a step back from the bulding as though it would snap at her. If Cordelia was in there, she wouldn’t be able to go on through with it, seeing the other woman’s trophy smile . . . her belly rounded with his fourth child.
Buffy heart clenched in pain as her chin quivered.
//Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real//
Angel wasn’t even there when she found out that she was pregnant after a week from leaving LA. He wasn’t even there to share her good news with. And then she realized . . . why would he care? He didn’t care enough about her feelings when he was with Cordelia, sleeping in her bed, keeping her warm and cozy at night. Why would he care that she was pregnant? With twins no less.
She had wanted to call him so much when she started showing, when Spike would gaze at her with much pride, when people would stop her on the street and comment on how much she glowed . . . and how they would ultimately guess that she was pregnant through her extra large shirt or sweater. But whenever she picked up the phone, she became frightened as questions began to over take her.
Would he care? Would he tell her to come back? Would he tell her to stay away from him? As more questions grew harsher and harsher, she dropped the phone back, and decided to leave it at that.
//Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me
Distracting, reacting
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection
It's haunting how I can't seem...//
She grabbed her cell phone from her bag and quickly dialed Spike’s phone number.
“Hello?”
“I’m standing right outside Angel’s apartment building to redecorate his new flat and I’m thinking that I’m crazy,” she rushed, in the verge of tears, “Am I crazy?”
“Wait . . . what?” he asked in utter confusion.
“Angel has moved here . . . he needs decorating. Voila. Interior decorator. That‘d be me.“
“Buffy . . . “
“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed, falling on a bench as she dropped her gaze down to her left hand . . . where she still wore her wedding band.
“Listen to me pet,” Spike began with a sigh, concern in his voice, “You have two choices here. You can run and continue on with life . . . with the pain that still consumes you from the day you left California to now, on this very day, this very hour, this very second . . . or . . . you can go in there, face the past with your head held high, and hopefully learn and move on.”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter if you go into this emotionally or physically strong, luv. I‘m not sayin‘ that a’tall,” he said, “It’s how you get out of it that counts. Whether your survive . . . whether you come out of it wiser . . . more powerful than before.”
//To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced
That it's just too much pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure//
“How about Austin and Hayden?”
“Just take things one step at a time, pet,” he replied.
Buffy let out a laugh, wiping away her tears as she consumed what he just said into her brain. “When did you suddenly become Confucius, oh great one.”
“Ah, you mock me, grasshopper,” he said in a bad Chinese accent.
Buffy was silent for a moment before saying, “I love you, Spike,” she told him sincerely, “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“I love you too, pet,” he with a smile, “Now get your ass in there.”
//Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real//
“Hey, Connor, wanna pick up your stuff?” Angel said as he grabbed two Harry Potter books from the floor, shaking his head slightly at his son’s obsession with the great classic children authors such as Rudyard Kipling, P.L. Travers, Roald Dahl, and now, J.K. Rowlings.
“Is someone coming?” Connor asked looking up from his book from his spot on a black couch in the living room.
“Interior decorator,” he replied.
A soft knock came at the door. “That would be her.”
“What’s her name?”
“I never even bothered to ask,” his father replied truthfully as he walked towards the door and opened it with a smile on his face. But that smile quickly froze and disappeared all in a matter of seconds once he was met with the person standing right before him. “Buffy . . . “
//Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing, confusing what is real//
Continue to Chapter 5: Hanging By A Moment
Back to Chapter 3: Yellow