Spike sighed as Buffy came in to the crypt. “Whaddaya want Slayer?” He asked.
“To talk about what you saw at the bar,” Buffy said.
Spike got up and moved to his fridge. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbled. “You wanna be a whore, that’s none of my business.”
Buffy went over to him and rested her hand on his arm. “Spike, I wanna explain,” she said, softly. “It’s not what you think.”
“Why do you care what I think?” Spike asked, looking at her. “I’m nothing but a soulless evil thing. I don’t have feelings.”
Buffy closed her eyes. “I care okay,” she said, softly. “I need the money.”
“You need money so bad, that you’re stripping?” Spike asked, softly.
“You think enjoy doing this?” Buffy asked, looking up at him. “I have guys hands all over me, night after night. Do you know what it’s like for me to have guys touching me? Guys who aren’t you?!” She flared.
“I guess you’re doing fine though,” Spike said, moving away from her. “Now you don’t need me.”
Buffy looked at his retreating back and tears stung the back of her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Now that you’re a whore you can have one of them make you feel,” Spike said, hatred evident in his voice.
“Spike,” Buffy sighed.
“Get out,” Spike growled.
Buffy’s tears slid down her face as she went toward the door. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, before leaving.
Spike closed his eyes against his tears and went downstairs.
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