It spills like salt into your wounds, and you realize the bandaids have gone missing. You have no alcohol left in the cupboards and so you're left to deal with the pain. Eventually the stinging is a customary satisfactory, and you feel numb. Hollow. There is nothing left, but pure and irrevocable emptiness. You shag strangers to feel alive, because without that adrenaline of ecstasy you realize you're truly dead.
Justice, too, has felt the woes of a hopeless love. She cursed herself for submitting to the gluttony of a solicited hypocrisy. That is all it was when you unpeeled the clothing from the entity. The flesh is pop culture belief.
She remember the coldness of his eyes that seemed to speak hatred, and no longer was there passion that stood for her.
He loved Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer.
She had been doomed to fail miserably the moment she tried to shimmy into that triangle. Only two halves can succeeded and the other was canceled out. Eventually the bar seemed suitable for the eternally damned. She could drink her sorrows away, or at least dilute them more - hoping they would evaporate into nothing. Two shots of tequila, and five shots of vodka and she was starting to feel the room spin.
She didn't enjoy the lust that seemed to be spreading like a plague in these slums. Teenage lovers shagging in the corner, assuming that no one would notice if the music was loud enough and the the corners they occupied were dark. But she had noticed, and rather envied their young, yet soon to be a futile love. How pathetic had she become? Demons weren't meant to feel the burdens of emotions. They were suppose to be...emotionless.
What a humiliation for her breed, and if she had known someone had shared the same amount of grief a few feet from her, she might of been grieving with him. Spike had tried to make a discreet exit, but a tilt of her head and she had noticed him. The last time they had an encounter, he had barged in and threw fists at her, and asked questions later. If she hadn't felt incredibly miserable, she would of had a revenge battle right in the middle of the dance floor. He didn't seem up for a fight either, so she didn't have to worry about an unexpected attack. "Going so soon." For a moment, she really wanted him to leave, but the other half didn't. Some company wouldn't hurt, and since she was on an Angel strike - what better way to get over him then talking up with someone who loathed him most of all?
"I don't blame you. Hard to top our last date? You either have to kill me now or...what's the word?" What did the British refer to as sex? "Shag...Shag me." She chuckled at the word. "Funny words for funny things."