It took you some time to decide if it was worth having your soul back. We just never gave him the chance.
[He slides the cigarettes back over to his reach. There's something comforting about it, that smell of smoke and blood and leather coat that is so distinctly Spike. Anyway he's making steady progress on this bottle of whiskey and has already reached the point of being too out of it to really care.]
I wish I could say I hope he's changed or he can start over but I think that would be a lie. I'll never be able to forgive him or trust him so I suppose I don't really care one way or another. It's not satisfying to know he's suffering, but I don't feel any pity for him, either. I don't want anything to do with him at all.