Spike

Have you ever watched “Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” You know, the TV series? Why? Well, because I just realized something. You’re Spike. The pretty blond vampire, the lady-killer. The guy who killed two slayers. The one who has a chip in his head and can’t hurt anybody except other baddies now, but even though he’s a “good” vamp, Buffy still doesn’t trust him. Can’t trust him. He’s no Angel. And then she starts fucking him, because… well, because she has to. Because she needs something to make her feel alive again. You know, after her friends bring her back from the dead. Again. After she was in Heaven, and now she’s back here on earth, in Hell, trying to feel something, anything. She doesn’t LOVE him. But it’s better than nothing. And even though she knows it’s sick and wrong and she’s being weak, she keeps meeting him in dark alleys, in his crypt, wherever she can find him. They fuck. Nothing more. And he tells her he loves her, but what the fuck does THAT mean? A vampire with a soul? How pathetic! But he DOESN’T have a soul. Not like Angel. He just has a chip in his head that acts like a false conscience, makes him do good things when he’d rather do the evil he’s used to, the evil he craves, the evil he loves. Everything he loves is wrong. Dark. Twisted. Evil. He’s no Angel, and neither are you. But you’re blond and beautiful, and mysterious and dangerous, and you’re so bad for me, so very wrong for me, and I’ll send you away like Buffy sent Spike, and you’ll find another way to break more hearts and break more bones, all because you loved me so, twisted and writhing under the weight of that which can never be.

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Laura Roberts is the Editor of Black Heart.