Chapter 12
Chapter Notes:
Buffy gave it a day to cool off before she called Spike. He didn’t answer his phone and she left him a message, asking him to please call her back. She supposed she could just go over to his loft and confront him, tell him what a moron she was and have it be over and done with. But if he was avoiding her phone calls, maybe pushing it wasn’t such a great idea. So she let it go for the time being, rented way too many movies and distracted herself until bedtime, clutching the phone at her chest if he happened to call her back.
He never did.
Luckily for Buffy, the next day was filled with distractions. She was meeting Anthony Hill and nothing, not even the pain in her heart that Spike hadn’t called was going to ruin this day for her. She was so nervous that when she arrived at his studio, she had to take five minutes to control her breathing before she even knocked on the door. When he answered the door, her stomach was flipping so rapidly that she almost puked on his shoes but somehow managed to swallow it back. He was six foot tall, had a flawless olive complexion, dark brown hair that was long and pulled back in a pony tail, almond eyes, broad shoulders, a black turtleneck and black trousers on. He was so stereotypical of every photograph she’d ever seen of him and wondered if he owned nothing but turtlenecks. However, his sparkling smile and wrinkled eyes set her at ease and she took a deep breath and walked inside.
~*~2~*~
Spike had never had so much work to do in such a short amount of time. Not only did he have four paintings to finish in less than a week, but he still had to meet with the framers to have everything prepped and ready for the show. He really needed an assistant, wanting to kick Oz for always suggesting it, the bastard. He was right. Spike couldn’t organize his own trip to the bathroom without fucking it up. And now he had less than a week to get everything in order. He’d been so busy meeting with the printing company, a small time business that was helping him promote his show with invitations, fliers, posters, etc, that he hadn’t taken any time to think about his argument with Buffy. In fact, he’d forced himself not to think about it because if he had, he’d never get any work done. She’d called once while he was walking out the door and he debated whether or not he should answer, but knowing that the conversation would certainly take a while, he left. Otherwise, he’d be late to his appointment at the gallery.
Spike wanted nothing more than to talk to her, but she’d be even more pissed off if he cut the conversation short so he could get his work done. So he let it go, planning on calling her the next evening and ask her to meet somewhere. He hoped she’d understand his predicament and prepared for lots of groveling…only after she apologized, of course.
Oz was kind enough to come over to his studio and help him frame the two out of four paintings he’d finished, saying ‘fuck it’ to the framers and just doing it himself. When Oz helped, things got done. Even though there was beer and loud music. And lots of cursing. Oz was his best friend for a reason. He could put Spike in his place with a phrase, make sense out of anything with a nod of his head, and keep Spike on the straight and narrow, especially when it came to his work. Oz himself was an artist, but he worked with metal sculpture and welding. It was a different medium, but the same course of action. They even had a few shows together, Oz welding some large T-rex looking sculpture as a live performance while Spike displayed his canvases on a rotating track. They still made fun of each other for that show. It was pretty contrived, after all. But the public ate it right out of their hands.
“Are you staining these or just leaving them as is?”
“I set some stain next to the table saw,” Spike said as he nailed a frame in place.
Oz nodded when he found it and started staining the wood pieces. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Guess who I saw last night?”
“Who?”
“Max and Mark Chenowith.”
Spike smiled and turned his large canvas on its side to nail in another piece of wood. “How is the lovely couple these days?”
“Still a couple of harpies, but otherwise good. They were talking about some new photographer, some girl they’d met. Kept going on and on about how talented she was.”
Spike grinned internally. That had to be Buffy they were talking about. Good for her, he thought.
“Poor girl,” Oz said shaking his head as he brushed on a second coat, “she’s in for a rough ride with those two.”
Spike cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“They set her up with Tony. He’s got some installment at the MOMA coming up. Wonder if they told her what a prick he is.” Oz shrugged his shoulders and went back to work, unaware that Spike was fuming with rage. He quickly caught on, however, when Spike knocked his canvas over and cursed.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
~*~3~*~
“What is this?” Anthony asked as he pointed to Buffy’s tripod.
“It’s uh…a tripod?” She loaded a roll of film in her camera, nervously rolling it as she looked up at him. He was such an odd man. He’d barely said two words to her from the time that she arrived until now. He methodically observed her, scratching his chin, looking through her bag indifferently, tossing out lenses that she would, under no circumstances, ever use in his installment. And now he was freaking out about the tripod.
“This,” he said angrily as he picked up the tripod and shook it in the air, “is a fucking crutch, do you hear me?” He tossed it aside and ran his hands over his head. “Photography is an organic experience, Buffy. A tripod limits you. A tripod…crushes you,” he said, clenching his fists and walking towards her. “Art is about feeling, not preparing. Art simply happens, Buffy. It exists and you,” he poked her in the sternum, “are lucky enough to capture it. Do you understand this?”
“I-I understand,” she nodded nervously. “So we won’t use the tripod.”
He sighed and then chuckled. “I like you, Buffy. I would very much like to take a picture of you when we are finished here. Would you allow that?”
She blinked rapidly and blushed, “Uh…well, yeah. I mean, yes, of course you may.” To have her idol want to photograph her was an honor she couldn’t refuse. As strange as he was, she chalked it up to his creativity and it was almost endearing.
His fingertips lightly traced her cheeks and he tilted his head, studying her face intently. “You have a passion within you, a burning desire to feel. Like me.” He pulled her hair forward, letting it fall around her shoulders. “In this moment, Buffy…you are art. You are Picasso, Matisse, Duchamp, Renoir…you are everything. And yet, you are nothing.”
She swallowed, feeling slightly nervous under his scrutiny, but held still, letting his words wash over her.
“We…are nothing. Until today. Today we share something very special.” He’d lowered his voice and traced her eyebrows with his fingers. “You are my soul, Buffy. Everything you do will determine how the world sees me. We are cogs in the machine, well oiled, working as one. So it is very, very important that I see you and that you see me.”
She nodded slowly, feeling slightly dizzy from the spell he’d seemed to place her under. “I understand.”
He smiled. “I hope so. Now, let’s get to work.”
~*~4~*~
“Spike, man…you’ve got to calm down!”
“I will not bloody calm down! You know what he does, Oz! He uses his stupid French accent to lure new artists into his lair and destroys them!”
“His lair?” Oz cocked an eyebrow.
“You know what I’m bloody talking about,” Spike fumed, pacing his loft. “He’s a piece of shit an’ these poor girls have no idea what they’re getting into!”
“Why are you so angry, man? So some chick is getting the run around, big deal. It’s not Nancy.”
Spike stood still in his tracks and glared at his best friend who was obviously clueless about the situation. “I know it isn’t Nancy, mate. That was a long time ago an’ she bloody well learned her lesson. I’m talking about Buffy.”
“Buffy?”
“She’s the bloody talented new photographer! Fuck, if I’d only talked to her yesterday I could’ve…this isn’t happening. Not again!” He started pacing the floor once more, smoking furiously. Then he called her, practically breaking the phone when he slammed it back on the cradle. “She’s not answering her phone. I’ve gotta…Oz, I’ve gotta find out where she is.” He grabbed his keys and walked to the door, only to stop abruptly and roar in frustration. “I can’t! Fuck…I’ve got to meet Mike in half an hour…fuck, fuck! I don’t have time for this!”
“Before you have a nervous breakdown,” Oz said cautiously, “why don’t you let me go find Buffy and you can finish up everything here.”
He sighed. “You realize I’m going to have to kill her, right?”
Oz laughed quietly. “She seems like a girl who can handle herself.”
“You don’ know ‘er, mate. We just had a fight…a big one…an’ I never called her back an’ she’s gonna…fuck, she’s gonna fall for it! I know she will an’ then I’ll have to kill ‘er.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Oz…a lot. An’ fucking Tony’s gonna ruin everythin’! You know,” he pointed in the air, “what is it with that wanker an’ my girlfriends, anyway?”
Oz shrugged and took a swig of his warm beer. “Just lucky, I guess.” He narrowed his eyes as he considered his friend before him. He’d seen Spike lose it plenty of times but he was truly on the edge of reason today. Oz knew all about Tony and Nancy, how he’d promised to help her career, make her a star, if only she’d sleep with him and discover her true beauty or some two-cent line like that. He had to hand it to the guy, though…he’d never failed. But when Nancy fell for it, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After all she’d put him through, that was what finally pushed Spike over the edge and he’d ended things once and for all. He didn’t want to see him go through that again. “Look, man…I’ll go find Buffy. Just tell me where she lives and if she isn’t there…”
“If she isn’ there, then…” Spike left that sentence unfinished, afraid that if he said it aloud it might make it come true.
“I’ll find her, man.”
~*~5~*~
“You could be an amazing photographer if you’d only open your mind,” Anthony said as he slowly circled Buffy.
“My mind is open,” she frowned. Feeling him standing directly behind her, she distracted herself by taking the next shot. She stiffened when she felt his hand trail down her spine. “What are you doing?”
“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, trailing his hands down her arms. “Feel, Buffy. Feel my touch.”
Her eyes were wide open and her hands clutched her camera. She didn’t know how to react in this situation. Surely if she denied him he wouldn’t do anything rash…like fire you and find someone else to work with him, thereby ruining all your chances of getting recognition. She closed her eyes and gasped when he pressed himself into her back, feeling his erection. “Anthony?”
“Yes, my sweet?” He kissed her neck and the feel of it made her skin crawl.
“Please stop.”
“Why are you afraid to let yourself go?” He turned her to face him, smiling warmly at her. “Do not fear me, Buffy. We are nothing, remember? I’m not here, you’re not here…and yet, we are. We are creating something as one. What you see in here,” he pointed to the viewfinder on her camera, “is what I feel…here,” he shamelessly cupped her mound over her trousers with his large hand and she jumped back.
“Hey! What…don’t touch me!” She covered her mouth when she realized she’d yelled at him, waiting for him to ask her to leave. She’d fucked it up already and she’d only taken ten photos.
“Buffy, put the camera down.”
She was trembling, blinking rapidly to ward off her tears. She was so confused with what was happening, unsure how to handle the situation diplomatically without angering him to the point of destroying her career. Which he could do with a phone call. And yet, she did exactly as he asked and set her camera down.
“There’s a good girl.” He advanced quickly and grabbed her by the arms, pressing his lips against hers. She flailed against him helplessly, whining against his lips as he continued to kiss her. His arms wrapped around her waist and his mouth descended on her neck. “This rage, this passion within you! Let it out! Yes!”
She was crying audibly, struggling against him but he was much stronger than she was. “Please stop! I don’t want this!”
“Yes you do,” he said quietly as he shoved his hand down the front of her pants, moaning when he felt her heat. “I could make you a star, Buffy. I could give you the chance no one will ever give you again.”
Her forehead dropped to his shoulder as she sobbed. “Please stop!”
“I will never stop, Buffy. The more you fight me,” his voice wavered as his hand gripped her wrists and held them behind her back, “the more I will fight you.”
She glared at him, still wiggling in his arms as tears ran down her cheeks. “Let me go!”
“Such passion! Such fire! Release it, Buffy! Let it go!”
She could hear her cell phone ringing in her purse, but it might as well have been in another state. Anthony roughly pushed her to her knees and held her still with a firm grip to her hair. Buffy wanted to scream, wanted to kick, bite, punch, and all the things she swore she’d do if she was ever in this situation. But instead of doing any of those things, she froze and closed her eyes, willing it to be over soon.
~*~6~*~
Oz had a seriously bad feeling in his stomach as he left Buffy’s apartment. She wasn’t there, and he quickly made his way to Hill Studios. He was stopped just outside of the building by one of Anthony’s assistants.
“You’re not allowed to enter while Tony is in session.”
“This is important. I’ll only take a few minutes.”
“He is busy,” the short man leered.
“That’s what I’m afraid of, now step aside!”
When the assistant refused to budge, Oz rolled his eyes and shoved the man out of the way and quickly walked into the studio. Buffy’s back was facing him and she was on her knees in front of Anthony, obviously in the middle of something she shouldn’t be doing. They were too far away to hear him enter, but he could plainly see what was happening. He quickly turned around and shook his head before he walked out and made his way back to Spike, preparing himself for a long night of drinking with his best friend. This wasn’t going to be easy.
~*~7~*~
“Oz, please tell me you found her in time,” Spike spoke into his phone, pacing the floor of his loft.
“I found her, but…”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I um,” Oz closed his eyes and placed a clenched fist on his forehead, really hating that he had to tell him the news. “I didn’t really get a chance to talk to her. Anthony was…”
Spike’s heart was racing, his patience was growing thin. “Anthony was what!? Just bloody say it, Oz!”
“They were…engaged in a private moment. Neither of them even knew I’d come in.”
Spike exhaled and dropped the phone, squatting down in a crouched position and clutching his hair. He could hear Oz calling out to him on the phone, but he was slowly losing it. This wasn’t happening. Not Buffy.
A/N: Ok, first I’d just like to say that I hate rape. Hate it in fics, hate it in movies, hate it because, well because it’s rape. The main reason I hate it is because so many times in various media, rape is used gratuitously with no merit to the story. I didn’t want to do that here, and there are reasons for why I did this. If you want to discuss those reasons, or why Buffy reacted the way she did, ask me and I’ll explain away. However, I would never write a graphic rape scene because there’s no reason for it. Why do we need to see that? We know what it is without having to go there. The main point of this story, for me as an author, was to explore a relationship between two people, have it be real and not predictable (like life), have plot points that aren’t there just to troll the story along but because each incident has an impact on them, how they react to those incidents, and what could be the result of such a thing. So yeah, that’s what I meant about angst. And I’m already saying too much but I have no problems digressing if you’d like to discuss this chapter. I hope I have your support here and that I didn’t offend anyone, but please know that this wasn’t placed here as a ploy for pointless angst but to explore and examine the harsh reality and how we can overcome it. And we do overcome.