He doesn't know how long he's been there, chained on his knees in the Slayer's basement. At first he tried to somehow measure time by the number of visits he received from the Slayer herself and the boy, but he soon realized that was a vain effort.
They might be coming once a day, as he'd originally assumed; or they might be coming once an hour. Time dragged on interminably with his sight stolen from him, unable to tell the light from the darkness. He had no way of knowing how often they might be coming.
They certainly seemed to enjoy the visits.
The Slayer takes her time, making sure to draw blood every session. She holds him down and makes it hurt, hissing savage threats and taunts in his ear as she imagines that she's taking back from him everything she's lost.
He would tell her that he wasn't the one to take it, but he can't -- and she wouldn't listen, anyway.
The boy rarely speaks to him.
He's silent fury, attacking without warning, fists and feet releasing a torrent of resentment and rage upon a helpless target that just happens to represent everything he despises. Sometimes that's all he does -- but not every time.
Sometimes, he takes more from Spike than a bit of blood and bruises.
Sometimes, he shreds his very dignity with the violation he inflicts.
He hears the basement door open and tenses in expectation of pain -- but his sense of smell soon tells him that it won't be coming, not this time. It's not the Slayer, not the boy -- but his angel of mercy.
Dawnie, his Little Bit -- the only contact he has in his existence anymore that makes it even slightly worth living.
She slips down the stairs, almost silent, and he can hear her hesitation, knows she's warily looking behind her to be sure she's undetected by her sister. A moment later, the blindfold and gag are removed, and he's momentarily blessed with the restoration of his senses.
Sorrowful blue eyes gaze down at him, shining with tears, before slim, warm arms envelop him in comfort.
"Why?" he whispers at last in despairing desperation. "Why do they do it?"
She draws back to look at him sadly, shaking her head and blinking back her own tears, unable to find an answer.
A cold voice speaks from the top of the stairs, and both freeze, glancing up with dread to see her sister standing there, taking in the pitiful scene with a frigid smile.
"... you're just so damn pretty when you cry."