Spike grits his teeth against the pounding pain in his temples. "This is stupid." He insists. Again.

Of course he can think of things he's done that he's ashamed of. His soul is weighted down with them. He drowns in them. It's why he's here. He just doesn't want to talk about it. Why do they always want to make him talk? Something wet dribbles down the side of his face and he wipes it away without looking. It's also blood.

"You banged a chick who looks like me?" He asks, not willing to let the subject get turned back on himself. "That's hard to imagine."