Quick as lightning, she slaps him across the cheek. It's not meant to injure, not intended to bruise, but instead the delivery of a wake-up call. He can't keep on doing this to her. He can't shout, yell, bully her into a corner and act like he has any sort of control over her actions. Because he doesn't. No one does, aside from Faye herself. And while she'll be one of the first to admit that sometimes, you care enough about another person that ownership of that soul and being starts blurring over fast, the underlying implication that she doesn't give a crap about her life jars.

Because sometimes she does, so much that it's been painful, so much that she can hardly even breathe. Other times, it's like someone's pulled a blanket over her senses, dulled everything down until she can't feel anything, not unless she's got her finger in front of a trigger and her heart is racing. It's never constant, and maybe that's just because her life hasn't been so in years, but to be accused of throwing her life away like Spike did isn't something Faye can easily swallow.

"Don't you dare accuse me of not caring, Dean Winchester. Don't you dare act like I came down here on a suicide mission. Walking along the beach everyday and eating muffins every morning? That's not living for me," she tells him in a raised voice, her face startlingly pale. "I need to feel something. Can you understand that?"