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21 April 2005 @ 12:52 am
If only dreams came true... [no_going_home]  
I never imagined that human existence could take such a poignant turn… it would seem that death was never the end of things. No... of course not. But I had never prepared myself for what was about to come, everything about this night had been most unexpected, and although my adaptability to particular situations had increased and had become simpler to integrate and adjust to through out the years, I found this particular one most difficult to overcome. I felt almost powerless against it. Stripped of everything that made me strong and left me only with memories of grief and regret. My whole being vibrated with emotions- fear, love, rage, and a hint of despair, making their home within me. For a moment, I wished to rid myself of these infectious emotions that were passing through me, like the wind, burning the core of my being. I could almost feel my own composure slipping from me- almost.

I was sure that if I closed my eyes I could almost see the events of that night. The memories were right there, hanging on by a thread, waiting to spill like a river. I swallowed hard as I tried to hold them back, to keep them in place. So much had happened since then, so- so much. I was not the same being, I had changed. Changed in ways I never thought I could have. But still, without warning they all came, breaking the wall that I had set up around me. I couldn’t help but relive those long forgotten moments. Try as I might I couldn’t erase the pictures my mind was showing me. I felt as if though I was breaking in two and it annoyed me. I was better than this, I was over this, but then again... I was not. I didn’t know what would be waiting for me behind the door. Hate, anger, reproach... disdain. I began to feel trapped, as if in a room without doors and windows, the air slipping from me, leaving me weak, defenseless against everything. I hadn’t felt this way in over a decade. The air felt heavy and each and every step became more and more difficult than the next. Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

If Spike were conscious he would say, 'Everyone has to face their demons sooner or later.' However in my case, it was not a demon that I was about to face but a human, the one that had really mattered in the end of all things.

Somewhere along the way I regained my composure, and things seemed to come back to normal for a moment and I was grateful for that moment of peace. I looked up ahead anxiously as I carried the unconscious Spike all the way to our destination, following Angel and Faith, with Connor walking beside me. I knew we were getting close. I tried to fight the torrent of feelings that were threatening to surface again, and this time I tried focusings on something else and I was triumphant. I decided to alter my persona and revert back to Fred for it was easier to walk along the streets in this form without calling too much attention. I picked up the pace and walked ahead of Angel and Faith as we were almost there.

I gave a small reassuring smile to Angel as I passed him by, he seemed be doing considerably better than before. I had been surprised by his outburst when he finally came face to face with Spike after so many years. Undoubtedly, he had a long road a head of him, and of course, I would be there for him as much as I could, just like tonight, but he needed to conquer his demons on his own, and he was... he was trying. After a few minutes I looked to Connor’s direction quickly and only for a moment. He seemed a little irritated and anxious. There was so much to do still, and I knew he would much rather be out there trying to find the killer of his family. But he remained. Perhaps he simply wanted to make sure his father was okay. Perhaps.

Soon we reached our destination. Connor and I tended to the unconscious Spike, with Angel and Faith walking in behind us. I placed Spike on the couch and checked his head where he had the mark of Angel’s fist. I frowned, most likely he had a mild concussion, but nothing more than that.

Finally I got up from the couch and turned around. I began to feel almost sick again, as if there were some deviation in my being, like a splinter that I could not locate, a disease for which I had no antidote, eating away at my being devouring my very substance against my will. I knew exactly what this feeling was, for it was the same exact feeling I had felt only once before... on the night that Wesley died in my arms.


[Continues HERE]
 
 
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