(no subject)
I thought I was a hero, I've been told that I was, that I am, but I don't feel it. If I was, then five weeks ago, I would have been able to save my friends. Three weeks ago was the last, when Wesley died. I was there with him until the end, he even had a shot before he went, my scotch, except he poured something in it, something that would make the pain go away and I let him. Wesley and I watched as one by one they all went. First was Fred, then Lorne, then Gunn. Then it got to Wesley and I knew that right then, things would never be the same.
When Fred first noticed that patch that was on her already pale skin, she joked, wondering what Cordelia would say. She excused herself and told us she had to go moisturize, then we found out it was something worse. Gunn had them, as did Lorne. I still haven't managed to figure out why it didn't happen to me. And now that I'm sitting here on the beach, alone, I'm still wondering why, I can still see Fred's tears that were streaming down her face till the very end, I could still hear Lorne singing his favorite song as he slowly slipped under and Gunn telling us that he'd see us when we got there.
Then it was just Wes and I.
The last two that no one would expect to be paired up, back in Sunnydale anyway. Alot had changed through the years and even though we had our differences, I could say that he was a good friend. I would come in and bring him his soup and tea while he laid there, muttering words under his breath about the soup. It wasn't hot enough, or it didn't taste right and then he'd smile. The last night, I was having a drink and he asked for one, saying he knew it was coming, he could feel it. I could feel it for awhile, but I tried to be somewhat positive, or as positive as I could be. He asked for me to get the small bottle that was on the dresser. I knew what it was, I didn't want to believe it, but it was happening. Nodding, I walked over slowly, looking at the bottle before I grabbed it.
"Don't be a bloody idiot, put it in the glass and hand it to me," I whispered to myself as I watched the waves crashing against the rocks and sand. I could still remember it, his cold skin, dead, glossy eyes. I poured it in and sat down on the side of the bed, helping him sit up. I remember him nodding at me, telling me that it was an honor working for me. I didn't cry. I haven't cried. I can't cry, but all I can do is remember as he took the glass, swallowing it down. Before his head fell back, his fingers let go of the glass and I still remember it crashing to the floor. I can still hear it. The silence, then the shattering that echoed throughout the room.
He was gone and it was just me.
I watched him for hours that night, stayed next to him as he laid there.
Standing up from the sand, I turn around, heading back to the small apartment that he died in.
His apartment.
When Fred first noticed that patch that was on her already pale skin, she joked, wondering what Cordelia would say. She excused herself and told us she had to go moisturize, then we found out it was something worse. Gunn had them, as did Lorne. I still haven't managed to figure out why it didn't happen to me. And now that I'm sitting here on the beach, alone, I'm still wondering why, I can still see Fred's tears that were streaming down her face till the very end, I could still hear Lorne singing his favorite song as he slowly slipped under and Gunn telling us that he'd see us when we got there.
Then it was just Wes and I.
The last two that no one would expect to be paired up, back in Sunnydale anyway. Alot had changed through the years and even though we had our differences, I could say that he was a good friend. I would come in and bring him his soup and tea while he laid there, muttering words under his breath about the soup. It wasn't hot enough, or it didn't taste right and then he'd smile. The last night, I was having a drink and he asked for one, saying he knew it was coming, he could feel it. I could feel it for awhile, but I tried to be somewhat positive, or as positive as I could be. He asked for me to get the small bottle that was on the dresser. I knew what it was, I didn't want to believe it, but it was happening. Nodding, I walked over slowly, looking at the bottle before I grabbed it.
"Don't be a bloody idiot, put it in the glass and hand it to me," I whispered to myself as I watched the waves crashing against the rocks and sand. I could still remember it, his cold skin, dead, glossy eyes. I poured it in and sat down on the side of the bed, helping him sit up. I remember him nodding at me, telling me that it was an honor working for me. I didn't cry. I haven't cried. I can't cry, but all I can do is remember as he took the glass, swallowing it down. Before his head fell back, his fingers let go of the glass and I still remember it crashing to the floor. I can still hear it. The silence, then the shattering that echoed throughout the room.
He was gone and it was just me.
I watched him for hours that night, stayed next to him as he laid there.
Standing up from the sand, I turn around, heading back to the small apartment that he died in.
His apartment.