After Fred
Wesley is up in his room. He is quite drunk. He has been so for days.
She is gone.
One might have thought he would be reliving the first time he lost her. The first time he held her in his arms as she slipped away forever. He has no need to. He has been haunted by that night ever since.
Now she has slipped away again.
This time he was not there.
But, then, how many times would the universe tear her away from him? How many times would it demand he relive her death? It wasn't a question of cruelty. He expects that. But a little courtesy, a simple notice of how many times he would be visited by this particular agony. Surely, that wasn't too much to ask?
In defiance, he had vowed never to endure another moment like that. But then he came here, and there she was. And for the briefest moment he had allowed himself to hope this might be a heaven, and that his pathetic attempt at heroism had won him a reward in the end.
But, of course, that wasn't it at all. Her presence here was no reprieve, only a respite. The fate of this Fred as certain as that of the Fred before. So he had vowed once again not to endure it. This time, he would not let her in. How easy it would have been to begin the whole glorious, miraculous, horrific cycle anew. Instead, he let the burning hope fade until he saw only the bitter lie that fueled it.
He turned away. He kept his distance. Even though he knew how cruel that would be for her. But there was no help for it. One of them would have to bear the greater share of pain, him or her.
And so he had taken the coward’s way.
But what had that gained him? He might at least have lived the lie for a while. He had, after all, embraced it once before, as he felt his own life leaving him. He had been given a wondrous opportunity, only to throw it away.
He always did have a knack for making a hell of heaven.
No wonder his ‘life’ here seemed pointless. Directionless. Ever since his arrival, he had only drifted from one patron to the next, until finally withdrawing to the library, and then again to this room.
Much like Fred had done.
He doubted those few patrons he had met even remembered him now. All he had left were the Scrolls of Marius, sitting there on his desk, mocking him by their presence. The Scrolls were a symbol of Enemies left to face, but Wesley hadn't the slightest notion how he might face them.
Milliways was a trap. A dead end.
No way forward. No way back.
How ironic that Fred should have an escape when he had none.