Misery Made Beautiful
Chapter 3
She clutched her head as the pain got worse again.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, clad in her oldest pyjamas, she grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the nightstand and took the offered glass of water with a thankful smile.
A few moments later she lay back under the covers and waited for the pills to kick in.
She closed her eyes and remembered the times when he would come to her and try to lessen the pain. Cold fingertips dancing over her heated skin, tenderly massaging her temples while whispering soothing words into her ear.
Over the last few months she came to crave his gentle touch, these precious moments that only belonged to them.
They never talked about these quiet times, never questioned their motives or the emotions that lingered behind their actions, just knowing that it was something they couldn't deny themselves even if it couldn't blossom into more. Even Wesley and Gunn seemed to understand this and never disrupted their calm interludes.
Again she felt bereft and longed for him, for his face, his touch, his voice ...
When the pills took effect and she slipped into a dreamless sleep, Dennis switched the lap on her nightstand off and smoothed the wrinkles out of her bedspread wanting to do anything he could to help her.
Suddenly the pain seared again, she shot into a sitting position and screamed, unprepared for the horrible images that flooded her mind.
"No! Not Angel! NO!"
Blinded by tears she reached out for the phone besides her bed and unintentionally knocked it down.
"Dennis! Help me! I need to call him!"
She felt the phone being placed into her outstretched hands and frantically pressed the numbers. With each ring her hope diminished more and more until after the fifth ring the machine picked up and she heard her own voice telling to leave a message.
"Angel? Are you there? Please pick up the phone, please! Oh God, please don't let him die ... Angel? Don't do it! Don't ..."
Her voice broke when she saw the flocks of dust dancing in the rays of light that lightened her bedroom and the receiver slipped out of her limp hand.
It was too late.
TBC
Chapter 3
She clutched her head as the pain got worse again.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, clad in her oldest pyjamas, she grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the nightstand and took the offered glass of water with a thankful smile.
A few moments later she lay back under the covers and waited for the pills to kick in.
She closed her eyes and remembered the times when he would come to her and try to lessen the pain. Cold fingertips dancing over her heated skin, tenderly massaging her temples while whispering soothing words into her ear.
Over the last few months she came to crave his gentle touch, these precious moments that only belonged to them.
They never talked about these quiet times, never questioned their motives or the emotions that lingered behind their actions, just knowing that it was something they couldn't deny themselves even if it couldn't blossom into more. Even Wesley and Gunn seemed to understand this and never disrupted their calm interludes.
Again she felt bereft and longed for him, for his face, his touch, his voice ...
When the pills took effect and she slipped into a dreamless sleep, Dennis switched the lap on her nightstand off and smoothed the wrinkles out of her bedspread wanting to do anything he could to help her.
Suddenly the pain seared again, she shot into a sitting position and screamed, unprepared for the horrible images that flooded her mind.
"No! Not Angel! NO!"
Blinded by tears she reached out for the phone besides her bed and unintentionally knocked it down.
"Dennis! Help me! I need to call him!"
She felt the phone being placed into her outstretched hands and frantically pressed the numbers. With each ring her hope diminished more and more until after the fifth ring the machine picked up and she heard her own voice telling to leave a message.
"Angel? Are you there? Please pick up the phone, please! Oh God, please don't let him die ... Angel? Don't do it! Don't ..."
Her voice broke when she saw the flocks of dust dancing in the rays of light that lightened her bedroom and the receiver slipped out of her limp hand.
It was too late.
TBC
