Author Note: Speacial thanks to Kiana Ravens a very good personal friend, a great writter (I spelt it right!), and a great betaer for I am grammicaly challenged. (not sure if thats a word.)
February 14, 1992
Dear Journal,
Ok so my romantic boyfriend rocks! So we wake up and get dressed. He was wearing sort of semi-baggy khakis, and a sort of grayish-bluish turtleneck. But god he looked so hot in it. He smelt like Wesley, which I have no clue what it is. But it's his cologne, musty books, and ooh just that smell...that is Wesley. I wear jeans, (not to tight, but it wasn't baggy. ) and a loose white sweater, with a white tank top underneath, with matching white flip flops. Once we were dressed (and I was done staring at him) we went to the empty, deserted boardwalk. Then we walked and he whispered sweet nothings in my ear.
"Hmm you smell great." I just can't stop giggle.
"I love you," he whispered. I can't stop giggling.
"I wuv you," he flirts sounding like a mother talking to a baby would.
"Wesley," I giggle because he is tickling my ear.
"I wuv you." He grins away and kisses my ear. "I wuv you," he kisses my cheek. "I wuv you-" kisses my other cheek, "-and I wuv you," he says leaning in to kiss my cheek again but I catch him with my mouth. He pulls away, and he has that spark, that glow, that warm feeling again. Like he had when he first met me. That warm aura that makes you feel safe. He wraps his arms around my waist and walks behind me. He kisses me from behind and, hmmm, Wesley. So we walk on the beach in the morning and he wraps his arms around me the entire time. It feels so natural to be with him. I can't even explain it. So here I am with my boyfriend and...yeh...there's nothing more to say because after tomorrow it won't matter. Yet I am going to live in the now. Ok so, here's what happened the rest of today. We're walking along the beach, we drive into town, go eat lunch, go to the arcade which is funny cause I was playing ping pong and he came up behind me and covered my tiny hands with his big once and played the game. Yet I wasn't really paying attention to the game. I was more focused on the hottie behind me. Then we went swimming in the heated pool at the hotel. He kept on pulling me under and kissing me. Hmmmm… god I love him. So much! Then we went back to our room and we lit the fire and I lied on his chest as he read "Little Princess" to me, except unlike last time it was a much happier note. He would whisper in my ear and play with my hair. Aaahhh, wonderful. We stayed up late talking and making-out. Then we ended our perfect day with well you know...hehehehehehe.
February 15, 1992
Dear Journal,
Our last day together we went dancing, kissed, went for walks on the beach, horse back riding, and so much more. We lived as if it were our last day to live, which it might as well have been.
"Fred?" he asked me as we lay on the beach sipping on cherry coke, and eating cake. He had us both wrapped up in a blanket to keep us warm.
"Hmmm?" I was comfy.
"You never answered my question."
"What question?" I asked him.
"Do you run away with me?" he whispered. I never did answer him. I merely looked up at him and kissed him and he knew that was a no. I had a life, a family, and I would see him eventually back in LA...right? We drove back to London and once more we had to return to reality.
March, 2 1992
Dear Journal,
Sorry, I lost you again. Ok so here's what happened the last month. Ashley is going on and on about how Wesley sucks and how she has to marry this total asshole. But according to her parents, he can protect her against forces of darkness, he is smart, and from a well-bred family. I would do anything to be with him. Doyle and I have become the best of friends. He is really funny, and he tells me he hasn't gotten a vision since the one with Wesley. What I don't get is, why hasn't it happened? Mr. Dixie said it would happen in November, so maybe we did avert it. At least I know he'll live. I miss him so much. But in others news…
Ami is officially best friend. See, after Valentines Weekend, I came back to my dorm, my make-up running 'cause I was crying, and my hair was a mess, and I had bags under my eyes cause the night before Wesley and I had stayed up all night just talking. She merely gave me a sympathetic look and gave me a hug. She went out bought me more chocolate then I would ever need, Kleenexes, tea, hot chocolate, and other items that a girl who's in some state of anguish would need. My classes are still pretty easy. And I'm taking Martial Arts this semester, which is good. I mean I know basic street fighting yet not REAL martial arts, like Angel. I know, Charles fighting.
March 10, 1992
Dear Journal,
Classes are easy, taking exams, things are actually starting to look up. I write to my parents every day, I talk to Doyle every day, Ami and I have become inseparable, and yeh. Doyle, who turns out isn't the librarian but actually his assistant, is taking Martial Arts with me. He never told me he was a student. He just told me he has to work here to pay his tuition. He came here in hope of one day becoming a Watcher for Buffy or Faith so he can meet Angel in Sunnydale. I told him it was a good plan except Giles and We-that name I shall not write or speak, were their watchers and they need to be their watchers in order for things to happen.
March 20 1992
Dear Journal,
May I say things just got officially weird today? I saw Holtz, or, well, at least… I had dozed off in Advanced Calculus, because it's so easy. I already need to know everything I need to know in it. It was the same dream I had before, what is going on? Is Wesley still going to die? I talk to Doyle and he says it's just a nightmare. He's the one with the visions. I hope he's right.
April 1 1992
Dear Journal,
Pulled pranks today. I loooove the first years. They're wonderful! We scare them, telling them there's a vampire in the school, and they run and are, like, about to pee their pants! It was wonderful! Hehehehehehehe! You're only 17 once right?
April 13, 1992
Dear Journal,
I saw Spike...ok I saw Spike. As in my Spike. I was in London with Ami we were walking home to the hotel when he jumped up from behind us.
"William the Bloody!" screamed Ami. Yet he was staring right at me.
"Get out of here hurry! Move!" and with that Ami and I ran like little girls, yet I should have stayed. He knew who I was. God this is weird.
April 20 1992
Dear Journal,
I went to all the worst part in London and YEEHHH! I found Spike. As in my Spike. He was drinking a cup of blood at a bar.
"Fred?" he merely said without turning around. He must smell me. He turned around on his bar stool ran over and hugged me so tightly I couldn't breath. "Bloody FREAKIN' hell," he whispered. "Does Percy know you're alive?"
So we sit and talk about what had happened. He gets quite when I tell him what Wesley did. Spike looks at me square in the eye when I tell him what happened at Christmas and how Wesley said he was hurting when I died.
"Fred...he went bloody insane." Then he got quiet and lets me finish the story. Then he told me his own story. He got his memory on his seventy-seventh birthday, which means he's had his memory for quite a few years. I asked if he had heard from Angel and he said he saw him in World War II. The pair talked and decided to meet up in LA in 2000. If Spike and he were still alive that is. When Spike turned seventy-seven, he spent a year wallowing in what he had done. (cause he just got his memory, and a soul back.) yet he dumped Drusilla the minute he turned seventy-seven. I asked him why was he seventy-seven and not 17. He said, "Well I live to be over 150. I guess it had to be." God I miss his simple logic.
May 2, 1992
Dear Journal,
Okay, I don't write in you as much as I like to, but here's the deal. I meet Spike in London when I can go. It's a long bus ride. About 2 hours. (I see him every other weekend.) I told him where to meet Wesley in the old abandoned subway. So Spike is our link. Wesley sends me some papers and notes I send him some papers and notes. Spike says he feels like a bloody puppet. And then I tell him, "At least you aren't one," and he starts laughing.
So, over all, things are actually turning out pretty good. I am no longer afraid of the dark. I no longer need Wesley to live… Oh. Oh my god! Is this what they call growing up? Well, considering technically I'm 30… But you know what I mean. So I guess it's all good. Yet something still bothers me...my dream. Is Wesley going to die?
Authors Note: Reviewers
kelly: I got a beta!
Ellen: I fully aware of how Doyle's age is diffrent (I just saw Bacholer Party the other day and yeh I know he is 25) but I sort of have to shift it to fit the story. But I am suprised you notices, maybe I have to get out my caculator and actually do the math now.
Nooky: Thanks for reviewing like every chapter! (Whip Cream LOL) Your a good friend
