Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. If I did, I would be writing episodes about them rather than fanfics:)
"I'm not scared…I'm not scared…I'm not scared. Please, Wesley, why can't I stay?"
Her last words chased themselves around and around in the dark recesses of Wesley's mind. He sat in his armchair drinking scotch, as he had for countless nights before. Sometimes Illyria tried to rouse him from his drunken reverie - he simply ignored her until she tired of him. It took all of his willpower just to do that, to not be overcome every time he saw her. Every time she spoke, every time she tilted her head a certain way, Wesley found his precarious grip on reality slipping. Sometimes he was almost convinced that she was there, that he hadn't lost Fred. Every one of those times, his mental line between truth and illusion became a little more blurred. Lost. What did that mean? That he'd misplaced her? That she'd run off, like a little child at a playground? "She is gone," Wesley whispered to himself. A tear slowly scored a track down his cheek.
Next chapter will be Angel's ponderings! Please R&R…