Author's Notes: It's been a long while since I last updated. I'm really really sorry for that. At first, I wanted to update the story, but later, I decided to take a small break considering the holidays and New Year's and all. I had intended for this to be a super long chapter, but in this case, I'll keep it short in order to get my creative juices flowing again. My guess is that there's at least two chapters left for this story. For all those who have been following the story from the beginning, biggest thank you's to all for your great reviews and support. School has sadly started up again for me, so I may update again sometime after Thursday. I also mentioned in my previous chapter that I would introduce Buffy and the blond woman to each other, but when I wrote this chapter, I decided to save it for chapter eleven, so apologies for any confusion. Enjoy, guys!

Chapter Ten

Two months later…

Everything was spinning out of control; we never saw it coming. At least, most of us didn't. I, on the other hand, feared the outcome months, even years in advance, and it was not a good sight to behold, nor experience. Everything was slipping through the fingers like the black seeds of a split watermelon. Two months had passed, and Angel was still lying in an induced coma, with no signs of movement since being discovered near the local cemetery. As for the blond woman; we hadn't seen her since the night Angel had been admitted into the hospital.

Whether she was alive or dead; no one knew. But my anger for her only increased a thousand fold at the mere thought of her, and it was ready to explode against my will, no matter how hard I had been trying to suppress it underneath the stress that I've been under. I finally discovered what she and Angel had both done, and to this day, it affected me beyond measure, beyond comprehension. He had told me everything, before he lost consciousness one last time. Before he slipped into that more permanent unawareness of us. Before the machines took hold of his damaged life.

It was not too long after when the media had soon discovered Angel's other side, the side that only a few people had known, but never thoroughly questioned. The drugs, the incessant sex and reckless spending habits; the allegations and truths that had been printed in front covers of various major publications and newspapers throughout the entire country, even the world; all exploitive while he himself had been unable to defend his name.

From then on, problems within the band rose to the point that the remaining band members were threatening to quit. Their careers, including Angel's, were being flushed down the toilet, and tensions became imminent and unavoidable that none of us were speaking with one another. A part of me still blamed them for not letting us know of Angel's troubles beforehand. Before the trouble had started. At the same time, I don't think even the guys themselves knew what was going to happen.

The blond woman? That was the other story.

So far, we hadn't seen or heard from the guys since. No phone calls. No emails. No texts. Absolutely nothing. They had never stopped to visit Angel. Not even once. Not even to wish him well, despite everything that happened. Despite his inflated ego. In spite of it all, in spite of his coma, I was still angry at him. I was still sure he reciprocated the same feelings, but I never felt comfortable in dwelling upon the possibility of what his anger then could had meant. Whether his feelings for me lie deeper than just the anger and pain. I never had the time to analyze his troubled emotions. At the time, I had decided that it was a moot point, and nothing to ponder about.

How wrong I was.

Right now, it was close to midnight, and I stood near his right side, wrapping his cold hand into my own as I gazed into his eyes, the eyelids unmoving. I don't know how many nights and days I had visited him since I took my first step into the entrance of the sterile hospital; at least close to forty all together, but I lost count since.

No matter how many days, hours, and minutes it took, I would continue to be by his side. Because no one else, besides myself and my friends, would be there. No one else was willing to be with him.

In some ways, maybe he was right about one thing. About the loneliness he had felt.

For everything else, it was almost as if we were being surrounded by a powerful force of nature; a force that couldn't be stopped no matter how hard we tried. I was alive and still breathing. Angel was being supported by only the stupid monitors that were assisting in him to breathe. How was that any fair?

Numerous fans, tabloid writers, and interviewers would continue to harass me about him, his drug use, and his condition. Some days, it would grew to be too much, but as long as he was fighting somewhere inside his mind, that he was finding some way to get out of this mental slumber, that was all that mattered. There was still a tad bit of hope left somewhere inside of me. I just had to keep the fire going.

No matter my conflicted feelings, no matter the confusion, the uncertainty of the future, I would still be here to wait for him to awake.

That was all I can do, at least for now.

I released his hand, noticing how cold the patient room was as I slithered towards my chair, arms folding underneath my head as I closed my eyes, the sight of Angel's chest moving in relaxation burning itself into my mind.

There was no way I was going to let him leave me. Nor would I.