Empty eyes stared into the bleak nothingness that was the outside
world. No stray thoughts, no memories, no nothing clouded her vision,
clear as ice it bore holes through the inky blackness of the night.

It had been this way for her since the night of the her death. The
slayer whom no one expected to die like the rest, did. The slayer's
death had been the cause of her breakdown, but it was her own fault
that she'd not risen past the tragedy.

When those around her had tried to bring her out of the painful world
she existed in, she'd only sunk deeper into the pit of black depair.
Now, the world was comforting, memoryless. She no longer dwelled on
what could have been, but instead let her mind shut down, so that she
could function without the pain, without the loneliness.

It had been a year. A year of travelling through her life as a ghost,
a shadow of her former self. Six months since her friends had
sentenced her to living in an institution. Every day doctors tried in
vain to get her to speak to them, get her to listen to them, but she
just closed her ears to their useless words.

She no longer spoke, no longer dreamed, no longer smiled. In every
visible way she was a robot. A machine that drifted through the days
in a monotonous pattern. In her mind, however, she still worked to
keep the memories at bay. To let them into her conscious thoughts was
pointless. They only succeeded in upsetting her, so why bother? Going
over the past wouldn't help her, why wouldn't the doctors see that?

She never had visitors, never asked for any. Seeing old friends would
just make it harder to keep the memories from flooding her mind. The
loneliness had dissipated over time, just as the memories had, she
didn't miss the rest. As a part of them she'd been useless, so there
was no need for them to hurry her 'recovery' as she wasn't crucial to
their survival. Not like the slayer was, she'd bet that they still
missed her as much as always, everyday. They didn't miss her, why
didn't they miss her?

The chair beneath her creaked softly as she shifted positions,
relaxing once again against the plush seat and turning her eyes to
the rising sun.

Sunrises are so beautiful, it had been months since she'd seen one.
They were there to be enjoyed without thinking, marvelled at without
really contemplating what they were. All too soon, however, the nurse
would come in and insist she go to that little room with the
uncomfortable chair and talk to the doctor. Talk. Yeah right. Maybe
this time she'd refuse, see what happened. Rock the boat a little.

To be honest, she knew that wouldn't happen. If the boat was rocked,
then maybe everything would change, and she'd once again have to face
those memories. The memories she was hiding from. No, hiding wasn't a
good term for it, running is better. She was running from memories,
not hiding from them. If you hid, they'd always find you, but if you
ran, then they'd never catch up. The problem with running, though, is
that sooner of later, you'd inevitably get tired. That's when the
memories get to you, that's when you have to face them.

Well, she wouldn't stop running. She didn't want to face her fears,
didn't want to remember. Remembering meant pain, and pain isn't a
good thing.

Actually, physical pain is somewhat comforting. She's no longer
allowed anything sharp in her room, because she used to use physical
pain to escape her mental agony. It worked, and she stopped thinking
about her problems for a brief moment in time. The habit became
addicting, and for a while she depended on the sting to take away the
memories. That all stopped when they took away her cutting tools.

The sun had risen fully by the time she returned from her mental
journey down memory lane. She only went to a certain point or
otherwise the rest of her memories would pull her in and she was
afraid she'd never get out again.

Her life was comfortable. In a ceasingless pattern her days came and
went, nothing ever changing, just the way she liked. In the morning
she went to the room to ignore the shrinks, she had breakfast, then
sat by the window in her room until lunch, when she was taken to
another room to 'socialize' with the other prisoners, as she liked to
refer to them. After, came dinner in the dining hall and back to her
small room for bed. Not exciting, but perfect for her to exist in.

A knock sounded on her door but, as always, the nurse didn't wait for
a response and quickly walked in. This time was a little different
though, the lady didn't ask her to follow her, but instead waited for
her attention.

The girl shifted her blank gaze to the nurse and waited for her to
speak.

"Miss, you have a visitor. Do you wish to see them?" The nurse was
always polite to the extreme.

She blinked. A visitor? Who'd come to see her? Her parents? Not
likely. As she realized the nurse was waiting for an answer, she gave
a slight nod and returned her stare to the window. The nurse left,
but left the door open enough for her to hear a hushed conversation
beyond it.

Soft footsteps entered her room, and she heard the sound of the door
quietly clicking shut. Everything was always quiet in this place, it
seemed. The person's presence made the hairs on her neck stand up,
she knew he was watching her. What was he waiting for?

The person came to stand directly behind her, close, but not
touching. She searched the window for a reflection, but could find
none, confirming her guess as to who it was. As the silence grew
tense, she waited for him to speak.

A full five minutes went by before he did, "I know that I should have
come sooner, but I was afraid of seeing you. That might sound
strange, but it's true. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get
through to you, that you'd shut me out like you did to all the
others. It's taken me six months to work up the courage to come, but
I'm glad I did. It's good to see you again."

The only response he got to his words was a slight posture change,
but even that gave him the will to go on, "The others feel the same
way I do, and I don't blame them. For the last year you've been
shutting us out, what's to think you wouldn't continue it? But I know
you, and I know that you're lonely inside and I know that you want to
come back to us. Losing Buffy was hard, for all of us, but losing you
nearly tore us apart. Please give me some sign that you're listening,
I need to know that you're still in there."

He waited tensely for any movement out of the ordinary for several
minutes. His hope was dying fast, but just when he thought that she
was too far gone to be reached, her right hand clenched into a fist,
knuckles turning white. She took a ragged breath and spoke, "I don't
want to remember." Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it,
and it was hoarse from disuse, but he nearly wept from the joy of
hearing it.

"Why don't you want to remember?"

Another pause, his hand closed around hers and he was rewarded when
she gripped it tightly, "It hurts to remember, I don't want it to
hurt anymore."

"To make the pain go away, you have to face your memories. It takes
time."

"I don't want things to change, change means more pain."

"It's way past time for some change, you need to embrace it."

"I can't."

"You can, and I can help if you'll let me. We all can, but you need
to make the first move."

"I'm afraid."

"I know."

"I don't think I can do it."

"I know you can."

She turned to face him, her eyes brimming with tears, "Why does it
have to be so hard?"

He looked at her, "Nothing's ever easy, you just have to work at it."

"You'll help me?" The tears slid down her cheeks.

"We all will, Willow. Everything's all right now." Angel held her
while she cried, oblivious to the doctor standing in the doorway,
observing silently. All of his hard work had done nothing, but one
visit from a friend had made all the difference in the world.
Amazing, the bond between friends. He left as silently as he'd come,
closing the door and walking down the hall, leaving the pair to
grieve alone.

~END~

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