Six Days
Not even a week.
It seems like forever. Each day marked off the calendar with a green felt tip pen. Six days on the wagon. Does she notice? Does she care? It's all for her. Always for someone else. Dawn's bitter eyes, Xander's disappointed face.
It's kind of like a friend has died. Like Joyce is passing all over again. But no one mourns my loss but me. There will be no wake, no tender remembrances of a friend passed. Only I feel the deprivation of power.
I am alone.
Helpless.
Lost.
Maybe in six more days I'll be found.
Willow, somber, calendar