Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (_wes_pryce_) wrote in makingamends,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

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It's been awhile...

Being cast out isn't as great as people make it out to be. I don't feel like a rebel. Nor should I feel like one, I suppose. I feel guilty, my mistake destroyed a lot of lives. Even when I think I'm doing the right thing, I end up doing the wrong thing. And yes, I feel hurt. Hurt because my friends, my chosen family didn't even ask my side of the story. They all assumed and lined up right behind Angel. And in an ironic way I can understand even that. But it still hurts. The mistake I made hurts even more.

Which is why I'm currently on my way to the Woman State Penitentiary I suppose. To look into another mistake I made. Not that Faith is a mistake, but I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes to her. I never saw them of course, especially not after she tortured me for hours on end. But Angel was right for once there. It was a cry of help. And she accepted it when someone reached out to give her that help. And that someone wasn't me. Back then I was unable to look beyond how much she had hurt me, to see how much I had hurt her.

There's nothing like crawling into a bottle day after day to open ones eyes. And as relaxing as it is to explore the bottom of whiskey bottles, it gets tedious after a while.

So, here I am on my way to see Faith. She was brave enough to step onto the rocky road called redemption. Stupid word, 'redemption'. Can anyone truly achieve that? I guess I'm going to fine out, since I'm find myself the road to such an achievement. I want to see how she's doing, how she's managing. Because if Faith can do it, then there is hope for me. Right? One can hope. I'm ashamed to admit I've not visited her since that night in the rain. At first I didn't want to, didn't care. Then I though I was probably the last person she wanted to see. She had Angel. Makes me wonder who long it has been since he's visited her.

As I park the car into the parking lot, I notice there aren't many other cars around. The path to making amends in prison is most certainly a lonely one. I lock the car and start toward the gates. I don't know why, but I've a feeling I'm being...watched. Narrowing my eyes I glance around, my hand hovering on the gun hidden in its special holster on the small of my back. There's nothing or no one of course. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. That would always be a possibility.

Getting into the prison and more importantly, into the visiting area is disturbingly easy. All I have to do is state my name, who I wish to visit and walk through some detecting gate. Then again, they probably don't know about demons. Or weapons made by demons, which detecting machines won't catch. I'm glad to see the vast amount of money I've payed for this gun and holster are indeed paying off. And I still have this feeling of being...monitered. Odd.

Shrugging, I sit down in the plastic, sterile chair. Glancing around while I wait for Faith to show up. If she shows up, that is. Wouldn't that be ironic as well. Being cast out by the cast out.

(Open for the Faithness)
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