The rest of Angel's night was uneventful. After Alastor's departure, he just stared blankly at the walls wrestling with his inner demons for a bit. But he was eventually true to his words, rising up to go clean himself up. There was not enough hot water in Hell to ever truly wash away how filthy he felt after a night working at that shithole club.

It would be another dreamless night as Angel finally lays his tired head to rest. Having no dreams was the better alternative than playing through his nightmares like some shitty movie reel. So when the morning came, Angel didn't really feel all that well rested. But it was better than nothing. His head was throbbing while his whole body ached, craving more of that pleasant poison. Oh yes... the day after the killer high was always so fun. The worse part wasn't even the itch for the next hit.. it was the clarity of his actions from the day before. That gnawing shame and guilt. And last night... he had plenty to feel real shitty about.

Reluctantly Angel rolled out of bed to get dressed for that day. Even though it was the same old outfit he worn everyday, he made sure not a stitch was out of place as he looked himself over in the mirror peering. Everything had to be perfect. Once he felt like he looked presentable, he marched down the hall to the radio demon's door.

....

You fucking coward, knock on the damn door! It's just a fucking door! Raise that hand and punch it. Fucking hell.

Angel was glad that at this time of day that the hall were empty so no one could see him standing there like a creepy statue. But after a bit more screaming at himself he did raise his hand to softly rasp his knuckles on his door.

"Al? You awake?"