Author Name: Liz
Email: [email protected]
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Future fic. The aliens never came to Roswell, and Liz was never shot.
Category: M/L
Wrong Turns (Chapter 8)
Her eyes opened to the steely darkness of the room, the
darkness the enveloped her, frightened her. She was terrified of
the dark. She almost cried out, but choked back the sound when he
shifted against her. His strong arm wrapped around her waist,
chiseled face buried in her neck. She was safe. Finally.
She remembered being a little girl, when her dad had tucked her
in at night. She'd always been so afraid for him to leave, for
the light to leave with him. But too proud to tell him. So she'd
lie there, hours on end, just shivering in fright and repeating
to herself that nothing bad was in her room.
It was something she'd never outgrown. A feeling she'd always
had, until now. She felt as if nothing could touch her while she
was in his arms, like she could do anything. She could welcome
the darkness. She wondered if she would still be able to once he
was gone.
She was thinking again of the change, as she half-comically
referred to it in her mind. Her life after everything had gone so
suddenly downhill. The bad-girl version of Liz Parker, the
uncensored copy. She sort of reminded herself of that girl again
now, the girl she'd sworn off that day in the hospital waiting
for the news that Maria was dead.
Knowing that it was completely her fault. Praying to God and promising that if Maria could only live, she would never go back to that girl again.
And here she was, wrapped up in Max Evans' arms, a doctor
she'd met not a week ago. Naked in his bed.
Still wanting him, even then. Yet another promise she'd broken.
She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter. Or that it
wasn't true. That what she was doing wasn't wrong.
The things that she felt for this man-the feelings he had stirred
inside of her, even from that first simple glance, those words
he'd said to her…they were overwhelming. She truly felt that
she might possibly love him. But it still felt wrong. She
wondered if she could handle doing it all over again. Of course,
it wouldn't be the same. In a way, yes. But wasn't it worth it…the
risk, if it meant maybe finding true love?
She could not answer her own question. If only she knew that
answer had already been decided.
His eyes darted open suddenly. He was panting slightly, a
hangover from some dream he'd been having.
The phone rang again, shrilly breaking the silence of the room,
hurting his ears. Carefully reaching across the sleeping beauty
in his arms, he grabbed the cordless that sat on the bedside
table. "Hello?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and a string of
curses lie in wait on his tongue.
"Max?"
They disappeared slowly, and he was left with nothing but sheer
exasperation. "What is it, Izzy?"
He knew she understood what that tone meant, and he certainly
hoped that she would take a hint.
"Max, what's going on?"
He sighed heavily, shifting a little against Liz. "What are
you talking about?"
"With you, Max? Who are you with?"
His eyes drifted involuntarily to her. A smile tugged at his
lips. She was breathtaking. "A woman."
It was Isabel's turn to sigh. "Let's hope so. Who?"
"Liz Parker."
There was no use lying to his sister. They both knew the
abilities they had, as aliens. To sense each other's feelings…strong
emotions. He was pretty sure he'd been giving some off earlier.
Very strong.
"Who in the hell is Liz Parker?"
He rolled his eyes at her outburst. "A woman I met awhile
ago."
"Oh, so you just decided that since you met her 'awhile'
ago, it was fine to go ahead and fuck her?"
His hand was drawn to his throbbing temple. He wondered how she
managed to give him a headache to quickly. "Isabel.."
"I will not calm down, Max."
"Pl.."
"You cannot do this."
He sighed in resignation. "I know."
He could tell he had shocked his sister.
"Huh?"
"I know. I've known all along, Izzy. Do you think I've
forgotten? You, Micheal…everything? Never. I just…had
to find out."
"Find out what?"
Her voice was softer now. He wanted to hate her for the sympathy
he could tell she felt. "If I loved her."
"And?"
"I do."
He hung up then, softly placing the phone back onto its base. As
he pulled his arm back across the bed, his arm brushed across her
bare breast. A tingle ran up the length of his arm, and he closed
his eyes. Wondering how he would ever let her go.
Liz listened to his conversation, never opening her eyes. Even
though she heard only Max, she knew what was going on. She'd
known the moment she started this. That it had to end.
He was talking to someone, apparently someone close to him. She
wondered momentarily if it was his girlfriend. 'Izzy' he called
her. She felt sick.
And she wondered at her jealousy. She didn't have the right. It
was just sex. Nothing more. She thought for the first time of
earlier that night, and recalled Maria in the car. No…it
wasn't sex. It was coffee. Just coffee.
The next thing she remembered was waking up, for the 3rd time
that morning. The bright afternoon sunlight was streaming through
the thin curtains, streaming through her closed lids and
reminding her of what today would hold.
Her heartbreak.
She finally opened her eyes to the sunlight. She didn't want
the sun to be shining. She wanted it to rain, she needed the
rain. The rain could wash away everything, give her a new
beginning. She could forget everything that had happened all of
these horrible years, and start again. Nothing
would have to be the same ever again.
She didn't even have to turn around to know that he was gone.
She'd known even as she slept, somehow.
And even before she moved, or stood, she knew there was a note on
the pillow. His pillow, the one he had rested his head upon only
the night before. The pillow that would now be empty, save that
note.
His goodbye note, words from a coward too afraid to face her with
the truth. Did he think that she wouldn't know? That she wouldn't
understand? She understood better than anyone. It couldn't work.
It could never work. Something in both of them would hold it
back, forever, until both of
them broke. It was better this way. It was he who did not
understand.
She waited just one more minute before she finally stood, soaked
in the feeling of his bed and the soft sheets, of lying there for
just that short time and knowing how it felt. Then she did stand,
swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and pulling herself
up, willing her legs to hold her up even though she felt as if
she could fall. She wasn't weak. She wouldn't allow herself to be
weak.
She dressed quickly, brushing her hair and putting it back into a
messy bun. She wore no makeup. Slipped on her shoes, grabbed her
purse from the table by the front door and quietly slipped out.
She never read the note that he had left.
She never looked back.