The Other Kind Of Spirits

by Celes RATING: R, mostly for language. M/M, post Heat Wave. DISCLAIMER: These are the WB's toys and toy chest. I'm just a little sticky-fingered brat messin' with 'em. DESCRIPTION: An eventful party at Liz's house. (Michael's POV, some angst). DISTRIBUTION: Take it if you want it. If you do distribute this, leave this header attached. This is just a short little fic, but I liked it so I'm posting it. Feedback is an author's drink - do you really want me to die of dehydration? E-mail me at [email protected] *** Friday night. I stare blankly at the ceiling, lying on my bed, trying to think of nothing but failing miserably. It's not that I dislike my self-imposed solitude, but sometimes I tire of it. Maybe I should get up. Read a book, or listen to music, or something. Anything to occupy my mind. The phone rings. I look at the call display. It's Max. I pick it up. "City Morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em," I greet. Max's laughter fills my ears. "Very nice, Michael. Are you depressed again?" "And how do you know what I'm doing?" "You're sitting alone." "Wrong again. For your information, I'm here with a beautiful supermodel who is, by the way, totally hot for me." I hold my hand to my head. "Whatever. Just come, okay?" "You know I can't." "Michael, she won't be there." "Who won't be there?" I ask, knowing perfectly well whom he was talking about. "Don't play dumb with me, Michael." "All right," I say, regretting the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. I feel like hitting myself. I don't want to hang out. I don't want to be around people tonight. "I'll be there." "Okay. Later, Michael." "Bye, Max." I set the phone back on its cradle and think about it. A party at Liz Parker's house. I can count the people I'll be able to talk to on one hand. Max and Isabel, Liz and Alex. That was it. I consider calling Max back and telling him I can't come, but then I would just get the third degree from him. Better to make an appearance than hear another one of Isabel's lectures about how I should be more social. The front door swings open, and I can hear my foster father leaving. Good. I truly hate having him around, and I think I'd be much better off without him. Too bad the state thinks differently. I get up and dress, looking to play the part of a tortured soul. Black T-shirt, black jeans, leather jacket. Half an hour, I promise myself. Half an hour at the party, and then I'll come home. I lock the door behind me. * For sake of a shortcut I have pass Maria's house in order to get to Liz's place. I stop to see it, but only for a moment. The driveway is empty - her mom has gone off on some escapade or another - but one light is on upstairs. I wonder if it's her room. There's something about that thought - Maria alone in her room - that gives me chills, just before the cold asshole part of my mind takes over. There are cars parked all around Liz's house. Liz is the kind of girl who knows a lot of people, the kind of girl everyone likes. Not like me at all. I don't think she likes me much, but she's willing to put up with me for Max's sake. I trust Liz. I walk up to her door, most of me wanting to turn back and go - where? My own house? Or Maria's room? I hate when my mind does this to me. Fucks me over completely until I don't know what I want. I knock on the door. Liz opens it. She waves me in, talking on the cordless phone. Unsure what do, I wait for her to finish. I can't see Max or Isabel or Alex anywhere. I do see Kyle Valenti chugging a can of Heineken and yelling like a maniac. I hate that guy. "Maria, come on." My attention turns to Liz. She's still talking on the phone, and she looks upset. "You can't just sit there by yourself," Liz argued. "Homework? Maria, it's Friday night. Get down here. I'm worried about you." I hear a faint mumbling from the phone. "Don't give me that. You were perfectly fine at school today. There's no reason for you not to come, Maria. Come on. I'm wearing the dress I bought the other day, and you can wear the one you bought." More faint mumbling. Liz looks straight up at me, right into my eyes. "He isn't here," she says, and listens a bit longer. "No. Do you honestly think he'd come?" She's still looking at me. "Okay. Okay, then. See you in a bit." Liz presses a button and faces me again. "Look, Michael, Maria's not in a good mood right now. Her mom left for two weeks and she's sort of upset about it. So please don't do anything to make her mad, okay?" "I won't even talk to her," I promise. She nods. "You can toss your coat upstairs on my bed. I think Max and Isabel are in the kitchen." With that, she walks away to talk to some black-haired girl I don't know. * I decide to keep my jacket on and go the kitchen, where as Liz said, Max and Isabel are standing. Alex has his arm around Isabel's waist. I can't help but feel jealous of them, but I know being alone is my choice. Max sees me first. He has a can of Coke of his hand. None of us drink, Max and Isabel because they don't want to, and me because I've seen too much of alcoholism already in my foster dad. "You actually came, Michael." He sounds surprised. "Yeah, well," I shrug. "Guess I didn't want to endure one more of Max Evans' patented nagging sessions. There are fates worse than a night of unwanted social interaction." "Don't worry, Michael," Isabel says laughingly. "I don't think many people will be wanting to do much interacting with you." "I hope not," I retort. She takes a sip from her can of soda and nods over at the living room. "Don't look now, Michael, it's the Bitch Patrol at ten o'clock." I look discreetly over my shoulder. "They must be slumming tonight." Ever since Isabel and Alex stated dating, her old friends have snubbed her. Isabel, characteristically, isn't too broken up about it. She calls them the Bitch Patrol, and rightfully so. Her old friends are leaning into each other and whispering, pointing at her in the way that only catty girls can. "Are you angry at them?" I ask her. She shakes her head. "I feel sorry for them." Alex grins. "So do I." Alex is a good guy. I never really paid much attention to him, but he is a good friend to Liz and ? to Maria, so I have no problem with him. He starts to laugh and I turn to see what's going on. Kyle Valenti is crawling around on the living room carpet, barking like a dog. I hope someone takes a picture. Liz comes to join us, and I can see Max's appreciation. Liz looks really beautiful tonight in her shiny red dress. The two of them go off to talk alone somewhere, and I feel like a third wheel standing with Isabel and Alex, so I wander off into the living room and sit on the sofa, ignoring the music and partying around me. A couple girls try to talk to me, but I brush them off. * "Maria!" I turn around and see her come through the front door, and my breath catches in my throat. She's wearing a dress like Liz's, only navy blue, and her hair is tousled around her face. She looks sexy. I slink lower so she can't see me staring at her. Her face is drawn into a small frown, and it gives her a pouty look. God. The guy who shouted her name - Josh Carlisle - runs up and links arms with her, and they disappear into the kitchen. Good. He's one of those All-American guys, one with a tiny little brain and a football scholarship. Linebacker on the Roswell High team. She deserves better than me, anyway. I'm nothing but a jerk. I really am. I strain my ears to hear Josh's and Maria's voices over the hum of conversation. I can almost make out what they're saying, and, even though I feel like an intruder, I listen anyway. "Do you want a drink?" Josh asks her. "I don't drink." "Juice, then?" "Okay." The inane little conversations of parties. I hate them. Suddenly I want nothing more than to get out of there, so I stand up abruptly and open Liz's screen door, which goes into the backyard. I sit out on the patio alone. It would have better if I had stayed at home. I think about going back in, finding one of the girls that tried to strike up a conversation with me, but my heart doesn't want to. So I lean back and look up at the stars, something that I do quite often. Tonight, however, they don't captivate my attention. I feel sick. I think about Josh and Maria, Josh with his arm around Maria, Josh kissing Maria. It's more than I can stand. She's not my girl, not by a long shot, but I feel empty inside when I think of her inside that house with him. "Michael?" I reply without turning around. "Yes, Max?" "Are you all right?" "You said she wouldn't be here." My tone is harsh. He sighed into the night wind. "I know you won't believe me, Michael, but I honestly thought she wouldn't come. I'm sorry. Maybe if you told her how you feel?" "Why do you assume I feel anything for her?" "I can see it on your face. Don't pretend you don't care about her, Michael, because I can tell she cares deeply for you." "I think she cares for Josh." "Look at her, Michael. Did you see her? Did she look happy to you?" He slips back inside the house before I can give him an answer. It didn't matter. I know the truth, anyway. I love her. I love Maria DeLuca. I never thought I'd come to this, but I know if I told her I would only end up breaking her heart. No ties, I remind myself. Still, I can't help but stand up and look into the kitchen window. On the outside, looking in. It's an overused clich�, but that's the way it's always been for me. Maria looks achingly pretty, her cheeks are red as apples and she's laughing with her whole heart. Even her eyes smile. It's sort of funny that I'm in this position. I'm the one who's always been so calm and so cool, and now I'm ? I'm in love. I hate myself for being so weak, I hate myself for hurting her, for having the power to hurt her. I turn, my eyes burning, and look around Liz's back yard. There's a treehouse perched up in one of the big oaks, some remnant from Liz's childhood. I think about myself as a kid, how I always wanted one, and my eyes sting even more. I hate victims, people who blame everyone else for the bad things in their lives, but I can't help but think I got screwed over. I climb up into the house and sit on the dank floor of it, surrounded by the scent of gently decaying would. I can hear music wafting out from the house, and it makes me bitter. Everyone is having fun but me. * I sit there for what seems like hours. I hear endless songs replaying again and again until they seem to bleed into one horrible, incoherent melody. Time seems elastic to me now, and, as I stay where in belong in solitude, it drips by slowly. Through the cracks in the planks above me, I can see the stars again. I hate them. "Michael!" I poke my head out the window to see Isabel standing on the patio, calling my name. "Michael, where are you?" "I'm here," I yell at her, and she rushes up to the tree. "Michael, you have to come inside. We need your help." "With what?" I know my voice is angry, but I can't help it. "Maria's drunk." I laugh. "She doesn't drink, Isabel." "I know." Fury clouds her features. "That asshole Josh Carlisle spiked her juice, and she drank like ten glasses. She said it tasted a little off. Liz just pulled him off of her and kicked him out." "So what do you want me to do?" I snap. "Take her home. Liz can't leave her house, not with all these people here, and Max and I don't know where she lives." Isabel's eyes were pleading. "Please take her, Michael. You know you want to help her." I want to punch Josh Carlisle's face in until he screams like a little girl, that's what I want to do. I climb out of the treehouse and fold the ladder back up. Isabel looks really upset, which surprises me. I didn't think her and Maria got along too well. Inside, Liz is tipping a glass of water into Maria's mouth. Both girls are sitting on the sofa. Maria looks downright unwell. Her eyes are red, and the strap of her dress is torn. I can tell she has been crying from the red stains on her cheeks. Before I go to talk to her, Max pulls me aside and whispers to me. "Remind me to help you kick Josh's ass on Monday," he said. I nod slowly, fully intending to do so. "Drink more when you go home, Maria," Liz says. "You'll feel better. Michael's going to take you home, all right?" "All right." She is too tired to protest. * It seems cold outside, so I put my own jacket around Maria's shoulders. I cannot love her like I want to, but I can be a good friend. She has nothing but that torn dress on, so she must be colder than I. We start to walk the short distance to her house, then I realize she is staggering everywhere, so I steady her with an arm around her shoulders. We get to her house, and Maria looks panicked all of a sudden. Her eyes grow wild and unspeakably lovely. "What's wrong?" I ask quietly. "My jacket, my key..." she tries to explain. "Did you leave them at Liz's house?" "Yeah." Two thick tears slide down her cheeks. "I don't want to go back ? everything's spinning." "Come on," I say, taking her hand. "Come with me." I don't know if she knows I live in a trailer, but she's about to find out. I feel a bit like a heel, inviting her to stay at my house when she's smashed, especially when my honorable intentions can be dissolved by just looking at her. But I vow not to touch her. She follows me trustingly. We come to my home, and I fumble with my keys before I can open the door. My foster dad isn't back yet, and I know he won't return until tomorrow morning. He is probably passed out on some dirty bar floor right now, and, briefly, that desperate thought drives the girl beside me out of my mind. Briefly. I lead her through the front door and into the tiny little den area, where I set her down on the couch. I go into the kitchen to get her a glass of cold water. Dousing myself in cold water might not be a bad idea right now. I want her so badly. And I know I could have her. It's enough to drive me insane. Before I go back to her, I stare at her for a moment. Even in her torn dress and my jacket, even with smeared make-up all over her face, she is breathtaking. As an afterthought, I go back into the kitchen and get a cloth. I hand her the water and begin to wipe her face clean, taking the streaks of red away with the blotches of watery mascara. "Michael," she says. "Michael!" "What?" I'm afraid of what she'll say. "I feel sick." I quickly pull her to her feet and rush her to the bathroom, holding her hair back from her face as she gets sick. "It's okay, Maria," I soothe her. "It's okay." Even as I say it, I think about strangling Josh. With my bare hands. Maria takes a deep breath, sitting against the bathroom wall. "I'm sorry, Michael," she apologizes. I pass her another glass of water. "For what?" She doesn't answer me. Instead, she takes a sip of the water, sets the glass down, and crawls over to me on her hands and knees. I feel myself flush red. This is going to be one hell of a night. * We're on the couch again. "I like the way your hair sticks up," she says, touching my hair, stroking it. "Do you?" "Yep. And I like how you always wear black." I can't help but smile at that. "Why is that, Maria?" "And I like it when you say my name," she finishes, completely oblivious. Her pupils are dilated, and she's watching me with her glorious green eyes. This is agony. I want to kiss her, to touch her, but I can't. It wouldn't be right, and I don't want to hurt her. Not again. I want Maria to be happy, and no one could ever be happy with me. "I'm tired," she says. "Okay." I help her to her feet. This night seems endless, but my watch tells me it's only eleven-thirty. I take her into my room, trying to quell my rampant fantasies. So many of my dreams begin like this. I reach into my closet and find a shirt for her to sleep in. It's modest, of course - it'll go down to her knees, but there something about her sleeping in my clothes. I hand her the shirt and wait outside while she changes. "Michael," her voice drifts out to me. "What?" "You can come in now." I nudge open the door and she's standing in the middle of the room, legs bare, as if she's unsure what to do next. She's fidgeting with the collar of the shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning the top button, over and over again. I manage to get her to lie down and I cover her with my blankets. I find an extra one to drape over her because it's cold in my room. I like the chill, but I doubt she does. I turn out the light and go, but just as I am leaving, I hear her call me again. "What is it?" I ask, trying to ignore that her voice sounds amazingly hot and sultry when she's drunk. "Kiss me goodnight." She rolls over and smiles at me. Slowly, carefully, I walk up to her and place a small kiss on the bridge of her nose. Then I stand up again, at a proper distance away from her. "Michael?" "What?" "I have to tell you a secret." "Tell me, then." "I have to whisper it," she says earnestly. So I lean in, my ear close to her mouth. "The secret is..." Suddenly she darted up and pulled my head towards her, kissing me full on the lips, pressing up against me. My body reacts instantly. She's warm and soft and inviting, and my mind is clouded as I kiss her back. She pulls away from me first, and suddenly I get a grip on what I'm doing. This clinches it. I am a complete jerk. Maria's arms are still linked behind my neck, and I am kneeling on top of the bed, almost shaking. She puts her lips up to my ear again, so I can feel her breath tickling my earlobe. "The secret is that I want you to make love to me, Michael." I groan. She has said that so many times in my dreams I can't even take it reality. "I don't think that's a good idea, Maria," I say hoarsely. Oddly, she looks like she's going to cry. Oh, please don't think I don't want you, Maria. God, how I do. "Maria, I need you to go to sleep, all right. Please." "Why?" Because she would hate me in the morning if I went any further with this. Because I do love her. Because I can't love her. "Just because you need to rest." "Kiss me again." I think about saying no, but I change my mind and kiss her softly on her lips, which are red and full. She makes a sweet little sighing sound that rips at my heart. Then I get up to go. "Michael, don't leave." "Maria..." "Please, Michael." This would be comical if it wasn't so serious. Like a really bad French farce. "All right," I say, giving up. "I'll sleep on the floor." * She's asleep now, but I know I won't be able to rest for a long time yet. I'm very restless at times, and now, though my bones are weary, I know I can't sleep. But I'm content to listen to her soft, even breathing and think about her. I roll over, my arm trapped under my pillow. The carpet itches me but I barely notice. Maria will wake up in the morning and probably she'll hate me again, but that doesn't matter. Someday I'll have to leave here and she will be only be a fragment of long-lost memory, but that doesn't matter. What matters is now, because now I love her and she loves me back. I stare up at the ceiling. Doomed to wakefulness forever. I'm Michael Guerin. Until a few months ago, I spent my life unchallenged. And now things are different. And now, I don't know how to love her. THE END

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