Hi all, taking a little breather from RL and decided to post the next part.
But first...
keepsmiling7-- Thank YOU for your wonderful comments. I hope I continue to thrill with upcoming 'twists'.
Flamehair Thank you for your kind wishes and comments on the story. I understood what you meant and I am so glad it conveyed that for you. When I wrote that part I wanted there to be some healing balm to our characters, and hopefully buoy readers' spirits too. I may have warned about angst with this story, but there is a light in the darkness.
dreamon- Wow! Thank you for those kind words. *blush*
I am overjoyed by all three of your comments and for any silent readers I've had this past week! On with the story...
Previously…
[From Blind Date]
Max stared at the garish paint marring Liz’s brick wall.
Anxiety and guilt left him feeling sick as he desperately searched his hazy memories for what transpired tonight. Before him was a clear sign of his delinquency—defacing her house some time after drinking from Kyle’s flask.
He uncertainly reached out towards it with his left hand. As his fingers brushed the rough edges, memories of the night quickly flashed in his mind. Removing his hand in awe he saw that the heart with his and Liz’s initials burned brightly before him. A bittersweet smile crept upon his face at the sight. Maybe he hadn’t messed things up with Liz for good. Maybe there was still a chance. Just maybe there was hope.
[From Part Four]
Shakily, Liz removed a few items within the drawer and touched a lever towards the back causing the base to lift up and reveal a hidden space. Now in full view she picked the hidden contents up her hands trembling even more than before. Though not much in volume or number, the few sheets of paper she held in her hands were everything to her. She replaced the drawer as she found it and returned to her bed to peruse through her most prized possessions.
…
She gently wiped at the drops on the clipping and placed it down to lessen the damage she seemed to wreck upon it each time she read it. Trying to stop the tears, she closed her eyes tightly but the flashes of memory that came to mind held the opposite effect.
…
At this point she was sobbing into her hands, so lost in her grief that she didn’t hear Isabel come in.
...
Isabel listened carefully for any noise, finally hearing something as she neared Liz’s room. Not wanting to surprise her, she called out to her, “Li—Stephanie?” almost forgetting to call her by her alias. After all in this town, they were sisters—Stephanie and Hillary Carter, with matching blonde hair and hazel eyes, though Liz’s seemed to have a blue tint to them as well at times. Knocking lightly, she eased Liz’s door opened and saw a now familiar sight.
She strode to the bed, moved the clippings and photos onto the bedside table and pulled her sister into a tight embrace. She slowly smoothed Liz’s hair down as she had done many times before, over the weeks they had been there, repeating the same comforting words, “It’s all right to let it out Liz, let it out…”
[From Part 16]
The soft sound of splashing water was heard as the prisoner’s fingers drummed out a random beat. The agents peered curiously at this, unsure if its agitation was returning or if it was something else entirely—perhaps something extra-terrestrial.
[From Part 36]
He stared at her with panicked eyes, his harsh breaths preventing him from continuing his cries. She bit her lip at the sight, but unable to see Max in pain, she moved forward. As soon as she was by his side, though, his protests started again.
“No! You’re not Liz! You’re not Liz!”
[From Part 47]
Kyle was given no moment to dwell on the scene or even confirm that Max was all right through the connection. A searing heat flowed into him, causing him to scream out in pain. He sensed his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. As he tried to physically pull away, he found himself catapulted through the air—the chair breaking against the door, and his own back crashing flat against the wall.
[From Part 49]
“Are you all right?” she softly asked.
Nodding absently, Max spied Kyle gingerly rubbing the back of his head out of the corner of his eye. Though Kyle had responded dismissively to Liz’s question, he suspected he had hurt himself. And somehow, he knew he had caused that pain in his friend.
PART FIFTY-ONE
"We're really here, honey. I promise, we'll come and bring you home soon."
At the familiar soothing tone of his mother’s voice Max held onto her tighter. The need to know he had not led to the deaths of his parents fueled his fierce grip around her. Beneath his shaking arms he found her usually sturdy frame appeared frailer than he remembered. Yet she supported his weight fully pulling him closer to her. He could almost convince himself she really stood before him.
A moment later he felt his father and sister join the embrace. He closed his eyes wishing that the sensation was not a fleeting wisp of a desperate dream, but that he would wake to the tangible warmth of them enveloping him.
We’re really here…
His mother’s words echoed around him again—a tantalizing promise that his suffering was at an end.
But he should have known better.
With a small murmur he could not catch they disappeared.
He jerkily moved his head in all directions terrified that the peaceful setting of the Roswell playground would be replaced by his barren reality— be it a blinding white or suffocating darkness. The trees around him began to fade into a grey fog when he registered his sister’s insistent voice.
“Max! Listen to me! Can you hear me?”
With a blink he became aware of her hands grasping his arms and her eyes anxiously scrutinizing him. Her form wavered briefly. “I…I’m sorry…” he softly uttered in a daze.
After a beat she assured him, “They really
were here. They must have woken up...”
As Isabel spoke, Max continued to observe his surroundings apprehensively. The dim haze had settled thickly around him. An uneasy feeling built within him that any moment his sister’s form would turn into a faceless tormentor. Beyond Isabel’s imploring words he believed he heard the faded echoes of crunching metal and squealing tires. His chest tightened at the muted din. He knew that this dream was quickly slipping away. With what little strength he still had he shook his head to willfully cast aside the fear and panic.
Isabel’s image strengthened before him and he focused on her nonstop assurances, “I promise you they were here and… somehow they’re going to meet us. They must have been flying somewhere because Dad said something about landing.” A bright smile flashed upon her face, only belied by the shiny film of tears in her eyes.
Flying? he silently questioned, his doubts growing once more.
But Isabel caught up in her excitement did not immediately notice Max’s body stiffening as she pulled him into a hug. His arms slowly lifted to encircle her, weighed down by dread that this happy delusion would soon dissipate.
Pulling apart, Isabel asked tentatively, “You believe me… right?”
He wanted to say yes. He so desperately wanted this all to be true. That everyone who he loved was alive and safe. That in a moment he would not wake up to the harsh, decisive steps of the two agents eager to recommence his torture. Spying the slight quiver of her lip at his silence, he could not deny her. So he answered with a small nod, not trusting his voice.
Her face softened into a natural smile, her eyes losing the earlier tension. With a soft exhalation she too nodded. But she had to ask one more time, “Is there anything else I can say or show you—”
“No.” Max cut her off uncertain he could take anymore.
Isabel was slightly taken aback but quickly recovered. “Oh…kay. Um… well I’ll let you get some actual sleep.” Her eyes narrowed briefly studying him, but thankfully she did not say anything.
He nodded again, his stomach clenching as he anticipated the return of his bleak existence. His eyes closed shut unwilling to watch as she and the playground setting receded into a void. The all too familiar pressure of being restrained began to encircle his arms. Squeezing his eyes even tighter, he begged silently for it all to stop.
Gradually, he became aware of the phantom grips lessening their hold. The sensation was not of cold metal, but rather something soft and almost warm.
After an extended moment he mustered the courage to open his eyes. The dawning light filtered into the room daintily illuminating his surroundings. He was in the bed that he had woken up in that morning—Liz’s bed.
Shaking his arms loose of the crumpled sheets, he slowly stood up and gazed around the room. He was alone.
“Liz?” he murmured.
Only silence met his meek call.
Ignoring the sense of disquiet growing in his gut he stepped out into the hallway. Hearing indiscernible chatter, he curiously followed the sounds down the stairs. As he reached the bottom he was suddenly face to face with Kyle.
“Whoa—” he started. Gathering his bearings he spoke again with forced nonchalance. “What’s going on?”
“Uh, nothing man,” Kyle tiredly shrugged him off moving past Max to ascend the stairs.
Kyle’s movements seemed a bit off-kilter to Max, and once again he was filled with guilt at causing pain in his friend.
Eyeing the sizable contusion on the back of Kyle’s head, he lamely offered again, “I… I can heal that for you.”
Piercing him with a sharp glare, Kyle bit out “Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Evans?”
His cheeks burning with shame, Max looked fixedly at the floor unable to respond.
A harsh laugh escaped Kyle. “What would be the point, anyway?” Kyle retorted. “We’re not here anymore… remember?” The last word was punctuated with a vicious snarl.
Max’s head shot back up as he gaped at Kyle in confusion. “What…?”
Several gunshots rang out in quick succession.
All at once he was surrounded by the bodies of his loved ones, lying stiffly in unnatural positions on a cold white floor.
“No…” he moaned in utter agony. Bringing his hands to his head he watched the carnage despondently.
“Stop this. Please stop!” he cried out as his trembling hands slid down to cover his face.
The sounds of his parents’ car crash reached a crescendo before abruptly leaving him in silence.
Releasing several ragged breaths, he finally lowered his hands.
He blinked in surprise upon seeing Liz’s balcony. The familiar red brick wall (sans his heartfelt graffiti) stood directly in front of him. He quickly turned to Liz’s window to see if she was home.
The glass had been pulled down and the room was dark.
Please don’t shut me out… he heard the anguished plea. He had to shut his eyes momentarily to not fully dredge up that memory of losing Liz after screwing up her life once again. His imprisonment was partial atonement for that—for hurting her in such a permanent way.
With a quiet sigh he turned back to the wall. In a seeming trance he lifted his left hand to touch it. A bright red heart with his and Liz’s initials momentarily flashed in front of him. Raising both hands to the spot he hurriedly trailed fingers over the rough cinder edges seeking the symbol of his innocent past. If it would only show again… just maybe… his last moments would be reliving a memory where he still had hope… still could imagine a life with Liz.
Let's just keep running, you and me, away from here, away from everything. I see everything so clearly now. We'll go someplace where no one knows us. As long as we're together, nothing else matters.
His earnest voice rang out filled with such exuberance. How naïve he had been then.
Nothing else matters, he bitterly repeated. To the agents surrounding him, nothing he said mattered. To the ghosts of his departed friends and family—he didn’t matter. How could he? How could they forgive him? If the heaven his mother referenced existed, his place was not there.
He knew not to expect anyone else to show up—the sudden departure of his parents was enough to prove he was beyond forgiveness.
But he no longer wanted to exist in the cold, white hell that he had been damned to.
He began to beat against the wall demanding that the heart reveal itself again. Still no sign, he rested his forehead against the brick and whispered imploringly, “Please…”
“Max?”
He sharply turned his head at the voice, but did not see Liz.
“Max.”
He heard her call out louder to him, but as he spun around on the balcony he remained alone.
“Liz?” he softly called out.
He felt a feathery-light touch upon his cheek and his eyes closed as he savored the caress.
“Wake up, Max,” she beckoned.
He let loose a ragged breath, scared to open his eyes. “It’s okay, Max. I’m here,” he heard her promise. Warmth began to fill him up inside at the thought that maybe she was there. But his stomach held onto the doubt and tension of expecting the dream to shatter.
Another delicate touch traced his jaw line, coaxing him awake. With a hesitant flutter, he opened his eyes. Appearing as a mirage, he saw the most welcomed sight of Liz lying before him.
“You’re here…” he sighed, a small smile appearing on his wearied face. Any lingering misgivings he had began to abate.
“Yes…” Liz whispered.
There was an odd tone to Liz’s reply. Needing to see that Liz was all right Max struggled to full alertness.
The contours of her form melded into the hazy darkness of the room’s waning candlelight. Determinedly, he blinked a few times to clear the foggy remnants of sleep. With each blink, the image of Liz sharpened.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Propped up by her right hand, her head was perfectly positioned to look at him. Her lips were drawn in a tight line to match her worried gaze. Needing to instantly banish whatever her trouble was, he reached out to push back some stray strands from her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”
A quizzical look stole across her face and a soft disbelieving laugh escaped her. With the slightest shake of her head, she answered, “…I’m fine.”
Needing more assurance, his hand hovered over her body as he began to scan for any injuries. But just as the glow from his hand started, Liz grabbed it and placed it between them. “I’m o-kay,” Liz insisted, her tone tenderly chiding his concern. After a beat, worry once more took over any trace of mirth in her eyes. “What about you?” she asked in a hushed, slightly spooked manner.
“What about me?” he attempted to shrug off the question. Casting his gaze downward, he picked at the bedding.
Liz shifted into a sitting position. Max could feel her looking at him, but he continued with his feigned fascination of the bed sheet. “You were talking in your sleep,” she stated matter-of-factly.
His eyes flickered to her, a flash of panic in the brief glance. “What…what did I say?”
“Please.” Her voice was soft, almost pitying.
He closed his eyes in embarrassment. Had she heard him whimpering? Begging to be killed?
Liz placed a hand on his stilling his pointless niggling. “Max, talk to me,” she gently urged.
Meeting her gaze, he swallowed. What could he say? Reality was beginning to seep into his dreams if she had heard his plea. At that thought his eyes darted to the corners of the room.
Following where he had just looked, Liz asked in confusion, “What are you looking at…” she trailed off as realization dawned on her face. “You think…” her breath hitched, “…you’re still
there?” Liz’s voice cracked on the last word, a sob bubbling out.
A sad smile twitched at Max’s lips. His eyes once more returned to the bed, unable to watch Liz’s response to his confession: “They won’t let me leave,” he quietly uttered. Not even in death, he morbidly thought.
The silence hung heavily over them.
Heat began to creep up Max’s cheeks—a familiar mix of humiliation and of the sweltering interrogation lamps the agents would shine directly in his face. He felt a light touch on his head. He tensed, expecting his captor’s hand to roughly grip his hair. Instead the touch remained a soothing caress. Daring to look up, he saw the delicate strokes belonged to his love.
Liz’s eyes shone with barely held back tears, the pain within their umber depths palpable. He bit his lip loathing himself for causing her distress.
When she spoke, there was a slight rasp as if her voice was choked by unshed tears. “Max… you’re not there anymore. What—What can we do to prove that to you?”
He looked a bit past Liz still expecting faceless men in hazard suits to drag him to his next torture session. “I… I don’t…” he began, his voice sounding tremulous and weak to his ears. As he was about to complete his tired refrain of not knowing there was a sudden loud bang.
Instantly, he threw himself over Liz to shelter her from what he assumed was a gun shot. His heartbeat thundering in his ears, he furtively checked on either side of them for any approaching threats. Still seeing nothing but the corners of Liz’s room, he lifted himself slightly and brought his hands to her face. Gingerly touching her cheeks he searched for any injury—any blood trailing from her mouth.
Though she seemed shaken and her face slightly pale, she seemed to be physically fine. Needing more reassurance, he urgently questioned, “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
Liz looked back at him with a mixture of shock, confusion and unease. Shaking her head slightly, she answered, “Who are
they, Max? There’s no one, but
us here.”
Max again scanned the room for any hidden threats, unsure how to reply.
“Max?” Liz called out, her fingers lightly pushing at his chin so he would face her.
Focusing on her face, he saw the strain of fear and confusion. Pulling her close he attempted to shield her body from any further attacks. But Liz pushed away; moving back into a sitting position. His face mirroring her dismay he warned, “They could still be around. It’s not safe.”
Placing her hands on his shoulders, Liz stated in a forced calm and deliberate tone, “It was a garbage truck.” She paused allowing the words to sink in, but all it did was compound Max’s internal confusion. Slowly releasing a breath, she drew his attention to the beeping sounds of the truck backing up, “Hear that? It’s backing up now.”
Max began to shake his head slightly, his eyes flitting to the window and back to the shadowy corners of the room. As his mind registered the droning beeps, he expected to see the familiar monitors beside him. In the back of his mind he fervently hoped it wasn’t for another electro-shock session. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
Liz’s hands slid up to his face, forcing him to focus only on her. He saw that resolve had overtaken any fear in her eyes. Unblinkingly, she spoke in measured words: “They are
not here.
They can’t hurt you anymore. And if there is anyone left… we’ll make sure they can’t.” Anger and an air of finality colored her last statement.
He stared in awe at the determination in Liz’s statement. So in awe he easily ignored the unbidden low voice in his mind marveling,
Spoken like a true queen. Instead, his attention was fully captured by Liz as she reminded him once again of the reasons he revered her so. Her tenacity was one of the many things he loved about her. In the past he had often been emboldened by her to confront his fears of the unknown. Without her, he would not have discovered connections to his alien heritage. Without her, he never would have made any friends. Before graduation he had been ready to follow her to Northwestern trusting that he too would find a path and perhaps a normal life with her. And now he wanted to believe her resolute words asserting that his internment was finally over. He wanted to just be with her.
“Okay?” she asked uncertainly.
Overcome with emotion, he quickly nodded.
A shaky smile appeared on her face at his agreement. She began to swipe at her eyes, but he reached forward to gently wipe away any escaping tear. “I’m sorry—” he started to apologize, but Liz cut him off.
“No,
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone in that auditorium. I should have known that author was going to be at graduation—if I had practiced my powers more I would have been able to tell more details to give a proper warning…” Liz impassionedly argued against him, her eyes tearing up and her voice becoming scratchy as she spoke. She trailed off suddenly, her attention seemingly stolen by her dresser drawers.
With a muted gasp, she turned back to him a glint to her eye. Yet more qualities about her that he loved: how her mind constantly worked on solutions and her excitement when she had an idea. “I have an idea that might help.”
Not waiting for any response from him, she reached into the far back of one drawer, pushing items aside. After a moment, she retrieved a stack of curled papers and photographs. He cocked his head to the side, curious to what they could be.
Liz’s tongue darted out to moisten her dry, somewhat cracked lips. Forcing out a breath, she remained looking down at the items for an extended moment. Just as he was about to speak, her head shot back up. “You wouldn’t know what happened to us right after graduation,” she stated.
He bowed his head filled with regret that in his haste to distract the army and FBI from executing them all in that auditorium, he had left them alone to fend for themselves. He had tried to convince his captors that he was all they wanted, and gave whatever he could if it ensured their protection. But it hadn’t been enough. He winced as the footage of their deaths flashed in his mind’s eye.
“No,” Liz’s insistent tone compelled him to look up again, “I mean these are proof
this” she gestured around them, “isn’t just a dream.”
He regarded her longingly.
If only…, he thought wistfully.
He could see the determination and hope in her eyes, and despite knowing better he found himself getting swept up by her idea; a small smile tugging at his lips.
Liz fanned out the items on the bed between them as she explained, “When I heard the news about your… death… I didn’t want to believe it. These articles are what made it real to me.” She stifled a sob. “I’m sorry that I stopped Isabel from trying to find you. I… I thought I was doing what was best for her—” He stopped her apology with a finger to her lips.
“I know you. You do what you know to be right. Thank you for looking out for Isabel,” he declared with sincerity.
With a small tilt of her head, Liz offered him a shy smile in response. Self-consciously, she tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. Glancing down at the items she had placed on the bed, she picked up one of the newspaper clippings. She stilled for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, she forced out a breath and moved to hand it to him, “This was the one that made it all sink in…” Her voice was low and her tongue again darted out to wet her drying lips.
Looking at the clipping in her hand, he spied his photo also printed there. It was odd for him to see how he once looked. A part of him cringed at how much his ears stuck out, but primarily he was struck by the slight hope in his eyes despite his melancholic expression. Surreptitiously, he looked at Liz musing if he could regain such optimism. If for whatever moments he still breathed in his prison he could allow himself to believe everything he saw and felt, perhaps then he could live out at least one of those twelve lifetimes he had promised to Liz.
His fingers hovered close to Liz’s offering when he saw bold text splayed above his own black and white image disclosing, “Roswell graduate shot by terrorists.”
Blood rushed to his head, seemingly roaring in his ears. His breaths were shallow. He felt lightheaded. The doleful headline repeated in his mind in a dizzying loop. Each echo of the words was punctuated by the two gun shots that had driven through his chest. His upper chest burned at the memory and dredged up the fears he had been attempting to squash. Faceless tormentors, the buzzing of electricity and his pathetic whimpers soon took over his senses.
“Max?”
Max blinked. The frightening and pain-filled whirlwind retreated back into the recesses of his mind. He registered Liz sitting before him, the hand holding the cut article resting at her side. “We can try something else, if you’d like.” The fretful look was once more on Liz’s face. Her expression made him feel simultaneously fragile and guilty. Why couldn’t he just enjoy this reprieve from his constant agony? He berated himself for burdening this dream with his horrific reality. Once more he resolved himself to fully accept this delusion. And so he firmly shook his head in response to Liz’s cautious suggestion, and reached for the clipping.
As soon as his fingers brushed against the coarse paper there was a bright flash of white. His body automatically tensed, but the setting before him was not of his desolate cell.
The blinding light had given way to an unfamiliar bedroom shrouded in the darkness of evening. Through the dim glow cast by a street lamp he saw a small huddled figure crying before him.
He approached tentatively. He could see a few scraps of paper clenched in the tearful girl’s hands. Her grief was overwhelming, compelling him to reach out towards her in comfort. Though he could not make her features out in the ineffectual lighting from the street, something inside him insisted he knew this girl. His hand just inches away from her shoulder, he breathed out, “Liz…?”
She did not react to his presence. Now beside her, he could see instead of Liz’s chocolate locks the girl’s hair was a straw-like blonde. He pulled back his hand in confusion. Her face covered by her hands, he wasn’t sure who this girl could be but the familiar hair color made his gut twist in apprehension. Silently, he reminded himself that Tess was dead and besides she was not the only one to have that shade of hair. The girl’s continuous cries though distracted his thoughts and once again he was drawn forward to comfort her. Just as he moved to place an arm on her shaking shoulders, Isabel suddenly barged in scooping the girl into a hug, “It’s all right to let it out Liz, let it out…”
With a soundless gasp he once more took in the same bedroom he had woken up in. His breathing was labored under the sheer grief he had just witnessed in that flash. Without another thought, he enveloped Liz in his arms. Feeling the slight shivers running through her body, he hugged tighter; his mind briefly remembering the time he had comforted her after her grandmother's death. The soft cries of that memory mixed with the gasping sobs of the flash compelled him to murmur in her ear, "I'm sorry."
To him the utterance was woefully inadequate. Not even his hellish confinement was enough penance. Not when he had failed to protect her. Afraid she would disappear, he tightened his hold around her, but she resisted.
Pushing against his chest, she met his dejected gaze. She stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes gleamed from barely held back tears. Regarding him for a moment her lips gradually curved up in a small, melancholic smile. She lightly shook her head. A soft huff escaped her, half laugh and half sob.
Roughly swiping at her eyes, she declared, "I missed you."
Her voice was husky, drawing him closer to her yet again. She was his alluring siren, calling out to his soul to be with her. His hands cupped her face, gently stroking her cheek. His own eyes stung as he confessed, "I
miss you."
Not wanting to waste one more moment, he brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was initially hesitant, but quickly became urgent and hungry with desire. Liz responded readily, accepting each kiss.
His hands slid under her top to pull her even closer. He felt her shift her legs so that their chests were fully touching. Eyes still closed, he lowered one hand to caress her bare thigh. His lips twitched in satisfaction at the little gasp she released. Lifting that same hand he gently cupped her head. Her ponytail was loosening; a tendril of her hair tickling his palm. The steady pressure of his hands cradling her lifted her bodily and removed any gap existing between them. For the moment they were one entity. Hardly taking a second to breathe, his kisses reached a desperate frenzy.
Even as his senses were taken over by carnal desire, he was aware of the thought that this fantasy would end. The warmth of her embrace would be replaced with the unrelenting coldness of his cell. Her form would fade from view-- dissipating into the monochromatic world of his bare existence. In these precious seconds he had with her he
would live one of the twelve life times he had promised her.
Hearing her ragged breaths, he broke away from her now bruised lips. Drinking in her tousled hair and hooded eyes a wave of heat spread through his body. She was ravishing. His tongue briefly darting out to wet his lips, he began to trail kisses down her neck. Hearing her soft moans, he smirked and continued his lust-filled path. Through his lips and tongue he relished her supple skin. Her head tipped back granting him more access to her neck. A faint mixture of vanilla, berries and sweat filled his nose. His mind drifted to the first literal and figurative steamy moment between him and Liz in the Crashdown’s back room. Just as he was back then, his inhibitions were gone replaced with his basest instinct: be with Liz.
Her arms rested against his lower back, hands seeking purchase on the waistband of his pants. The unspoken request of their placement set his heart racing and his chest began to heave in anticipation. Still feeling heavily intoxicated, he struggled to confirm that Liz was also ready. “Ah—Ar—Are you sure?”
“Are you?” She asked in a sultry tone.
He chose to answer with another lascivious kiss. Tugging slightly on her lower lip, he moved back to start removing his clothes. As his shirt covered his face, he momentarily paused with trepidation on what she would see— his muscles had long atrophied away behind the scars and burns marring his chest. Yet, no pitying gasp came.
Instead, Liz’s soft hands glided up his chest to push off the shirt. His eyes closed savoring the amorous touches. Memories of intimacy sprang to mind at her explorative movements. For a brief moment he almost believed he smelled the greasy Crashdown’s burgers and onion rings as he recalled the numerous stolen moments in the store room and break-room. But as Liz’s delicate fingers continued to travel upwards the Crashdown setting faded into several others: the secludedness of Michael’s apartment; the vinyl seating of his “new” used car; the cool night breeze as he treated Liz to a striptease at the pier; kneeling on a felt blanket in the cold and empty observatory. He stiffened at that last thought. He and Liz were never at the observatory together. But his mind insisted on recalling disjointed shots of him and Liz there—kneeling, undressing and exploring each other’s bodies. Perturbed at what the images suggested, he attempted to distance himself from Liz.
"--s-omething wrong?" Still in a passionate haze, Liz's question came out as a mere breath.
About to answer, the words died on Max's lips as Liz's silky brown hair flickered to blonde curls. "I--"
He visibly swallowed, his fears mounting. He turned his head to each side, only seeing the smooth walls of the observatory, a staircase to his right and the telescope in the distance. Looking once more at Liz, he saw alertness entering her eyes before he saw her image flicker once more into the porcelain skin and pale golden curls of Tess. He silently mouthed out the word,
how but a sudden rush of images interspersing Liz and him entangled on that soft blanket with that of him and Tess provided the devastating answer. Feeling as if he had been punched in the gut, he began to hyperventilate. It wasn't only that he had been tired of fighting. She had made him think— she had mind—
His mind stuttered as the truth became clear.
He was going to be sick.
In his haste to extricate himself from his current position, he abruptly pushed Liz aside and ran to the bathroom. He paid no heed to Liz’s calls or the door slamming behind him. Kneeling in front of the toilet he quickly emptied the meager contents of his stomach. Despite Isabel’s many attempts in this dreamscape, he hadn’t consumed much. As for his captors, who knew what they had managed to force feed him, be it through tube or IV. He shuddered briefly at that reminder, but his mind quickly returned to the disturbing revelation of the biggest regret of his life. Once more he coughed bile into the toilet. His body increasingly shook under the force of his expulsions.
Still reliving that night’s events, he felt the phantom touches on his arms and chest leading him to shut his eyes tightly in revulsion. The back of one hand roughly brushed any dribble from his mouth, his whole being filling with self-loathing. He had been weak. He had been so desperate to believe it, even when it didn't make sense. Tiredly, he pressed the flush and fell back from his kneeling position. Holding his head in his hands he continued to mentally berate himself. His own mind dredged up the fights with Liz at that time to remind him how despicable he was.
Those memories among others reiterated why he deserved his fate in the white room.
At that thought he pulled his knees closer to his chest. It was a familiar position of futility for comfort and safety. This haven was falling apart. He no longer took in the cool tiled surroundings of Liz’s bathroom. Rather, he believed he was once more surrounded by blinding white panels. Realizing his hands were currently unencumbered by restraints, he soon buried his head in his arms atop his knees. It was a meek attempt to block out the perpetual light and warm himself up.
Though he was alone for the moment, he knew that wouldn’t last long. Soon, the pain he felt would intensify to the point he begged for death. But he would always be brought back from the brink.
Any existence beyond his cell’s walls was a mere illusion—an illusion that was bound to break no matter how much he wished otherwise.
There was no one to return to. Being with Liz was only a dream that would never be realized.
He should have known better.