Hole Full of Light M/L (Teen) one-parter

[Queenie_Zan7]

Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell or associated characters. I do not own Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man.


A/N: Don't be afraid to tell me what you think. It's kind of dark and chaotic, not to mention short. I haven't written anything in a while but felt inspired by some free time. (finally! lol) Invisible Man is one of my all-time favorite books.

(Banner): http://s172.photobucket.com/albums/w38/ ... fLight.jpg
Title: Hole Full of Light
Summary: Liz's response to Max's season 2 betrayal with Tess. It's been a while so I'm not sure exactly which episode this should fit into.
Pairing: M/L but angtsy. More Liz-centric.
Rating: TEEN



She couldn’t see him in front of her. He blurred as something snapped in her brain. His touch burned, his consolations drawing bile in her throat, making her dizzy and ill. She staggered backwards stopping at the wall, praying something would keep her steady as her world crashed. A sharp pain intensified in her chest, spreading out to the rest of her body. Her palms ached with knife-like pain, and reality split into tiny pieces.

His lips were still moving. He was shaking her now. A frown sat between his eyebrows as he tried to regain her focus. She heard her name from outside of her body, lost to visions. Naked skin, sweaty fevered kisses, moans. His and hers. Perfect, pale, flawless. Curly hair, full body, laughter, smiles. She saw his bedroom. Their nest of calm there destroyed. Conversations swirled in her head—easy, fun, inspiring, open.

Not me. Not me.

The hall tilted as if on an axis, blurry left, blurry right. Sliding a careful hand along the wall, she tried to drag herself around him to the bathroom. It was as if he wasn’t there. Some force she couldn’t see pulled her back, grabbing at her clothes. Something clutched her wrist in a grip somehow firm and shaky all at once. Him. Yes, of course. She didn’t protest, didn’t even yank her hand forward as he tried to stop her movement. Her other hand dropped to the floor in front of her, grasping at the rough carpet hairs, gripping to propel her forward despite the hindrance.

Something moderately high pitched whirred through her head. She wanted to close her hands over her ears but couldn’t. He was screaming. Tortured shouts reached her ears for a brief few moments and she wanted to laugh hysterically. Oh, the irony. She must’ve laughed out loud, as the sounds suddenly increased in frequency. It was too much. Too much.

She stopped. Her head tilted back to meet the beige fibers. Her view changed to encompass the ceiling above her and she took in the swirling pattern absently, remarking internally on its similarity to her current state. Chaotic and, as she remembered her old bunk bed and through rough texture of the dips and points—full of pain. It was as if her eyeballs were swimming in her face. The screeching in her ears dulled. Dark shapes swam in and out of her sight, temporarily blocking her twin ceiling.

The images threatened to engulf her again but she pushed. Shut off her feelings, like a row of switches in a circuit breaker box, turning off all the lights in the building.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Black. She recalled a novel by Ralph Ellison from her 12th grade English class.

"My hole is warm and full of light. Yes, full of light. I doubt if there is a brighter spot in all New York than this hole of mine, and I do not exclude Broadway."
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