Intrinsic
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Roswell; no infringement intended. I also do not own the rights to Cristofori’s Dream by David Lanz.
Category: Max/Liz
Rating: Anywhere from YTEEN-ADULT
Summary: All of her life, Liz has been a dancer; an incredible one at that. At the age of 17 however, her perfect world comes crashing down around her with one life-altering event.
Max, Isabel, and Michael are still aliens
All conventional couples
Tess does not exist in this fiction
Set during their senior year
Author’s Note: I wrote this piece on a whim...please leave me feedback to let me know if I should continue. Grazie a tutto: ~*Pippa*~
She drifted gracefully over the polished hardwood floors, the silk covered platforms clacking melodiously with each movement. Her black leotard stood in sharp contrast to her milky skin, taunt around lean muscles as she effortlessly worked them to the tempo of Cristofori’s Dream. Her thick mahogany tresses were swept up into a tight bun, pinned carefully high on her head, making her face seem far more serious and severe than it ever should. She was in her own world, completely unaware of the mirrors and the faces that reflected off their lustrous surfaces. In her mind, the grand piano played without a companion, the keys compressing and releasing in time to the music in her head. Later, she would not be able to recall if someone was really playing, or if it were all just a figment of her imagination.
He watched her from the shadows of the studio entrance, as captivated by her as she was by the dance. His fingers encircled the doorframe and he drew his breath in silently, desperately afraid of breaking the eerie perfection of the moment. His gold-flecked eyes twinkled against the darkness, his heart beating faster with each step she took. He had seen every dance she’d ever performed and every one she had ever choreographed, but this one was new; this one was private. He stepped back slightly, feeling as though he was intruding on a personal moment between two lovers. In all of her other pieces, she consistently appeared strong, self-assured, and even courageous. But this dance revealed everything that she so desperately wanted to keep hidden. She became vulnerable, allowing the music to take a part of herself and tuck it in a corner of the pages, never to be hers again.
The music ended on a high C just as she dropped purposefully to the ground, bringing the dance to a crashing halt. She sighed audibly, holding her position for a long moment before slowly rising to her feet. It was then that he noticed the tears. The saline made reddened tracks down her pale cheeks, her hands making no attempt to wipe them away. She shakily walked over to the Barré and placed a thin hand on its worn surface as she methodically went through her stretches. She concentrated on the position of her arm; the way her elbow bent or her fingers arched. She paid attention to her leg, taking special care with the angle of her knee and the arch of her foot under the satin of her Pointe shoe. Never once did she look in the mirror.
He finally started to breath again when she left the Barré. He watched intently as she slowly unraveled the wide strips of pink silk from her ankles, letting the laces fall off to the sides carelessly. She slipped off on shoe and then the other, flexing her feet slowly, enjoying their freedom. She tied the laces in a bow carefully and then turned faded pink slippers over in her hands, examining each wear mark carefully. They were a diary of the last year, each imperfection telling a story of hard work, pain, defeat, and triumph. She smoothed her fingers over the suede soles, now black from overuse. They should have been discarded long ago, banished to the box in the attic where she kept all of her old ballet slippers. There were dozens of pairs in that plastic container, each one meticulously marked with the date she purchased them and the date she replaced them. On the inside, she would always note her biggest accomplishment in those particular shoes; one pair was from the first time she danced en Pointe, another credited with her breakthrough performance as the prima ballerina in Swan Lake. A close friend once asked if she kept a journal and she replied that she kept two: one for her mind and one for her heart.
She heard a soft shuffling in the doorway and looked up from the bag she was packing, shocked that there would be someone else in the studio this time of night.
“Max!” She exclaimed with surprise. “How…how long have you been here?” She questioned shakily, rubbing fiercely at her cheeks, trying to rid them of any signs of her private breakdown.
“Long enough to know that you lied to me,” he whispered tenderly, kneeling down to her level, gently removing her hand from her face and stroking at her damp eyes with his thumb. “You’re not okay, Liz.”
“I’m…sorry,” she managed out, struggling for some semblance of stability. “God, Max, I’m so sorry.”
She stood forcefully and pushed passed him, her sneakers sounding out of place as they pounded out of the studio. He rose to full height and stared after her for a moment, his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans. Sighing, he picked up her ballet slippers off the bench where they lay forgotten, sliding their silky façade through his fingers thoughtfully. Slowly he composed himself and jogged out into the blackness of the night, chasing after the one thing he could never bare to lose, and leaving hers behind.
Ciao bellas!
I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to get this part up...no it didn't take me THREE days to feed my neighbor's cat...I'd just gotten back from Italy for a few days and my parents decided to have our entire Italian-American family over for dinner...my family is so strange sometimes!!! I was supposed to head back to school on Tuesday, but we were hit with a snow storm, so here I am stuck in cold Boston with nothing better to do than write a lovely fan fiction for you amazing people!
A huge thanks goes out to all of you who left feedback, and to the lurkers out there as well (at least the ones I like to think have taken interest in my story!!!!!!!). This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Lindz...thank you so much for all your help...I think I know exactly where this is going now, *chica* lol...MARIA!!!! I will try to get out another part as soon as I get back to school (HOPEFULLY tonight at the latest) and before I have to to leave for my next horse show (early saturday morning...at worst, I'll write a part on my way to Florida...I think...god only knows!) Anyways, again it's short, but it should start to answer a few more questions!
~*Pippa*~
Intrinsic {M/L: YTEEN-ADULT} 6/1/05 [WIP]
Moderators: Anniepoo98, ISLANDGIRL5, truelovepooh, Forum Moderators
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ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
Intrinsic {M/L: YTEEN-ADULT} 6/1/05 [WIP]
Last edited by ChemChic on Tue May 31, 2005 11:22 pm, edited 6 times in total.
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker
-
ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
Part II
Thank you for the wonderful feedback. Here is part two. I understand that there are more than a few things that need to be clarified; some will be in this chapter and others won't. Do not expect other characters to appear for a while (if at all). This is really a fiction about Max and Liz, but others will be mentioned. I truly have no idea how long I want this to be...I guess I'll have to wait and see where my imagination takes me! Enjoy!
~*Pippa*~
P.S. If you have any questions about *anything* in this chapter, please don't hesitate to email me (tobasco_51@yahoo.com).
He found her just where he had expected; sitting on the swing set in the park where they played as children. She was moving slowly back and forth, a frail pendulum counting out the time she wasn’t sure she still had. Her bag was haphazardly discarded on the ground beside her, the gleaming white monogram seemed out of place in the staid onyx. The moon hung tiredly in the sky, looking down on them with sad eyes, the stars her lament to their situation. He approached her with a hidden trepidation, his soul aching from her earlier reaction to his presence. He desperately wanted to be her everything, just as he had been for years. But lately it seemed that everything simply was not enough. She needed something he could never give her. She needed to live.
He stood in the silvery scintillation, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. She knew he was there, but it was a deep-seated fear of her imagination that kept her from reaching out for him.
“Max, I think we need to talk,” she began, speaking to her shoes.
He quietly sat down on the swing to her right, and looked at her expectantly yet her eyes stayed pinned to the ground. They sat in utter silence for an infinite moment; the only sound passing between them was the rapid beating of their hearts.
“Liz, please tell me what’s happened to you. It’s making me sick to see you like this,” he pled earnestly, his voice interrupted by profound sadness.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she murmured meekly, her eyes finally meeting his.
She took a shuttering breath and finally allowed the tears to flow freely. Heavy sobs wracked her small frame, shaking him to the core. He stood swiftly and gathered her into his arms, carefully dropping to the sand and holding her tightly against his broad chest. He rained soothing, possessive kisses over the crown of her head, his hand gently working her hair free from the confines of the bun. He smoothed her cascades of umber with his fingers and whispered incoherently to her, trying his best to calm her. He tore his gaze away and allowed his eyes to be drawn into the sky. For the first time in his life, he wished he believed in god.
He felt her head pull away from his body and he immediately returned to her, his heart praying for an explanation, his mind wondering if he really wanted one at all.
“Max, do you remember that day in tenth grade that I fainted?” She questioned through subsiding tears.
He nodded, terrified to make a sound.
“There is something that I never told you; that I never told anyone,” she continued, absentmindedly playing with his sweater. “My mom took me to the emergency room that afternoon and the did an MRI and a SPEC scan. It turned out, Max, that I’d had a small stroke. After performing a few other tests, the neurologist sat us down in a small conference room and handed me a slew of information on Multiple Sclerosis…” she forced out nervously, fresh tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
“Mu…Multiple Sclerosis?” He faltered in absolute shock.
“For the last two years, they’ve controlled it successfully with a slew of medications used for all different types of autoimmune diseases.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I went to see my neurologist last week, Max, after having some routine lab work and without explanation, he sent me to a rheumatologist. My Antinuclear Antibodies came back at 1-10,000, which is dangerously high. They’ve diagnosed me with degenerative systemic lupus and tomorrow I start a new treatment called Cytoxan. Right now, this drug is my last resort. If it doesn’t work, Max…” her words fell away helplessly, shrinking back into the recesses of her frightened mind.
“What are you trying to say, Liz?” He asked slowly as a single drop of saline slipped silently down his cheek.
“Max, I’m dying.”
~*Pippa*~
P.S. If you have any questions about *anything* in this chapter, please don't hesitate to email me (tobasco_51@yahoo.com).
He found her just where he had expected; sitting on the swing set in the park where they played as children. She was moving slowly back and forth, a frail pendulum counting out the time she wasn’t sure she still had. Her bag was haphazardly discarded on the ground beside her, the gleaming white monogram seemed out of place in the staid onyx. The moon hung tiredly in the sky, looking down on them with sad eyes, the stars her lament to their situation. He approached her with a hidden trepidation, his soul aching from her earlier reaction to his presence. He desperately wanted to be her everything, just as he had been for years. But lately it seemed that everything simply was not enough. She needed something he could never give her. She needed to live.
He stood in the silvery scintillation, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. She knew he was there, but it was a deep-seated fear of her imagination that kept her from reaching out for him.
“Max, I think we need to talk,” she began, speaking to her shoes.
He quietly sat down on the swing to her right, and looked at her expectantly yet her eyes stayed pinned to the ground. They sat in utter silence for an infinite moment; the only sound passing between them was the rapid beating of their hearts.
“Liz, please tell me what’s happened to you. It’s making me sick to see you like this,” he pled earnestly, his voice interrupted by profound sadness.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she murmured meekly, her eyes finally meeting his.
She took a shuttering breath and finally allowed the tears to flow freely. Heavy sobs wracked her small frame, shaking him to the core. He stood swiftly and gathered her into his arms, carefully dropping to the sand and holding her tightly against his broad chest. He rained soothing, possessive kisses over the crown of her head, his hand gently working her hair free from the confines of the bun. He smoothed her cascades of umber with his fingers and whispered incoherently to her, trying his best to calm her. He tore his gaze away and allowed his eyes to be drawn into the sky. For the first time in his life, he wished he believed in god.
He felt her head pull away from his body and he immediately returned to her, his heart praying for an explanation, his mind wondering if he really wanted one at all.
“Max, do you remember that day in tenth grade that I fainted?” She questioned through subsiding tears.
He nodded, terrified to make a sound.
“There is something that I never told you; that I never told anyone,” she continued, absentmindedly playing with his sweater. “My mom took me to the emergency room that afternoon and the did an MRI and a SPEC scan. It turned out, Max, that I’d had a small stroke. After performing a few other tests, the neurologist sat us down in a small conference room and handed me a slew of information on Multiple Sclerosis…” she forced out nervously, fresh tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
“Mu…Multiple Sclerosis?” He faltered in absolute shock.
“For the last two years, they’ve controlled it successfully with a slew of medications used for all different types of autoimmune diseases.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I went to see my neurologist last week, Max, after having some routine lab work and without explanation, he sent me to a rheumatologist. My Antinuclear Antibodies came back at 1-10,000, which is dangerously high. They’ve diagnosed me with degenerative systemic lupus and tomorrow I start a new treatment called Cytoxan. Right now, this drug is my last resort. If it doesn’t work, Max…” her words fell away helplessly, shrinking back into the recesses of her frightened mind.
“What are you trying to say, Liz?” He asked slowly as a single drop of saline slipped silently down his cheek.
“Max, I’m dying.”
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker
-
ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
This part is a bit on the short side...I will have more later tonight. Sorry I didn't post sooner but I just got back from Roma on Friday and my parents had our traditional Sunday dinner (basically our entire Italian-American family shows up at our doorstep bearing homemade goodies and we have a huge food fest in our Italian room...yes, we actually built an addition JUST for family dinners...the only things in there are a wine rack and a table to seat 30!) We started eating at 1:45 and we finished about a half hour ago...let's just put it this way...I won't have to eat for another week! Anyways, I'm getting rather sidetracked...on with part III!
Ciao bellas!
~*Pippa*~
He was numb. Lying in the sheltered confines of his room, he desperately sought the security that it once provided, only to find a silence so empty and heartless that it was becoming impossible for him to breathe. He found a scrap of comfort in the blue-black darkness that engulfed his mind like a wet blanket, contouring to his broken thoughts and muffling his screams of anguish. His mind worked painstakingly over the last two hours, drawing a fleeting anger from deep within his heart. Two years she had been slipping away from him; two years, and he had no idea.
She sat stoically at her vanity, staring at her reflection, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the fatalistic street lamp outside her balcony. It was the first time since her appointment that she had really looked at herself. Her face was thin; hollower than she’d remembered, and the pallor of her skin was sickening. She seemed to herself merely more than a wisp of the imagination, about to be wished away from a melancholy dream. She ran a vain hand over her thick locks of chocolate, trying to grapple with her future. They would be gone soon, a casualty to the warfare that would soon take hold. She kept an agonizing vigil over the stranger in the looking glass, a bizarre need to protect the demure creature coming over her in droves. Her right mind knew that it was only she that needed asylum, but her soul refused to believe that she and this frightened child were one in the same.
A reverberation jarred him from the clutches of a violent sleep, throwing him recklessly back into an altered reality. Light poured in, a sliver of hope in a dying nation, broken by two thick, opaque shrouds. A familiar voice sounded over the haze, feeling far too normal for all that happened only hours ago.
“Max, honey, time to get up!” His mother called softly through the door.
“I’m up.” The sound of his own words surprised him, his mind wasn’t positive that he would be able to speak in the first place, let alone form a coherent idiom.
He rose and dressed with purpose, a primal need driving his every movement. He left without a word, slipping out into an existence he no longer understood.
Ciao bellas!
~*Pippa*~
He was numb. Lying in the sheltered confines of his room, he desperately sought the security that it once provided, only to find a silence so empty and heartless that it was becoming impossible for him to breathe. He found a scrap of comfort in the blue-black darkness that engulfed his mind like a wet blanket, contouring to his broken thoughts and muffling his screams of anguish. His mind worked painstakingly over the last two hours, drawing a fleeting anger from deep within his heart. Two years she had been slipping away from him; two years, and he had no idea.
She sat stoically at her vanity, staring at her reflection, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the fatalistic street lamp outside her balcony. It was the first time since her appointment that she had really looked at herself. Her face was thin; hollower than she’d remembered, and the pallor of her skin was sickening. She seemed to herself merely more than a wisp of the imagination, about to be wished away from a melancholy dream. She ran a vain hand over her thick locks of chocolate, trying to grapple with her future. They would be gone soon, a casualty to the warfare that would soon take hold. She kept an agonizing vigil over the stranger in the looking glass, a bizarre need to protect the demure creature coming over her in droves. Her right mind knew that it was only she that needed asylum, but her soul refused to believe that she and this frightened child were one in the same.
A reverberation jarred him from the clutches of a violent sleep, throwing him recklessly back into an altered reality. Light poured in, a sliver of hope in a dying nation, broken by two thick, opaque shrouds. A familiar voice sounded over the haze, feeling far too normal for all that happened only hours ago.
“Max, honey, time to get up!” His mother called softly through the door.
“I’m up.” The sound of his own words surprised him, his mind wasn’t positive that he would be able to speak in the first place, let alone form a coherent idiom.
He rose and dressed with purpose, a primal need driving his every movement. He left without a word, slipping out into an existence he no longer understood.
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker
-
ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
Ciao bellas!
I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to get this part up...no it didn't take me THREE days to feed my neighbor's cat...I'd just gotten back from Italy for a few days and my parents decided to have our entire Italian-American family over for dinner...my family is so strange sometimes!!! I was supposed to head back to school on Tuesday, but we were hit with a snow storm, so here I am stuck in cold Boston with nothing better to do than write a lovely fan fiction for you amazing people!
A huge thanks goes out to all of you who left feedback, and to the lurkers out there as well (at least the ones I like to think have taken interest in my story!!!!!!!). This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Lindz...thank you so much for all your help...I think I know exactly where this is going now, *chica* lol...MARIA!!!! I will try to get out another part as soon as I get back to school (HOPEFULLY tonight at the latest) and before I have to to leave for my next horse show (early saturday morning...at worst, I'll write a part on my way to Florida...I think...god only knows!) Anyways, again it's short, but it should start to answer a few more questions!
~*Pippa*~
Part III B
Everything about that drive felt painfully unfamiliar; it was as though each house had shifted slightly one way or another, and the curve of the street was more severe than he had remembered. Daybreak had drudged up storm clouds in its wake, painting an uncomfortable canvas of gray, disputing the eternal war between black and white. Each moment seemed drawn out into forever, the five minute drive became five billion years worth of timeless memories.
She watched him under shy bangs, looking up through her lashes and into a heartfelt oblivion, finding only pureness in the unearthly amber pools. He seemed a giant as he stood above her, staring down at her skinned knee with intense concern, far deeper than any eight year old should ever be able to hold. He dropped silently to her side and tenderly touched her face, as though he had done so countless times before. She sighed, breathing away his worries and inhaled his kind nature, proving what he already knew; he could trust this girl with his life and he was fully prepared to do so. Evenly keeping her gaze, his hand hovered over her wound and in seconds she could feel the warm radiance that emitted from his palm. Her soft countenance suggested that this action was no more obscure than breathing, that it was something intrinsic yet unique to this espresso-haired boy. He stood slowly, never letting go of her eyes and extended a hand towards her. She reached upward and gently grasped his hand, the same hand that healed her moments ago. He helped her to her feet, yet even a while after, her hand was still tucked within the safety of his, and he truly smiled for the first time in his life, knowing that it would always be there.
Though altered in his mind, the trip was still so automatic that he actually surprised himself when he came to a stop in the alley beside her apartment. He instinctively repeated an act he’d committed more times than he could possibly remember, lithely swinging his muscular frame over the ledge of her balcony. Her window was open, anticipating a spring that had not quite reached its sill. She was still asleep, her sepia hair splayed across her merlot pillow displaying a ghost more ashen than a china doll. She stirred as he entered, her mind recognizing his before her body could even register a note of the drab symphony about to become the day.
“Max?” She called out from beneath the veil of restlessness, the discolored morning haze alarming her tired eyes.
He moved to her bedside and dropped to his knees, his hand eagerly brushing stray wisps of hair from her pallid cheeks.
“Max, I really think I owe you an explanation,” she began hoarsely, reaching out from the folds of the blood red comforter and placing a clammy palm on his rough cheek.
He covered her tiny hand with his own and shook his head in earnest. “No Liz, you don’t. I realize now why you did what you did. If you told me, if you told anyone then it would be real. If you said that you had Multiple Sclerosis aloud, that would make it true. But by not saying a word, it was only some awful dream that you would eventually wake up from.”
She gazed at him intently, his words reaffirming why he was her best friend. Had it been anyone else, they would have resented her for her silence and rightfully so. Yet Max not only understood her mind, he understood her soul. She reached up for him and pulled him down against her burying her brow in the warmth of his understanding. A lifetime drifted pasted their entangled limbs, consciously skipping over them as to not disturb the fleeting nature of the moment. She felt him shift away slightly, only enough for his eyes to find hers. For an instant he appeared tragically lost, a clear coat of glaze muting the innumerable flecks of gold.
“Max, what is it?” She whispered knowingly, stroking his thick bangs from his forehead.
“There’s…there’s something I need to ask you, but before I say anything, I need you to promise that you will not make any decisions until I explain myself, okay?” He began nervously, desperately afraid of her reaction.
“Okay,” she replied simply, her gaze never losing faith in his.
“I want you to let me try and heal you. I don’t know if it will work completely or at all, but I want…no, I need to do this, Liz,” he begged, a single tear splashing down upon her cheek from his.
“Max I…”
I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to get this part up...no it didn't take me THREE days to feed my neighbor's cat...I'd just gotten back from Italy for a few days and my parents decided to have our entire Italian-American family over for dinner...my family is so strange sometimes!!! I was supposed to head back to school on Tuesday, but we were hit with a snow storm, so here I am stuck in cold Boston with nothing better to do than write a lovely fan fiction for you amazing people!
A huge thanks goes out to all of you who left feedback, and to the lurkers out there as well (at least the ones I like to think have taken interest in my story!!!!!!!). This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Lindz...thank you so much for all your help...I think I know exactly where this is going now, *chica* lol...MARIA!!!! I will try to get out another part as soon as I get back to school (HOPEFULLY tonight at the latest) and before I have to to leave for my next horse show (early saturday morning...at worst, I'll write a part on my way to Florida...I think...god only knows!) Anyways, again it's short, but it should start to answer a few more questions!
~*Pippa*~
Part III B
Everything about that drive felt painfully unfamiliar; it was as though each house had shifted slightly one way or another, and the curve of the street was more severe than he had remembered. Daybreak had drudged up storm clouds in its wake, painting an uncomfortable canvas of gray, disputing the eternal war between black and white. Each moment seemed drawn out into forever, the five minute drive became five billion years worth of timeless memories.
She watched him under shy bangs, looking up through her lashes and into a heartfelt oblivion, finding only pureness in the unearthly amber pools. He seemed a giant as he stood above her, staring down at her skinned knee with intense concern, far deeper than any eight year old should ever be able to hold. He dropped silently to her side and tenderly touched her face, as though he had done so countless times before. She sighed, breathing away his worries and inhaled his kind nature, proving what he already knew; he could trust this girl with his life and he was fully prepared to do so. Evenly keeping her gaze, his hand hovered over her wound and in seconds she could feel the warm radiance that emitted from his palm. Her soft countenance suggested that this action was no more obscure than breathing, that it was something intrinsic yet unique to this espresso-haired boy. He stood slowly, never letting go of her eyes and extended a hand towards her. She reached upward and gently grasped his hand, the same hand that healed her moments ago. He helped her to her feet, yet even a while after, her hand was still tucked within the safety of his, and he truly smiled for the first time in his life, knowing that it would always be there.
Though altered in his mind, the trip was still so automatic that he actually surprised himself when he came to a stop in the alley beside her apartment. He instinctively repeated an act he’d committed more times than he could possibly remember, lithely swinging his muscular frame over the ledge of her balcony. Her window was open, anticipating a spring that had not quite reached its sill. She was still asleep, her sepia hair splayed across her merlot pillow displaying a ghost more ashen than a china doll. She stirred as he entered, her mind recognizing his before her body could even register a note of the drab symphony about to become the day.
“Max?” She called out from beneath the veil of restlessness, the discolored morning haze alarming her tired eyes.
He moved to her bedside and dropped to his knees, his hand eagerly brushing stray wisps of hair from her pallid cheeks.
“Max, I really think I owe you an explanation,” she began hoarsely, reaching out from the folds of the blood red comforter and placing a clammy palm on his rough cheek.
He covered her tiny hand with his own and shook his head in earnest. “No Liz, you don’t. I realize now why you did what you did. If you told me, if you told anyone then it would be real. If you said that you had Multiple Sclerosis aloud, that would make it true. But by not saying a word, it was only some awful dream that you would eventually wake up from.”
She gazed at him intently, his words reaffirming why he was her best friend. Had it been anyone else, they would have resented her for her silence and rightfully so. Yet Max not only understood her mind, he understood her soul. She reached up for him and pulled him down against her burying her brow in the warmth of his understanding. A lifetime drifted pasted their entangled limbs, consciously skipping over them as to not disturb the fleeting nature of the moment. She felt him shift away slightly, only enough for his eyes to find hers. For an instant he appeared tragically lost, a clear coat of glaze muting the innumerable flecks of gold.
“Max, what is it?” She whispered knowingly, stroking his thick bangs from his forehead.
“There’s…there’s something I need to ask you, but before I say anything, I need you to promise that you will not make any decisions until I explain myself, okay?” He began nervously, desperately afraid of her reaction.
“Okay,” she replied simply, her gaze never losing faith in his.
“I want you to let me try and heal you. I don’t know if it will work completely or at all, but I want…no, I need to do this, Liz,” he begged, a single tear splashing down upon her cheek from his.
“Max I…”
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker
-
ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
Part IV and IV A
Ciao bellas!! I am so very sorry that it has taken me almost a month to update, but I've literally been all over the world in the last few weeks. I am huge into horseback riding and I've had some major competitions in europe and the USA, so I've been spending most of my time flying back and forth between the shows and school. Last weekend was my final weekend for the US until early summer, so that was really good, but I still have two in France, one in Sweeden, and another in Germany before I am OFFICIALLY done for the "season". I'm currently back at my boarding school (that should last for about a week!) which is nice, because I haven't seen my friends or my boyfriend for what seems like ages. Hopefully, I will have more written very, VERY soon...but I can't make any promises...I kept up on most of my work while I was away, but I still have a few primary exams to make up...oh, well at least it's my last year!!!!!!! So anyways...enough with the babbling...Here's parts IV and IV A. ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh, and as always....LEAVE FEEDBACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!!!!! okay...i'm done!
Part IV
“Max I…” she took a deep, shaky breath. “You’re not god,” she whispered in defeat, her eyes dropping away from his.
“I know,” he responded brokenly, his eyes reflecting a pain that no one person should have the capacity to experience. “But if I were to lose you, Liz, it would be no different than losing myself. Let me do this. If not for you, then at least for me.”
His words were met with a deafening silence, broken only by the rapid increase of her breathing. She opened her mouth to speak, but language betrayed her, only soft utterances of the most nonsensical nature passing her rose-petal lips. Making the slightest movement, she gave her consent, her lashes slipping over tired eyes in the most beautiful submission.
“Okay?” He questioned nervously, trailing his forefinger over her silken skin.
“Okay,” she responded in a breathless whisper, fresh tears obscuring the placid umber.
He moved with great trepidation, his hand inches away from her forehead when she suddenly wrapped fragile fingers around his broad wrist.
“What?” He asked slowly, his breath catching against his fears.
“Not now, Max. My mother will be in to wake me up in a few minutes,” she murmured, cupping his sculpted cheeks within demure palms. She concentrated on the minute features of his face for a long moment before drawing his forehead to her lips in the most innocently possessive of gestures.
They stayed motionless for some time, comforted by the simple notion of a mutual existence.
“Can I ask you to let me do one more thing?” His words crept through the staid demeanor of her bedroom, interrupting unintelligible thought.
“I can’t imagine saying yes to what I’ve just agreed to and denying you something else,” she speaks through an almost forced laugh.
“Can I come with you today? For my own peace of mind?” His voice was steady, but his tiger-flecked eyes were pleading.
A single drop of incredulity slipping over her porcelain skin was more of an answer than he ever could have hoped for.
“Thank you.” Two words that quickly became a mantra and a saving grace for a shriveling soul.
Part IV A
White belongs to the snow, and the clouds, and the raging ocean pouring over a radiant ocher shore. It had no place dominating every inch of every surface in sight. The muted florescent lights bounced mercilessly off of the starkness of the room, tarnishing his weary eyes. Even though this biting, bitter place was sarcastically tormenting him, he made a pact with it the moment he stepped through its doors: he and this place would reach a mutual agreement, not for the sake of his sanity, but for the life of the one person that could make any sense out of his mind. That despite his intense hatred towards this room, towards its keepers and its tools, he would form a partnership, an alliance with the system that would keep her forever in his arms. And so there he sat, staring out into never, fighting against emotions he could only bear to grapple with in the safety of utter darkness.
She watched passively as the whitewashed woman worked around her, tampering with bloated intravenous pouches and their sterile, spiraling tubes, tangled in superfluous bunches in her free hand. She quickly reached above the bed and dropped the two bags onto ominous hooks, and the diminutive brunette watched as they jiggled and shook against their captor, only to gradually settle in defeat. She was so mesmerized by the jaundice liquid that claimed to have the power to save her life that the sound of a woman’s voice simply did not register in her brain.
“Excuse me?” She managed, staring up at the stout woman with anxiety.
“I asked if you had an I.V. catheter?” The nurse repeated impatiently, looking down upon her with a strange mixture of sympathy and annoyance.
“N…no, they didn’t put one in for the Remicade,” she stumbled out meekly, wondering in vain why this woman made her so uncomfortable.
She nodded shortly, her overly processed blond hair not moving an inch. Taking up her hand, the nurse quickly set about preparing an I.V. Within two minutes, she found herself alone once more, watching everything, yet seeing nothing at all, and feeling her life literally dripping into her hand.
Part IV
“Max I…” she took a deep, shaky breath. “You’re not god,” she whispered in defeat, her eyes dropping away from his.
“I know,” he responded brokenly, his eyes reflecting a pain that no one person should have the capacity to experience. “But if I were to lose you, Liz, it would be no different than losing myself. Let me do this. If not for you, then at least for me.”
His words were met with a deafening silence, broken only by the rapid increase of her breathing. She opened her mouth to speak, but language betrayed her, only soft utterances of the most nonsensical nature passing her rose-petal lips. Making the slightest movement, she gave her consent, her lashes slipping over tired eyes in the most beautiful submission.
“Okay?” He questioned nervously, trailing his forefinger over her silken skin.
“Okay,” she responded in a breathless whisper, fresh tears obscuring the placid umber.
He moved with great trepidation, his hand inches away from her forehead when she suddenly wrapped fragile fingers around his broad wrist.
“What?” He asked slowly, his breath catching against his fears.
“Not now, Max. My mother will be in to wake me up in a few minutes,” she murmured, cupping his sculpted cheeks within demure palms. She concentrated on the minute features of his face for a long moment before drawing his forehead to her lips in the most innocently possessive of gestures.
They stayed motionless for some time, comforted by the simple notion of a mutual existence.
“Can I ask you to let me do one more thing?” His words crept through the staid demeanor of her bedroom, interrupting unintelligible thought.
“I can’t imagine saying yes to what I’ve just agreed to and denying you something else,” she speaks through an almost forced laugh.
“Can I come with you today? For my own peace of mind?” His voice was steady, but his tiger-flecked eyes were pleading.
A single drop of incredulity slipping over her porcelain skin was more of an answer than he ever could have hoped for.
“Thank you.” Two words that quickly became a mantra and a saving grace for a shriveling soul.
Part IV A
White belongs to the snow, and the clouds, and the raging ocean pouring over a radiant ocher shore. It had no place dominating every inch of every surface in sight. The muted florescent lights bounced mercilessly off of the starkness of the room, tarnishing his weary eyes. Even though this biting, bitter place was sarcastically tormenting him, he made a pact with it the moment he stepped through its doors: he and this place would reach a mutual agreement, not for the sake of his sanity, but for the life of the one person that could make any sense out of his mind. That despite his intense hatred towards this room, towards its keepers and its tools, he would form a partnership, an alliance with the system that would keep her forever in his arms. And so there he sat, staring out into never, fighting against emotions he could only bear to grapple with in the safety of utter darkness.
She watched passively as the whitewashed woman worked around her, tampering with bloated intravenous pouches and their sterile, spiraling tubes, tangled in superfluous bunches in her free hand. She quickly reached above the bed and dropped the two bags onto ominous hooks, and the diminutive brunette watched as they jiggled and shook against their captor, only to gradually settle in defeat. She was so mesmerized by the jaundice liquid that claimed to have the power to save her life that the sound of a woman’s voice simply did not register in her brain.
“Excuse me?” She managed, staring up at the stout woman with anxiety.
“I asked if you had an I.V. catheter?” The nurse repeated impatiently, looking down upon her with a strange mixture of sympathy and annoyance.
“N…no, they didn’t put one in for the Remicade,” she stumbled out meekly, wondering in vain why this woman made her so uncomfortable.
She nodded shortly, her overly processed blond hair not moving an inch. Taking up her hand, the nurse quickly set about preparing an I.V. Within two minutes, she found herself alone once more, watching everything, yet seeing nothing at all, and feeling her life literally dripping into her hand.
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker
-
ChemChic
- Enthusiastic Roswellian
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Thu Jan 06, 2005 6:59 pm
- Location: There's really somewhere else I'd rather be...
Ciao bellas!
I am so incredibly sorry that this took me so long to update...life has been rather hectic, shall we say. On the upside, my horses are doing incredibly well and our show season has been all that I could have hoped for...AND, I am now officially engaged!!!!!!!!!!!! (I've been with my fiancce since I was like five, so this is a pretty big deal) The wedding's not for four years (our families will not allow us to get married until we graduate from our undergraduate programmes), but the planning has already started! I should be able to start posting more regularly now that I've settled into my summer schedual, and I promise to have a new chapter of Porcelain up by June 8th.
Enjoy! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
The world passed by her in eccentric spurts of endlessly numbered days. Each sunrise seemed to drip into the next, and the darkness was forever encroaching the forgotten corners of her mind. Two weeks had vanished since she had painfully parted with the tortoise shell comb she so deeply loved. It now sat banished in the recesses of her vanity drawer, replaced by a scrap of silk from her grandmother’s favorite shawl. School seemed a distant memory, dusting the periphery of her dream swept thoughts, melding together all too smoothly with the surreal. The only thing that continued to hang on to lucidity was her intense passion for dancing. Even in her detached state, she would still find enough strength to draw the satin laces up her disintegrating calves and take refuge under the stars penetrating the milky blackness that hung over her balcony. There were days she managed to choke out a small portion of a familiar routine, and others that she could behrly fall through a few step before collapsing, but no matter how much grace had disappeared from her degenerating form, she exuded more fervor and dedication in each tiny movement than she ever had in her entire career. Of course, this was a secret that she was keeping between herself and the god she once believed in (and the very same one she now thought, with almost certainty, didn’t exist at all). They would stop her in an instant if They ever knew. They told her that as her body was healing, it was also slowing killing itself; They said that this private nation of hers would burry her life beneath its ruins unless she abandoned it before it fell from grace. She secretly hated Them. She hated Their reasons, and Their medicines, and Their words, and Their sympathetic eyes. She despised Them for taking away the one thing that made her forget; the one thing that was entirely hers. They held it high above Their towering heads, far above the reaches of her diminutive stature, promising all the while that They would return it to her when They saw fit. But this wasn’t Their life, it was hers, and at this point, They couldn’t even promise her that she would be alive long enough to have her passion returned to its rightful owner.
He shivered at her presence; he could feel her rising and falling above him, as in some intricate minuet with sleep. He stared up at the metal rungs set out over his head. They seemed in that moment more daunting than the summit of any mountain, and he found himself momentarily taken back by the notion. This was the night he had been waiting for. This was the night that would be the defining moment of his life. This cutout of time held in its hands two lives: one belonging to the most beautiful woman in his world, and the other to her most ardent admirer. In one sense, he almost wished that he could simply capture these few seconds and slip them in an unused corner of the universe so that he neither knew the result nor the aftermath that might arise. Yet for all of his powers, he could not control the one thing he most desired to, so he simply exhaled a breath he had been holding now for almost a lifetime and found himself tucking away his fears and slipping into her rapidly crumbling world.
The night crashed to a tangible silence as he penetrated the periphery of her microcosm. The dusted shadows draped over him, clinging to every inch of his being almost as though they were confused by his presence. He settled into the strangeness that had replaced the intense familiarity her room once held before he brought himself to look at her. An ashen doll lay still in a pool of silken blood; the crimson sheets interrupted by darkness seeming to have drawn out every droplet and left her the color of a snow dove hiding against the twilight of winter. The bed, once the perfect size for two, dwarfed her diminutive frame, enveloping her in a sea of reds and whites. He swallowed down an intense emotion that he could not quite name and moved cautiously to her side. The mattress sunk under his weight and she rolled towards him with great effort, her body seeking out his warmth even in sleep. He cradled her head against his lap and for the first time in his life he felt the full affect of what it meant to love and be loved by this tiny woman. A single tear spun from amber and devotion trickled peacefully over his caramel skin and fell languorously across her lashes, grabbing hold of her tattered mind and tugging it slowly from the clutches of a vapid dream.
“Max?” She questioned more out of common practice than curiosity.
“Shh, I’m here,” he murmured in reply, stroking her forehead intrinsically.
“Okay,” she whispered, relinquishing her entire being to his touch.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly, thumbing gently at her cheek.
She wearily complied, finding herself drawn into his mind almost instantaneously. Memories drenched every corner of her being, blanketed by a love so overwhelming she found it hard to breathe. A renewed sense of eternity fluttered by and she grabbed hold, desperately clinging to its threadbare predictions.
After a long moment, he rested his warm palm against her forehead, drawing on a strength he never realized he had.
She could feel him inside of her body, filling every crevice with his intense presence, gently touching upon each and every nerve, thumbing across each ganglion trying to find just the right ones. She let herself become utterly lost in the connection he formed with her, resting her thoughts within him in a silent prayer of an impossible redemption.
Time was of no meaning in the perpetuity that became their own, the night freezing in place, the stars hanging on baited breath, the moon paused in fourth position.
“Liz, I’m sorry,” he managed out over freshly forming tears.
“For what?” She questioned, her eyes reflecting his.
“I couldn’t…I couldn’t heal you. Not completely.” And he broke. Heaving, silent sobs wracked his intensely strong frame, his world quickly falling into tiny peaces around them.
“Max,” she whispered forcefully, desperately grappling for his attention. “Do you know what it means to me that you even tried? Do you know what it’s like to have the knowledge that someone loves you so much that they are willing to do anything to save you? Max, you love me so much that you are ready and willing to die if it means I would live. I could feel it in our connection; I can see it in your eyes,” she spoke with a provoked passion he no longer knew she could elicit from her withering frame. “Max, I love you more than you will ever know or understand. And just because you can’t fix me, in terms of speaking¸ doesn’t mean that I will love you any less. It’s just the opposite. What you just did for me…god, Max, I can’t explain what a profound notion…” She stammered out, so caught by her emotions she was unable to finish her thought.
She watched him carefully as his tears subsided; a distinct desire captivated the spaces in his eyes that had just held such sadness.
“Max,” she breathed, drawing him to her, his lips mere millimeters away from hers.
“No, Liz, we can’t do this,” he began hypocritically as he moves even closer to her.
“Do you love me?” She asked breathlessly already knowing the answer.
“More than anything,” he murmured, his resolve crumbling under her touch.
“Then make love to me,” she demanded, closing the gap between their lips and kissing him with every ounce of passion and strength she could muster.
I am so incredibly sorry that this took me so long to update...life has been rather hectic, shall we say. On the upside, my horses are doing incredibly well and our show season has been all that I could have hoped for...AND, I am now officially engaged!!!!!!!!!!!! (I've been with my fiancce since I was like five, so this is a pretty big deal) The wedding's not for four years (our families will not allow us to get married until we graduate from our undergraduate programmes), but the planning has already started! I should be able to start posting more regularly now that I've settled into my summer schedual, and I promise to have a new chapter of Porcelain up by June 8th.
Enjoy! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
The world passed by her in eccentric spurts of endlessly numbered days. Each sunrise seemed to drip into the next, and the darkness was forever encroaching the forgotten corners of her mind. Two weeks had vanished since she had painfully parted with the tortoise shell comb she so deeply loved. It now sat banished in the recesses of her vanity drawer, replaced by a scrap of silk from her grandmother’s favorite shawl. School seemed a distant memory, dusting the periphery of her dream swept thoughts, melding together all too smoothly with the surreal. The only thing that continued to hang on to lucidity was her intense passion for dancing. Even in her detached state, she would still find enough strength to draw the satin laces up her disintegrating calves and take refuge under the stars penetrating the milky blackness that hung over her balcony. There were days she managed to choke out a small portion of a familiar routine, and others that she could behrly fall through a few step before collapsing, but no matter how much grace had disappeared from her degenerating form, she exuded more fervor and dedication in each tiny movement than she ever had in her entire career. Of course, this was a secret that she was keeping between herself and the god she once believed in (and the very same one she now thought, with almost certainty, didn’t exist at all). They would stop her in an instant if They ever knew. They told her that as her body was healing, it was also slowing killing itself; They said that this private nation of hers would burry her life beneath its ruins unless she abandoned it before it fell from grace. She secretly hated Them. She hated Their reasons, and Their medicines, and Their words, and Their sympathetic eyes. She despised Them for taking away the one thing that made her forget; the one thing that was entirely hers. They held it high above Their towering heads, far above the reaches of her diminutive stature, promising all the while that They would return it to her when They saw fit. But this wasn’t Their life, it was hers, and at this point, They couldn’t even promise her that she would be alive long enough to have her passion returned to its rightful owner.
He shivered at her presence; he could feel her rising and falling above him, as in some intricate minuet with sleep. He stared up at the metal rungs set out over his head. They seemed in that moment more daunting than the summit of any mountain, and he found himself momentarily taken back by the notion. This was the night he had been waiting for. This was the night that would be the defining moment of his life. This cutout of time held in its hands two lives: one belonging to the most beautiful woman in his world, and the other to her most ardent admirer. In one sense, he almost wished that he could simply capture these few seconds and slip them in an unused corner of the universe so that he neither knew the result nor the aftermath that might arise. Yet for all of his powers, he could not control the one thing he most desired to, so he simply exhaled a breath he had been holding now for almost a lifetime and found himself tucking away his fears and slipping into her rapidly crumbling world.
The night crashed to a tangible silence as he penetrated the periphery of her microcosm. The dusted shadows draped over him, clinging to every inch of his being almost as though they were confused by his presence. He settled into the strangeness that had replaced the intense familiarity her room once held before he brought himself to look at her. An ashen doll lay still in a pool of silken blood; the crimson sheets interrupted by darkness seeming to have drawn out every droplet and left her the color of a snow dove hiding against the twilight of winter. The bed, once the perfect size for two, dwarfed her diminutive frame, enveloping her in a sea of reds and whites. He swallowed down an intense emotion that he could not quite name and moved cautiously to her side. The mattress sunk under his weight and she rolled towards him with great effort, her body seeking out his warmth even in sleep. He cradled her head against his lap and for the first time in his life he felt the full affect of what it meant to love and be loved by this tiny woman. A single tear spun from amber and devotion trickled peacefully over his caramel skin and fell languorously across her lashes, grabbing hold of her tattered mind and tugging it slowly from the clutches of a vapid dream.
“Max?” She questioned more out of common practice than curiosity.
“Shh, I’m here,” he murmured in reply, stroking her forehead intrinsically.
“Okay,” she whispered, relinquishing her entire being to his touch.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly, thumbing gently at her cheek.
She wearily complied, finding herself drawn into his mind almost instantaneously. Memories drenched every corner of her being, blanketed by a love so overwhelming she found it hard to breathe. A renewed sense of eternity fluttered by and she grabbed hold, desperately clinging to its threadbare predictions.
After a long moment, he rested his warm palm against her forehead, drawing on a strength he never realized he had.
She could feel him inside of her body, filling every crevice with his intense presence, gently touching upon each and every nerve, thumbing across each ganglion trying to find just the right ones. She let herself become utterly lost in the connection he formed with her, resting her thoughts within him in a silent prayer of an impossible redemption.
Time was of no meaning in the perpetuity that became their own, the night freezing in place, the stars hanging on baited breath, the moon paused in fourth position.
“Liz, I’m sorry,” he managed out over freshly forming tears.
“For what?” She questioned, her eyes reflecting his.
“I couldn’t…I couldn’t heal you. Not completely.” And he broke. Heaving, silent sobs wracked his intensely strong frame, his world quickly falling into tiny peaces around them.
“Max,” she whispered forcefully, desperately grappling for his attention. “Do you know what it means to me that you even tried? Do you know what it’s like to have the knowledge that someone loves you so much that they are willing to do anything to save you? Max, you love me so much that you are ready and willing to die if it means I would live. I could feel it in our connection; I can see it in your eyes,” she spoke with a provoked passion he no longer knew she could elicit from her withering frame. “Max, I love you more than you will ever know or understand. And just because you can’t fix me, in terms of speaking¸ doesn’t mean that I will love you any less. It’s just the opposite. What you just did for me…god, Max, I can’t explain what a profound notion…” She stammered out, so caught by her emotions she was unable to finish her thought.
She watched him carefully as his tears subsided; a distinct desire captivated the spaces in his eyes that had just held such sadness.
“Max,” she breathed, drawing him to her, his lips mere millimeters away from hers.
“No, Liz, we can’t do this,” he began hypocritically as he moves even closer to her.
“Do you love me?” She asked breathlessly already knowing the answer.
“More than anything,” he murmured, his resolve crumbling under her touch.
“Then make love to me,” she demanded, closing the gap between their lips and kissing him with every ounce of passion and strength she could muster.
"It's like...chemical" ~ Liz Parker