Beautiful banner by RoswellOracle
Title: Every Tear a Waterfall Unseen
Couple: L/Z, M/L
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: Challenge for Roswell Inferno, Pride
I messed with the timeline a little, because I can
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Sitting at the kitchen table she stares at the calendar on the fridge, today’s date seems to leap off the page, the numbers swell and curl as if they’re alive pulling her deeper past the point of rational thinking.
It doesn’t seem real, it never does until it’s actually here, it amazes her how fast a year goes by.
The kids are at sleepovers, their pictures, smiling happily with their father are plastered everywhere around the house.
One in particular is secured by a magnet directly in her eyeline.
It was taken on mother’s day, her family of three is huddled together with flowers meant for her.
She waits to see if she feels any sense of guilt for what she is about to do, but like always, nothing comes.
Breathing out harshly she gets up from the table, she has things to do, to prepare, time is growing near.
Stepping in the shower she tries to calm her racing heart, but she knows it's a losing battle, truth be told that’s another reason she craves this night.
Months, days, minutes go by, counting down to this moment, finally it’s here.
It’s the one night she gets a break from being the dutiful wife and mother to near perfection, but it really has nothing to do with that at all.
She loves her family, it shows in everything that she does, how dedicated she is to tending to their needs, being supportive and loving to her husband and children in ways that most others wouldn’t.
Her husband is wonderful, he has his share of imperfections just like anyone else, but compared to most she really is very lucky, and she knows it.
He’s an excellent provider, although she’s never needed financial support due to her flourishing career working in forensics, an interest she developed due to the devastating loss of a dear friend who was murdered years ago, and a lifelong love of Science.
The dark haired man that shares her life is compassionate and kind. He works hard at their marriage, bringing flowers home for no reason, cooking breakfast on Sunday mornings, being an attentive and tender lover.
No one can say he hasn’t tried hard at keeping the romance alive over the years, she takes notice of that, and appreciates the effort, but in the back of her mind she knows there really is no comparison.
He’s an excellent father to their two children; Violet, their three year girl and Tate, their boy of five, both adopted as babies, just to be safe.
This was his idea, always thinking ahead, ever the responsible one, fearing what a hybrid alien fetus would do to a human uterus.
The kids are true gifts, little precious gems that bestow upon them endless waves of love and affection filled with childlike wonder that always seems to take her by surprise.
It’s all too perfect though, something about it isn’t quite right, something about the past being washed away doesn’t ring true for her, it’s as if she’s made it all too easy for him.
He kisses her each morning and goes off to work as if nothing has ever happened.
He believes he’s made amends for her pain, and never looks back.
Unfortunately for her, his selfishness and betrayal is still very much alive, like a living breathing entity that refuses to die.
Whether it has to do with the lengths at which she went to protect him; breaking the law, risking her life on more than one occasion, lying to her parents to the point where her father no longer trusted her, saving her virginity, only to have him fuck the blonde assassin, resulting in a baby, for which she went on to search for and protect, or the death of Alex, an innocent, a friend, a wasted beautiful life that was ripped away she does not know.
Still the years march on, and in retrospect her life turned out very much the way she dreamed it would be as a little girl writing in her journal on her balcony every night.
Violet has started preschool, Tate is busy with soccer, they go out almost every Saturday night, dinner and a movie, it’s all quite close to perfect, but not really, not really at all.
She’s content, happy most days, she knows that in this world of unfortunate, unlucky people she has much to be grateful for.
To anyone, this life, this husband, the kids, and their beautiful home would be enough, but inside it still stings, like a tiny sharp needle picking at her brain.
He believes that everything is long behind them, that he has been forgiven for his choices, that were his and his alone.
She wants it that way, refusing to let him know that it still burns, that the name Tess still lives on somewhere scarred and hardened inside her, unresolved and very much real, it’s a wound that lies open, bloody, deep and very much raw.
She let her hair grow over the past six months, he likes it long wild and messy, secretly so does she.
She stands beneath the steamy hot spray in the shower, it’s there, naked priming herself for him she realizes how bad she needs this.
Some may find it hard to understand, but she wouldn’t care, she’s been through hell and back, and for her, this transgression, this outright sin, is deserved even owed, because that wound stays open, and bloody and deep and very much raw.
She sits at her vanity applying her make up, none of which she usually wears, but again she wants too look special tonight. Smokey eyes, pale lips, she smiles at the stranger looking back at her, loving how different she appears.
Bringing her face close to the mirror she stares at herself, accusations come to mind, words that she knows her so called friends and neighbors would call her behind her back if they knew.
Slut, whore, selfish bitch - sure they wouldn’t say it aloud, but it would be passed along in hushed tones, juicy gossip, the sacrificial lamb of the month, or however long it would take before someone else in their circle showed a flaw, acted as a normal human being with frailties. It’s what they live for, what they feed on, fodder for the cattle.
Her raven hair is long and sleek, pin point straight, and sexy as hell.
She gazes at the outfit she bought in the next town over and grins mischievously, no not tonight.
Reaching for a lacy black bra, and a short black flared mini skirt, she twists and turns in the full length mirror happy that she reconsidered her apparel for the night.
Pushing past boxes in her closet she pulls out a bag, inside a pair of black stilettos, she begins to feel it more, a sense of entitlement, that part of herself that she lost so long ago, because that wound is still so bloody and deep and ever so raw.
Pushing open french doors leading to the balcony of the master bedroom, she’s inundated by a sense of freedom as if she’s shedding her skin revealing her true self inside.
Taking a deep breath she looks up to the starless night, she can smell the rain in the air, her teeth sink down onto her bottom lip as stormy winds pick up rushing over her bare skin making her feel alive.
She’s starting to feel like herself again, the one that lies dormant and deep three hundred and fifty nine days of the year.
She can hear it screaming to her sometimes, but mostly it comes in distant echoes as she lays in bed waiting for sleep to come.
It crawls up her spine quietly during chaotic family dinners, she zones out as her family talks of their day, no one notices, or maybe they do and chose to ignore what’s playing out in front of them, too afraid of the truth.
Her husband believes he’s given her everything, that she lacks for nothing in her safe suburban life, he is confident that they are happy, that he is forgiven, but it’s very clear that the wounds are still there, bloody and deep and very much raw.
Tilting her head back she sprays a mist of perfume far too expensive for anyone to know about, it falls like sweet petals over the hollow of her throat down between her breasts.
It sings of sin, of lust, of wanton sex, still, she doesn’t feel dirty, or wrong, she doesn’t really feel anything at all.
She lives restrained, gagged, silenced as months, days, even minutes that tick by in her perfectly average, perfectly safe, perfectly predictable life.
Wide fiery eyes lift waiting patiently to the skies, to the dark woods bordering the identical swing set and patio furniture that sit in every backyard of the clean manicured green lawns on their block.
A ripple of anxiety skips across her mind, she looks around her bedroom making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything, nothing can ruin this night, she won’t let it.
A wave of emotion hits her when she sees it on her nightstand, but she quickly wills it away.
Lifting the framed picture of her husband she drifts her fingertip over his features.
His wide gentle smile lifts with certainty looking back at her, eyes as warm and inviting as the sun reflects his gentle soul.
He’s perfect in everyone’s eyes, devoted father, loving husband, but no one knows of the past, and the wounds that lie open bloody and deep and ever so raw.
Some say that the past is the past, but it isn’t, not really, because it’s yesterday, it’s five minutes ago, it’s right now. It’s as real and new as the breath you are taking in as you read this.
Those who don’t believe what I say are just fooling themselves, lies told to trick a broken heart, but she is no fool, never has been, never will be.
The relevance of what she has is not lost on her, not for three hundred and fifty nine days of the year, not since they met so long ago at her father’s diner, not since he placed his hands upon her.
What a world this would be if only emotional wounds were that easy to mend, because hers are still very bloody and deep and ever so raw.
Flipping the photo over, lying it flat on her nightstand, he is forgotten for this one night.
I can feel you judging her now, I know all your arguments all too well.
He was just a boy, a confused kindhearted soul, who never set out to hurt anyone.
He was traumatized by an extraterrestrial past that no human could conceive of, with the weight of many worlds thrust upon his shoulders, and an alien queen whose agenda was to manipulate and control him.
He got down on his knees, cried, told her he was wrong.
Most of all, in the end, he never strayed, never fled, stayed loyal, and kind, in his mind forever wed.
These arguments were enough to convince a teenage girl into marriage, into a life that promised all the things she ever wanted, but still even now those same wounds remain open and bloody so inconceivably deep and very fucking raw.
In the beginning she felt guilty, but then thoughts of Alex would wake her up to the fact that actions have consequences, none of which she felt he suffered, not really that much, not at all.
It was the poet Yeats that wrote, ‘Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.’
Maybe that’s what happened to her so long ago, maybe her heart was made hard, and cold as a stone, maybe it was all his fault, or not at all, she really did not know.
She still remembered when the stranger came to her balcony, so many years ago.
He was smart, cunning, on his game from living on the streets, surviving on his wits, he knew just when to strike, when to collect his prize.
Rumors found their way to him, betrayal, the pregnant blonde, even he wondered how the perfect boy could fuck up so bad, could throw away the girl that sacrificed everything, that risked her life, that gave it all to him.
She still recalled the dupe stepping through her window as if he owned the place, as if he was coming to claim what was rightfully his.
She saw right through him, she knew of him, the twin from New York City.
Too stricken by grief for formalities, or polite banter, she got right to the point.
“I thought you were dead.”
Smirking his ego practically jumped off his sexy tattooed muscular toned body.
“As if it would be that easy, as if they would succeed, I am far more powerful that your boyfriend you know, the true King, the real - ”
Holding her hand up wearily, she stopped him right there.
“If you want to stay, you need to cut that shit out, I’ve really had enough of alien talk for one lifetime, and by the way, he’s not my boyfriend anymore, but something tells me you already knew that.”
Shrugging, he saw the pain and bitterness lift from her eyes as she glared up at him, unafraid.
Realizing it would take more than a few clever lines, and a sexy glint in his eye to take her away, he did his best with what he had.
He spoke of long travels to see her, of admiring her from afar, respecting her loyalty, and devotion to a boy who ultimately threw it all away.
He worked hard to hide who he truly was, to manipulate her, to woo her, to make her love him like she did that boy.
“Heard he knocked her up, and without even fuck-, I-I mean... making love to you first I hear, a sweet little virgin who saved herself for him.”
She realized then that he was not the lost boy that betrayed her, but Peter Pan himself, a narcissistic, selfish charmer who refused to grow up, or play by the rules, or more to the point took pleasure in breaking them.
“If you were mine darlin’… if you were mine I’d never let you go. Never stray, never betray you. I’ve waited, and watched, I know what you need, what you want. I can be that, I can give you everything he promised and more. Just come with me tonight and let me show you.”
They were leaving in the morning, the three of them, the boy king, the tarnished queen, and the unborn baby boy, back to the world he suddenly cared so much about, far away from her, forever, for good.
She gazed at the necklace he gave her in the jeep, and felt the stab of that wound so bloody, growing very, very deep, and agonizingly raw.
She thought about her virginity that she held onto so tight, that was meant for him, and him alone.
It was then that she realized that what she thought was that she really didn’t want to think about anything anymore, anything at all.
Before she knew it her arms were wrapped around his waist, they were headed away from town, from the people he was leaving behind, ones who gave up everything to save him.
His bike took her out to the desert where everything is barren, a vast wasteland that mirrored her heart.
It was there that he took her along with her innocence, on a blanket in the dirt alone in the dark.
He was everything foreign to her, his touch was rough and demanding, the pleasure he gave blinding, beyond description.
She felt it then, a connection, a knowing that this boy, wanting her, needing her, was real, even if he had no idea how to execute the very idea.
“You are mine.”
Glaring up at the stars that seemed so different now, she shook her head replying somberly.
“No, I’m not.”
Anger flickered in his hard stare as he curled a strong hand around her throat bringing her close, using the only tact in his arsenal, intimidation and fear.
“You realize I can take your life before your next breath as easily as snapping a twig beneath my boot.”
Boneless and weak from the act itself, which was impatient, dirty, rushed, and mind blowing, her speech was slow to release, calm, surprisingly soft in tone.
“So kill me, it won’t make a difference. I belong to myself now, my life is my own. I will never make that mistake again. So go ahead crush me beneath your boot, take my life, it will still be mine in the end.”
Reeling back he released her, shocked by her boldness, her complete lack of fear, the staggering, bewildering truth of it all.
It made him want her more, it made him want to follow her to the ends of the Earth, to wait forever, to be at her beck and call, to never let her go.
“You will change your mind someday.”
Grabbing her clothes, she quickly dressed and asked to go home.
They rode home in silence, forever changed in completely different ways, both lost in a moment that neither of them saw coming.
“So where does that leave us, it can’t end here, we both know that. I’m a part of you now, whether you like it or not.”
In the days to come she would reunite with her true love, choosing to look past all the hurt and pain, but wounds were still bloody and deep and painfully raw.
The dupe came to her again, refusing to let her go, and that’s when she felt it, a tiny spark, a little glow.
It was her Pride, hidden down deep inside, once shattered, shredded, left to decay suddenly burst through like a blossoming seed.
“My life is with him now.”
Growling he punched her wall, furious, the petulant insecure boy had been abandoned once again.
Rage flew from his mouth, as always not thinking of how it would come out on the other end.
“So you risk your life, give everything to him, he goes off and fucks that bitch, knocks her up, the same whore that killed your friend, and all’s good?”
As messed up as his little tyrant was, he had a point, it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair.
Sitting with him on her bed she held his bloody knuckles, as he milked his injury for all it was worth.
Rolling her eyes she needed him to know she wasn’t some wide eyed naive child.
“You can stop now, I know you’re perfectly capable of healing yourself.”
Sighing he passed his hand quickly over his cuts while gazing into her sad eyes, his heart already stolen.
“I’m going to come for you, I won’t stop, not ever, you can push me away forever, I’ll never stop trying.”
That summer they frequently saw each other, always in the desert, always in secret, until her boy, the one she had waited for, asked for her hand in marriage.
She knew her dupe wouldn’t quit her, and in a way she didn’t want to cut him out of her life either.
He gave her something that no one else could, that thing that was shredded, stripped, ripped apart because of that wound that was so bloody, and deep and ever so raw.
So a deal was hammered out, once a year they would meet, he’d come for her, make her feel, make her whole, putting that little piece back right where it belonged.