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Part 42
I spent the last few days driving to Roswell. And I spent the last few nights crying over what I’d left behind in Seattle.
I’m in New Mexico now. To be more exact, I’m standing about two yards away from the “Welcome to Roswell” sign. And I just can’t get myself to go past it.
Before I left Seattle, I was so sure that I was looking forward to this…to coming home…to seeing my family, my friends. That this would make the pain of leaving worthwhile.
Now I just want to turn around and drive all the way back to Seattle…to Alec…to my room at Joshua’s…to the cold and the rain and the wind. The sun is shining here, and I just hate it.
I’m filled with dread and trepidation, and I just don’t know why. Driving into Roswell…I just can’t do it. It’s too final. Once I’m there, that’s it. Seattle will be in the past. And right now, I just can’t face that. I don’t want my life there to be over. I don’t want my relationship with Alec to be over.
I can’t stop thinking about the last few hours we spent together. It’s like an infinite loop in my brain, playing out in front of my inner eye again and again and again.
We didn’t sleep that night. At all. We didn’t do much of anything, actually, that didn’t involve naked, sweaty bodies sliding against each other. Our last hours together were much too precious to waste with something as mundane as sleep.
I needed to feel him, all the time. My hands in his hair, his lips on my skin. I couldn’t stop touching him. I couldn’t stop wanting him. No matter how often we made love, I always craved more. I just couldn’t get enough of him, of his smell, of the way his skin felt under my touch…hot and damp and smooth and oh so seductive. I couldn’t get enough of the way he felt inside me.
Morning came much too quickly, and somewhere around that time even I reached the point where I was too exhausted to keep up the endless cycle of lovemaking and touching and kissing and more lovemaking.
We just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, bodies pressed against each other, watching the traitorous rays of light that filtered in through the blinds creeping up the walls. Not that the sun was shining or anything. It wouldn’t have dared. Not on my last day in Seattle. Not the one time I craved clouds and wind and rain to match my misery.
We just lay there, clinging to each other, trying to make the most of the last moments we had together, hating every second that passed because it meant being yet again a step closer to goodbye.
I delayed my departure as long as possible. The mere thought of leaving was unbearable, like a knife twisting in my gut.
I realized that I was a complete mess once I actually managed to leave Alec’s bed…Alec’s arms. I was sweaty, my hair looked like a rats nest and my make-up was all over the place.
So we took a shower. It gave us a few precious extra minutes to spend together, to spend touching each other, committing the other’s body to memory. I savored every minute of it. Of Alec’s hands slowly gliding over my body, taking his time washing away the outside signs of the night we’d spent together. Of my hands exploring Alec’s hard chest and strong arms one last time. Of the sight of Alec, wet and naked and oh so sexy.
Despite all the touching and the nudity, there was nothing sexual about the shower. Maybe that’s why it felt so very intimate.
We stayed in the shower much longer than necessary, despite the fact that the water was barely even lukewarm. I just didn’t want to leave, and Alec didn’t seem in any kind of hurry either.
But I had to leave at some point.
I’d packed the rest of my stuff the day before, just like I’d already said goodbye to Joshua. Since Michael had taken most of my stuff with him to Roswell, I could fit everything I still had in Seattle into the compartment under the seat of my bike.
I’d left the motorcycle outside, even though- okay, that’s a lie. I left it outside because it could so easily be stolen there. If the bike was gone the next day, I would take it as a sign from above that I should stay in Seattle. I was praying for grand theft the whole night.
My heart sank when I stepped out of Alec’s apartment building and it was still there, exactly where I’d left it the evening before. It didn’t even have a scratch. So much for my sign from above.
Alec was right behind me, his hand on the small of my back. He hadn’t stopped touching me since we started dancing the night before. I crammed my things into the compartment under my seat.
And then I turned around and looked at Alec and the reality of it all just crashed into me. Looking back, I’m surprised that my knees didn’t give out. I’m even more surprised that I managed not to burst into tears. God knows I felt like it.
But I didn’t want my very last moment with Alec to involve tears. I wanted it to be something I could maybe one day remember with a smile on my lips. Not that I think that I’ll ever get to that point. The mere thought of it makes me feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. I’ve done nothing but cry ever since I left Seattle. I can’t even count the times I had to take a break from driving simply because my tears were blinding me, again.
But maybe…someday…one day…I’ll remember our goodbye with nothing worse than a bittersweet kind of yearning instead of the gut-wrenching heartache it comes with right now.
That last fierce hug. The last kiss. My lips were quivering so badly. I had to fight so hard to keep the tears from breaking free. The last time he smiled at me, trying to mask how miserable he was. Me smiling back, equally miserable. His last whispered words, telling me to take care.
There was so much I wanted to say to him. That I loved him. That I already missed him. That I’d never forget him. That our time together would always have a special place in my heart. That he was the most amazing person I’d ever met in my whole life.
But no words got past the lump in my throat. And so I just nodded, giving him a crooked smile that came out more like a grimace. That last time I looked at his face…
Damn it. Here I go again. Why can’t I just stop crying for an hour or two? Ten minutes at least? This needs to stop. It’s not healthy. I doubt it’s even in the periphery of normal. I need to adjust myself to the fact that I’m back in Roswell, and this just won’t do.
Now I’m determined. I wipe away my tears, get on my bike and start it. And then…I just sit there. I feel like there’s an invisible wall between me and Roswell and I just can’t get past it.
And then it hits me. This isn’t about letting go of my life in Seattle. It’s about facing my demons here. Until now, I was so preoccupied with what it would mean to leave Seattle that I never thought about what it would mean to come back to Roswell.
Am I really ready to face Max again? Definitely not. I think I might just kill him if I happened to run into him right now. And what about Sean? Another no. I really trampled all over the poor guy. I have no idea how to act when I meet him again, how to make up for what I did to him.
And Alex…my sweet, loveable, dependable Alex. How will I stand being back in Roswell where everything reminds me of him? How will I ever come to terms with the fact that he was killed, and that my actions, my decisions only ever made that possible?
What about my parents? Maria? Kyle? Everybody? I can only imagine the rumors making the rounds, running rampant all over town no doubt.
I’m not ready for this. I’m not prepared to see any of the people here again, least of all my friends. And what about my parents? They’ll want an explanation. I’ll need to tell them something. I don’t have a clue what exactly I should tell them.
Shit. Why didn’t I think about this stuff while I was driving to Roswell? Oh right. Too busy crying. Seriously, one of these days I’ll need to get my priorities straight.
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I feel like a thief sneaking into my own home, dressed in black, trying hard to avoid any and all sounds.
It took me four more hours until I finally managed to drive into Roswell. The fact that it was dark by then helped matters considerably. I avoided the main streets, taking back roads and alleys instead. Not that anybody would have recognized me. Who would expect the leather-clad figure driving a motorcycle to be perfect little Liz Parker?
I parked my bike outside the back door of the Crashdown, making sure that it wasn’t visible from Main Street should anybody happen to glance this way. And then I took a deep breath and snuck into the café.
Everything is silent here. It’s past closing time. But there’s still a light on in the café, and so tiptoe over to the door and peek through its diamond-shaped window to take a look.
My father is sitting at one of the tables, working. He looks…I don’t know, older somehow. Tired. Drawn. Guilt overwhelms me. Did I do that?
Tears spring to my eyes, and for the first time in days they’re not about Alec. I can’t believe what I put my parents through. They must have been sick with worry over me. I should have found another way. I should have found a way to deal with my powers that didn’t mean sending my parents through hell.
And suddenly the decision of what to tell them is incredibly simple. The truth. I owe them that after everything I did to them. And it’s the only way they might ever understand why I felt that I had to do what I did, the only way they might ever be able to forgive me.
I push open the door, step into the café. “Hi dad.”
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He’s so startled he almost falls off his chair. He just stares at me for a moment, blinking as if to make sure that I’m really there. Then he leaps up, sending his chair flying, runs across the room and wraps me into his arms in a tight, fierce hug.
“Lizzie,” he keeps whispering over and over again. “My little girl…you’re home.”
Then the door behind me is pushed open and my mom walks in. “Jeff, what was that noi-” She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me and just stares at me. Then she surprises me by bursting into tears.
Dad releases me from his iron grip.
“Oh God, mom, mom don’t cry. Please. It’s okay.” She pulls me into her arms just like dad did, her grip even fiercer than his. She’s sobbing, and nothing I say or do seems to make any kind of difference.
I send a helpless glance at my father and after a few minutes, he manages to pull my mother off me.
I take a deep breath. “Let’s go upstairs and talk,” I suggest. “I owe you an explanation.”
Here goes nothing. Or everything.
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