Title: Facing Fears
Author: Jenn
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Summary: sequel to Secret past which can be found at http://jennsplace.envy.nu/sp.html
Maria has come back to Roswell after being raised by her abusive father.
Disclaimer: nothing is mine!
"I broke up with Isabel," Michael said, smiling at me. He moved closer, his arms finding my waist. I felt like I was going to collapse right there and then. My mouth widened into a huge grin, but it slowly faded as he brought his lips to mine. I had been dreaming of this since the first time he kissed me, heck, since the first time I met him.
We held each other close. And suddenly the scene faded and my mother's face was above me. Damn dreams, I thought. At least they weren't disturbing. Before I had let them know, opened up about my past, my dreams were nightmares.
But now they knew. My mother had known all along. My father had told her that he raped me, he had described every detail to her. But she never told me she knew. She had been scared for her life, and mine. Now we were mother and daughter, real mother and daughter. I was glad to have her in my life.
But there was still something missing. I had let my feelings out, and now I felt empty, devoid of all feeling. At first I had been released, but now that my old life was gone I felt alone. I had nothing to work for, nothing to cling to any longer. I thought that I would be happy after I told my story. I thought I would break down the wall that had been erected, keeping me from the life I wanted. But now I was standing on top of the wall, waiting for someone to help me jump down. I was stuck in the middle of past and present, not sure where to turn, how to get to the next step.
I quickly dressed and ran out the door. And there he was, leaning up against the door frame. "Michael," I said. I hadn't seen him in four days, not since I had drenched him in my tears and spilled out my life's history. I thought that maybe I had scared him away forever.
"I broke up with Isabel," he said bluntly. Was I still dreaming? Had I just woken up in my dream and made this up again. He moved toward me and touched my face. My whole body began to tingle and I knew I was awake.
"You what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. But he didn't answer, his mouth brushed mine and I couldn't fight him.
"I broke up with Isabel?" he repeated after breaking away from my lips.
"I heard that," I said, not sure what to feel. I knew I had feelings for him, my mouth went dry each time he stepped through the door and my heart did little jumps in my chest. But it was more than that. We knew each other's secrets and he was giving up all he knew for me. Or at least that's what I felt. "But why?" I tried to ask, but my voice failed me.
"You know," he said scratching at his eyebrow. It was such a cute gesture. I could watch him sit for hours and still be totally engrossed in every breath that moved through his body.
But this scared me. My heart was pounding in my chest from a fear greater than any I had ever known in my life. My father had instilled a fear of men that even Michael couldn't chase away. I was still stuck on the top of the wall, and I could see Michael's hand calling for me, telling me he'd catch me. But I couldn't trust it, I couldn't let myself fall, not completely.
"I have to go," I said, ducking around him. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. I was tempted to turn around, to see if I had hurt him. That was the game I was used to, the love game I knew how to play. To see if I could hurt him before he hurt me was the only way I knew how to deal with men. "Keep your distance," my father used to hiss at me. I loathed him for it. I didn't understand his captivation with me, his own kin. How he could love me so much, and think so little of me.
But that's how men were, they were worms, writhing on their bellies, asking for legs. They wrapped around your feet and made you scream, made you run. But they were so tangled in your legs that you couldn't move, so you froze. The world around you sped up, and there you were, stuck moving in slow motion.
And that's what Michael was. He was another worm, tugging at my feet. But somehow he was begging to grow legs, his thin body taking shape and the world around my was slowing down, my screams were softening. But I still could not move, I could not pull my feet from the ground beneath. He was still holding me there, but this time it was a comforting hold. The arms that were keeping me in place were warm. But still I tried to run. I wanted to find the world on my own.
I pulled up to work confused. Men weren't supposed to be hard to figure out, they were not something I was supposed to spend time thinking about. But Michael was different. He seemed to care, seemed to put heart into what he said. There was concern behind his comfort, like he didn't have to stab himself to pull every word from his throat. When I cried he hugged me. My father just grunted, and slapped me until I choked back my tears.
I hardly heard the bell ring as I walked through the door to the shop, hardly heard my mother's greeting. I was too lost in my own thought. It was selfish. 'Snap out of it,' I chided myself. The voice in my head echoed through my mind, ringing off my skull. And each reflection became more twisted, until his voice filled my head with another silly rule, his hand supposedly teaching me another lesson. And I remembered the night he told me that, how he told me I wasn't important, that my thoughts weren't what mattered. "Move bitch," he screamed, his voice animal. "Move," his hand screamed against my flesh. And I moved, or I tried. But he held me, pounding his fists into my naked skin, screaming insults in my ear. I was young…too young…my thoughts were all I had…my thoughts were all I had…
"Maria," I heard through the memories. "Maria, are you all right?" My mother was shaking me. I opened my eyes, I hadn't even known they were closed. There were tears staining my mother's face.
"He was there," I whispered. And she wrapped me in her arms. She understood my frustration, shared my pain. To know your only daughter was being raped and beaten, to hear it everyday in excruciating detail, and to know you were powerless to stop it. I just couldn't imagine the life of my mother, and for her to carry the burden so silently for all these years. I really didn't hold it against her that she knew and didn't help me. I never feared for my life more than the night I threatened to call the police. I had never known he was capable of murder, never smelled such bloodlust pouring from a human being as I had that night.
"Shhh," she cooed. I let her baby me, let her hold me to her chest and rock me. I had missed out on motherly influences, and surprisingly it was easy to let one in. I had thought I wouldn't want a mother, a figure to rule over my life. But my mother was different than the ones on TV. She didn't make me clean my room or lecture me on boys. She let me live my life, but was there to catch me if I stumbled, there to guide me when I was blinded and lost my way.
"I'm ok," I finally breathed, pulling away from her.
"You sure, baby?" she asked. I knew she was just concerned but I didn't like being treated like a child.
"Yes, I'm fine," I tried to say with patience. I saw a hurt look cross her face and I turned my back, not wanting to know that I had done that to her. Love was harder than the movies made it look, I wasn't doing too well. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to explain why I couldn't be the daughter she had always wanted. But I couldn't, I couldn't tell her things, just let her feel them. And I think she knew, I think she understood it all, understood it better than I could myself.
I busied myself with cleaning and listened as my mother took her place behind the desk. I heard the rattling of the bells on the door. And the moment that the person stepped through the door I knew who it was, I could smell him, feel him.
"Maria, I think this one is for you," my mother said. Slowly I turned to face him. Michael was still standing in the doorway, as if time had frozen and he couldn't manage to start it again.
"Michael," I said moving towards him. Somehow it comforted me knowing I was the one with the control, the one making the first moves. I watched as he struggled to look at me. There was an eerie look in his eyes. It was the same look I saw when I looked in the mirror, the same mixture of pain and confusion. And immediately I felt his pain ripping through me as if it were my own.
Had I done this to him? Had I had this much impact on someone's life? I was a nothing, I shouldn't hurt him, I wasn't there to hurt, I was there for pleasure, for his use. But somehow he didn't understand the game. He had opened up his heart to me, let me open mine to him. But I still held on to a piece of myself, there were still pieces I wasn't willing to share. I had given him my past, but was I ready to trust him, to give him my future? That's what he had done for me. He had given up his past, shown it to me in all it's horror and darkness, and let it go. And now he was ready to give me his future, but I wasn't ready to take it.
"What are you here for?" I asked guiding him outside.
"Do you have to keep asking why? You know," he said. His voice was flat, there was nothing there, no anger, no sadness, just monotone nothingness. I could deal if he was anger, I knew about anger, and I knew about sadness. But I didn't know how to treat nothingness.
"Yes I know," I whispered.
"I broke up with Isabel because I don't love her. I never loved her. But Maria, I want to love you. I want to make your life better. I know you will never forget your secrets, I know I can never wipe away every tear you've cried, and I can never give you the gun that will kill your demons. But I was hoping I could give you a future."
Michael looked at me with expectation. This time there was feeling in his voice, and it was intense. But this didn't sound like Michael Guerin. He was tough. Again I thought it was a dream, but when the pain ripped through me again I knew I was awake, but wished that I were dead. He had risked more than his ties to his family, he had risked his dignity and his bad boy rep. And he had thrown this all on my shoulders.
"And I hope you can keep your promises," I said.
"I didn't promise anything," he said.
"But I think you did, spaceboy, I think you did."
more to come soon...feedback appreciated
Author: Jenn
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Summary: sequel to Secret past which can be found at http://jennsplace.envy.nu/sp.html
Maria has come back to Roswell after being raised by her abusive father.
Disclaimer: nothing is mine!
"I broke up with Isabel," Michael said, smiling at me. He moved closer, his arms finding my waist. I felt like I was going to collapse right there and then. My mouth widened into a huge grin, but it slowly faded as he brought his lips to mine. I had been dreaming of this since the first time he kissed me, heck, since the first time I met him.
We held each other close. And suddenly the scene faded and my mother's face was above me. Damn dreams, I thought. At least they weren't disturbing. Before I had let them know, opened up about my past, my dreams were nightmares.
But now they knew. My mother had known all along. My father had told her that he raped me, he had described every detail to her. But she never told me she knew. She had been scared for her life, and mine. Now we were mother and daughter, real mother and daughter. I was glad to have her in my life.
But there was still something missing. I had let my feelings out, and now I felt empty, devoid of all feeling. At first I had been released, but now that my old life was gone I felt alone. I had nothing to work for, nothing to cling to any longer. I thought that I would be happy after I told my story. I thought I would break down the wall that had been erected, keeping me from the life I wanted. But now I was standing on top of the wall, waiting for someone to help me jump down. I was stuck in the middle of past and present, not sure where to turn, how to get to the next step.
I quickly dressed and ran out the door. And there he was, leaning up against the door frame. "Michael," I said. I hadn't seen him in four days, not since I had drenched him in my tears and spilled out my life's history. I thought that maybe I had scared him away forever.
"I broke up with Isabel," he said bluntly. Was I still dreaming? Had I just woken up in my dream and made this up again. He moved toward me and touched my face. My whole body began to tingle and I knew I was awake.
"You what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. But he didn't answer, his mouth brushed mine and I couldn't fight him.
"I broke up with Isabel?" he repeated after breaking away from my lips.
"I heard that," I said, not sure what to feel. I knew I had feelings for him, my mouth went dry each time he stepped through the door and my heart did little jumps in my chest. But it was more than that. We knew each other's secrets and he was giving up all he knew for me. Or at least that's what I felt. "But why?" I tried to ask, but my voice failed me.
"You know," he said scratching at his eyebrow. It was such a cute gesture. I could watch him sit for hours and still be totally engrossed in every breath that moved through his body.
But this scared me. My heart was pounding in my chest from a fear greater than any I had ever known in my life. My father had instilled a fear of men that even Michael couldn't chase away. I was still stuck on the top of the wall, and I could see Michael's hand calling for me, telling me he'd catch me. But I couldn't trust it, I couldn't let myself fall, not completely.
"I have to go," I said, ducking around him. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. I was tempted to turn around, to see if I had hurt him. That was the game I was used to, the love game I knew how to play. To see if I could hurt him before he hurt me was the only way I knew how to deal with men. "Keep your distance," my father used to hiss at me. I loathed him for it. I didn't understand his captivation with me, his own kin. How he could love me so much, and think so little of me.
But that's how men were, they were worms, writhing on their bellies, asking for legs. They wrapped around your feet and made you scream, made you run. But they were so tangled in your legs that you couldn't move, so you froze. The world around you sped up, and there you were, stuck moving in slow motion.
And that's what Michael was. He was another worm, tugging at my feet. But somehow he was begging to grow legs, his thin body taking shape and the world around my was slowing down, my screams were softening. But I still could not move, I could not pull my feet from the ground beneath. He was still holding me there, but this time it was a comforting hold. The arms that were keeping me in place were warm. But still I tried to run. I wanted to find the world on my own.
I pulled up to work confused. Men weren't supposed to be hard to figure out, they were not something I was supposed to spend time thinking about. But Michael was different. He seemed to care, seemed to put heart into what he said. There was concern behind his comfort, like he didn't have to stab himself to pull every word from his throat. When I cried he hugged me. My father just grunted, and slapped me until I choked back my tears.
I hardly heard the bell ring as I walked through the door to the shop, hardly heard my mother's greeting. I was too lost in my own thought. It was selfish. 'Snap out of it,' I chided myself. The voice in my head echoed through my mind, ringing off my skull. And each reflection became more twisted, until his voice filled my head with another silly rule, his hand supposedly teaching me another lesson. And I remembered the night he told me that, how he told me I wasn't important, that my thoughts weren't what mattered. "Move bitch," he screamed, his voice animal. "Move," his hand screamed against my flesh. And I moved, or I tried. But he held me, pounding his fists into my naked skin, screaming insults in my ear. I was young…too young…my thoughts were all I had…my thoughts were all I had…
"Maria," I heard through the memories. "Maria, are you all right?" My mother was shaking me. I opened my eyes, I hadn't even known they were closed. There were tears staining my mother's face.
"He was there," I whispered. And she wrapped me in her arms. She understood my frustration, shared my pain. To know your only daughter was being raped and beaten, to hear it everyday in excruciating detail, and to know you were powerless to stop it. I just couldn't imagine the life of my mother, and for her to carry the burden so silently for all these years. I really didn't hold it against her that she knew and didn't help me. I never feared for my life more than the night I threatened to call the police. I had never known he was capable of murder, never smelled such bloodlust pouring from a human being as I had that night.
"Shhh," she cooed. I let her baby me, let her hold me to her chest and rock me. I had missed out on motherly influences, and surprisingly it was easy to let one in. I had thought I wouldn't want a mother, a figure to rule over my life. But my mother was different than the ones on TV. She didn't make me clean my room or lecture me on boys. She let me live my life, but was there to catch me if I stumbled, there to guide me when I was blinded and lost my way.
"I'm ok," I finally breathed, pulling away from her.
"You sure, baby?" she asked. I knew she was just concerned but I didn't like being treated like a child.
"Yes, I'm fine," I tried to say with patience. I saw a hurt look cross her face and I turned my back, not wanting to know that I had done that to her. Love was harder than the movies made it look, I wasn't doing too well. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to explain why I couldn't be the daughter she had always wanted. But I couldn't, I couldn't tell her things, just let her feel them. And I think she knew, I think she understood it all, understood it better than I could myself.
I busied myself with cleaning and listened as my mother took her place behind the desk. I heard the rattling of the bells on the door. And the moment that the person stepped through the door I knew who it was, I could smell him, feel him.
"Maria, I think this one is for you," my mother said. Slowly I turned to face him. Michael was still standing in the doorway, as if time had frozen and he couldn't manage to start it again.
"Michael," I said moving towards him. Somehow it comforted me knowing I was the one with the control, the one making the first moves. I watched as he struggled to look at me. There was an eerie look in his eyes. It was the same look I saw when I looked in the mirror, the same mixture of pain and confusion. And immediately I felt his pain ripping through me as if it were my own.
Had I done this to him? Had I had this much impact on someone's life? I was a nothing, I shouldn't hurt him, I wasn't there to hurt, I was there for pleasure, for his use. But somehow he didn't understand the game. He had opened up his heart to me, let me open mine to him. But I still held on to a piece of myself, there were still pieces I wasn't willing to share. I had given him my past, but was I ready to trust him, to give him my future? That's what he had done for me. He had given up his past, shown it to me in all it's horror and darkness, and let it go. And now he was ready to give me his future, but I wasn't ready to take it.
"What are you here for?" I asked guiding him outside.
"Do you have to keep asking why? You know," he said. His voice was flat, there was nothing there, no anger, no sadness, just monotone nothingness. I could deal if he was anger, I knew about anger, and I knew about sadness. But I didn't know how to treat nothingness.
"Yes I know," I whispered.
"I broke up with Isabel because I don't love her. I never loved her. But Maria, I want to love you. I want to make your life better. I know you will never forget your secrets, I know I can never wipe away every tear you've cried, and I can never give you the gun that will kill your demons. But I was hoping I could give you a future."
Michael looked at me with expectation. This time there was feeling in his voice, and it was intense. But this didn't sound like Michael Guerin. He was tough. Again I thought it was a dream, but when the pain ripped through me again I knew I was awake, but wished that I were dead. He had risked more than his ties to his family, he had risked his dignity and his bad boy rep. And he had thrown this all on my shoulders.
"And I hope you can keep your promises," I said.
"I didn't promise anything," he said.
"But I think you did, spaceboy, I think you did."
more to come soon...feedback appreciated