A/N: I wrote this in July, back when I read The Host. I didn't post it until now because I had to edit it! ;) I really loved Ian, and I wondered what had happened between Wanda giving Melanie her body back, and Wanda getting her own body. Ta-da! This fic was born. (With a little help from the quote.)

Read and review please!

Run your fingers through my Soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once, just once, understand. -- Unknown

Believe What I Believe

My heart aches; it bleeds. I feel as though it has been torn out, stomped on, and then cut slowly into a million pieces.

If I was a poet, I'd say something clever, like how I would tear apart the world for her.

I'm no poet.

But now, sitting here, staring at a body that a few minutes ago held the soul I loved—love, damn it, she's not dead!—and it's all I can do to sit straight. I think any minute I'll faint, or something else as equally embarrassing, but I don't. I continue to stare, and wonder at her audacity—how dare she, she knows, she must, and now—now . . .

See, this is what's she's done to me. I can't think, I can't breathe, and now she's gone, or she will be, cause Doc keeps his promises, he wouldn't go back on one, and I'll never talk to her again. I can still see her, the beautiful creature that she is. I can see the thin wisps of the silver, and all I can think is that she is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

Now her body moves, and I hear a groan, and all I want to do is strangle stupid Melanie—she's ruined everything! I had finally found happiness in this desolate, pathetic excuse for a life—and she stole it. I want to hate her, and Jared.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't find it in me to keep a hold of the anger. If I was Jared—and I'm glad I'm not—I would want Wanda gone too. I'd think, what right does she have to Melanie's body? How could she be so cruel?

I reach out, cause I want to touch the body she's touched not so long ago, and Melanie's eyes snap open. They aren't clear; I'm not sure she can even see. When she speaks, I realize I'm right.

"Jared!" she gasps, "Oh, Jared, I love you! And I can move! Oh, sweet God, thank God, oh Jared!"

I hate how she calls Jared and God in the same breath. Is she so very irreverent?

"Jared?"

I stiffen, because I suddenly realize that she's still talking, and I haven't said a word. And she still thinks I'm that that jerk.

My voice is harsh and unforgiving as I hiss back to the body that should have been Wanda's. "I'm not Jared, thanks."

Melanie pulls away, blinking, desperately trying to make sense of what she sees and hears. "Wha—?"

God. She can't even form an entire word. And here I thought that Wanda's body was moderately intelligent. I should have known better, of course. She loved Jared, of all people.

"It's Ian, Melanie. You should know."

She whimpers, and it's clear she can see now. "Ian, where's Jared—"

"Where's Wanda, Mel? Huh? Look, I'm not in the mood for 20 Questions, so just shut up!"

I can't believe how forceful I'm being. It's easier than it was before; while she slept, I could pretend Melanie was still Wanda. But I can hear her voice—admittedly the same voice, but also different.

Now I find I can hate her.

"Ian—"

"I said shut up!" My hand connects with her face—Wanda's face—and the blow sends her to the other side of the cot. I'm lucky that neither Jared or Jamie are here right now. They went to grab some food, since the other humans took a few hours to wake up.

I knew it would take Melanie less.

"She's alive!" Melanie wheezes, trying to catch her breath. "I heard them talking, Jared wouldn't let her die—she's alive! Thank God."

The burning heat in me escalates. How dare she pretend to care more than I do? Does she really think I believe her when she spits out these lies? I hate her. I really hate her. I hope she dies.

The thought bothers me suddenly. I hope she dies? Why? So I can grieve again?

"Ian," she whispers, "I won't let her die. I love her—she's my sister. Really." She peeks at me through lowered lashes. She knows how to work men—something I knew Wanda would never be able to master. Wanda's too innocent, too pure. She can't lie.

But Melanie lies with every movement.

"Melanie! You're awake!" Doc's voice comes loudly, the noise echoing off the walls. He kneels by the cot, and grins at me. "See, everyone's been worried. Do you know who this is?"

Melanie smiles, seemingly with ease. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Doc laughs. "Good, good." He glances at me, and says quietly, "Could you give us a minute? I need to check a few things."

I jump up, my foot kicking the chair away from the cot. "Whatever," I practically snarl. The look of surprise on Doc's face is a little too much; I turn and run out, leaving the two of them in stunned silence.

I thrust my hands in my pockets and glare at the rocks. My feet take me about ten feet before I realize I've left Wanda, vulnerable, in the same room as Doc, the man who promised to kill her. I race back in panic.

Doc's listening to Melanie's heartbeat, and they're surprised again, but I don't care. All I can see is the tank that still holds Wanda's form. "Thank God," I breathe, my hands already reaching for her. I won't let anyone else touch her, I swear to myself. That'll be my vow—she won't be touched. If Doc wants to kill her, he'll have to kill me too.

Melanie stares at me, her gaze calculating. "Did you ever think that maybe she wanted to die?" she says, sadness and acceptance in her voice. "You never even listened to her. You don't care about what she wants. You only care about yourself, you self-centered pig."

Although her words pierce me, I don't want them too. I don't care about Melanie, that's true—but I love Wanda.

"I just want what's best for her," I hiss, the sting of her accusation heating my words.

"What's best for her might not be best for you," she counters, furiously rubbing her eyes, warding against the tears. "Understand what she wants."

My arms tighten around Wanda's tank. "Maybe there's a way we can both be happy," I murmur. "Maybe, if we grab another soul with a body . . ."

"Or maybe we have to respect her wishes. If you really loved her, you would."

"If you loved her," I snap, "You wouldn't want her dead."

Melanie lets the tears finally fall. "I want her to be happy."

So do I. It's all I want.

I open the tank, and let my fingers run over the soul captured within.

I remember what my mom used to say to my dad when they argued. She'd say "Think like me for a minute! Try to understand what I'm feeling!"

I do know what Wanda wanted. She didn't want to be a parasite.

She wanted to be free.

"I have an idea . . . "