August 12th 2002

Never before has my life been so confusing. I mean, look at me—I've started a diary. I can't even think things out in my own head anymore. Maybe it was that way with Liz all that time—no wonder she was so calm. At least most of the time.

It's the twelfth of August. It's been around three months since my supposed "death"—I haven't kept track of the days. Fact is, I don't know what to do anymore.

I'm supposed to be dead. Obviously I can't let them see me anymore…even if I could find them. They left—and no wonder. Finally, they got smart enough to leave. Depart. Flee. When I think about it, I wonder why we all didn't do that a long time ago.

As for me, I spend my days in hiding. There are still people in town who know me, and would hate me for what I did. Fact is, I'm beginning to hate myself. Not for those scientists, no…but I do have to admit a certain amount of guilt over Alex.

No, that's a lie. There is no certain amount of guilt. There's just the whole, and it's all on me. I'm just beginning to realize how stupid that was. How senseless and…emotionless.

That discussion never ends. I'm not human. Yet, at the same time, I'm not entirely alien, either, so I must have some human emotions. Michael and Max argued over that for months, off and on…and I suppose they finally solved it. After I'd left, of course.

All I did was cause problems. I came there, all hopeful that at last I'd found someone—and I didn't think for a moment that—

But I did think. Then I didn't. It was that sort of off-and-on maneuver that ruined everything. I look back at all the things they did for me, all that Valenti and Kyle and Isabel and Max did, all they showed of themselves and all they gave for me…

Then I look at what I gave back and I feel like throwing up. I betrayed them. Admittedly, I was following a plan which had taken oh, god only knows how many years to come to fruition, but it was still a stupid plan. Nasedo was our protector—no. That's not right. He was my protector. Even considering how little affection he showed, he'd bonded with me in some way. And obviously, he cared more for me than for the others. In the end, both of us were traitors—Nasedo and I. He betrayed all of them, and I betrayed them by following his plan.

And I end up here in a rat apartment in Lincoln, with nothing but my own guilt. I don't know why I didn't actually die—just walk forward into the light, attack them—and be shot dead. But I didn't. Three months with almost nothing to do, traveling far past light speed…well, there wasn't much more to do than practice. So I faked it. And I don't know why.

That's another lie. I know why I didn't.

I'm afraid to die. But the result might be worse—I don't know, I've never died. But now I'm here, stuck, with no one I can even confess to. No one who wouldn't kill me on sight. The government's still looking for them. They've moved away from Roswell, actually out of the public eye entirely—but they're still looking. They'll never give up.

I can't live on this world. It's not mine. I've caused too much trouble to even be at peace with my own mind. I can't find Max and the others. I couldn't stand facing them again.

I already betrayed them once.

I can't even look for my son. I know they don't have him—Max's dad put him up for adoption and he vanished somewhere into the northeast. I don't doubt that if I really wanted to I could get the truth out of him…but that would be the old me. The old, stupid me.

The old Tess.

I don't have a point in living. I can't go back to Anttar. I don't belong there.

I don't belong anywhere. But at the same time, I can't sit and wallow in my own guilt. I have to do something. Silence is danger, Nasedo said. Staying still makes you vulnerable.

So tomorrow I'll leave the roach motel. I think I'll take a bus north. Not to find them. Not to look for anything. I can't follow my past anymore. I'll have to leave it all behind.

But I don't think I can.

I sound like some love-sick melodramatic movie star. Right now I feel like one too. But I don't think writing this was a mistake. So now I have two things to say, even if the person I say them to will never hear them.

Thank you, Liz, for giving me this idea. Writing does set you free, in some ways.

And thank you for letting me try to redeem myself at least somewhat. I didn't treat any of you well, especially Kyle and Max. But I have learned from that. I can't expect to be forgiven. I can't even hope to be forgiven.

So I have to find something to do with my life. I only wish I knew where to start.

I wish I had friends again.

Tess Harding