Title: Pain
Author: Jenn
Email: got2fly2u@hotmail.com
disclaimer: not mine
Pain. It touches everyone, immersing them or just brushing them, leaving small scars. Maria De Luca had not been excused. All her life she had been exposed to it, she drown in it, fed off of it. Now she thought she was immune to pain. Hse was numb to feelings, mumb to all emotion. But Michael Guerin had awaken her nerves, gave them back their lost feeling. He had given her back her happiness, let her find the one she never had. He had taught her how to love. And then he had taken them all away as quick as he gave them back. Killing her.
Maria lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. It was useless to try to sleep. All she had were dreams of him, disturbing dreams. It was useless, it was all useless. She lay there, motionless, the only thing moving was her chest, rising with each breath she wished she didn't have to take. She felt him, he was near. Why must he torture her? Why could he leave her alone? They weren't meant to be.
She tried not to think of him, tried to keep her mind on something else, anything. But his presence was overwhelming. She sat up, her movements slow and stalled. She knew he ws right there, standing right outside her window.
Wasn't this what she had always hoped for? Wasn't this what she always wanted. Why now did she just feel hollow and empty, and sad. She thought that if he should ever come to her again…
No, she wasn't supposed to think of that. Maria lifted herself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom. She looked at the pills on the counter and the razor in the shower. How easy it would be to just take the pills, swallow them one by one until slowly they took over her body. How easy it would be to drag the sharp blade across her tender flesh. She reached for the razor, holding it against her wrist.
How many times had she dreamed of this, thought about this. She just couldn't take it anymore. Life was just not worth it. Tears spilled from Maria's eyes, burning them, scarring her cheeks with their fire. She choked on them, trying to draw them back into her body. She didn't want to cry. Not with him so near.
She knew they would never be, that nothing could ever change Michael Guerin's mind. But she didn't want him changed, and she was sorry for all the times she had tried. But it was no use. No excuse could rid her of the pain, no amount of knowledge could make her feel better. Without him she wasn't herself. But if she had never had him…
She didn't want to know who she would be without him. He had taught her to love, taught her to be happy. And really she was no worse off than she had been before, except now she was missing her heart. It was standing outside with the boy who wouldn't dare come near her, not in daylight anyway.
Maria brought her attention back to the cold metal pressing at her wrist. It would be so easy. Just pul, and it would all be over, everything would be forgotten. No one would miss her, or at least the only person she cared about wouldn't.
She had cut herself before. Just to see her blood. Just to see if it was still flowing. She wanted to know she was still alive, that she wasn't just a body filled with breath that didn't help. Now she just wanted to be dead. She didn't want to exist. Nothing would change her mind, nothing.
She drew the blade back slightly, marveling at the drop of red liquid that formed where it had sat moments before. She felt cold, but it wasn't from the inside like they always cliché in books. This time it really was from the outside, from the window.
Maria didn't turn around. She could see that it was open in the mirror. She ignored it and concentrated harder on the blade. The more she concentrated on it, the less pain she felt. Michael was the blade that had ended her soul. No one else could give it back. She didn't want anyone else.
She didn't even want Michael. She didn't want him, he had hurt her deeper than anyone. He had given her a wound that could not be healed by any doctor. He had ripped her open to the core, leaving her insides exposed and vulnerable.
The blade. It was moving again. Without her force, it was moving. And the blood flowed through the gash slow as molasses, slower. She watched it. Watched as it poured down her arm and dripped to the floor.
Maria grabbed the counter as her vision began to blur. She felt him. He was still there. Why did she have to die with him still tormenting her? why couldn't she get away from him? Was he to forever remind her of what couldn't be? Not anymore.
Her knees grew weak and she sunk to the floor, resting against the counter. She saw red, endless red. Blood…that was all she could think about. The pain poured from her body with the red, every drop draining her of all that she didn't want, didn't need.
Maria heard her name being called. The voice sounded as if it were coming through water, miles away from her. she ignored the voice trying to pull away from it. She felt sleep pulling at her, and it was warm, so warm. It was comforting, beautiful. And she reached towards it, closing her eyes and welcoming herself to its darkness. Her chest heaved and all was silent.
Michael stared at the motionless body, his own body stiff and frozen. He stared at the tiny wrist he held in his hand, the slit across it, the blood still pouring from it, warm, sticky. He let his finger dip into it soaking it in all that was Maria.
Why could he not have healed her? Why didn't he get there sooner? And why had he ever driven her to this? He looked at her face, pale from loss of life, but still beautiful. It was the face that had haunted him, even before he knew her. It was the face of an angel, a fallen angel. He hair encircled her face, golden and soft. He reached his other hand up to touch it. He traced her features, her closed eyes, her full lips, her small nose. Everything was so familiar. It was like home to him.
Michael could see the tears on her cheeks, the tracks they had made. But her face, her face was peaceful, more than he had ever seen it before. There was a small smile on her lips and her muscles were relaxed.
He saw a tear fall onto her shirt, staining it. Michael kneeled on the floor and let his tears flow freely onto her. He bathed her in his tears, hoping she would know, feel, how much he loved her and come back. But it was impossible. People don't just come back to life. When they die, they are dead forever.
How he wished he could have saved her. She was his life, his hope, his world, his comfort. Maria De Luca was everything to him. No one was quite like her and no one ever could be. But she had never known that. He had been scared. Scared to hurt her, scared to hurt himself. But look where that had gotten him. No where, with no one.
How many times had he stood outside her window, just like tonight, just feeling? He never looked, never dared to. It would be too painful, he told himself. He just stood there and felt, knowing every emotion that flowed through her body. But tonight, tonight she had shut him out, enclosing herself in a coccoon which only she could be enclosed in. And he hadn't known until it was too late.
They weren't meant to be, everyone knew that. How come he just couldn't accept it? She was perfect for him, but he was not who she deserve. Maria hadn't deserved anything she had been dealt, she deserved so much more. More than Roswell, more than just a mother, more than me. She deserved a life somewhere else, a life where she was happy and safe. A life where she knew nothing of pain and terror.
But they had been. And they had been wonderful. He loved her more than anything, more than those rocks, more than any symbol, more than any ship that could bring him home. He would have given his life for her and he did. The day he gave her up, he gave up his life too. He let himself die, so she could be happy, so that she wouldn't be tangled in this web of lies and secrets any longer. He was no more than a walking body now, a body without a heart or soul.
He had died that night, in every way. And it seemed so had she.
Michael picked up the razor lying next to Maria's frail body. It was still wet with her blood, still warm from her grip. He placed it on his own wrist and pulled it across, the blood from inside excaping, as if it had been pushing on his flesh all his life, waiting to get out.
He pulled it across again and again. The feeling of pain caressing him. He lay down next to Maria, pulling her body close. No one would know, they wouldn't understand. But it had to be done. They weren't meant for a place like this, they weren't meant for earth. They weren't meant for any other universe. They weren't meant to live.
Now they could be together. Forever.
Author: Jenn
Email: got2fly2u@hotmail.com
disclaimer: not mine
Pain. It touches everyone, immersing them or just brushing them, leaving small scars. Maria De Luca had not been excused. All her life she had been exposed to it, she drown in it, fed off of it. Now she thought she was immune to pain. Hse was numb to feelings, mumb to all emotion. But Michael Guerin had awaken her nerves, gave them back their lost feeling. He had given her back her happiness, let her find the one she never had. He had taught her how to love. And then he had taken them all away as quick as he gave them back. Killing her.
Maria lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. It was useless to try to sleep. All she had were dreams of him, disturbing dreams. It was useless, it was all useless. She lay there, motionless, the only thing moving was her chest, rising with each breath she wished she didn't have to take. She felt him, he was near. Why must he torture her? Why could he leave her alone? They weren't meant to be.
She tried not to think of him, tried to keep her mind on something else, anything. But his presence was overwhelming. She sat up, her movements slow and stalled. She knew he ws right there, standing right outside her window.
Wasn't this what she had always hoped for? Wasn't this what she always wanted. Why now did she just feel hollow and empty, and sad. She thought that if he should ever come to her again…
No, she wasn't supposed to think of that. Maria lifted herself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom. She looked at the pills on the counter and the razor in the shower. How easy it would be to just take the pills, swallow them one by one until slowly they took over her body. How easy it would be to drag the sharp blade across her tender flesh. She reached for the razor, holding it against her wrist.
How many times had she dreamed of this, thought about this. She just couldn't take it anymore. Life was just not worth it. Tears spilled from Maria's eyes, burning them, scarring her cheeks with their fire. She choked on them, trying to draw them back into her body. She didn't want to cry. Not with him so near.
She knew they would never be, that nothing could ever change Michael Guerin's mind. But she didn't want him changed, and she was sorry for all the times she had tried. But it was no use. No excuse could rid her of the pain, no amount of knowledge could make her feel better. Without him she wasn't herself. But if she had never had him…
She didn't want to know who she would be without him. He had taught her to love, taught her to be happy. And really she was no worse off than she had been before, except now she was missing her heart. It was standing outside with the boy who wouldn't dare come near her, not in daylight anyway.
Maria brought her attention back to the cold metal pressing at her wrist. It would be so easy. Just pul, and it would all be over, everything would be forgotten. No one would miss her, or at least the only person she cared about wouldn't.
She had cut herself before. Just to see her blood. Just to see if it was still flowing. She wanted to know she was still alive, that she wasn't just a body filled with breath that didn't help. Now she just wanted to be dead. She didn't want to exist. Nothing would change her mind, nothing.
She drew the blade back slightly, marveling at the drop of red liquid that formed where it had sat moments before. She felt cold, but it wasn't from the inside like they always cliché in books. This time it really was from the outside, from the window.
Maria didn't turn around. She could see that it was open in the mirror. She ignored it and concentrated harder on the blade. The more she concentrated on it, the less pain she felt. Michael was the blade that had ended her soul. No one else could give it back. She didn't want anyone else.
She didn't even want Michael. She didn't want him, he had hurt her deeper than anyone. He had given her a wound that could not be healed by any doctor. He had ripped her open to the core, leaving her insides exposed and vulnerable.
The blade. It was moving again. Without her force, it was moving. And the blood flowed through the gash slow as molasses, slower. She watched it. Watched as it poured down her arm and dripped to the floor.
Maria grabbed the counter as her vision began to blur. She felt him. He was still there. Why did she have to die with him still tormenting her? why couldn't she get away from him? Was he to forever remind her of what couldn't be? Not anymore.
Her knees grew weak and she sunk to the floor, resting against the counter. She saw red, endless red. Blood…that was all she could think about. The pain poured from her body with the red, every drop draining her of all that she didn't want, didn't need.
Maria heard her name being called. The voice sounded as if it were coming through water, miles away from her. she ignored the voice trying to pull away from it. She felt sleep pulling at her, and it was warm, so warm. It was comforting, beautiful. And she reached towards it, closing her eyes and welcoming herself to its darkness. Her chest heaved and all was silent.
Michael stared at the motionless body, his own body stiff and frozen. He stared at the tiny wrist he held in his hand, the slit across it, the blood still pouring from it, warm, sticky. He let his finger dip into it soaking it in all that was Maria.
Why could he not have healed her? Why didn't he get there sooner? And why had he ever driven her to this? He looked at her face, pale from loss of life, but still beautiful. It was the face that had haunted him, even before he knew her. It was the face of an angel, a fallen angel. He hair encircled her face, golden and soft. He reached his other hand up to touch it. He traced her features, her closed eyes, her full lips, her small nose. Everything was so familiar. It was like home to him.
Michael could see the tears on her cheeks, the tracks they had made. But her face, her face was peaceful, more than he had ever seen it before. There was a small smile on her lips and her muscles were relaxed.
He saw a tear fall onto her shirt, staining it. Michael kneeled on the floor and let his tears flow freely onto her. He bathed her in his tears, hoping she would know, feel, how much he loved her and come back. But it was impossible. People don't just come back to life. When they die, they are dead forever.
How he wished he could have saved her. She was his life, his hope, his world, his comfort. Maria De Luca was everything to him. No one was quite like her and no one ever could be. But she had never known that. He had been scared. Scared to hurt her, scared to hurt himself. But look where that had gotten him. No where, with no one.
How many times had he stood outside her window, just like tonight, just feeling? He never looked, never dared to. It would be too painful, he told himself. He just stood there and felt, knowing every emotion that flowed through her body. But tonight, tonight she had shut him out, enclosing herself in a coccoon which only she could be enclosed in. And he hadn't known until it was too late.
They weren't meant to be, everyone knew that. How come he just couldn't accept it? She was perfect for him, but he was not who she deserve. Maria hadn't deserved anything she had been dealt, she deserved so much more. More than Roswell, more than just a mother, more than me. She deserved a life somewhere else, a life where she was happy and safe. A life where she knew nothing of pain and terror.
But they had been. And they had been wonderful. He loved her more than anything, more than those rocks, more than any symbol, more than any ship that could bring him home. He would have given his life for her and he did. The day he gave her up, he gave up his life too. He let himself die, so she could be happy, so that she wouldn't be tangled in this web of lies and secrets any longer. He was no more than a walking body now, a body without a heart or soul.
He had died that night, in every way. And it seemed so had she.
Michael picked up the razor lying next to Maria's frail body. It was still wet with her blood, still warm from her grip. He placed it on his own wrist and pulled it across, the blood from inside excaping, as if it had been pushing on his flesh all his life, waiting to get out.
He pulled it across again and again. The feeling of pain caressing him. He lay down next to Maria, pulling her body close. No one would know, they wouldn't understand. But it had to be done. They weren't meant for a place like this, they weren't meant for earth. They weren't meant for any other universe. They weren't meant to live.
Now they could be together. Forever.