"You're a skin," Michael said, holding up a piece of my skin from my back.
I saw the way he was looking at me. My eyes widenened as I backed away from him. He was going to kill me. For no reason other than my species. I spun around and started to run. Nowhere to go. I spotted the open window and ran towards it. I heard something crash behind me. No time for that. I jumped out the window, cutting myself badly on the glass. Ignore the pain. Run. Run. Run.
Dodge the car. I heard the long honk behind me, but ignored it. I'd rather be killed by a car than by Michael.
Michael. MY Michael. Trying to kill me.
Ignore it. Just run. Run. Run or die.
So I ran. Much further than any human could have run, further than Michael could have run, up until my limit. Past when I could barely breathe, until I couldn't breathe at all. And then I stopped. Turned around. Michael wasn't in sight. Of course not.
Neither was anything familiar, but at the moment, I didn't care.
I collasped onto the floor and lay there for a few minutes until I started to breathe normally again.
My hair and face were all dirty from lying in the mud. I reached up to brush my hair away and discovered that my face was soaked in tears, too.
Michael was going to kill me. Because I was a skin. He clearly didn't remember ANYTHING. And it was breaking my heart.
Ok, what if he loved Maria. I could handle that. Even if he weren't attracted to me. But for him to be filled with the same blind prejudice that, a few galaxies away, we tried so hard to erase--THAT'S what killed me.
Michael! What has become of you?
It's Whittaker's fault. We knew she was a skin like us. But she didn't know that we did. Apparently, she suspected us. If she had pictures of me in her office. And if she had bugged his phone.
Following her to Roswell wasn't the smartest thing we ever did. Especially considering she wanted to kill us as much as she wanted to kill the four of them. But we had to, if we wanted to meet Michael and Isabel. To talk to them, if they remembered. Neither of them did, but he got luckier than I did--a date, at least. An almost date. I got one tiny makeout session that ended with him trying to kill me.
Maybe we should have told them. We were going to, really. But then the Congresswoman killed Nasedo, and we didn't think it would go over well if we walked up to them and said, "Hey, we're Skins."
Remebering the conversation, I laughed through my tears. He was my big brother, my rock. Michael was supposed to imbalance me and make me go crazy. He still does, but he used to do it intentionally. Maria thinks she's gotten the real deal. "Michael and I go way back." Not as far back as Michael and I do, honey. She had nothing on me. Whatever love Michael gave her is nothing compared to what he was for me. What Liz and Max supposedly had? We weren't that sickeningly sweet or romantic, but we were more in love. Partners in crime. Even though we weren't of the same species.
Isabel and Grant were more friends than lovers. I don't know if what they had was true love. In a friendship sense, they had it. In that way, Isabel was like a sister to me. She was his "sister with benefits," I always joked. She hated when I said that.
To keep us apart, their species arranged for Isabel and Michael to marry. And my people arranged for Grant and I to marry our cousins. No one could imagine the concept of peace. Except the four of us. Max and Tess hated us. Our cousins hated them. But none of us cared. Our love outshone all of it. Michael, on his deathbed, swore to me that he'd love me in every one of his lives. He would never lie to me. He misunderstood.
Michael! Who are you? How can you not remember?
I'd thought that I was out of tears, but a fresh batch came spilling out. The man I had once loved now wanted to kill me. Life is ironic. I used to love the concept of irony.
Michael!!!
I saw the way he was looking at me. My eyes widenened as I backed away from him. He was going to kill me. For no reason other than my species. I spun around and started to run. Nowhere to go. I spotted the open window and ran towards it. I heard something crash behind me. No time for that. I jumped out the window, cutting myself badly on the glass. Ignore the pain. Run. Run. Run.
Dodge the car. I heard the long honk behind me, but ignored it. I'd rather be killed by a car than by Michael.
Michael. MY Michael. Trying to kill me.
Ignore it. Just run. Run. Run or die.
So I ran. Much further than any human could have run, further than Michael could have run, up until my limit. Past when I could barely breathe, until I couldn't breathe at all. And then I stopped. Turned around. Michael wasn't in sight. Of course not.
Neither was anything familiar, but at the moment, I didn't care.
I collasped onto the floor and lay there for a few minutes until I started to breathe normally again.
My hair and face were all dirty from lying in the mud. I reached up to brush my hair away and discovered that my face was soaked in tears, too.
Michael was going to kill me. Because I was a skin. He clearly didn't remember ANYTHING. And it was breaking my heart.
Ok, what if he loved Maria. I could handle that. Even if he weren't attracted to me. But for him to be filled with the same blind prejudice that, a few galaxies away, we tried so hard to erase--THAT'S what killed me.
Michael! What has become of you?
It's Whittaker's fault. We knew she was a skin like us. But she didn't know that we did. Apparently, she suspected us. If she had pictures of me in her office. And if she had bugged his phone.
Following her to Roswell wasn't the smartest thing we ever did. Especially considering she wanted to kill us as much as she wanted to kill the four of them. But we had to, if we wanted to meet Michael and Isabel. To talk to them, if they remembered. Neither of them did, but he got luckier than I did--a date, at least. An almost date. I got one tiny makeout session that ended with him trying to kill me.
Maybe we should have told them. We were going to, really. But then the Congresswoman killed Nasedo, and we didn't think it would go over well if we walked up to them and said, "Hey, we're Skins."
Remebering the conversation, I laughed through my tears. He was my big brother, my rock. Michael was supposed to imbalance me and make me go crazy. He still does, but he used to do it intentionally. Maria thinks she's gotten the real deal. "Michael and I go way back." Not as far back as Michael and I do, honey. She had nothing on me. Whatever love Michael gave her is nothing compared to what he was for me. What Liz and Max supposedly had? We weren't that sickeningly sweet or romantic, but we were more in love. Partners in crime. Even though we weren't of the same species.
Isabel and Grant were more friends than lovers. I don't know if what they had was true love. In a friendship sense, they had it. In that way, Isabel was like a sister to me. She was his "sister with benefits," I always joked. She hated when I said that.
To keep us apart, their species arranged for Isabel and Michael to marry. And my people arranged for Grant and I to marry our cousins. No one could imagine the concept of peace. Except the four of us. Max and Tess hated us. Our cousins hated them. But none of us cared. Our love outshone all of it. Michael, on his deathbed, swore to me that he'd love me in every one of his lives. He would never lie to me. He misunderstood.
Michael! Who are you? How can you not remember?
I'd thought that I was out of tears, but a fresh batch came spilling out. The man I had once loved now wanted to kill me. Life is ironic. I used to love the concept of irony.
Michael!!!