"For This I Remember, For Thee I Mourn"
She sat up on the bed, leaning her head against the wall. The crescent moonlight streamed in through the foggy window. The sheets were bathed with a silver light, and they were cool against her skin despite the heat flooding the room. She couldn't sleep. It wasn't an unusual circumstance these days.
The door was slightly ajar and if she listened closely, she could hear the sound of Kyle's heavy breathing float on the air. Everything was so still at night. She was almost afraid to move, afraid to break the silence that reigned. She wished she could sleep. It would be easier then.
Pushing the twisted covers off her legs, she slipped out of bed and padded softly to the shadow that was the closet. She did this many nights, when the darkness pressed down so hard, her head pounded with the pressure. The knob was where she knew it would be and it twisted easily under her hand. She took an odd pleasure in the simple action. It made her feel connected.
She needed that connection. It had hurt so much today, an unimaginable pain. She had thought that the worse pain in her life would be when Nasedo died, when she realized Max would never love her. But today, when Kyle had rejected Max, had rejected *her*...tears had leapt into her eyes. It had surprised her at first, the unexpected moisture. She never cried. Emotion was a weakness, something that was not to be indulged in. Yet today, she had nearly cried. Because of what Kyle said.
Stretching on her tiptoes, she reached for the bound book that was pushed towards the back of the shelf. It wasn't hidden precisely, just...out of sight. Her fingers skimmed against the edge of the leather and she added a little power to call the book to her. After Kyle had freaked about her using her powers on his walls, she had made it a rule to use her powers as little as possible in the Valenti home. But they weren't here and what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. At least in this case.
She wrapped her hands securely around her treasure and went back to the bed, the carpet rough against the soles of her bare feet. She tucked her legs underneath and settled down on the soft mattress, indian style. She listened again to the air, reassuring herself that the men were still safely asleep. No one knew that she had created this. The idea had come to her after she had seen the way Isabel used her mirrors as a scrapbook and after Michael had mentioned that Liz kept a journal. Her book was sort of a combination of the two.
Carefully, she flipped back the cover. The first page seemed to glow in the moonlight and it appeared to be blank. She pressed two fingers against the bottom of the page and silver light spilled across the printed lines, causing shimmering text to appear. She had started writing in it after Nasedo died, when she had this pent up stuff that had nowhere to go.
She turned the pages, her words dancing before her eyes, each reminding her of a moment of her life. She could tell that she was changing. As she went through more pages, more instances of time, she could see the influence Roswell was having on her. She didn't want Max anymore. The word "destiny" was never mentioned anymore. It was all causes and battles and fighting the Skins. It felt like her whole life pre-Roswell had bee a holding pattern. Like she hadn't begun to live until she came here.
There were pictures too, images that she had figured out how to press between the pages. Scenes she always wanted to remember. There was the first time Max had really smiled at her and she had realized that she felt comforted by it. No thrill, no sparks, no electricity. Just comfort. There was a picture of Maria and Michael leaning out the service window at the Crashdown after their shifts were over and the place closed for the night. They weren't bickering for a change and the palpable angry tension between them seemed to shift into a softer bond. They had looked right together. There was also one of the rare times when Michael laughed, from the summer when she had helped him channel his powers.
She had little of her life before she came to Roswell. There were no photographs or momentos she kept to help her remember. No, only now did she need a repository of times gone by. The War was just starting and she wanted to savor every second of the life she had in Roswell. It would fade all too soon. As it was already fading. The end of the book was filled of tales about Kyle. How he tried a couple of times to walk in on her when she was in the shower. How he loved potatoes but refused to touch any other vegetable. How he whined like a child when she forgot to pack the twinkies in his lunch. How he gave the most amazing back rubs and how the electricity seemed to arc between them whenever they touched. How his smile always made butterflies dance in her stomach.
It was over now. He'd made that abundantly clear in the Crashdown. When that crystal hit the ground, it felt like her heart had gone down with it. This was what he thought of them, this is how he had always thought of them. As nothing. As something to be discarded as soon as possible. Kyle had always been honest about how he regarded them. Slimy. Creepy. Disgusting. Just look at what their presence in the Valentis' lives had cost them. Kyle hadn't asked to be a part of this. In fact, he'd asked to be left completely out of it. She knew as well as Max did that they didn't have the luxury of letting any of their small band go, but at least she could make it as painless as possible.
With decisive movements, she shut the book and dropped it on her night stand. She dropped into a crouch and pulled the old battered suitcase from under her bed. She could move in with Michael. She clicked open the case and stared into the emptiness. A small part of her hadn't thought she would be moving again for a while. True, she wasn't going very far, and it wasn't like she was leaving anything behind, but in a way, she was.
The wood of the battered old dresser was smooth to her touch as she pulled open the drawers. Scooping up armfuls of her clothes, she let them fall into the suitcase, filling the yawning emptiness. She refused to think about the metaphorical implications behind her actions. Knowing that sleep would be impossible to gain tonight, she stripped off her pajamas and dressed herself in an outfit for school.
The minutes slipped by, then a hour, two, and then she looked around, a pang of sorrow rippling through her. What did it say about her life, that it could be entirely packed up in two hours? She tried to restore his room to the way it had been before she invaded, but she'd already tossed his girlie magazines. She carefully folded his jersey, which she continually swiped from him, enjoying the silky feel one last time.
She could feel the tears begin to choke her and she tossed her hair. She piled her pitifully small stash of things against the wall and took another look around the room. It looked like a boy's room now. There was no trace of her. She noticed she had left out her book and a large part of her wanted to push it back into the closet, just so *something* of her would be left behind. But to leave it behind would also be leaving behind what she had become. Who she was now. Not even for the thought of Kyle finding it would she abandon that.
She tucked it into one of her bags and stood, watching the night sky. The moon was nearly at the horizon and the eastern sky was already tinged with a rosy light. She pushed open the window, and a crisp air wafted into the room, carrying the scent of the early morning dew. She'd never notice the smell of dawn before. She'd never known dawn had a special smell. Roswell had changed her. She could never be what Nasedo had expected of her and she could never be good enough for Kyle. All she could be now was what she had become. She continued to stand, watching the night sky metamorphose, and suddenly, all she could do was cry.
*End*