by Tracy (biancaheart@yahoo.com)
Rating PG-13
Category: Episode tag to "It's Too Late, and It's Too Bad". Kyle POV
Spoilers: See Above
Summary: While on a bus tour of colleges, Kyle mulls over his life in Roswell.
Disclaimer: If I owned Roswell, Kyle would have been in the episode
tonight. And he wasn't. So obviously, I don't own it, ok?
Maybe Isabel has the right idea.
She has an idea. A dream. San Francisco. She wants to pack her bags and kiss Roswell goodbye.
And lately, I can't say I blame her.
I've been thinking about it too.
How wonderful would it be to just leave and never look back. Never look back.
I could leave all this alien crap behind and focus on becoming Kyle Valenti again. Whoever he is. I really don't know who I am anymore. And that scares me.
So much stuff has been thrown at me, so fast. It doesn't seem like just last year that I was a carefree jock. I thought I knew everything, but there was so much that I didn't know. And I wish I could be innocent again.
I know I've been depressed lately. Dad is getting worried. That's why he told me to go on this college tour. Alex and I had originally signed up to go, we were going to room together and make prank calls back to Roswell at night. But that was back when things were simple.
Sitting here on this bus, things seem simpler. College classes may be harder, but life anywhere has to be easier than Roswell. I've always felt somewhat suffocated by Roswell, but wasn't until recently that I realized how much.
The trip is nearing it's end, and I don't want to go home. I don't want to go home and face my problems.
I don't want to face that I can't be the same care free jock as I used to be. I don't want to face the fact that Alex is dead. And I don't want to face the fact that Tess is all drooly over Max now. I don't want to face reality. I want to stay in this sweet imagination, this sweet daydream.
I can't sleep anymore. I'm waiting for the next boot to fall.
And sometimes at night, I dream about the shooting. I dream about the shot, about the metal, about the pain.
It still hurts.
I was shot, but I wasn't shot. I can't get help for being shot when I wasn't shot. I can't just walk up to someone and have them understand. Heck, I don't even understand.
I want someone to remember my birthday.
I wish that the tire on the bus would blow. That we would be stuck here, wherever we are, forever.
Would I be missed? I don't really know anymore. I don't know where I fit in anymore. I was just starting to feel like a member of a group, just starting to get everything in order when all this happened.
I want to be able to cry again. I want to be able to laugh again. I want to stop being numb.
Dad thought this trip would help me, but I'm only getting more and more confused.
I try to forget my problems, but they come back. They come back like a boomerang, drawing blood each and every time. It's too much for me to take.
Maybe we should have talked to the grief counselor. Maybe this is just grief, or post traumatic stress syndrome.
I'll go back to Roswell, I can't just runaway.
But I can start to dream.
Maybe this summer I'll try to track down Mom. Maybe she was haunted by demons in Roswell too. Maybe she felt so claustrophobic that she couldn't stay. Maybe that wasn't my fault.
Isabel has the right idea.
She has a dream. San Fransisco.
She knows what she wants. She wants to get out of this town.
And I do too.