Deal
by
Disclaimer: I disclaim. I don't own anything. Melinda Metz and Jason Katims own all, the WB, Fox, maybe even UPN own some portion. I'm not them!
Author's Note: I think that Isabel didn't really deal with Alex's death in the show. So, what better time to handle it than... summer?
Warning: This chapter contains underage alcohol use and mentions of suicidal thoughts.
Summary: It's summer 2001, and though Alex was killed weeks ago, Isabel Evans hasn't had the time to process and deal with her grief. What will her summer be like?
Rating: By chapter.
Chapter Three- PG
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Things just get harder. Harder and harder and harder. Alex comes less often as the days go on, each time telling me that it isn't good for me, that I need to heal and get over him. Sometimes I wonder if he really is my subconscious, telling me what I need to do, or if I can somehow communicate with him via my alien heritage, because I can't imagine denying myself the sheer wonder of any time spent with him.
But I can see the real Alex trying to do what was best in the long run, even if it hurt him or even me greatly in the immediate.
I thought that day when my parents dragged me home from Alex's grave was long, but it was nothing compared to what every day this week has been like. It's a living hell. I hold up my end as best as I can, trying to make everything run smoothly in the household, trying to act as I always do, but I know I'm depressed, and I know there's nothing I can do about it. I mean, can you see trying to explain that to a shrink? "Thanks Mrs. So-and-so, but I'm an alien, and that's really where all my problems start." Yeah, right.
Max and Michael try to help, but they both have their own lives, and don't notice how I'm feeling as much as they might. Michael and Maria are bickering less, and being touchy-feely romantic more. It's obvious something has changed there, but unlike I might during a different time, I don't really care. And Max is trying to get himself back in the good side of Liz, busily trying to re-earn her trust.
Kyle has been an amazingly good friend, and allows me to dump on him when I need it, but it helps less and less. What I need is Alex, I need Alex back. Nothing ever felt like this when he was here, like I didn't belong and wasn't welcome and couldn't escape. I feel suffocated right now, I'm drowning in my own misery.
So, naturally, last night I did something really stupid.
***************
"Isabel!" It's one of my admirers calling, undoubtedly some crude jock with a crass vocabulary who exists on alcohol and pot, and thinks with his crotch. As usual, I don't even bother to acknowledge him.
"Isabel!" He says again, catching up to me and walking along at a brisk clip by my elbow. I see now that it's Scott Thompson, truly the worst of the worst. He hangs out with Malemude and the rest of the football jocks, all of whom I know only passingly. Amazingly, Kyle considers them friends. For someone as smart as he is, it's truly absurd, but apparently, he doesn't share my conviction in that fact.
"What do you want, Scott?" I ask him tiredly, continuing out to the courtyard where I know Max, Kyle and Liz, possibly Michael and Maria too, will be waiting for me to join them.
"I want you to come with me to a party tonight." He offers.
I'm about to brush it off the way I usually do, but then something makes me reconsider. If I don't go, it's just gonna be me and my homework in an empty house, and I'm not sure I'm up for that. "What kind of party, Scott?"
He isn't sure how to answer that, isn't sure if I'll turn him in, or tell someone who will. "What do you mean?" He asks, even though I can clearly see he knows what I mean.
I'm tired of playing around, so, as usual, I take the blunt path. "Are we talking balloons and cake and presents, Scott, or is it the sex, drugs and alcohol kind of party?"
He looks around the hall, and then back to me. "I guess that would have to be the latter," He responds.
I flash him a patented Isabel-Evans smile, and he looks almost shocked. "Sure, Scott, I'll go. See you at seven."
He almost can't close his mouth because of his shock, but he nods, clearly amazed. "Great! Later, Iz."
I grab him as he leaves. "It's Isabel, not Iz. Nobody, nobody but who I say so gets to call me that."
He nods. "Sorry... Isabel."
I let him go, and make my way out to the yard. I shouldn't have done that, but I can't help it. My family are the only ones who get immediate privileges, Michael included. The only person outside of them that I let call me by my nicknames was Alex.
Look how that turned out.
**************
My parents were out with some friends, and Max was who knows where. Probably with Liz, or if not, maybe having a guys night out with Michael. After all, he and Maria had to separate some time, didn't they? So, I didn't have to account for my whereabouts to anyone.
Scott came to get me at nine, and the evening started out with awkward conversation on his part, and silence on mine. I didn't want to hurt him, but I truly wasn't in the mood to make small talk, and I surely wasn't ready for a new relationship. Anyway, we made it to the party, and he ditched me as fast as he could, having obviously figured out that I wasn't going to be 'putting out' tonight.
I bumped into a drunk Kyle, but he didn't want to do anything except nuzzle a girl whose name I doubt he knew. He took it hard, Tess's betrayal, almost as hard as I did when I learned that the girl I'd considered to be my best friend had killed the man I was in love with.
Anyway, I picked up the bottle of beer someone handed me, knowing fully what I was getting myself into because of Max's rather colorful experience, and I don't remember much after that. A few foggy images, a little hungry making out with guys I didn't know, though, thankfully, I know I remembered not to let it go too far.
My only worry was that I would spill about my true heritage, but I had to escape, had to make the pain leave, even if the only thing I got to replace it was a drunken haze. So I did. And I didn't spill anything. Except a whole lot of beer, some of it regurgitated.
I vaguely remember some fairly nice guy offering to drive me home, and me accepting his help. I got home to find Max pacing the room, worried sick about me, probably concerned that I would do something stupid, something like I had, resulting from my depression.
Max thanked the guy who'd brought me home, and helped me stumble into the house. "Max..." I cooed at him in total drunken idiodicy.
He looked at me like the protective brother he's always been. "Man, Iz, you're really plastered. How much did you drink?"
I giggled, and held up three fingers. "Three sips?" He questioned.
"Three bottles!" I crowed.
He stopped, and turned to face me, concern in his eyes. "Iz, if I can get drunk on one sip, you could have died from alcohol poisoning on three bottles!"
I shrugged. "I don't care."
"Iz, you don't want to die, do you?"
I cocked my head, thinking about it for a moment. "I'd be with Alex," I said. "Th real Alex. Not the funny one in my head, not the one who 'says seeing him is bad for me."
Max was worried by then, I can see now, though it wasn't very clear through my drunken stupor. "You see Alex?"
I nodded, and tapped my head. "Here. In here. 'Says he's part of my 'unconsciousness'. I think he's a big fat liar 'cause he keeps trying to go away, and there's NO part of me who wants him to go away!"
I'm crying by now, and Max has me cuddled against his shoulder like a small child. "Shhh, Iz, it'll be okay. But don't give up on this world yet, okay?"
I nod. "Okay."
Max holds my head up so that my eyes meet his, and looks at me. "Isabel, promise me you won't try to kill yourself."
I look at him for a long moment, thinking about refusing. But in the end, Max is my home as much as Alex is the only one who holds the key to my heart, and I have to remember that. "I promise, Max."
He looked so relieved, and kissed my forehead before he tucked me into bed. He left a couple of aspirin by my bedside table, along with a glass of water, knowing that I might be too weak to block the pain in the morning. I didn't speak again, and when he left the room, I passed out almost as fast as I'd gotten drunk.
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