Disclaimer: Not mine. I own zip, nil, nada. So don't sue me.
Author's Note: Part four of the 'Lost' series. Maria's POV - it's my first time trying to figure her out, so let me know if you disagree with my interpretation. And as always, I'm begging for feedback – I want the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Is it horribly wrong to be so blissfully happy when some of your best friends are absolutely miserable?
Because I am. Blissfully happy, that is.
Michael chose me. He could've gone home, and he chose to stay with me.
He told me that I was his home. And he is mine.
For most of my life, I've been lost. I mean, who was I, really? As a little kid, it seemed glaringly obvious that no one wanted me. After all, my dad dumped my mom and me and never looked back, and my mom screwed up her life when she had me. She wasn't much more than a kid herself.
My earliest memory isn't very nice. I must've been about three, and I was huddled in my closet with my dog, crying. It was late at night, and I had just woken up from a nightmare. I wanted my mommy and daddy to come in and sing to me until I fell asleep again. But they were busy. My parents were screaming at each other, and I think maybe they threw some dishes at the wall. The thing I remember most about that night, though, was feeling like I didn't matter. That I was lost, even in my own room in my own house.
That feeling persisted, although it got better over time, especially with Lizzie's help. I love her, even though I envied her, back then. She had everything I ever wanted. A mommy who was there when she came home and gave her warm cookies and milk as an after-school snack. A daddy who called her princess and gave her hugs and kisses each night before bed.
To Liz, it didn't matter if I was different. It didn't matter if I wore second-hand clothes or if my mother dated half the men in Roswell.
It didn't matter because she loved me. When I was with Liz, it was the first real home I ever had. Even though my mom tried really hard, it just wasn't enough, back then. I know she loved me, and still does, but she was far too young to be the kind of mom I needed.
So, Liz became my best friend, and her family became my substitute parents.
In time, Alex was added to our group, and I got a brother. The kind of brother who would stand up to schoolyard bullies for me, even though he knew full well that they could turn him into a human pretzel. The kind of brother who listens to my problems and cheers me up when I'm sad. The kind of brother who would punch out my boyfriend if he's being an ass.
And I thought my family was complete. I thought I'd found my niche in the world.
I was kooky Maria, Liz Parker's wacky sidekick. I was ditzy Maria, the lead singer in Alex Whitman's band. I was nutty Maria, daughter of Amy Deluca, who wore antenna to work while mom sold "George Bush is an alien' t-shirts. And to tell you the truth, I was perfectly happy with the way things were – or so I thought.
Then I met Michael, and I fell in love. I came home. And I realized that I didn't know myself as well as I thought.
The only thing I do know is that I love him.
Yesterday, in between delivering Alien Omelettes and pouring coffee, Liz told me that she and Max were back together. She was glowing when she said it, and I was happy for her, naturally, but a little scared, too. I've spent too many nights with her, armed with a box of tissues and a tub of ice cream. I don't want to do it again. I don't want to see her cry anymore. And it seemed odd to me that the two most cautious people I know would get back together so quickly, especially considering that he'd gotten that she-devil pregnant just a couple of days ago, so I said something, of course. I'm nothing if I'm not forthright.
Liz gave me this little smile and asked me why I love Michael. I thought for a minute, and realized I couldn't answer her. There aren't enough words to describe everything I love about him. So I told her I loved him because he was Michael.
Then she said that she loves Max the same way, and I grinned at her and told her I was happy for her. I am. I know she still has to learn to trust him again – after all, he did sleep with the she-devil without even considering how much it would hurt Lizzie – but I think they'll be okay.
Isabel and Kyle? That's another story altogether.
After we got off work, Michael and I headed over to Max's. Apparently, we were summoned. I love girlfriend, but he's got to get the sequoia out of his ass and stop ordering us around. But anyway, that's kinda off topic.
Isabel just sat in their living room, staring at the wall and crying the whole time we were there. Liz whispered to me that she's been like that for four days, and hasn't even eaten anything, as far as anyone knows.
And Kyle? The poor guy has a permanent deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. He talks, but in this scary monotone, and only when absolutely necessary. And his eyes look empty. That's scarier than anything else. It's like someone sucked the life out of him.
I hate the she-devil for doing that to them.
I tried to shake Isabel out of it, but she didn't even blink when I screamed at her, even though I was only, like, two inches from her face. Cypress oil didn't even help. Michael pulled me away and told me that she'd come out of it when she was good and ready. He thinks she's making her peace with Alex. I think she's moping, and a pint of ice cream and some sad music and a few tearjerker movies would do her some good. It would sure help the rest of us that have to live with her.
I know she misses Alex. I do, too, and I always will. It's like I lost a part of myself when he died, and I don't think I'll ever get it back. I hate that the little she-devil got away with killing someone as wonderful as Alex. I hate her for killing him, period.
After he died, I felt like I was walking through a fog. I felt so lost and alone, so out of touch, like there was nothing and no one that I could count on. If Alex could die, who was going to be next? My Mom? Liz? Michael? Was anyone safe?
And then Michael came back to me. He found me and brought me out of the dark place where I was living. He picked me up and helped me stand on my own again. He said he couldn't promise me forever, but he could promise me today. And that's enough for me.
I snuck out of my room tonight, and Michael was waiting for me. We went to his place – our place – and made love.
Ever since he came home to me, I don't want to leave his side, not even for a moment.
When he let me see the real Michael, when he let me see the flashes, I felt everything he felt. I saw everything he saw. And all he saw was me. Me. Maria DeLuca. I have never felt so loved or so protected in my life. I felt like I was coming home.
This started out to be a pretty rotten year. I mean, you've got the whole Michael's destined-to-be-with-Isabel crap, then the Skins, then the whole Courtney saga, the ongoing Max-and-Liz will they/won't they question, the evil blue flying Jello crystal killers, and Alex dying. I swear - there's enough melodrama in our lives that we could blow half the shows on television out of the water if anyone followed us around with a video camera.
But Michael – he makes it all worthwhile. I know we bicker and fight, but we love each other just as much as Max and Liz, without all of the annoying stare-into-my-eyes, I'm-your-soul-mate crap.
Although I know he is my soul mate. And everyone knows that we belong together. We just don't feel the need to advertise it by making googly-eyes at each other.
Then again, we're both passionate enough that when we're together, we ignite more sparks than a forest fire.
And the sparks? They can either take the form of raging fights we hold if we're in public, or they can be the equally raging make-out sessions we do in private. To tell the truth, I'm not sure which sparks I prefer.
We're vibrators. I admit it. But that's why we work.
Michael - even though he's Czechoslovakian – is my other half. He makes me feel safe. He might not always be the perfect boyfriend, sure, but he's there for me when I need him, like when Alex died. He didn't leave my side for days.
He might not be the perfect boyfriend, but he's my boyfriend. He's my Spaceboy, and I wouldn't want him any other way.
When he kisses me, I feel like I'm flying. And when he gives me that special Michael look – the look he only gives me – I feel like he was the reason I was born. Like I was born to be with him, and only him.
I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
When he said he had to leave me, that he had to go home, I was willing to let him go. I hated it, I despised it, but I wouldn't hold him back, not ever. Finding out the truth about his past means too much for him, and no matter how much it hurt, he had to choose his own path. No matter how much I loved him.
After he kissed me goodbye and left our bed, I wandered home. I don't even remember how I got there. One minute, I was staring at the jeep pulling away, at Michael leaving me, and the next thing I knew, I was flopping down next to Liz in my house. All I wanted to do was crawl into my closet and cry, the way I did when I was a little girl. I felt like I was lost, the same way I did all those years ago when I watched my father drive away.
And then Lizzie figured out the truth.
We rushed out there, but we couldn't get inside, and I was sure I had lost him forever. I pounded on the rock, until my hands were cut and bleeding from the stones, but the only pain I felt was my heart breaking. And in those moments, when we stood outside the pod chamber and tried desperately to get their attention, I prayed that we had conceived a child in our one night together.
If I had his baby, I remember thinking, then I would always have a little piece of him with me.
And then he opened the door and he came out. He was willing to give up his dream for me.
Later, after the she-devil took off for Mars, Michael held me in his arms while I cried. I cried for Alex, for what she did to him. And I cried for us. Because in those moments that I thought we were too late, I wanted to die.
In those moments, I knew just how much Michael meant to me. He's my whole world.
I'm not pregnant, no matter how much I wished for it when I thought he was gone. And to tell you the truth, I'm relieved. I mean, I'm not ready for a baby, and neither is Michael. And can you imagine how my mom would react? If she hits Michael with a newspaper when we just slept in the same bed, I don't want to know what she'd hit him with if she knew I was sleeping with him. I know Michael doesn't, either. And a baby would kind of be a pretty big tip-off.
We're going to do this right, this time, Michael and I. We've made so many stupid mistakes, let so many dumb things stand between us.
If anything good came from Alex's death, it's that I've learned how precious life is, and that I can't waste even a moment of it. And I won't. I owe Alex that much.
Because when Michael holds me in my arms, it feels like I'm finally coming home.