After dumping the glass into the garbage, I peel the turtleneck off of my neck and wipe away the dried blood. It's Friday and I'm not out with friends. I have no friends, I remind myself. No one calls. No one cares. I sigh and walk upstairs. She can clean up her own damn mess, I decide. I'm going to bed.

As soon as I wake up the next morning, I head downstairs, but first sneak a glance at my mother's room. The door is shut, as usual. She's either passed out or sleeping. Party all night, sleep all day, that's how she seems to function. Somehow she manages to fit work into her pathetic schedule. After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, I grab my bag and head for the library. Screw her. I can take care of myself.

I enter the quiet library and the librarian lookup with dull eyes, then quickly averts her glance. I roll my eyes and return to my books. Does anyone have emotion?

I see a little boy looking at my arms and neck. Shifting uncomfortable, I head towards the back. I clear my throat and start looking at the shelves. I grab the book The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice. I never get tired of that book. Without realizing it, I back into someone and mutter an apology.

"It's nothing." I hear a deep velvety voice behind me and look up into chocolate brown eyes. I can't help but stare.

"Are you all right?" he asks, concerned.

I blink and quickly glance down to the floor and memorize his looks: He's about six-foot with raven black hair and a slight smile plays on his well- shaped lips. Strong jaw, high cheekbones and the strong shape of a football player, but yet at the same time lean. He's clad in black with a black duster to finish it off.

"Yea I'm fine." I swallow hard and bend down for my bag.

"My name is Max Evans, would you mind much telling me yours?" There's that velvet voice again.

"Liz," I say quickly, "My name is Liz Parker."

"That's a pretty name. My grandmother's name was Elizabeth. It's nice to meet you." He holds out his hand and I take it. His hands are surprisingly warm, mocking the cold outside.

"What brings you to Roswell, Max?" Oh God, this is the first person my age who has spoken to me in so long.

"My dad got a new job. So he moved my mom and I here. I start school Monday."

"That's always fun," I say grabbing my things.

"Will I see you there?"

"No doubt. If not just look me up." I smile faintly and walk to the check out. Did I just flirt? I think I did. I grab my book and head for home.

I expect to see more alcohol on the floor and my mom passed out on the couch, but to my surprise, the house is just as I as left it. I raise an eyebrow and walks to my mother's room. Something's not right, I think as I open her door. The bed's made and it's as if nothing has been touched. I walk back downstairs and check all the doors. Still locked from the inside. There are messages on the machine that shouldn't be there. I peer into the garage and don't see her car. She never came home.