~*~Part Thirteen~*~
Have you ever had one of those mornings?
One of those mornings where the sun glares into your eyes, and you smile, happy to see it and happy to be alive? Where not even the annoying chirping of the blasted birds outside your window can bother you? Where it's not a big deal that you woke up before your alarm?
Yeah, me neither.
But this morning came [I]close [/I].
I bury my pillow relentlessly into the soft, fragrant pillow, trying desperately to squelch the wide smile that is threatening mercilessly to break out upon my face. Stupid face muscles. They never obey. Wayward, good for nothing, revealing -
Yes, I could go on all day. But luckily, I have more important things to do today. Like work. And try to stop thinking about Max Evans.
Enough of this. I push my self up from the beckoning sheets, all mussed and warm from my protesting body. Let me tell you, getting up in the morning utterly sucks. Especially when the air conditioner is blasting so fiercely that if you didn't know any better you'd swear it was December in the North Pole. Especially when said air conditioner seems to be working solely in your room, while the rest of the apartment is delightfully temped. See?! Even machinery is against me today. So in conclusion my fine friends today would be a day to stay in bed.
I have to firmly resist the urge to plop back down face first into the pillows and have to clamp down warningly on the whine of complaint that is threatening to rip out of my throat. My head feels so groggy that I instinctively know that if I tried to make my way to the bathroom, I would surely fall on my face. And as much as I enjoy tripping like the clumsy oaf I am, and you know I do, the bed looks a lot more enticing thank you.
I plop back down and snuggle deep into my pillows, trying to remember the dream I had been having before the sun decided to pierce my eyelids so rudely. For some reason today I woke up with a hint of a smile on my face, and the only explanation is that I must have had a less than terrifying dream for once. I struggle to remember it, but so far, nada. It's not coming to me.
Don't you just hate waking up with this feeling of incomprehensive thought? Some idea or feeling that's on the tip of your tongue, dancing away from you to hide behind other unrelated inane thoughts until you can no longer recall what you had originally set out to remember. And the damn, obstinate thought, it just hides like a coward behind those other thoughts, waiting for a time later where it can jump out at you. It's always at the least opportune time too, where it's rendered completely useless. So anyhow, don't you just despise that?
Yeah, me too.
I roll over lazily, stretching like a cat in the sun on a warm, lazy hazy summer day. God, I feel so relaxed and .
HOLY SHIT!
One glance at the digital clock (a new one, since I clobbered the old one) and all those sentiments of feeling relaxed and what not go out the window.
SHIT! I'm SO LATE! Why the hell didn't Nancy or Jeff wake me up?
Oh, gee, I don't know. Probably because they have just as much trouble getting up in the morning as I do?
Oh crap. I bolt out of bed, ignoring the feeble jolts of vertigo that are lightly stabbing my head and hastily throw on my uniform, which had been hanging tauntingly on the back of a chair. I look longingly at the bathroom as I quickly button up the aquamarine hideous dress. No time for that. No time to even brush my hair, or wash my face .
I freeze, totally forgetting for an instant. [I]Max[/I] is working with me today. So much for not thinking about him.
Immediately I bolt for the bathroom, grabbing the brush on the counter and swiping it through my newly dyed and trimmed hair simultaneously as I sit myself down on the pot to relieve myself.
Hey, I'm on a clock here. Cut a girl some slack.
Once I'm done, I look into the mirror, and for a paralyzing moment, I don't recognize myself. Only this time it's a pleasant sensation. I smile slightly. Maria and Isabel do good work, I can give them that much. But if they ever come at me with tweezers again, make note of this, I will be forced to hurt them.
Gathering my dark hair into a low ponytail, I suppose I'm good to go. Except, wait, where are my antennae?
Oh jeez. Now THERE'S a thought I never expected to come out of even [I]my[/I] mind.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I search the room with my eyes, while digging into my pocket for that tube of clear lip gloss Isabel let me have. I can't find the damn headband, and honestly, it's not easy to miss, what with the silvery sparkles and the huge, obvious balls attached to springs. A growl of impatience escapes my throat as I swipe the gloss hurriedly over my lips.
Ahhh. I'm addicted to this stuff, I swear, and it's only been a day or so. Something about the way my lips slide together . Weee. Fun stuff.
Enough of this. The stupid headband just isn't up here, and now I'm even more late because of the bathroom break/attempt at primping.
Time to leave my intangible dreams behind and go work.
[I]Time to see Max[/I]. I smile despite myself. Stupid face muscles.
~*~
"So, what are we going to do about this whole Isabel/Alex situation?" Maria clicks the end of her ballpoint pen listlessly over and over again, the loud snapping noise bouncing along the walls of the diner. I resist the urge to snatch it away from her, as it's driving me crazy.
Max raises an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean, 'we?' You're the one that's dead set on getting involved." Slowly, he reaches over and stops Maria's continuous assault on the top of her pen, effectively stopping the irritating clicking. I smile, and he glances over, sharing a knowing look with me.
This is me. This is me trying not to melt into a pile of sappy goo.
"Well [I]something[/I] has to be done about it!" Maria rants angrily, now taking to waving the pen violently through the air, nearing taking her antennae off with her movements.
I shrug, ignoring my current state of gooiness. "I don't see why that has to be our problem."
I wince when Maria screeches in shocked denial. "What!? Of COURSE it's our problem!" She takes a deep breath and calms down before turning back to me. "Liz, you've known me for quite a bit now, right?" When I nod in affirmation, she continues. "Right. So in that time, you should know by now that meddling is in my nature, my blood! A feature that's been passed down, Deluca woman to Deluca woman." She smiles. "Seriously. Ask Michael."
I snort lightly. "I'll take your word on that."
Max leans forward so that his arms rest easily on the bar countertop. [I]Oh, to be that countertop.[/I]
Apparently, my face muscles aren't the only thing rebelling against my orders to stop being such a sap. My thoughts have now joined their ranks. [I]Traitors! [/I]
"Yeah," he's saying, trying to skirt around Maria's outraged expression at the thought that we shouldn't get involved. "Liz is right. What's their business is their business." He pauses, darting a glance across the diner to where Isabel is currently ringing up a customer. "Besides. Iz would kill you if she figured out what you're plotting."
"So would Alex," I add as Maria sighs in frustration.
"No, see that's just the thing! Later on, they would be [I]thanking[/I] us." Maria nods confidently, eyeing us like we're uncommonly stupid for thinking otherwise.
Max and I share another look. It's one that says: "[I]We're not going to convince her otherwise so might as well humor her until she runs out of steam[/I]."
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the way you want to look at things, Isabel's voice breaks through our conversation. "Who would be thanking you?" All three of our heads spin around to look at her guiltily, trying to get her off of our trail. Because even though I'm positive that Isabel would cheerfully kill us if we got involved in her romantic affairs, I am also equally positive that the same fate would befall us were she to hear us discussing the possibility.
"Maria," Isabel grits out. "WHO would be thanking you?"
See, Isabel's smarter than she looks, and a heck of a lot more perceptive too. This, obviously, though does not help Maria any. Or Max and me either.
"Uhm, we were just talking about Liz's new hair, and how she should be thanking us for the marvelous job we did." Maria supplies smoothly. Niiice. You can almost believe that she's telling the truth. Almost.
Suddenly, I'm being jabbed in the stomach. I look down at my assailant, which turns out to be Maria's oh so discreet elbow. I bit my lip to keep from groaning in pain, but honestly, why should I suffer in silence when I can still moan, whimper, and complain? [I]Because Maria would kill you, that's why.[/I]
"Right guys?" Maria says through clenched teeth, glaring pointedly at Max and me, demanding that we concur with her.
Hastily, Max and I voice our agreement and reassurance while I simultaneously mock glower at Maria and rub my poor gut.
Isabel seems pacified somewhat as she brings a musing fist up to rest underneath her chin while she stares at my hair. "We did do a good job, didn't we?"
Before I can voice aloud my thanks and praise for how much better my hair looks, Maria's green eyes narrow dangerously and she grins her patented grin. You know the one I'm talking about. The devious, underhanded one. Oh come on. We've been over this. And we've also been over the fact that at times like these, the best defense is to run.
I'm not quick enough. She jerks her chin towards Max, still smiling devilishly. "Yes we did. So what about you Max? Do you like it?"
The familiar yearning to kill Maria quickly is suddenly resurfacing along with the sense of Déjà vu. The only thing stopping me from returning with a hard jab of my own to her gut is the fact that I actually am kind of interested in what Max has to say. So I dare a look up at him, feeling so incredibly vulnerable as he rocks back on his heels, pretending to appraise me. When my eyes meet his, his gaze turns from aloof and critical to warm like sunshine. Rays of some unknown emotion shine forth from that gaze, and his hand suddenly moves, reaching out to thread through the very hair that was the subject of his perusal.
My heart stops, and then picks up with twice the speed. His fingers thread around my strands, languidly letting them trickle through his hands. And still, his gaze is never wavering from mine. He smiles that special smile of his, and a faint shudder ripples through me as a smile of my own begins to formulate on my face.
"It's beautiful. But then, it's Liz." He shrugs, letting his hand drop. "It's to be expected."
And squish goes my heart. Like ooey, gooey, movie-theatre-worthy butter that you drizzle all over your dry, crunchy popcorn. Oh wow.
I continue to stare at him, smiling shyly. For once in my life, I think you can color me speechless. The sound of my rapidly beating heart thudding in my ears is making it hard for me to even think.
"MAX! Get those dirty plates and then get your butt back here! The lunch rush is almost upon us, don't forget!" A voice shouts out over the grill, it's tone extremely frustrated and angry.
Max glowers over in the direction of Jose, the cook on duty today. Have I mentioned that he's a bit grumpy in the morning? No? How about a tad senile? "I guess that signifies that break time is over," Max grumbles under his breath, looking upset at the thought. I silently agree as I watch him watch walk over to scoop up a pile of soiled, used plates effortlessly into his arms, sighing softly and fingering the strand of hair that had just been tickling his fingers.
A loud, clapping noise from the back of me startles me from my staring contest with Max's behind. Suspiciously, I turn around to catch Maria and Isabel with triumph grins etched on their features like footsteps in the sand, their hands swinging down like .like they had just gotten done high fiving each other? What?
My eyes narrow and they catch me staring. Immediately, they jump back a little, attempting nonchalance.
"What was that?" I ask, glancing back and forth between them.
"What was what?" Maria says, almost too quickly, too innocently. Her entire stance is like it was when she was lying to Isabel's face a minute ago, denying any sort of manipulation on her part. My eyes are slits, but I can't help the smirk had works its way along my face.
"You two," I answer, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice and the irritation firmly in place. "You haven't been .meddling in my affairs, have you?"
"Why who, us?" Isabel's voice is the perfect blend of interrogative innocence. It sounds like she's done this before, the whole denial thing. Her tone is almost too perfect.
"Hmm, I must have been imagining things then," I say offhandedly, gathering up my order pad so I can go take care of the rapidly filing in customers. "Just like I was imagining Maria plotting to meddle in YOURS, Isabel. My mistake." I sail away, smiling over my shoulder when I hear Isabel spit out between clenched teeth, "What?" and when I feel Maria's death glare on my back.
My amusement is short lived, however, when I see a sight from my worst nightmare, a sight I have been praying that I'd safely left behind. I force myself to blink, convinced that I must be hallucinating, that what's standing right before me isn't anymore than a horrible trick of the light. Oh please, don't be what I think it is.
Because if Pam Troy and Tess Harding are really standing across the way, flirting with Max, I think I'm going to be sick.
I don't know how long I stood there with my eyes closed, but when I open them again, the revolting scene is the same as I left it. Pam's shiny reddish blonde hair swaying as she chews determinedly on a piece of gum, and Tess's shrill laughter echoing through the diner is the same as it was back home. My gaze narrows as I watch Tess put her hand on Max's arm, the arm that is still cradling a mountain of dirty dishes, and unconsciously I start forward. The disgustingly flirtatious smile of hers is locked firmly in place and is making my skin crawl and my teeth gnash together.
Max shifts away from her, struggling to keep all the plates from tumbling to the floor as a result of Tess hand. I snort in aversion at her utterly stupid move.
Suddenly, I realize I am far too close for comfort, since now I can actually hear their conversation.
"Oh come on now, Max." Tess purrs irritatingly. "Aren't you going to ask us our names?"
I'm sorry, could someone pass me a puke bucket? Other wise the bile that is welling up in my throat is going to end up all over the floor.
Wait, am I imagining things, or does Max look .uncomfortable? My heart leaps for some odd reason as he coughs uncertainly. "You know, the thought actually hadn't crossed my mind." Tess and Pam giggle, as if he had just finished telling a good joke. Max looks at them bewilderedly before glancing back towards the kitchen, where Jose is popping his head out and searching the diner fiercely. "I'd better get back to work before - "
Pam steps up, fluffing her hair delicately. "I'm Pam, and this is Tess."
"Well, uh, enjoy your meal here at the Crashdown." Max turns and nearly collides with me. The dishes in his hand wobble precariously, but at the last second, he rights them. Almost all of them. One plate at the top slides over and I hastily reach out and catch it. I can feel Tess and Pam's stares of shock at the sight of me, but right now, all that matters right now is that Max's face is lighting up with a smile that speaks volumes of relief and gratitude as I set the wayward plate back atop his pile.
His eyes look into mine for a few more blissful seconds. Then he turns to go, leaning close for an instant to whisper 'thanks' into my ear, his breath tickling my hair. I bite my lip and watch him go for the second time that day, wincing for what I know now to be the inevitable.
"Liz? Liz Parker?" Tess's shrill voice cuts through the low hum of conversation throughout the diner, and I cringe. Yes, it's still as irksome as ever.
The soft sound of Pam's biting laughter slices through me, and I turn to look at them, wondering what the hell I did to deserve this.
"Wow," Pam spits out spitefully. "Little did I know that when I signed up to travel the Southwest with Tess and her mother that I would get the chance to see Little Lizzie Parker of all people."
I smile weakly, thinking dumbly that maybe things won't so bad. "Hey Pam."
"My God. You haven't changed a bit, have you Liz. Still the same old freak." The way she spits out the last word it ends up coming out in two syllables. I cower, still biting my lip. I'm surprised I haven't tasted blood yet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maria's head shoot up in our direction. She probably heard Pam's voice, it's a bit hard to ignore.
Pam begins to circle me and suddenly I'm wishing for the floor to crack open and swallow me whole. "But wait," Pam pauses, taking in my new hair, and for a moment I feel a surge of pride. Ha. Take that bitch. Let you be the one surprised for once. "Something's new here." Pam touches Tess lightly on the arm as she regards me with fake admiration. "Aww! Look Tess! Liz is trying to fit in." Her face scrunches up, and again, it's amazing how such a pretty girl can look so ugly, evil. "Too bad it'll never work. You'll always be nothing Liz. No matter how hard you try."
"Uh, excuse me. Can I [I]help[/I] you?" Maria suddenly behind me, and I want to hug her for breaking up this horrible excuse for a reunion. The floor is not working too well on that sucking me up deal. Pam wrinkles her nose at the sight of Maria and her antennae, and this makes Maria all the more angry, if the way she is bristling is any indication.
"Uh, no. Thanks," Pam says, her voice making it clear that she felt no sort of gratitude. "I seriously doubt that you could do anything here for me, so why don't you take your little bee antennae's and go help somewhere else?"
I close my eyes, still feeling nauseous. I don't think it's fully set in yet. I'm still reeling from the shock. I'm not here. This is all just a horrible, gut-wrenching dream and soon I'll wake up and laugh about it.
Oh please, let it be a dream.
Maria scoffs indignantly, clearly gathering herself up for a full-fledged, legendary Maria type rant.
Get me out of here. I hate scenes, and I most definitely do not want to be a part of one.
Maria inches closer to me, the gesture inherently protective, and she glares at Pam. "Well now, aren't you just a waste of two thousands years of evolution."
Despite my abhorrence of creating a scene, I can't help but glance at Maria in amusement. Hee. That was a good one.
Pam ruffles angrily, while Tess just stares at us all uncertainly. "Why I never!" Pam finally shouts. "If anyone is the waste, it's - "
I have to force myself to breathe, since I know exactly where Pam is going with this. Oh, God, please, just don't -
"Can I help you?" Isabel breaks in coolly, giving the girls a reproachful glare. I jump in acute surprise. Where the heck did she come from?
Never mind that, she has my complete gratitude right now, since her icy tone just shut Pam and Tess up. We all stand in silence for a minute, the majority of us glowering darkly, and then Pam and Tess give each other a look. One of those looks that pretty girls give when they see another girl so blatantly much more prettier then they are. And then, miracles of miracles, they turn towards Isabel and the register to begin ordering some takeout. Ignoring me completely.
[I]Thank you, thank you![/I] My whole respect and admiration level for Isabel Evans just went up about five notches. I could hug her! Well, that is I could if she weren't so adamantly opposed to that sort of contact and if I was planning on staying any longer in that room with Pam and Tess.
Which I'm not.
The instant their attention is diverted elsewhere, and Maria is safely delivering orders (while simultaneously shooting daggers at the two nightmares over her shoulder, I am pleased to note), I bolt for the break room. The door slams shut behind me, and I lean against the wall, breathing deeply in relief.
Well.
That completely sucked. And what sucks even more is that I'm not waking up. Which means this isn't a dream. God, can't ANYTHING go right, for even just a little while? Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so.
I sigh loudly and stomp my way over to the couch, knowing that I'll be safe here. The sign doesn't say "Employees Only" for nothing.
"Liz?"
I jump five feet in the air (okay, well, it feels like it) and gasp loudly. Whirling around, I come face to face with -
Max.
I breathe a sigh a relief.
"Hey." I say, trying to hit even a semblance of normal. Per usual, I doubt it worked.
"Hey," He answers back. A silence ensues, and then an eyebrow quirks up at me. "Who the heck were those girls?"
Oh God. Please oh please don't tell me I'm imagining the note of disgust in his voice. I smile slightly. "Just a icky blast from my past, that's all." [I]Yeah. That's all. I hope.[/I]
Jose's voice suddenly shakes through the room. "Max! Git you're stubborn ass over here! We ain't done yet, so quite looking at Jeff's niece all goo goo eyed!"
My mouth drops open. And the hits today just keep on coming. Did I hear him right? Max? Looking [I]goo goo eyed[/I] at ME? My head jerks up, and Max is flushing slightly, his eyes apologetic. "I'd better get back over there," he says, starting back for the kitchen, which is really only a few steps away.
I nod. "Yeah. I'll just . I'll just be back here for a while."
Once he leaves I collapse onto the worn-in couch, grateful for its comfort. Jeez, what a day.
The back swinging door slams open with such a force that I'm in the air once again. I swear to God, I am going to have heart problems by the time this day is over. Wearily, I gaze over to see who entered so vehemently, half-expecting Maria to come breezing in with a familiar rant waiting for me. However, what I definitely do NOT expect is to see Pam, back again for round two.
Oh God. Please tell me that this isn't happening.
I freeze, my bottom glued to the couch. Silently, half of me prays that Max will stay in the kitchen while the other half prays that he won't.
This is so surreal. Pam starts towards me, her form visibly shaking with animosity. What the hell is up that girl's ass now? I just know that I for one want no more of it.
Pam simply stares at me for a few moments, and then her face curls into an ugly sneer. "Just what the hell do you think you are doing?"
Uhh .what?
"What?" I blurt out, completely shocked at her accusation. Especially since I have no idea what she is accusing me of.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." When I continue to stare blankly and dubiously at her, she sighs in exasperation, as if I'M being the one difficult here. "Worming your way into this town, making everybody like you, when you know." She chuckles suddenly, the sound chilling me to the core. "You know that you don't deserve any of it."
Fresh, hot guilt explodes in my gut, the feeling all to familiar. And wrong. I know this now.
My lip trembles, and I curse it. But my voice is soft and strong when I curtly inform her: "You're wrong."
She laughs again, the same cackle that reminds one of nails screeching across a chalkboard. "Am I? You know as well as I what you are Lizzie dear."
I'm frozen again, this time not because of her words, but because of the movement I see over her shoulder. And that movement is Max Evans, shifting into earshot. Which means that whatever Pam has to say that he'll hear every word.
"No," I croak out. "No, Pam. Don't even. You don't know what you're talking about." And she doesn't. Despite the fact that she was the one to spread those rumors, that's all they are. Rumors. Kernels of the truth, but when it all comes down to it, they're nothing but bald-faced lies that couldn't be further from the truth.
But Max doesn't know that. Maria, Isabel, Alex and Michael don't know that. Hell, I don't think even Pam knows that. But the last thing I want is for any of the people I've been beginning to consider friends in Roswell to know what those rumors are.
When I see her twisted grin, my heart sinks.
"Don't what?" Pam snorts. "Don't tell all your precious friends what a freak you are back home? About what a slut you are, and how no one in their right mind should give you the time of day? You're vapor, Liz. A thin wisp of nothing that should do everyone a favor and just disappear."
Oh God! Shut up, shut up! My mouth is hanging open with the shock that's she's actually doing this with someone (and not just any someone thank you) in earshot. But really, I shouldn't be so surprised. It's not like she hasn't done this before.
DO SOMETHING! My mind screams at me. Deny it, prove her wrong, kick her in the face, just do SOMETHING!
Nothing's changed. I still stand there, my mouth suspended in time, open and trembling, my heart aching and I'm trying to do anything but look over in the direction of the kitchen.
Pam notices my gaze, or rather where I am NOT looking. She chuckles mirthlessly. "Well, well. Looks like someone else is about to hear about what exactly you are Liz."
And just like that, something inside me snaps. I have to get out of there, have to get away before I see the look on Max's face when he realizes .
I don't allow myself to finish that thought. I simply bolt for the back door and burst into the alleyway, gasping and lugging in a huge gulp of the musky garbage smell coming from the dumpster. The sound of Pam's voice behind me spurs on my movements and I start running, relishing the familiar burning sensation in my thighs. Anything to take my mind off of what just happened, of what Max must be thinking.
The door that had closed behind me now slams open with a strong force. I hear Max moving after me, but the thought doesn't comfort me. Probably just running to catch up so he can try and get Tess's number from me. Either that or to confirm that yes, I am that big of a freak like Pam says.
"Liz? Liz! Wait!"
I hesitate when I hear his voice. Is that .could I have possibly just heard concern in his tone?
Impossible. Right?
I squash down the part of me that is leaping up with hope and joy and then kick it for good measure when it entreats me to slow down and stop.
"Liz?" His voice is more frantic now, laced with anxiety. It too begs me to stop.
But it's too late.
I'm gone.
~*~
So. Pam and Tess are in Roswell, of all places to spend their summer vacation.
Notice my complete lack of surprise.
[I]Told you[/I]. Told you I should have stayed in bed today. But no, I had to go downstairs to work. I just had to run into them and ruin everything that I thought might have been happening between -
No. It's over. There is no way in hell that anyone will want anything to do with me now that Pam and her posse are here to spread the rumors, the lies, the pain. Hope dashed. All of it, just gone. The very thought makes me so angry, I could scream while sitting here in the dark. I want to yell, shout out the animosity I'm feeling towards myself for falling prey to that bastard hope again, my fury towards Pam for showing up and dashing my feeble spirits.
So I do.
A strangled cry absconds out my throat, the noise slicing through the silence of the dim room so sharply that you would think that my voice was a knife. Tears of frustration well up in the corner of my eye. I HATE this. I absolutely HATE feeling this way.
And then I hear it. Someone softly calling my name. The sound echoes through the empty diner where I came to rot and wallow in peace after it closed an hour ago. I had THOUGHT that I could be alone here.
Shit. I hope that whoever it is didn't hear me. With all my brilliant powers of persuasion, I stare hard at the doorway, willing the person to go away.
"Liz, honey, what's wrong?"
Well that obviously did not work. Wonderful.
It's my aunt. Oh wait, excuse me, Nancy.
Wrong she asks? What's WRONG? I think a more plausible question would be what isn't wrong? It is ME she's talking to, isn't it?
I furiously wipe at the two tears that managed to escape down my face. "Hey Nancy," I attempt to hit a jaunty tone. By the look on Nancy's face as she ambles over to the bar where I'm perched, I can guess that it failed miserably. Probably because:
A. I have never been jaunty in my life, and
B. I just plain suck at it.
She just stands there, arms crossed, and waits for me to fess up. I in turn wait for the barrage of questions that will be thrown at me, for the prying that every adult does when they sense something wrong. The whole ordeal is just a big vat of anticipation. Lovely.
Hmm, still waiting
Waiting some more.
Man, she is damn good at that staring thing.
I shift a bit and make sure that my gaze is anywhere but locked onto her probing one.
Again with the waiting
Ok, someone has to stop the madness. I break the silence weakly. "Nothing's wrong."
Now usually I pride myself on being able to lie smoothly about how I am really feeling. I mean, hell, I have had all the practice with my mom. I would say my dad too, but it wouldn't matter if I told him anything. He wouldn't care one way or the other. But right now, it's obvious even to ME that, with my wavering voice, I am most definitely lying. And it looks like it's apparent to Nancy by the way she keeps staring at me.
"I see," she says slowly. "Are you sure?"
Are you sure. What kind of stupid question is that? [I] Are you sure [/I]
Just say it. Just say yes. Just say yes and she will go away and leave you alone. SAY IT.
But even as I open my mouth, I can tell I am going to sound anything but believable.
"I'm fine," I choke out, my voice cracking. Fucking perfect. Now leave me be.
What is it about the actual activity of [I]talking[/I] that makes crying come so much more easily? I swear, if I were alone right now, I can almost guarantee that I would not be crying. Oh, for sure I would still be sulking and wallowing about how much fate and all that sucks, but that's nothing exactly new.
Nancy hesitates, seemingly having an internal struggle. Oh God. Here we go. The ole lecture, the ole 'I understand what you are feeling' feel good talk. Just what I need. I swear to God I am not going to survive this. Why can't people leave me alone? Why do they have to pick, to prod, to rip away anything that I managed to keep for myself?
"Ok."
Jeez, I told you, here we g -
"What?" I must have heard her wrong. What?
Nancy shrugs and repeats herself. "Ok. I can tell that something's bothering you, but if you don't want to talk about it, ok."
"What?" Brilliant. Now I am rendered speechless, and resorting to repeating the same phrase over and over. Absolutely outstanding, could this day get any worse?
On second thought, don't answer that.
Nancy raises her eyebrow in amusement. "I'm not going to force you to talk," she acts as if the very idea would be absurd. I could kiss her.
But I won't. Sorry, I don't swing that way, as you might recall. But excuse me if I'm in a bit of a shock. What, is she seeing right through me? How does she know all this? I haven't had to come up with a cover story, like the brilliant "I'm tired" round. Yeah, because [I]that[/I] one's believable.
"But I will say this. When you're ready, I'll be here ready to listen," she says suddenly, while sitting down on one of the bar stools, swinging back and forth slightly.
Never mind then. God, why is everyone obsessed with getting me to "talk?" Mom was back home, the school guidance counselor, the crackpot of a psychiatrist Mom attempted to send me to once news of the separation came out .
As if sensing my irritation, Nancy pats the seat in front of me. "Here. Sit down. I'll go make us some vanilla milkshakes." And she goes, proceeding to make a hell of a lot of noise in the kitchen. I swear, an elephant would probably make less noise in that room, and it's [I]tiny.[/I] The room, I mean - not, of course, the elephant, for then my brilliant analogy wouldn't make sense.
I'm slightly amused as I hear another sickening thud followed by a wincing crash, remembering Jeff's low admonition to keep Nancy away from the kitchen at all costs. I'm hoping he meant because she makes a mess, NOT because of her cooking. Otherwise, I'm probably going to have to pass on the milkshake.
A couple bangs and a lot of cursing later, she emerges, holding two frothy glasses, filled to the brim. She sets them down and protrudes some straws.
Great. Now what?
"Your uncle is over at the Evans's. They installed a new entertainment center in the house, and Jeff wanted to check it out." Nancy slurps loudly.
I try not to look even remotely interested with the casual mention of the Evans', and distract myself by taking a tentative sip of my own drink. To my delightful surprise, it's GOOD. But then again, how can you ruin a milkshake?
Please don't answer that.
"But if he thinks he's installing one HERE, Jeffy is sorely mistaken." Nancy grins widely at me; it's reminiscent of Maria with a mission and I feel a familiar sense of apprehension and respect.
Smiling weakly at the joke, my mind is blissfully blank, and I entirely grateful for Nancy's helpful distraction in forgetting for a few wonderful moments that life does not in fact suck as much as it does. She begins to fill me in on useless town gossip, and while I'm not really focusing on what she's saying, the sound of her voice is warm, accepting, NICE (here we go again) -
And all of a sudden I am missing my mother more than anything. And damning my father for ruining everything.
"Liz ." She's stopped talking now, looking at me expectantly. Oh Whoops. I think she asked me a question. Stupid brain. Focus.
"Yea, um .god, sorry .I just - " I just .I just what? God why, can't I think, let alone SPEAK? Why am I rendered useless just because of memories of the past, and the rubbish that is my present? I - I don't want to think about this.
"Liz? Tell me what happened?" I'm sucker punched with the blow of a memory - a memory of ten year old me. Ten year old me would run home to mommy at every hurtful experience, whether it was because Mary Sue and her friends wouldn't let me sit down at lunch with them because I was "weird," or because Tommy pushed me into the mud and called me ugly, I would rush tearfully into my mothers arms, and she would inquirer softly, "Liz, tell me what happened?"
Perhaps it's because she sounded so much like my mom, or perhaps it's because I'm tired of lying. Tired of pretending that nothing mattered, because the truth of it is, it DOES matter, and it does hurt. And the more I deny it, the more it festers in my soul, crumbling another itty bit of it.
So I tell her. Tell her how I saw Pam and Tess here in Roswell, in the Crashdown no less, and what Pam said to me, and how it made me feel. I, of course, leave out the fact that Max was there and that the entire idea of him hearing anything about what my life is like back home mortified me to no end, but still. Guess what mom, Miss Guidance-I-really-don't-give-a- shit-just-doing-my-job-Counselor, or Mr. Stuffy Psychiatrist, you won! I just participated in the infamous "talking."
And Nancy just sits there, simply absorbing it all with her blue eyes compassionate.
Immediately I regret saying anything. God here now she is going to get all sugary, all sorry for me, all touchy feely. Here's the part where she tells me she knows what I'm going through, and that things are going to get better. Well guess what. You aren't me. And you don't know shit about the future. And I don't need it. I've heard it all before.
But Nancy seems intent of proving me wrong, unwittingly of course.
"Why did those girls do that?" Nancy wants to know, seemingly genuinely surprised.
I look away down at the floor. Hello Fred. Nice to see you again. You all remember Fred the dust bunny don't you? Well, if not allow me to reintroduce you.
How do I put it into words? That kind of unadulterated hate that seems to cloak Pam Troy and her lackys wherever they stomp around?
"They don't like me too much," I answer lamely, because the truth is far too complex to put into a nutshell.
Nancy looks perplexed. "Why?" She asks.
"They just don't," I answer tersely, wanting more than ever for this conversation to be over. Damn, damn talking. I HATE it. Another minute and I'm going to be bawling my eyes out, and quite frankly, I'm tired of all those post-sobbing headaches that no amount of Advil can combat.
"Must be SOME reason or a another - " Nancy starts to say.
"No," I cut her off. "There isn't. Sometimes the best reason is that there isn't any one at all," I finish flatly. God, I shouldn't have said that. Here comes the pep talk. 'Now that's not true, everyone loves everyone! The world is NICE place!' Or something of the same. Lies, all of it lies.
Nancy simply sighs instead. "High School sucks."
I just look at her, stunned, relieved and, well, confused all at the same time.
She shrugs again in response to my brilliant continued act of sitting there like a stunned moose. "Hey, I was a teenager too."
My mouth drops open. Somehow, this isn't exactly what I was expecting. I continue to stare at her as she swings in an idle manner atop the squeaky bar stool. Suddenly through my eyes, I can see what she means. Because sitting here with her, drinking my most favorite frothy beverage in the whole wide world, talking about the supposed "best years of your life," and moving to and fro on that stool, I can totally picture Nancy as a teenager. A ghost of the past, I guess. A whisp of something that had been. Had she been as hurt as me? Did she have her own personal tormentors a la Pammy? Did she sometimes feel like just getting up one night and running away from it all?
If you had looked at her before, if you had only just met her, or maybe if you had even known Nancy her whole adult life, you wouldn't have been able to tell. My answer to all those questions would be a big, fat NO. But here? Here with her usually bright eyes shadowed with memories, well, the possibly is there.
A silence engulfs the room, but I don't mind. In some ways, the silence has been exactly what I've been wishing for. Although, now of all times I'm hit with the sudden urge to talk. To ask Nancy what exactly she meant by her previous statement. I inhale deeply and open my mouth to start, but something stops me mid-breath.
I guess there are just some things that you leave to the imagination. Some things better left unsaid, unknown.
Yes, I definitely like that philosophy better than anything an old crackpot doctor could come up with. I don't care if he has a freaking PhD. All the book smarts in the world are nothing sans experience. Although, I'm guessing that that particular musing wouldn't go over so well with one of my teachers.
Nancy suddenly pushes herself up from the stool, all smiles again. The mask of the girl she once was fades away, and she's herself again. Strong, motherly. In control.
"Liz, I want to give you something," She says out of nowhere, reaching behind the counter for a strangely shaped . book? Photo album? Some new form of torture they think up down here in the southwest? Is she going to paper cut me until I'm squealing out in pain, yelling out "Uncle!" (or as the case may be, "Aunt!")? I don't know.
[I]Gee, Parker, why don't you try using your mouth instead of your utterly useless brain? Hmm, you think?[/I]
"What is it?" I finally ask, heeding that ever so annoying voice in my head and its advice.
Nancy smoothes her fingers over it once before holding it out to me. "It's a journal. Something that I had back in high school. Or at least, it's something like the one I had."
A what?
What the hell do I need a journal for? I mean, sure I've kept data logs in science before, but what would I use this for? Recording the orders I take in the Crashdown? But no, where's the logic in that. I have a handy dandy order pad for things like that, and it would be very sad indeed if I fired it from its job.
But what then? Write down the worthless doings of my everyday life?
Nancy cuts through my silence. "It's just something you always have, in case you feel like screaming at the world yet don't want anyone to hear." She smiles knowingly and I flush slightly. Okay, the word screaming is a bit much, don't you think? And seriously, I wasn't [I] that [/I] loud. "And it's not like you need to keep a daily record of [I]everything[/I] that happens to you. That'd turn out to be exhausting after a while."
Yeah, either that or completely disheartening when you realize that absolutely nothing of your life is even remotely . well, not boring.
"Anyways," Nancy continues, setting the brown book next to me on the bar. "It's always there when you need to vent. That's how I viewed it anyhow." She leans over and kisses the top of my head, and I blink, surprised at the warm gesture, yet at the same time my heart lightens. Her resemblance of my mother doesn't sting much now - instead it's comforting. "Night Liz. Thanks for having a milkshake with me."
She exits, the swinging door slamming shut behind her, leaving me to stare at the journal.
As if independent from my body, my hand darts out and closes around it, bringing it into my lap. I blink once, trying to sort out my thoughts, and then it hits me. Isn't that what the journal's for? I start upstairs, my feet clomping soundly on the stairs and make my way to my room.
Upon entering, my fingers continuing tracing the comfortingly worn in design covering the face of the leather bound journal. Despite myself, a smile tugs insistently on the corners of my mouth as I let the smooth contours kiss my fingertips once again. The same fingertips that have been itching to start writing the instant Nancy put the book into my hands. What is this strange pull that is pushing for me to put a pen against the clean white sheets within? It's something completely new, that's for sure. I have never felt this way about writing when it comes time for midterm papers.
I stand there for another minute or two, just staring goofily at the intricately woven designs on the cover and taking a moment to flip indolently through the blank pages. If just [I]holding[/I] the damn thing is enough to ease the ache in my heart, then I can only guess what actually writing would do.
The thought spurs me into motion and suddenly I'm scouring the room frantically for a pen, a pencil, hell even pieces of charcoal or a feather and ink would suffice in this moment. Hey, there's nothing wrong with reacting the times of the old. Except for the fact that using a good ole ballpoint is less of a hassle.
After ransacking the wooden desk that stood in the corner of my room, I get down on my hands and knees and lift up the mahogany bedspread to peer beneath the rickety yet plush mattress. The sight that greets me is nothing more than a number of Fred the dust bunny's kin and a ball of something that I know instinctively that I just don't want to even touch. Sighing when it's becoming clear that my hunt is fruitless, I wipe my hands on my jeans and stand up.
The sight that greets me steals my breath and momentarily (thank God) stops my heart.
Max Evans is crouching by my bedroom window, his eyes shining even through the dim light of desert dusk.
For a moment, I feel incredibly giddy as delight crawls up my insides to work its way up my throat. A warmth slowly eases through me, and that's when I remember.
What the hell is he DOING here? Did he not hear the ever-enlightening conversation that Pam and I had in the break room not even two hours ago? Should he not be, like, sprinting away in the opposite direction, cursing the little time he has spent with me? Well, I'll tell you what he should NOT be doing, and that is standing outside my bedroom window, waiting for me to open it. No. This is not how this is supposed to go. I didn't sign up for this.
So, I guess you could say that I'm a little . unprepared.
HA! That's the understatement of the century. It's like saying to Trent Lott, "Gee, you're in a bit of trouble."
I blink when he smiles a little at my stunned expression (stunned. Ha. More like a freaking feather could put me out for the count) and he raps his knuckles smartly against the pane. And just like that, I'm free from my little shocked induced trance and able to waltz my sorry little ass over to the frame. I unlock the top latch, my eyes never wavering from his. God, those eyes. They just like, tug at you, propelling you to come closer. I would say that they were watery, like a deep pool luring you in, but it wouldn't really be accurate. No, his eyes are more like . cream, I suppose. A nice swirl of golden brown cream. Luscious and -
Whoa there! Cut the cheese, Parker, or you'll have enough to swim in. [I]Probably some to go with your cream. Eh, at least you won't go hungry.[/I] A perky, all together irritating voice in my head decides to pipe up. I mentally swat it away and concentrate on getting this damn, sticky window open. Once I do, I close my eyes briefly at the soft summer air reaches out to touch my cheek. God, the air even [I]smells[/I] good at night. Or maybe it's just him.
Well, that or the garbage below the balcony.
I step back carefully to allow him the ample room to enter, all the while staring hard at him, trying to figure him out. Unfortunately, all the time I have right now isn't nearly enough for that particular task. But somehow, I just feel that it would be time entirely well spent.
He clamors inside with more grace then I would have given him credit for. Nope, definitely not a head banger this one.
He's smiling at me now, the same smile from this morning, the one that turned my insides into that nasty ooey gooey butter. I swallow shakily. Uh oh. Why do I have the feeling that my brain cells are going to disappoint once again?
"Hey," he says simply, still smiling softly.
"Hey," I answer. "Ever hear of a door?"
Yep, I knew it. Bye-bye brain cells.
Despite this, I can't find it in me to be embarrassed by my blurting out the first thing that popped into my head. Maybe it's because I'm so damn tired right now, maybe it's because Nancy really did (however inadvertently) poison that milkshake, or maybe it's because Max's eyebrows are shooting up in surprise before his smile widens.
"You mean one of those fancy-swancy wooden things that swing on a hinge with a metal knob gadget stuck in one of the sides?" Max's head cocks to one side, amusement making his eyes twinkle with enough glimmer to rival the stars.
Despite myself, I giggle. GIGGLE. You'd think, wouldn't you, that after the day I've had I wouldn't be able to find it in me to actually smile, let alone laugh. Yes, well I thought so too. I gaze back up at him, and nod. "Yeah. One of those novelties."
He shrugs, amusement lining his every feature. "Please. Doors are so overrated."
"Well, you'll just have to excuse me and my old fashioned ideas of entering and exiting a room." I cross my arms in mock indignation, inwardly marveling at our easy banter and simultaneously wishing for it to never end.
He sighs in ersatz submission. "I guess I could do that. For now."
We stand there, smiling at each other for a few blissful moments. Then, reality rears its ugly head once more, and I'm forced to look down at my feet.
"What are doing here Max?" I ask, in what I hope is an offhand voice, trying not to reveal that I need to know the answer to this question like I need to breathe.
He doesn't hesitate. "I wanted to see you." All of a sudden that much- needed breath leaves my body with a shudder as I gaze up at him dubiously, the word "WHY?" echoing resolutely through my mind. Because there is no way that Max Evans just said that to me.
I guess he takes my stunned silence as a hint that he should elaborate (and rightfully so), because he does. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after ." He trails off, locking his gaze with mine. And no matter how much I want to, I can't turn away to hide the anguish that enters my eyes at the mention - or lack there of - of what happened today.
I give a half laugh, half snort to cloak my feelings, or at least to do some major damage control by what I KNOW was just revealed in my eyes (and not to mention in the whole damn conversation earlier). "Uh, yeah. That was -" Awkward. Paralyzing. Irritating. The worst thing ever to happen especially at this point and time. "Something," I finish lamely, feeling the pain come all rushing back. Ah, see I'm making progress with that Thesaurus thing. Now all I have to do is work on actually saying aloud the better choices of words.
"Ah, right, those girls. What were their names again? Pip and Bess?" He's grinning, and warm reassurance washes over me like the temped waters of a Caribbean Sea. A shaky smile breaks out on my face, and I raise an eyebrow at him, silently giggling at what Pam and Tess would do at being referred to as 'Pip and Bess.' Though come to think of it, Pam is quite the annoying little pipsqueak, and Tess is like an old cow, so I'd say that the monikers fit perfectly.
"Pam and Tess," I correct, my smile darkening as I remember what was said, and especially how Tess eyed Max appreciatively.
"Nah," He responds. "I like mine better."
I shrug, pushing myself past him to fiddle needlessly with the windowsill. "Tess seemed to like [I]you[/I] quite a bit." Okay, ew. I hate the way I just sounded. Almost . hurt. Jealous. Ick. I dare to look up at him to catch his reaction to what is probably the best news he's ever heard in his life, and yep, he's smiling like the cat that just caught the canary. I quickly look away, amazed at how much the idea of Max and Tess makes me sick.
He's over at my side so quick that I have barely enough time to blink, and he covers my hand with his, stopping my restless fidgeting. "Well, that's too bad" At his words, my eyes widen slightly and I lose myself in those tawny swirls of ([I]yes, yes, corny, cheesy but .[/I]) cream.
Are my palms sweating? Nervously, I lick off the remains of my lip gloss (Amazing! This stuff really does last all day. I now have renewed faith in the advertising companies. Or some anyway) and stutter out what I am dying to know, yet at the same time dreading to hear the answer, certain that it couldn't possibly be something I want to hear. "Wh - Why's that?"
He stiffens, and all of a sudden those bright sunny eyes darken like an imminent storm. Leaving me to wonder what the hell I did and to try to keep my knees from going weak. [I]Whoa.[/I] His gaze is now like the midnight sky, piercing me to the core. All thoughts and notions of speaking fly out of mind, and I uncertainly run my tongue over my lips once more, an act that is quickly becoming a nervous habit.
The instant I do, his eyes flutter shut almost like he is in agony, and he lets out a low . groan?
No, that can't be right.
Max buddy, are you all right there?
Oh God. This had better not be some adverse aftereffect of drinking one of Nancy's milkshakes. Otherwise trying to get some sleep tonight is going to be a bitch.
Is it just me, or does the air seem thinner up here? That groan somehow caused a ripple of [I]something[/I] to trail along my shoulders and arms and the act left me literally breathless. Unconsciously (of course) I lean forward towards him, sighing softly as our shallow breaths mingle together.
His eyes snap open after his throat works a few times, almost like he finally got a hold of himself, and he smiles at me again. Have I mentioned how much I love that smile? The one that makes me feel . cherished. Something I have never felt, not in a long time anyways. Not unless it was a lie.
Now it's my turn to stiffen as the thought puts my guard up. Oh God. This can't be a lie. Not when it's the truest thing I've ever felt.
[I]Watch yourself Liz. You can never be too open, or too careful. [/I]
"Because," Max finally answers my question and effectively snaps me out of my haze. "Blondes aren't my type."
I can't stop the wide, slow smile from spreading across my face anymore than I can stop the rain from falling. And quite honestly I don't think I would want to. In fact, I think I could stand here smiling and listening to Max tell me how Tess is NOT his type (however slightly) all day. All night. All week.
"Oh really," I breathe lightly, trying to look utterly unaffected by what he just said. "And what exactly is your type?" I arch my eyebrow high, giving off the impression that his answer could hardly interest me in the least and that I'm simply asking a factual question from a non-partial point of view.
Yeah, well that's a crock of sh-
"You," he says simply, completely.
And with that minimal, short syllable word, everything fades away. Pam and Tess are inconsequential nothings of a past that seems way back behind me, and there's nothing except me and him. Him and me. Him leaning forward, a mere kiss away .
Uhh, what?
[I]Ohh boy.[/I]
Have you ever had one of those mornings?
One of those mornings where the sun glares into your eyes, and you smile, happy to see it and happy to be alive? Where not even the annoying chirping of the blasted birds outside your window can bother you? Where it's not a big deal that you woke up before your alarm?
Yeah, me neither.
But this morning came [I]close [/I].
I bury my pillow relentlessly into the soft, fragrant pillow, trying desperately to squelch the wide smile that is threatening mercilessly to break out upon my face. Stupid face muscles. They never obey. Wayward, good for nothing, revealing -
Yes, I could go on all day. But luckily, I have more important things to do today. Like work. And try to stop thinking about Max Evans.
Enough of this. I push my self up from the beckoning sheets, all mussed and warm from my protesting body. Let me tell you, getting up in the morning utterly sucks. Especially when the air conditioner is blasting so fiercely that if you didn't know any better you'd swear it was December in the North Pole. Especially when said air conditioner seems to be working solely in your room, while the rest of the apartment is delightfully temped. See?! Even machinery is against me today. So in conclusion my fine friends today would be a day to stay in bed.
I have to firmly resist the urge to plop back down face first into the pillows and have to clamp down warningly on the whine of complaint that is threatening to rip out of my throat. My head feels so groggy that I instinctively know that if I tried to make my way to the bathroom, I would surely fall on my face. And as much as I enjoy tripping like the clumsy oaf I am, and you know I do, the bed looks a lot more enticing thank you.
I plop back down and snuggle deep into my pillows, trying to remember the dream I had been having before the sun decided to pierce my eyelids so rudely. For some reason today I woke up with a hint of a smile on my face, and the only explanation is that I must have had a less than terrifying dream for once. I struggle to remember it, but so far, nada. It's not coming to me.
Don't you just hate waking up with this feeling of incomprehensive thought? Some idea or feeling that's on the tip of your tongue, dancing away from you to hide behind other unrelated inane thoughts until you can no longer recall what you had originally set out to remember. And the damn, obstinate thought, it just hides like a coward behind those other thoughts, waiting for a time later where it can jump out at you. It's always at the least opportune time too, where it's rendered completely useless. So anyhow, don't you just despise that?
Yeah, me too.
I roll over lazily, stretching like a cat in the sun on a warm, lazy hazy summer day. God, I feel so relaxed and .
HOLY SHIT!
One glance at the digital clock (a new one, since I clobbered the old one) and all those sentiments of feeling relaxed and what not go out the window.
SHIT! I'm SO LATE! Why the hell didn't Nancy or Jeff wake me up?
Oh, gee, I don't know. Probably because they have just as much trouble getting up in the morning as I do?
Oh crap. I bolt out of bed, ignoring the feeble jolts of vertigo that are lightly stabbing my head and hastily throw on my uniform, which had been hanging tauntingly on the back of a chair. I look longingly at the bathroom as I quickly button up the aquamarine hideous dress. No time for that. No time to even brush my hair, or wash my face .
I freeze, totally forgetting for an instant. [I]Max[/I] is working with me today. So much for not thinking about him.
Immediately I bolt for the bathroom, grabbing the brush on the counter and swiping it through my newly dyed and trimmed hair simultaneously as I sit myself down on the pot to relieve myself.
Hey, I'm on a clock here. Cut a girl some slack.
Once I'm done, I look into the mirror, and for a paralyzing moment, I don't recognize myself. Only this time it's a pleasant sensation. I smile slightly. Maria and Isabel do good work, I can give them that much. But if they ever come at me with tweezers again, make note of this, I will be forced to hurt them.
Gathering my dark hair into a low ponytail, I suppose I'm good to go. Except, wait, where are my antennae?
Oh jeez. Now THERE'S a thought I never expected to come out of even [I]my[/I] mind.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I search the room with my eyes, while digging into my pocket for that tube of clear lip gloss Isabel let me have. I can't find the damn headband, and honestly, it's not easy to miss, what with the silvery sparkles and the huge, obvious balls attached to springs. A growl of impatience escapes my throat as I swipe the gloss hurriedly over my lips.
Ahhh. I'm addicted to this stuff, I swear, and it's only been a day or so. Something about the way my lips slide together . Weee. Fun stuff.
Enough of this. The stupid headband just isn't up here, and now I'm even more late because of the bathroom break/attempt at primping.
Time to leave my intangible dreams behind and go work.
[I]Time to see Max[/I]. I smile despite myself. Stupid face muscles.
~*~
"So, what are we going to do about this whole Isabel/Alex situation?" Maria clicks the end of her ballpoint pen listlessly over and over again, the loud snapping noise bouncing along the walls of the diner. I resist the urge to snatch it away from her, as it's driving me crazy.
Max raises an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean, 'we?' You're the one that's dead set on getting involved." Slowly, he reaches over and stops Maria's continuous assault on the top of her pen, effectively stopping the irritating clicking. I smile, and he glances over, sharing a knowing look with me.
This is me. This is me trying not to melt into a pile of sappy goo.
"Well [I]something[/I] has to be done about it!" Maria rants angrily, now taking to waving the pen violently through the air, nearing taking her antennae off with her movements.
I shrug, ignoring my current state of gooiness. "I don't see why that has to be our problem."
I wince when Maria screeches in shocked denial. "What!? Of COURSE it's our problem!" She takes a deep breath and calms down before turning back to me. "Liz, you've known me for quite a bit now, right?" When I nod in affirmation, she continues. "Right. So in that time, you should know by now that meddling is in my nature, my blood! A feature that's been passed down, Deluca woman to Deluca woman." She smiles. "Seriously. Ask Michael."
I snort lightly. "I'll take your word on that."
Max leans forward so that his arms rest easily on the bar countertop. [I]Oh, to be that countertop.[/I]
Apparently, my face muscles aren't the only thing rebelling against my orders to stop being such a sap. My thoughts have now joined their ranks. [I]Traitors! [/I]
"Yeah," he's saying, trying to skirt around Maria's outraged expression at the thought that we shouldn't get involved. "Liz is right. What's their business is their business." He pauses, darting a glance across the diner to where Isabel is currently ringing up a customer. "Besides. Iz would kill you if she figured out what you're plotting."
"So would Alex," I add as Maria sighs in frustration.
"No, see that's just the thing! Later on, they would be [I]thanking[/I] us." Maria nods confidently, eyeing us like we're uncommonly stupid for thinking otherwise.
Max and I share another look. It's one that says: "[I]We're not going to convince her otherwise so might as well humor her until she runs out of steam[/I]."
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the way you want to look at things, Isabel's voice breaks through our conversation. "Who would be thanking you?" All three of our heads spin around to look at her guiltily, trying to get her off of our trail. Because even though I'm positive that Isabel would cheerfully kill us if we got involved in her romantic affairs, I am also equally positive that the same fate would befall us were she to hear us discussing the possibility.
"Maria," Isabel grits out. "WHO would be thanking you?"
See, Isabel's smarter than she looks, and a heck of a lot more perceptive too. This, obviously, though does not help Maria any. Or Max and me either.
"Uhm, we were just talking about Liz's new hair, and how she should be thanking us for the marvelous job we did." Maria supplies smoothly. Niiice. You can almost believe that she's telling the truth. Almost.
Suddenly, I'm being jabbed in the stomach. I look down at my assailant, which turns out to be Maria's oh so discreet elbow. I bit my lip to keep from groaning in pain, but honestly, why should I suffer in silence when I can still moan, whimper, and complain? [I]Because Maria would kill you, that's why.[/I]
"Right guys?" Maria says through clenched teeth, glaring pointedly at Max and me, demanding that we concur with her.
Hastily, Max and I voice our agreement and reassurance while I simultaneously mock glower at Maria and rub my poor gut.
Isabel seems pacified somewhat as she brings a musing fist up to rest underneath her chin while she stares at my hair. "We did do a good job, didn't we?"
Before I can voice aloud my thanks and praise for how much better my hair looks, Maria's green eyes narrow dangerously and she grins her patented grin. You know the one I'm talking about. The devious, underhanded one. Oh come on. We've been over this. And we've also been over the fact that at times like these, the best defense is to run.
I'm not quick enough. She jerks her chin towards Max, still smiling devilishly. "Yes we did. So what about you Max? Do you like it?"
The familiar yearning to kill Maria quickly is suddenly resurfacing along with the sense of Déjà vu. The only thing stopping me from returning with a hard jab of my own to her gut is the fact that I actually am kind of interested in what Max has to say. So I dare a look up at him, feeling so incredibly vulnerable as he rocks back on his heels, pretending to appraise me. When my eyes meet his, his gaze turns from aloof and critical to warm like sunshine. Rays of some unknown emotion shine forth from that gaze, and his hand suddenly moves, reaching out to thread through the very hair that was the subject of his perusal.
My heart stops, and then picks up with twice the speed. His fingers thread around my strands, languidly letting them trickle through his hands. And still, his gaze is never wavering from mine. He smiles that special smile of his, and a faint shudder ripples through me as a smile of my own begins to formulate on my face.
"It's beautiful. But then, it's Liz." He shrugs, letting his hand drop. "It's to be expected."
And squish goes my heart. Like ooey, gooey, movie-theatre-worthy butter that you drizzle all over your dry, crunchy popcorn. Oh wow.
I continue to stare at him, smiling shyly. For once in my life, I think you can color me speechless. The sound of my rapidly beating heart thudding in my ears is making it hard for me to even think.
"MAX! Get those dirty plates and then get your butt back here! The lunch rush is almost upon us, don't forget!" A voice shouts out over the grill, it's tone extremely frustrated and angry.
Max glowers over in the direction of Jose, the cook on duty today. Have I mentioned that he's a bit grumpy in the morning? No? How about a tad senile? "I guess that signifies that break time is over," Max grumbles under his breath, looking upset at the thought. I silently agree as I watch him watch walk over to scoop up a pile of soiled, used plates effortlessly into his arms, sighing softly and fingering the strand of hair that had just been tickling his fingers.
A loud, clapping noise from the back of me startles me from my staring contest with Max's behind. Suspiciously, I turn around to catch Maria and Isabel with triumph grins etched on their features like footsteps in the sand, their hands swinging down like .like they had just gotten done high fiving each other? What?
My eyes narrow and they catch me staring. Immediately, they jump back a little, attempting nonchalance.
"What was that?" I ask, glancing back and forth between them.
"What was what?" Maria says, almost too quickly, too innocently. Her entire stance is like it was when she was lying to Isabel's face a minute ago, denying any sort of manipulation on her part. My eyes are slits, but I can't help the smirk had works its way along my face.
"You two," I answer, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice and the irritation firmly in place. "You haven't been .meddling in my affairs, have you?"
"Why who, us?" Isabel's voice is the perfect blend of interrogative innocence. It sounds like she's done this before, the whole denial thing. Her tone is almost too perfect.
"Hmm, I must have been imagining things then," I say offhandedly, gathering up my order pad so I can go take care of the rapidly filing in customers. "Just like I was imagining Maria plotting to meddle in YOURS, Isabel. My mistake." I sail away, smiling over my shoulder when I hear Isabel spit out between clenched teeth, "What?" and when I feel Maria's death glare on my back.
My amusement is short lived, however, when I see a sight from my worst nightmare, a sight I have been praying that I'd safely left behind. I force myself to blink, convinced that I must be hallucinating, that what's standing right before me isn't anymore than a horrible trick of the light. Oh please, don't be what I think it is.
Because if Pam Troy and Tess Harding are really standing across the way, flirting with Max, I think I'm going to be sick.
I don't know how long I stood there with my eyes closed, but when I open them again, the revolting scene is the same as I left it. Pam's shiny reddish blonde hair swaying as she chews determinedly on a piece of gum, and Tess's shrill laughter echoing through the diner is the same as it was back home. My gaze narrows as I watch Tess put her hand on Max's arm, the arm that is still cradling a mountain of dirty dishes, and unconsciously I start forward. The disgustingly flirtatious smile of hers is locked firmly in place and is making my skin crawl and my teeth gnash together.
Max shifts away from her, struggling to keep all the plates from tumbling to the floor as a result of Tess hand. I snort in aversion at her utterly stupid move.
Suddenly, I realize I am far too close for comfort, since now I can actually hear their conversation.
"Oh come on now, Max." Tess purrs irritatingly. "Aren't you going to ask us our names?"
I'm sorry, could someone pass me a puke bucket? Other wise the bile that is welling up in my throat is going to end up all over the floor.
Wait, am I imagining things, or does Max look .uncomfortable? My heart leaps for some odd reason as he coughs uncertainly. "You know, the thought actually hadn't crossed my mind." Tess and Pam giggle, as if he had just finished telling a good joke. Max looks at them bewilderedly before glancing back towards the kitchen, where Jose is popping his head out and searching the diner fiercely. "I'd better get back to work before - "
Pam steps up, fluffing her hair delicately. "I'm Pam, and this is Tess."
"Well, uh, enjoy your meal here at the Crashdown." Max turns and nearly collides with me. The dishes in his hand wobble precariously, but at the last second, he rights them. Almost all of them. One plate at the top slides over and I hastily reach out and catch it. I can feel Tess and Pam's stares of shock at the sight of me, but right now, all that matters right now is that Max's face is lighting up with a smile that speaks volumes of relief and gratitude as I set the wayward plate back atop his pile.
His eyes look into mine for a few more blissful seconds. Then he turns to go, leaning close for an instant to whisper 'thanks' into my ear, his breath tickling my hair. I bite my lip and watch him go for the second time that day, wincing for what I know now to be the inevitable.
"Liz? Liz Parker?" Tess's shrill voice cuts through the low hum of conversation throughout the diner, and I cringe. Yes, it's still as irksome as ever.
The soft sound of Pam's biting laughter slices through me, and I turn to look at them, wondering what the hell I did to deserve this.
"Wow," Pam spits out spitefully. "Little did I know that when I signed up to travel the Southwest with Tess and her mother that I would get the chance to see Little Lizzie Parker of all people."
I smile weakly, thinking dumbly that maybe things won't so bad. "Hey Pam."
"My God. You haven't changed a bit, have you Liz. Still the same old freak." The way she spits out the last word it ends up coming out in two syllables. I cower, still biting my lip. I'm surprised I haven't tasted blood yet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maria's head shoot up in our direction. She probably heard Pam's voice, it's a bit hard to ignore.
Pam begins to circle me and suddenly I'm wishing for the floor to crack open and swallow me whole. "But wait," Pam pauses, taking in my new hair, and for a moment I feel a surge of pride. Ha. Take that bitch. Let you be the one surprised for once. "Something's new here." Pam touches Tess lightly on the arm as she regards me with fake admiration. "Aww! Look Tess! Liz is trying to fit in." Her face scrunches up, and again, it's amazing how such a pretty girl can look so ugly, evil. "Too bad it'll never work. You'll always be nothing Liz. No matter how hard you try."
"Uh, excuse me. Can I [I]help[/I] you?" Maria suddenly behind me, and I want to hug her for breaking up this horrible excuse for a reunion. The floor is not working too well on that sucking me up deal. Pam wrinkles her nose at the sight of Maria and her antennae, and this makes Maria all the more angry, if the way she is bristling is any indication.
"Uh, no. Thanks," Pam says, her voice making it clear that she felt no sort of gratitude. "I seriously doubt that you could do anything here for me, so why don't you take your little bee antennae's and go help somewhere else?"
I close my eyes, still feeling nauseous. I don't think it's fully set in yet. I'm still reeling from the shock. I'm not here. This is all just a horrible, gut-wrenching dream and soon I'll wake up and laugh about it.
Oh please, let it be a dream.
Maria scoffs indignantly, clearly gathering herself up for a full-fledged, legendary Maria type rant.
Get me out of here. I hate scenes, and I most definitely do not want to be a part of one.
Maria inches closer to me, the gesture inherently protective, and she glares at Pam. "Well now, aren't you just a waste of two thousands years of evolution."
Despite my abhorrence of creating a scene, I can't help but glance at Maria in amusement. Hee. That was a good one.
Pam ruffles angrily, while Tess just stares at us all uncertainly. "Why I never!" Pam finally shouts. "If anyone is the waste, it's - "
I have to force myself to breathe, since I know exactly where Pam is going with this. Oh, God, please, just don't -
"Can I help you?" Isabel breaks in coolly, giving the girls a reproachful glare. I jump in acute surprise. Where the heck did she come from?
Never mind that, she has my complete gratitude right now, since her icy tone just shut Pam and Tess up. We all stand in silence for a minute, the majority of us glowering darkly, and then Pam and Tess give each other a look. One of those looks that pretty girls give when they see another girl so blatantly much more prettier then they are. And then, miracles of miracles, they turn towards Isabel and the register to begin ordering some takeout. Ignoring me completely.
[I]Thank you, thank you![/I] My whole respect and admiration level for Isabel Evans just went up about five notches. I could hug her! Well, that is I could if she weren't so adamantly opposed to that sort of contact and if I was planning on staying any longer in that room with Pam and Tess.
Which I'm not.
The instant their attention is diverted elsewhere, and Maria is safely delivering orders (while simultaneously shooting daggers at the two nightmares over her shoulder, I am pleased to note), I bolt for the break room. The door slams shut behind me, and I lean against the wall, breathing deeply in relief.
Well.
That completely sucked. And what sucks even more is that I'm not waking up. Which means this isn't a dream. God, can't ANYTHING go right, for even just a little while? Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so.
I sigh loudly and stomp my way over to the couch, knowing that I'll be safe here. The sign doesn't say "Employees Only" for nothing.
"Liz?"
I jump five feet in the air (okay, well, it feels like it) and gasp loudly. Whirling around, I come face to face with -
Max.
I breathe a sigh a relief.
"Hey." I say, trying to hit even a semblance of normal. Per usual, I doubt it worked.
"Hey," He answers back. A silence ensues, and then an eyebrow quirks up at me. "Who the heck were those girls?"
Oh God. Please oh please don't tell me I'm imagining the note of disgust in his voice. I smile slightly. "Just a icky blast from my past, that's all." [I]Yeah. That's all. I hope.[/I]
Jose's voice suddenly shakes through the room. "Max! Git you're stubborn ass over here! We ain't done yet, so quite looking at Jeff's niece all goo goo eyed!"
My mouth drops open. And the hits today just keep on coming. Did I hear him right? Max? Looking [I]goo goo eyed[/I] at ME? My head jerks up, and Max is flushing slightly, his eyes apologetic. "I'd better get back over there," he says, starting back for the kitchen, which is really only a few steps away.
I nod. "Yeah. I'll just . I'll just be back here for a while."
Once he leaves I collapse onto the worn-in couch, grateful for its comfort. Jeez, what a day.
The back swinging door slams open with such a force that I'm in the air once again. I swear to God, I am going to have heart problems by the time this day is over. Wearily, I gaze over to see who entered so vehemently, half-expecting Maria to come breezing in with a familiar rant waiting for me. However, what I definitely do NOT expect is to see Pam, back again for round two.
Oh God. Please tell me that this isn't happening.
I freeze, my bottom glued to the couch. Silently, half of me prays that Max will stay in the kitchen while the other half prays that he won't.
This is so surreal. Pam starts towards me, her form visibly shaking with animosity. What the hell is up that girl's ass now? I just know that I for one want no more of it.
Pam simply stares at me for a few moments, and then her face curls into an ugly sneer. "Just what the hell do you think you are doing?"
Uhh .what?
"What?" I blurt out, completely shocked at her accusation. Especially since I have no idea what she is accusing me of.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." When I continue to stare blankly and dubiously at her, she sighs in exasperation, as if I'M being the one difficult here. "Worming your way into this town, making everybody like you, when you know." She chuckles suddenly, the sound chilling me to the core. "You know that you don't deserve any of it."
Fresh, hot guilt explodes in my gut, the feeling all to familiar. And wrong. I know this now.
My lip trembles, and I curse it. But my voice is soft and strong when I curtly inform her: "You're wrong."
She laughs again, the same cackle that reminds one of nails screeching across a chalkboard. "Am I? You know as well as I what you are Lizzie dear."
I'm frozen again, this time not because of her words, but because of the movement I see over her shoulder. And that movement is Max Evans, shifting into earshot. Which means that whatever Pam has to say that he'll hear every word.
"No," I croak out. "No, Pam. Don't even. You don't know what you're talking about." And she doesn't. Despite the fact that she was the one to spread those rumors, that's all they are. Rumors. Kernels of the truth, but when it all comes down to it, they're nothing but bald-faced lies that couldn't be further from the truth.
But Max doesn't know that. Maria, Isabel, Alex and Michael don't know that. Hell, I don't think even Pam knows that. But the last thing I want is for any of the people I've been beginning to consider friends in Roswell to know what those rumors are.
When I see her twisted grin, my heart sinks.
"Don't what?" Pam snorts. "Don't tell all your precious friends what a freak you are back home? About what a slut you are, and how no one in their right mind should give you the time of day? You're vapor, Liz. A thin wisp of nothing that should do everyone a favor and just disappear."
Oh God! Shut up, shut up! My mouth is hanging open with the shock that's she's actually doing this with someone (and not just any someone thank you) in earshot. But really, I shouldn't be so surprised. It's not like she hasn't done this before.
DO SOMETHING! My mind screams at me. Deny it, prove her wrong, kick her in the face, just do SOMETHING!
Nothing's changed. I still stand there, my mouth suspended in time, open and trembling, my heart aching and I'm trying to do anything but look over in the direction of the kitchen.
Pam notices my gaze, or rather where I am NOT looking. She chuckles mirthlessly. "Well, well. Looks like someone else is about to hear about what exactly you are Liz."
And just like that, something inside me snaps. I have to get out of there, have to get away before I see the look on Max's face when he realizes .
I don't allow myself to finish that thought. I simply bolt for the back door and burst into the alleyway, gasping and lugging in a huge gulp of the musky garbage smell coming from the dumpster. The sound of Pam's voice behind me spurs on my movements and I start running, relishing the familiar burning sensation in my thighs. Anything to take my mind off of what just happened, of what Max must be thinking.
The door that had closed behind me now slams open with a strong force. I hear Max moving after me, but the thought doesn't comfort me. Probably just running to catch up so he can try and get Tess's number from me. Either that or to confirm that yes, I am that big of a freak like Pam says.
"Liz? Liz! Wait!"
I hesitate when I hear his voice. Is that .could I have possibly just heard concern in his tone?
Impossible. Right?
I squash down the part of me that is leaping up with hope and joy and then kick it for good measure when it entreats me to slow down and stop.
"Liz?" His voice is more frantic now, laced with anxiety. It too begs me to stop.
But it's too late.
I'm gone.
~*~
So. Pam and Tess are in Roswell, of all places to spend their summer vacation.
Notice my complete lack of surprise.
[I]Told you[/I]. Told you I should have stayed in bed today. But no, I had to go downstairs to work. I just had to run into them and ruin everything that I thought might have been happening between -
No. It's over. There is no way in hell that anyone will want anything to do with me now that Pam and her posse are here to spread the rumors, the lies, the pain. Hope dashed. All of it, just gone. The very thought makes me so angry, I could scream while sitting here in the dark. I want to yell, shout out the animosity I'm feeling towards myself for falling prey to that bastard hope again, my fury towards Pam for showing up and dashing my feeble spirits.
So I do.
A strangled cry absconds out my throat, the noise slicing through the silence of the dim room so sharply that you would think that my voice was a knife. Tears of frustration well up in the corner of my eye. I HATE this. I absolutely HATE feeling this way.
And then I hear it. Someone softly calling my name. The sound echoes through the empty diner where I came to rot and wallow in peace after it closed an hour ago. I had THOUGHT that I could be alone here.
Shit. I hope that whoever it is didn't hear me. With all my brilliant powers of persuasion, I stare hard at the doorway, willing the person to go away.
"Liz, honey, what's wrong?"
Well that obviously did not work. Wonderful.
It's my aunt. Oh wait, excuse me, Nancy.
Wrong she asks? What's WRONG? I think a more plausible question would be what isn't wrong? It is ME she's talking to, isn't it?
I furiously wipe at the two tears that managed to escape down my face. "Hey Nancy," I attempt to hit a jaunty tone. By the look on Nancy's face as she ambles over to the bar where I'm perched, I can guess that it failed miserably. Probably because:
A. I have never been jaunty in my life, and
B. I just plain suck at it.
She just stands there, arms crossed, and waits for me to fess up. I in turn wait for the barrage of questions that will be thrown at me, for the prying that every adult does when they sense something wrong. The whole ordeal is just a big vat of anticipation. Lovely.
Hmm, still waiting
Waiting some more.
Man, she is damn good at that staring thing.
I shift a bit and make sure that my gaze is anywhere but locked onto her probing one.
Again with the waiting
Ok, someone has to stop the madness. I break the silence weakly. "Nothing's wrong."
Now usually I pride myself on being able to lie smoothly about how I am really feeling. I mean, hell, I have had all the practice with my mom. I would say my dad too, but it wouldn't matter if I told him anything. He wouldn't care one way or the other. But right now, it's obvious even to ME that, with my wavering voice, I am most definitely lying. And it looks like it's apparent to Nancy by the way she keeps staring at me.
"I see," she says slowly. "Are you sure?"
Are you sure. What kind of stupid question is that? [I] Are you sure [/I]
Just say it. Just say yes. Just say yes and she will go away and leave you alone. SAY IT.
But even as I open my mouth, I can tell I am going to sound anything but believable.
"I'm fine," I choke out, my voice cracking. Fucking perfect. Now leave me be.
What is it about the actual activity of [I]talking[/I] that makes crying come so much more easily? I swear, if I were alone right now, I can almost guarantee that I would not be crying. Oh, for sure I would still be sulking and wallowing about how much fate and all that sucks, but that's nothing exactly new.
Nancy hesitates, seemingly having an internal struggle. Oh God. Here we go. The ole lecture, the ole 'I understand what you are feeling' feel good talk. Just what I need. I swear to God I am not going to survive this. Why can't people leave me alone? Why do they have to pick, to prod, to rip away anything that I managed to keep for myself?
"Ok."
Jeez, I told you, here we g -
"What?" I must have heard her wrong. What?
Nancy shrugs and repeats herself. "Ok. I can tell that something's bothering you, but if you don't want to talk about it, ok."
"What?" Brilliant. Now I am rendered speechless, and resorting to repeating the same phrase over and over. Absolutely outstanding, could this day get any worse?
On second thought, don't answer that.
Nancy raises her eyebrow in amusement. "I'm not going to force you to talk," she acts as if the very idea would be absurd. I could kiss her.
But I won't. Sorry, I don't swing that way, as you might recall. But excuse me if I'm in a bit of a shock. What, is she seeing right through me? How does she know all this? I haven't had to come up with a cover story, like the brilliant "I'm tired" round. Yeah, because [I]that[/I] one's believable.
"But I will say this. When you're ready, I'll be here ready to listen," she says suddenly, while sitting down on one of the bar stools, swinging back and forth slightly.
Never mind then. God, why is everyone obsessed with getting me to "talk?" Mom was back home, the school guidance counselor, the crackpot of a psychiatrist Mom attempted to send me to once news of the separation came out .
As if sensing my irritation, Nancy pats the seat in front of me. "Here. Sit down. I'll go make us some vanilla milkshakes." And she goes, proceeding to make a hell of a lot of noise in the kitchen. I swear, an elephant would probably make less noise in that room, and it's [I]tiny.[/I] The room, I mean - not, of course, the elephant, for then my brilliant analogy wouldn't make sense.
I'm slightly amused as I hear another sickening thud followed by a wincing crash, remembering Jeff's low admonition to keep Nancy away from the kitchen at all costs. I'm hoping he meant because she makes a mess, NOT because of her cooking. Otherwise, I'm probably going to have to pass on the milkshake.
A couple bangs and a lot of cursing later, she emerges, holding two frothy glasses, filled to the brim. She sets them down and protrudes some straws.
Great. Now what?
"Your uncle is over at the Evans's. They installed a new entertainment center in the house, and Jeff wanted to check it out." Nancy slurps loudly.
I try not to look even remotely interested with the casual mention of the Evans', and distract myself by taking a tentative sip of my own drink. To my delightful surprise, it's GOOD. But then again, how can you ruin a milkshake?
Please don't answer that.
"But if he thinks he's installing one HERE, Jeffy is sorely mistaken." Nancy grins widely at me; it's reminiscent of Maria with a mission and I feel a familiar sense of apprehension and respect.
Smiling weakly at the joke, my mind is blissfully blank, and I entirely grateful for Nancy's helpful distraction in forgetting for a few wonderful moments that life does not in fact suck as much as it does. She begins to fill me in on useless town gossip, and while I'm not really focusing on what she's saying, the sound of her voice is warm, accepting, NICE (here we go again) -
And all of a sudden I am missing my mother more than anything. And damning my father for ruining everything.
"Liz ." She's stopped talking now, looking at me expectantly. Oh Whoops. I think she asked me a question. Stupid brain. Focus.
"Yea, um .god, sorry .I just - " I just .I just what? God why, can't I think, let alone SPEAK? Why am I rendered useless just because of memories of the past, and the rubbish that is my present? I - I don't want to think about this.
"Liz? Tell me what happened?" I'm sucker punched with the blow of a memory - a memory of ten year old me. Ten year old me would run home to mommy at every hurtful experience, whether it was because Mary Sue and her friends wouldn't let me sit down at lunch with them because I was "weird," or because Tommy pushed me into the mud and called me ugly, I would rush tearfully into my mothers arms, and she would inquirer softly, "Liz, tell me what happened?"
Perhaps it's because she sounded so much like my mom, or perhaps it's because I'm tired of lying. Tired of pretending that nothing mattered, because the truth of it is, it DOES matter, and it does hurt. And the more I deny it, the more it festers in my soul, crumbling another itty bit of it.
So I tell her. Tell her how I saw Pam and Tess here in Roswell, in the Crashdown no less, and what Pam said to me, and how it made me feel. I, of course, leave out the fact that Max was there and that the entire idea of him hearing anything about what my life is like back home mortified me to no end, but still. Guess what mom, Miss Guidance-I-really-don't-give-a- shit-just-doing-my-job-Counselor, or Mr. Stuffy Psychiatrist, you won! I just participated in the infamous "talking."
And Nancy just sits there, simply absorbing it all with her blue eyes compassionate.
Immediately I regret saying anything. God here now she is going to get all sugary, all sorry for me, all touchy feely. Here's the part where she tells me she knows what I'm going through, and that things are going to get better. Well guess what. You aren't me. And you don't know shit about the future. And I don't need it. I've heard it all before.
But Nancy seems intent of proving me wrong, unwittingly of course.
"Why did those girls do that?" Nancy wants to know, seemingly genuinely surprised.
I look away down at the floor. Hello Fred. Nice to see you again. You all remember Fred the dust bunny don't you? Well, if not allow me to reintroduce you.
How do I put it into words? That kind of unadulterated hate that seems to cloak Pam Troy and her lackys wherever they stomp around?
"They don't like me too much," I answer lamely, because the truth is far too complex to put into a nutshell.
Nancy looks perplexed. "Why?" She asks.
"They just don't," I answer tersely, wanting more than ever for this conversation to be over. Damn, damn talking. I HATE it. Another minute and I'm going to be bawling my eyes out, and quite frankly, I'm tired of all those post-sobbing headaches that no amount of Advil can combat.
"Must be SOME reason or a another - " Nancy starts to say.
"No," I cut her off. "There isn't. Sometimes the best reason is that there isn't any one at all," I finish flatly. God, I shouldn't have said that. Here comes the pep talk. 'Now that's not true, everyone loves everyone! The world is NICE place!' Or something of the same. Lies, all of it lies.
Nancy simply sighs instead. "High School sucks."
I just look at her, stunned, relieved and, well, confused all at the same time.
She shrugs again in response to my brilliant continued act of sitting there like a stunned moose. "Hey, I was a teenager too."
My mouth drops open. Somehow, this isn't exactly what I was expecting. I continue to stare at her as she swings in an idle manner atop the squeaky bar stool. Suddenly through my eyes, I can see what she means. Because sitting here with her, drinking my most favorite frothy beverage in the whole wide world, talking about the supposed "best years of your life," and moving to and fro on that stool, I can totally picture Nancy as a teenager. A ghost of the past, I guess. A whisp of something that had been. Had she been as hurt as me? Did she have her own personal tormentors a la Pammy? Did she sometimes feel like just getting up one night and running away from it all?
If you had looked at her before, if you had only just met her, or maybe if you had even known Nancy her whole adult life, you wouldn't have been able to tell. My answer to all those questions would be a big, fat NO. But here? Here with her usually bright eyes shadowed with memories, well, the possibly is there.
A silence engulfs the room, but I don't mind. In some ways, the silence has been exactly what I've been wishing for. Although, now of all times I'm hit with the sudden urge to talk. To ask Nancy what exactly she meant by her previous statement. I inhale deeply and open my mouth to start, but something stops me mid-breath.
I guess there are just some things that you leave to the imagination. Some things better left unsaid, unknown.
Yes, I definitely like that philosophy better than anything an old crackpot doctor could come up with. I don't care if he has a freaking PhD. All the book smarts in the world are nothing sans experience. Although, I'm guessing that that particular musing wouldn't go over so well with one of my teachers.
Nancy suddenly pushes herself up from the stool, all smiles again. The mask of the girl she once was fades away, and she's herself again. Strong, motherly. In control.
"Liz, I want to give you something," She says out of nowhere, reaching behind the counter for a strangely shaped . book? Photo album? Some new form of torture they think up down here in the southwest? Is she going to paper cut me until I'm squealing out in pain, yelling out "Uncle!" (or as the case may be, "Aunt!")? I don't know.
[I]Gee, Parker, why don't you try using your mouth instead of your utterly useless brain? Hmm, you think?[/I]
"What is it?" I finally ask, heeding that ever so annoying voice in my head and its advice.
Nancy smoothes her fingers over it once before holding it out to me. "It's a journal. Something that I had back in high school. Or at least, it's something like the one I had."
A what?
What the hell do I need a journal for? I mean, sure I've kept data logs in science before, but what would I use this for? Recording the orders I take in the Crashdown? But no, where's the logic in that. I have a handy dandy order pad for things like that, and it would be very sad indeed if I fired it from its job.
But what then? Write down the worthless doings of my everyday life?
Nancy cuts through my silence. "It's just something you always have, in case you feel like screaming at the world yet don't want anyone to hear." She smiles knowingly and I flush slightly. Okay, the word screaming is a bit much, don't you think? And seriously, I wasn't [I] that [/I] loud. "And it's not like you need to keep a daily record of [I]everything[/I] that happens to you. That'd turn out to be exhausting after a while."
Yeah, either that or completely disheartening when you realize that absolutely nothing of your life is even remotely . well, not boring.
"Anyways," Nancy continues, setting the brown book next to me on the bar. "It's always there when you need to vent. That's how I viewed it anyhow." She leans over and kisses the top of my head, and I blink, surprised at the warm gesture, yet at the same time my heart lightens. Her resemblance of my mother doesn't sting much now - instead it's comforting. "Night Liz. Thanks for having a milkshake with me."
She exits, the swinging door slamming shut behind her, leaving me to stare at the journal.
As if independent from my body, my hand darts out and closes around it, bringing it into my lap. I blink once, trying to sort out my thoughts, and then it hits me. Isn't that what the journal's for? I start upstairs, my feet clomping soundly on the stairs and make my way to my room.
Upon entering, my fingers continuing tracing the comfortingly worn in design covering the face of the leather bound journal. Despite myself, a smile tugs insistently on the corners of my mouth as I let the smooth contours kiss my fingertips once again. The same fingertips that have been itching to start writing the instant Nancy put the book into my hands. What is this strange pull that is pushing for me to put a pen against the clean white sheets within? It's something completely new, that's for sure. I have never felt this way about writing when it comes time for midterm papers.
I stand there for another minute or two, just staring goofily at the intricately woven designs on the cover and taking a moment to flip indolently through the blank pages. If just [I]holding[/I] the damn thing is enough to ease the ache in my heart, then I can only guess what actually writing would do.
The thought spurs me into motion and suddenly I'm scouring the room frantically for a pen, a pencil, hell even pieces of charcoal or a feather and ink would suffice in this moment. Hey, there's nothing wrong with reacting the times of the old. Except for the fact that using a good ole ballpoint is less of a hassle.
After ransacking the wooden desk that stood in the corner of my room, I get down on my hands and knees and lift up the mahogany bedspread to peer beneath the rickety yet plush mattress. The sight that greets me is nothing more than a number of Fred the dust bunny's kin and a ball of something that I know instinctively that I just don't want to even touch. Sighing when it's becoming clear that my hunt is fruitless, I wipe my hands on my jeans and stand up.
The sight that greets me steals my breath and momentarily (thank God) stops my heart.
Max Evans is crouching by my bedroom window, his eyes shining even through the dim light of desert dusk.
For a moment, I feel incredibly giddy as delight crawls up my insides to work its way up my throat. A warmth slowly eases through me, and that's when I remember.
What the hell is he DOING here? Did he not hear the ever-enlightening conversation that Pam and I had in the break room not even two hours ago? Should he not be, like, sprinting away in the opposite direction, cursing the little time he has spent with me? Well, I'll tell you what he should NOT be doing, and that is standing outside my bedroom window, waiting for me to open it. No. This is not how this is supposed to go. I didn't sign up for this.
So, I guess you could say that I'm a little . unprepared.
HA! That's the understatement of the century. It's like saying to Trent Lott, "Gee, you're in a bit of trouble."
I blink when he smiles a little at my stunned expression (stunned. Ha. More like a freaking feather could put me out for the count) and he raps his knuckles smartly against the pane. And just like that, I'm free from my little shocked induced trance and able to waltz my sorry little ass over to the frame. I unlock the top latch, my eyes never wavering from his. God, those eyes. They just like, tug at you, propelling you to come closer. I would say that they were watery, like a deep pool luring you in, but it wouldn't really be accurate. No, his eyes are more like . cream, I suppose. A nice swirl of golden brown cream. Luscious and -
Whoa there! Cut the cheese, Parker, or you'll have enough to swim in. [I]Probably some to go with your cream. Eh, at least you won't go hungry.[/I] A perky, all together irritating voice in my head decides to pipe up. I mentally swat it away and concentrate on getting this damn, sticky window open. Once I do, I close my eyes briefly at the soft summer air reaches out to touch my cheek. God, the air even [I]smells[/I] good at night. Or maybe it's just him.
Well, that or the garbage below the balcony.
I step back carefully to allow him the ample room to enter, all the while staring hard at him, trying to figure him out. Unfortunately, all the time I have right now isn't nearly enough for that particular task. But somehow, I just feel that it would be time entirely well spent.
He clamors inside with more grace then I would have given him credit for. Nope, definitely not a head banger this one.
He's smiling at me now, the same smile from this morning, the one that turned my insides into that nasty ooey gooey butter. I swallow shakily. Uh oh. Why do I have the feeling that my brain cells are going to disappoint once again?
"Hey," he says simply, still smiling softly.
"Hey," I answer. "Ever hear of a door?"
Yep, I knew it. Bye-bye brain cells.
Despite this, I can't find it in me to be embarrassed by my blurting out the first thing that popped into my head. Maybe it's because I'm so damn tired right now, maybe it's because Nancy really did (however inadvertently) poison that milkshake, or maybe it's because Max's eyebrows are shooting up in surprise before his smile widens.
"You mean one of those fancy-swancy wooden things that swing on a hinge with a metal knob gadget stuck in one of the sides?" Max's head cocks to one side, amusement making his eyes twinkle with enough glimmer to rival the stars.
Despite myself, I giggle. GIGGLE. You'd think, wouldn't you, that after the day I've had I wouldn't be able to find it in me to actually smile, let alone laugh. Yes, well I thought so too. I gaze back up at him, and nod. "Yeah. One of those novelties."
He shrugs, amusement lining his every feature. "Please. Doors are so overrated."
"Well, you'll just have to excuse me and my old fashioned ideas of entering and exiting a room." I cross my arms in mock indignation, inwardly marveling at our easy banter and simultaneously wishing for it to never end.
He sighs in ersatz submission. "I guess I could do that. For now."
We stand there, smiling at each other for a few blissful moments. Then, reality rears its ugly head once more, and I'm forced to look down at my feet.
"What are doing here Max?" I ask, in what I hope is an offhand voice, trying not to reveal that I need to know the answer to this question like I need to breathe.
He doesn't hesitate. "I wanted to see you." All of a sudden that much- needed breath leaves my body with a shudder as I gaze up at him dubiously, the word "WHY?" echoing resolutely through my mind. Because there is no way that Max Evans just said that to me.
I guess he takes my stunned silence as a hint that he should elaborate (and rightfully so), because he does. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after ." He trails off, locking his gaze with mine. And no matter how much I want to, I can't turn away to hide the anguish that enters my eyes at the mention - or lack there of - of what happened today.
I give a half laugh, half snort to cloak my feelings, or at least to do some major damage control by what I KNOW was just revealed in my eyes (and not to mention in the whole damn conversation earlier). "Uh, yeah. That was -" Awkward. Paralyzing. Irritating. The worst thing ever to happen especially at this point and time. "Something," I finish lamely, feeling the pain come all rushing back. Ah, see I'm making progress with that Thesaurus thing. Now all I have to do is work on actually saying aloud the better choices of words.
"Ah, right, those girls. What were their names again? Pip and Bess?" He's grinning, and warm reassurance washes over me like the temped waters of a Caribbean Sea. A shaky smile breaks out on my face, and I raise an eyebrow at him, silently giggling at what Pam and Tess would do at being referred to as 'Pip and Bess.' Though come to think of it, Pam is quite the annoying little pipsqueak, and Tess is like an old cow, so I'd say that the monikers fit perfectly.
"Pam and Tess," I correct, my smile darkening as I remember what was said, and especially how Tess eyed Max appreciatively.
"Nah," He responds. "I like mine better."
I shrug, pushing myself past him to fiddle needlessly with the windowsill. "Tess seemed to like [I]you[/I] quite a bit." Okay, ew. I hate the way I just sounded. Almost . hurt. Jealous. Ick. I dare to look up at him to catch his reaction to what is probably the best news he's ever heard in his life, and yep, he's smiling like the cat that just caught the canary. I quickly look away, amazed at how much the idea of Max and Tess makes me sick.
He's over at my side so quick that I have barely enough time to blink, and he covers my hand with his, stopping my restless fidgeting. "Well, that's too bad" At his words, my eyes widen slightly and I lose myself in those tawny swirls of ([I]yes, yes, corny, cheesy but .[/I]) cream.
Are my palms sweating? Nervously, I lick off the remains of my lip gloss (Amazing! This stuff really does last all day. I now have renewed faith in the advertising companies. Or some anyway) and stutter out what I am dying to know, yet at the same time dreading to hear the answer, certain that it couldn't possibly be something I want to hear. "Wh - Why's that?"
He stiffens, and all of a sudden those bright sunny eyes darken like an imminent storm. Leaving me to wonder what the hell I did and to try to keep my knees from going weak. [I]Whoa.[/I] His gaze is now like the midnight sky, piercing me to the core. All thoughts and notions of speaking fly out of mind, and I uncertainly run my tongue over my lips once more, an act that is quickly becoming a nervous habit.
The instant I do, his eyes flutter shut almost like he is in agony, and he lets out a low . groan?
No, that can't be right.
Max buddy, are you all right there?
Oh God. This had better not be some adverse aftereffect of drinking one of Nancy's milkshakes. Otherwise trying to get some sleep tonight is going to be a bitch.
Is it just me, or does the air seem thinner up here? That groan somehow caused a ripple of [I]something[/I] to trail along my shoulders and arms and the act left me literally breathless. Unconsciously (of course) I lean forward towards him, sighing softly as our shallow breaths mingle together.
His eyes snap open after his throat works a few times, almost like he finally got a hold of himself, and he smiles at me again. Have I mentioned how much I love that smile? The one that makes me feel . cherished. Something I have never felt, not in a long time anyways. Not unless it was a lie.
Now it's my turn to stiffen as the thought puts my guard up. Oh God. This can't be a lie. Not when it's the truest thing I've ever felt.
[I]Watch yourself Liz. You can never be too open, or too careful. [/I]
"Because," Max finally answers my question and effectively snaps me out of my haze. "Blondes aren't my type."
I can't stop the wide, slow smile from spreading across my face anymore than I can stop the rain from falling. And quite honestly I don't think I would want to. In fact, I think I could stand here smiling and listening to Max tell me how Tess is NOT his type (however slightly) all day. All night. All week.
"Oh really," I breathe lightly, trying to look utterly unaffected by what he just said. "And what exactly is your type?" I arch my eyebrow high, giving off the impression that his answer could hardly interest me in the least and that I'm simply asking a factual question from a non-partial point of view.
Yeah, well that's a crock of sh-
"You," he says simply, completely.
And with that minimal, short syllable word, everything fades away. Pam and Tess are inconsequential nothings of a past that seems way back behind me, and there's nothing except me and him. Him and me. Him leaning forward, a mere kiss away .
Uhh, what?
[I]Ohh boy.[/I]