How the Other Half Lives

I wish I never saw the sunshine..,

I wish I never saw the sunshine...
An' if I never saw the sunshine baby…
Then maybe I wouldn't mind the rain.

Maria stared unfocused into the mirror. She couldn't do this. So far she hadn't been thinking, all she had done was react. Michael turning up had been so unexpected that all she could do was react. But now - now she was making a choice to actively get involved, to live. This was reality. For 8 years she had existed without immersing herself in to the world. During the rough early years without Michael a small part of her had remained coldly objective whilst observing her own behaviour. Despite the pain and anguish, the hysteria and the episodes of rage, a part of her had just watched.

A stranger in her own skin.

Everything following Michael's absence had just sort of happened and she had fallen along with it. She had been just as distant watching herself strip and suck cock for drugs as she had been when she married Rath in Vegas, joyously throwing the bouquet at the Elvis impersonator.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't seriously believe that it could all be wiped away? Tht there would be no trace left behind of the damage, the cracks, the stains, except possibly those few faint shadows - if you really looked hard enough. No. The damage was done and some people are just damaged beyond repair. It will always show; the strain in the smile, the slight quiver of the hand….

She peered harder at her reflection, searching for any obvious signs of the hell she had put her body through. There were dry patches on her cheeks, dark circles and faded laughter lines around her eyes, which only reminded her that once-upon-a-time she used to smile using the whole of her face – instead of just her mouth.

Could she be the person that Michael expected her to be, the person he deserved? Could she hold hands and cuddle on the sofa; laugh together under the bed sheets on a lazy Sunday morning? Was she even capable of being that person anymore?

Maria felt the fear nestle into her chest and take roots. In a sick and twisted way she had enjoyed being empty, being absent from it all, being an unperson. Nothing had mattered. Nothing could be lost or taken from her because she had nothing in the first place. As good ol' Tyler Durden said, 'it's only when lose everything can you truly begin to find freedom.' If she now became a Person, if she started to inhabit this thing called Life, tried the happily ever after with Michael and hope for the best…would she survive it if it went wrong? Could she tolerate it if it went right?

Her eyes refocused and she glanced at herself once more, it was true the years had not been too good to her. But if she squinted just a little she could see that teenage terror staring back, a girl whose motor-mouth and loyalty had been renowned. Someone who had been passionate about anything that struck her fancy. A girl who had won the heart of the angry 'stonewall' loner that had been Michael Guerin.

The lips opposite her curved into a smile. It was an old smile. It was a 'fuck the lot of them' smile and Maria felt awash with an old feeling: bravado, mixed with a measure of courage and a dash of confidence. It was the Teflon feeling. She reapplied her lip-gloss (ruby red and cherry flavoured) fluffed her hair and flashed a dazzling smile…which this time almost touched her eyes.

Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em. The mantra sang in her head as she grabbed her bag and jumped into her car.

She put on her sunglasses and turned the rock music up loud as she drove down the street, barely glancing at the 'Thank You for Visiting Roswell' sign as she passed it.

Every time I'm close to you…

There's too much I can't say…

And you just walk away…

Michael sat and drummed his fingers as he drank coffee and surveyed the apartment. It was clean. Too clean. It made him edgy. Rory had left him alone for the night so Michael had worked off his nervous energy by tiding up. He'd even cleaned the bin. It looked ridiculous. Maria would notice this the moment she came inside. Was that good thing? Did it show her how nervous he felt? Or would she think he had changed so much that he was even tidy at home? Like a final slap in the face, showing her how his life had turned out for the better, when hers had apparently gone down the shithole. Should he mess it back up again?

He gave his head a little shake to clear away the incessantly circular thoughts and gulped down more coffee; strong, two sugars. His fingers unconsciously drummed a new rhythm out on the pine table top. They would have to talk. Not too much though, they were too good at talking themselves out of the relationship. So much baggage, so much history they hadn't touched upon yet.

She still didn't know how crippled he'd been during the first few years apart. How the mindless anger at Hank, at himself, at her sometimes and even at the world for being born (hatched) had nearly driven him clean off the fucking deep end. Hank's voice had kept him company; his voice darker and more twisted, more eloquent in death than he'd ever been in life. A voice that still whispered to him when he fell into his darker moods, but Michael had learned to put it all into the paint. Every kick, every punch, every insult and beer can that had been thrown towards his head. It was these paintings that had made his art professors sit up and take notice.

He didn't think he would have found this catharsis if he had stayed in Roswell. In so many ways the Pod Squad, as Maria had affectionately called them, held each other back. As if they had never hatched from those cocoons, instead they had just increased the radius to include only Roswell, New Mexico. It was stifled and claustrophobic. So he had left, to find other aliens, but hadn't made it as far two states over, but the ambition and strength of his desire to find other aliens had instead led him to find himself.

Surprisingly when the painting became more than just a hobby, he had found he was able to express every thing he felt in those measured (or sometimes haphazard) brush strokes. It was no wonder that he had painted Maria over and over again. So many colours reminded him of her; Red - her passion, her anger, her lips, Blue - her sorrow that she would hide so carefully, Yellow - her hair, her smile, Orange - her voice warm and sensual, and of course Green. Those green eyes would haunt him - follow him no matter where he ran to, he would see them in his dreams with a multitude of expressions glittering beneath their depths and as enigmatic as Mona Lisa's smile.

The irony was no-one cared about the paintings he'd make of his alien life, despite Max freaking out all those years ago. Words like 'abstract' and 'fantasy' were thrown about and no-one thought it was at all strange. Instead he had received a few more sideways-glances for the numerous paintings of Her, although they put it down to what it really was - the Muse that got away. He was praised for not only having artistic talent but for having an artistic temperament as well.

It was a strange world, the art scene.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings and startled him into zapping the brad-new coffee pot with his powers, glass exploded and the shards sprinkled all over the linoleum floor. Maybe it was a sign from the universe that he'd had too much coffee. Or it was just Maria. What was it about that girl that unravelled his self-control? He checked his hair, wiped his nervous, slightly-sweaty hands on his navy jeans and opened the door.

"Hey." He said, as his eyes hungrily drank her in. She looked so much better than the last time he had seen her; drunk, wet and crying on his old bed. She looked more like the Maria he'd met when they'd been cleaning up his flat. Slightly more damaged than high-school-Maria but confident and still sexy as hell.

"Hey" she replied. A beat of time passed quietly and the sounds of muffled conversation from outside drifted in through an open corridor window. Her lips curled into an almost-smirk as she waited, "So…you going to invite me in…or is the hallway all I'm allowed to see?" She sassed

Shit, Michael! Get it together and stop acting like a dork! He mentally kicked himself and then stepped back from the door frame with a slight bow, gaining a light giggle from Maria. It'd been a long time since he had heard her laugh and his chest swelled with pride at managing to drag it out of her.

"So this is your apartment? Hmm it isn't quite what I expected, it's so….clean! Your roommate is a bit of a neat freak huh?" Maria looked around the room and recognised the little things that announced that it was Michael's apartment too; there were the Metallica CDs strewn across the sideboard, the Braveheart DVD neatly on top of the DVD player and a broken coffee pot. She said nothing but bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. It was good see that Michael's grown-up life wasn't completely unrecognisable from the boy she had fallen in love with.

"Well…I had some free time this morning, so I figured I should clean up a bit." He busied his hands sweeping up the pieces of the coffee pot. He didn't want to get too nervous again and accidentally blow something else up….that would be pretty embarrassing. He may have been able to deal with Maria amongst the chaos and tearful reunions back home, but as she had said, he didn't know her anymore. Now here she was - in his apartment- dissecting the last 8 years of his life from under that perceptive green-eyed glare.

The apartment was covered in paintings and pictures, the walls were painted in warm browns and reds with two black PVC sofas. It was certainly nicer than any of the places she had ever lived in. "Are any of these yours?" She asked as she inspected each painting. "Other than the dome, I don't think I've seen any of your work."

Now it was Michael's turn to smirk. He doubted that Maria would have been impressed with the endless drawings of her breasts in his notepad. What could he say; he had been a very horny teenage alien. "No, most of them are just pieces I've found and liked. Uhh except for that one," He pointed at the canvas hanging on the kitchen wall, above the chopping board. It was an abstract impression of fruit in a fruit bowl. "that was my first painting after the dome. It's what got me thinking of Art College."

Maria looked at the complex colours and the way pieces of one fruit had been swapped with the others. It was very good. "Well, no wonder. I bet you're excited about the exhibit today, I'm guessing it will mean a lot for your career."

After finally visiting home after so long, meeting Max's doppelganger, hearing about Maria's past and having the possibility of rebuilding a relationship with the only woman he had ever loved hanging over his head…he hadn't given the gallery much thought, other than as a way to show Maria how he still felt. The idea of these paintings becoming a full-blown career was a thought that he'd tried to avoid, he would have been content to stay a student forever, which of course was impossible. Eventually everyone has to grow up and leave the safe haven they've built for themselves.

Maria studied him as a multitude of emotions flickered across his face. Had he always been so easy to read? Or was it just that now, without Hank, he could allow himself to relax and stop schooling his face into neutral. It was a stark difference from the surly and impatient boy she had known way-back-when.

"Yeah it's…exciting but scary I guess. So, you fancy getting some food?"

Maria smiled and nodded, "I could eat."

Authors Note: MERRY XMAS!

I love all those who have continued to read this after so long, I have no excuses except that I have been working full time and studying in the evenings, plus this September I finally started my English creative writing degree in university. I'm going to try and get more out these xmas holidays, the story is starting its conclusion so please let me know if you're bored or any suggestions as to which way it could go...

I have re-written this over and over and I'm still not 100% happy but ah well...Thank you again for your continued encouragement and review if you can be bothered :)