Unfaithful (M/L AU Mature/Adult) Epilogue 1/17/07
Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 6:33 pm
Title: Unfaithful
Author: Jessika aka Dreamer<3
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell do not belong to me. No infringement intended. The concept come from a song by Rihanna, all rights to the song goes to her.
Rating/Category: AU/Adult
Summary: Liz is an unfaithful wife
AN: Ok, this fic is something I started a while ago, but I got sidetracked and put it on the backburner. But I've decided to start this up again, and it's not a long fic. About 5 chapters or so. So I should be posting this pretty fast, and be done with it soon.
Prologue
When I look around I see all these happy couples. They hold hands, kiss, and just seem so deep in love. If people see this they’re suppose feel giddy inside, and smile. Then why do I feel so empty, and feel like I have to look away?
I think that I, out of all people, should just look at these couples, smile, and then think about my husband. I’ve been with him my entire life.
We grew up together, our parents were best friends, and we lived next door to each other. I was best friends with his sister, and he was best friends with my brother.
When we hit junior high, I felt our relationship take a new shift. I felt myself get butterflies every time he was around, or any time his name was mentioned. I started to notice that he too suddenly looked at me differently. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, so when we officially became a couple freshman year in high school, it was no surprise to our families.
We were West Roswell High’s golden couple. We lost our virginities to each other at 15, and pledged our love for each other at 16. We went to Junior and Senior Prom together, and were made Prom Queen and King both years.
So when he proposed graduation day, it was no surprise when I said yes, and it was no surprise when we announced we were going to Yale University together, and sharing an apartment.
When we finally got married, after we graduated college, everyone attended our wedding. It was the perfect wedding. I wore my mother’s wedding dress, and as we said our vows we both cried. Our honeymoon was in Paris, and it was perfect, we spend the entire week making love, and it never seemed like our love could die.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what my husband feels for me. When ever we go out, people seem to comment to me how lucky I am because I have a husband who looks at me the way he does. I’m not stupid either, I know what he feels for me, I know that he loves me so much, that he doesn’t care if it kills him.
And that’s exactly what it’s doing to him. It’s killing him.
I don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point through out or journey, I felt my love slip away. It turned from something that I wanted to happen, to something that was supposed to be.
When it first happened, I walked home, gave him a kiss on the cheek, told him I had fun with the girls, and that I was tired. So I went up to our bedroom, and cried myself to sleep. I felt horrible. I was a horrible wife. I vowed myself it would never happen again, and then I broke that vow.
I managed to keep it to myself for the first couple of months, but some where along those months, he found out the truth.
He pretends not to know, and I pretend to not know that he knows. We pretend in front of our families that we’re happy, and that’s basically what it’s come down too.
I know that he loves me, and it’s why he won’t let me go; he’s afraid of loosing me.
Every time I look into his eyes, I don’t see that love anymore, I see betrayal. I’m slowly killing him every time I walk out the door. Putting a gun to his head would be less painful than what I’m doing to him right now.
Now as I stare at myself in the mirror, I look at a woman I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be this person, who hurts the one person who loves her more than anyone else. I don’t want to kill the person who’s the key to my happiness. I don’t want to be a murderer.
I want to love my husband like he loves me, I want to love him like how I use to. I want to be the perfect wife. I don’t want to do this anymore; I don’t want to be the person I’ve become.
I don’t want to be Elizabeth Anne Parker-Evans, an unfaithful wife.
Author: Jessika aka Dreamer<3
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell do not belong to me. No infringement intended. The concept come from a song by Rihanna, all rights to the song goes to her.
Rating/Category: AU/Adult
Summary: Liz is an unfaithful wife
AN: Ok, this fic is something I started a while ago, but I got sidetracked and put it on the backburner. But I've decided to start this up again, and it's not a long fic. About 5 chapters or so. So I should be posting this pretty fast, and be done with it soon.
Prologue
When I look around I see all these happy couples. They hold hands, kiss, and just seem so deep in love. If people see this they’re suppose feel giddy inside, and smile. Then why do I feel so empty, and feel like I have to look away?
I think that I, out of all people, should just look at these couples, smile, and then think about my husband. I’ve been with him my entire life.
We grew up together, our parents were best friends, and we lived next door to each other. I was best friends with his sister, and he was best friends with my brother.
When we hit junior high, I felt our relationship take a new shift. I felt myself get butterflies every time he was around, or any time his name was mentioned. I started to notice that he too suddenly looked at me differently. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, so when we officially became a couple freshman year in high school, it was no surprise to our families.
We were West Roswell High’s golden couple. We lost our virginities to each other at 15, and pledged our love for each other at 16. We went to Junior and Senior Prom together, and were made Prom Queen and King both years.
So when he proposed graduation day, it was no surprise when I said yes, and it was no surprise when we announced we were going to Yale University together, and sharing an apartment.
When we finally got married, after we graduated college, everyone attended our wedding. It was the perfect wedding. I wore my mother’s wedding dress, and as we said our vows we both cried. Our honeymoon was in Paris, and it was perfect, we spend the entire week making love, and it never seemed like our love could die.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what my husband feels for me. When ever we go out, people seem to comment to me how lucky I am because I have a husband who looks at me the way he does. I’m not stupid either, I know what he feels for me, I know that he loves me so much, that he doesn’t care if it kills him.
And that’s exactly what it’s doing to him. It’s killing him.
I don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point through out or journey, I felt my love slip away. It turned from something that I wanted to happen, to something that was supposed to be.
When it first happened, I walked home, gave him a kiss on the cheek, told him I had fun with the girls, and that I was tired. So I went up to our bedroom, and cried myself to sleep. I felt horrible. I was a horrible wife. I vowed myself it would never happen again, and then I broke that vow.
I managed to keep it to myself for the first couple of months, but some where along those months, he found out the truth.
He pretends not to know, and I pretend to not know that he knows. We pretend in front of our families that we’re happy, and that’s basically what it’s come down too.
I know that he loves me, and it’s why he won’t let me go; he’s afraid of loosing me.
Every time I look into his eyes, I don’t see that love anymore, I see betrayal. I’m slowly killing him every time I walk out the door. Putting a gun to his head would be less painful than what I’m doing to him right now.
Now as I stare at myself in the mirror, I look at a woman I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be this person, who hurts the one person who loves her more than anyone else. I don’t want to kill the person who’s the key to my happiness. I don’t want to be a murderer.
I want to love my husband like he loves me, I want to love him like how I use to. I want to be the perfect wife. I don’t want to do this anymore; I don’t want to be the person I’ve become.
I don’t want to be Elizabeth Anne Parker-Evans, an unfaithful wife.