Deceptions - CC ML TEEN - 1/1 - [COMPLETE]

[goddessgurl5000]

Title: Deceptions
Author: Tina T
Rating: TEEN
Summary: Post-Grad. Even true love can't survive anything.
Author's Note: I listened to an old Matchbox Twenty CD, and this spawned from Hang and You Won't Be Mine. Just a little one parter.
Disclaimer: The author of this fan fiction does not own any aspect of Roswell. Those rights belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB, UPN, 20th Century Fox, etc. Disclaimer added by moderator.


Deceptions

It was a city of lights and insomniacs, one of million that had come and gone, each as indistinct as the last. Like a fly a zapper, people were drawn to the energy, the magnetism, ignoring the charred blisters left on their hearts by the anonymity of the life. Above it all, sparks crackled off of the butt of a dying cigarette as a man watched with less than a lack of interest. His eyes constantly bounced between the glittering lights in the sky and the buzz of the world below him. Neither seemed to fit. Finally he settled on watching the horizon through the wisps of smoke that coiled around his calloused fingers.

Behind him, a wire screen door pulled taunt against his weight as he crossed his arms, wondering when things had gone so horribly wrong. And yet, at the same time, it was still infinitely better than the life he had hoped for himself. He could remember once, before they had truly learned what sadness meant, telling her that being in love was like living the highest of highs and the lowest of lows all at once. He remembered a time when she believed that the cost was worth it. He wondered if she still believed that. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he knew the truth. Through years on the run, the one thing that he had learned to do flawlessly was lie, and he often found himself on the receiving end of his own deceptions.

Through the screen, he could hear her shower running. This was their habit now. Together, all that they could create anymore was tension. He could remember a time when just meeting her eyes had caused his heart to speed and his thoughts to flee. Now their silences were the product of something completely different. They were lies between them now. They didn’t know each other anymore.

He knew how the night would play out. She would stay in the bathroom until she heard the screen door open, brushing her hair and teeth, washing her face, anything to keep space between them. Since he knew that she hated the smell of smoke, he would take her place in the bathroom when she finally stepped out, but he didn’t understand that he couldn’t wash away the pieces of himself that disgusted her now. He couldn’t wash away his inner thief, the thief that had taken her childhood—her future—away from her. He couldn’t wash away the memories that kept her from really hating him. He couldn’t wash away the leash that he didn’t even know he held her by.

When his shower was over, she would be asleep, or at least she would look like she was. He would lie beside her, and she would curl herself against him, because when she slept, nothing existed except for their love. When she slept, he knew that she loved him. He would hold her in his arms, watching as her face shifted for her dreams. Then, often, in the darkness of a stale motel room, he would let himself cry over the past that he wanted so desperately to forget. In the dark, he could mourn the one that he could not save, and the life that he had denied to the woman he loved. On those nights, he could hate himself for what he had done to her. On those nights, he almost thought he could have given her up. Almost.

He puffs on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily through his parted lips. Two more puffs and the ritual will begin for another night. He flicks the ash over the edge of the railing, watching the flickering spots disappear into the darkness.

He had given her the chance to leave once. It had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but he knew that no matter how much he needed her, he couldn’t force her to stay. She’d known from the beginning that it was never her they wanted. She’d chosen to stay with him. That was back when she still believed in him—in them. That was when she had still had blind faith in love. That was a long time ago.

He puffs the cigarette again, feeling the tingle as the smoke drifts over his lips. He doesn’t know why she stays anymore, and he doesn’t want to think about it. He knows what he would find if he did. She stays out of habit. He doesn’t know that she also stays hoping to refill the hollow inside of her that had once held her feelings for him. He doesn’t know that she wants to feel the way she had when they’d first met, when she’d believed that they could win against anything. He doesn’t know a lot of things.

He is about to be forced into an awful awakening.

...

She stands in the bathroom, carefully inspecting her own reflection as she listens to the hairs of the toothbrush scratch across her pale teeth. She’s frightened by what she sees, because she no longer recognizes herself. Her eyes, once sharp and filled with confidence, now look dull and listless from beneath the heavy shades of purple that encase them. She never gets rest anymore. Her dreams taunt her with fragments of the past, and the person that she once thought that she could be. That person doesn’t exist anymore, she tells herself, because it’s what she has to believe. Because she knows, deep down, that he killed that person, and she can’t seem to forgive him for that. And she can’t seem to forgive herself for not believing in him.

She spits her toothpaste into the shiny porcelain sink, wishing she could shed the vile tastes in her mouth as easily. But those tastes come from a sickness inside of her, one that she can’t separate herself from. She’s dying, once and for all this time. She can feel it, silently chocking what’s left her. She won’t tell him. He would try to fix it. He doesn’t understand that he’s the one who’s killing her.

She drops her toothbrush into the cup by the sink, carefully avoiding her eyes in the mirror. She doesn’t want them to judge her. Her heart already has the part taken.

She goes to the bed, closing her eyes and pretending to sleep as she listens to his shower run. She thinks of what her life could have been if he had never stepped out from behind the proverbial tree. She wonders if things could have been better if she had never learned to love. She wonders if there was a point where she could have changed things. She spends a lot of time worrying about the what-ifs.

He lays beside her, his body still damp from the shower, and she can’t help but fall into him. If only for this one last time. She hears his breathing steady, feels his heartbeat align with hers. She feels a drop of wetness on her cheek, surprised to find that she is crying. The problem, she realizes, is that no matter how much she hates him, she cannot stop loving him. When nothing forces her to change, why should she?
But something has forced her to change. She’s dying, and she’s given up too much to die beside him.

She pulls herself from his arms, moving to the small table in the corner where she left a pen for herself earlier. In a letter, she tells him that she loves him; that she always has and always will. She tells him that she wishes things could have been different, but they’ve played that card one time too many. She tells him that she forgives him, and that she wishes she could have given him more. She lies for him, because she knows it’s what he needs.

Lastly, she tells him she’s dying, and he can’t save her.

She lays the note on her pillow, breathing in his scent one last time. Her lips gently press against his, quivering as tears press against her closed eyelids. Pulling away, she wonders how it could hurt so much, but she never wonders if it’s the wrong decision.

She pauses once more at the door, whispering the only words that he still knew were true. “I love you.”

She walked out the door, never knowing he’d heard her.