Roswell Fanatics

Cut
Rating: Mature
Category: M/L
Summary: I'm keeping that a secret... if you'd like to spoil it all for yourself, read the challenge. If not (and I suggest not), come along for the ride.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. The characters, the music, the movies referenced, none of it is mine.
Author’s Note(s):
Yes, I'm posting yet another story. No, I haven't finished my other ones.

But, this one's going to be short and I'm planning on getting it all written by midnight tonight. That is my goal. I also want to have it ALL posted rather quickly, without huge gaps of time in between. I think I can do it.

He had promised to be there. He had always pulled through for me. I adjust my guitar on my lap before I realize that I can’t delay my performance any longer. He is my rock. Without him, I’m not quite sure who I am. Yin and yang. But there is a room full of people waiting for me to begin the show. A stage full of band members… waiting. With a quick breath, I strum the first chord.

I make it through the first few songs with ease. The set is coming to an end. I saved this song for last, hoping that he would come and be able to hear it.

I scan the crowd, but he is nowhere in sight.

He had promised to be here.

As my voice finds the last few words, a freezing feeling goes through my body. My guitar slips from my hands and hits the floor with a resounding clunk. The room goes quiet, and my world changes forever.

A/N: Every other part will be in this format. The other posts will be in normal narrative. So bear with me!
I am someone.

I don’t know who, though.

My friends try to help.

They can’t.

No one can.

I am alone.

I’m missing half of myself.

I don’t know what to do without it.

I can’t survive.

I won’t.

It should have been me.

I don’t deserve to be here.

What have I ever done with my life?

Why wasn’t it me?

I haven’t moved from this spot in my bed in a while.

A very, very long time.

I just lay here.

My entire house is silent.

No one is moving.

They don’t dare.

There’s a room at the end of the hall.

No one goes in it.

The Other Boy did.

That Boy did.

This Boy did.

My family doesn’t.

We won’t go near it.

It’s too fresh of a wound.

It hurts.

I am numb.

I fall asleep.

I don’t know for how long.

It was restless.

I am restless.

I shower.

I don’t want to.

I do anyways.

I get dressed.

My guitar has been lonely.

I’ve neglected it.

I don’t care.

I put it into its case.

No one bothers to ask me what I’m doing.

Or where I’m going.

They don’t care.

They don’t care about anything anymore.

Neither do I.

I hate myself.

Roswell is dark.

There are thunderstorms today.

And for the rest of this week.

I like it that way.

I’m being punished that way.

I have my hair drawn into a long ponytail.

There is no make up on my face.

I’m wearing a skirt to my knees.

Adult #1 said it’s fit for a flower child.

Adult #1 doesn’t say anything to me, anymore.

Adult #2 doesn’t, either.

I don’t blame them.

I don’t say anything to anyone anymore.

It’s not worth it.

Everything ends up with hurt.

Life is cruel.

Oh well.

I can deal.

The pawn shop is virtually empty.

There’s one clerk behind the counter.

I place my guitar on it silently.

I won’t need it anymore.

It’s useless to me.

I sell it.

I get good money for it.

It is a good guitar.

I would miss it, but I can’t.

Because I shouldn’t.

I don’t deserve it, anyways.

I hate that guitar.

I hate it!

Fuck.

I head down the road.

My blood freezes because I’m too close.

I drifted too far.

I didn’t want to be near here.

I turn and run in the opposite direction.

My feet pound the cement.

I’m panting.

My heart is beating wildly.

How stupid am I?

I can’t believe I went near there.

I feel like nothing is real.

Like this is some strange nightmare.

Or some cruel movie.

Nothing seems real to me.

I can’t handle this.

I head for home.

The world is too much.

I don’t want to be a part of it.

I hate this.

I hate myself.

It doesn’t even hurt anymore.

It’s just… made me empty.

I’m not who I was.

I never will be again.

I’ll never be the same.

I’ll just… exist.

I don’t know for how long.

I don’t think I can make it.

I won’t be able to.

I am nothing.

I feel nothing.

I will do nothing.

I collapse back onto my bed.

And fall into nothingness.

Where I belong.

I dress for school slowly. The last two weeks are a blur. I can hardly remember them. I walk out of my room and knock on the door at the end of the hall to wake Him up. He always sleeps in late. I feel like walking to school today. It will get my mind off of things. I’ll leave my car in the driveway, next to His. Adult #2 thought it was important for each of us to have our own car. Hopefully He will get his ass to school on time. Otherwise, Adult #1 will flip their shit.

The first bell is ringing when I get there. I hate the sound of that bell. I feel like some kind of a cow being herded from place to place. Or like one’s of Pavlov’s dogs. When the bell rings, go to the next mind-numbing lecture.

I go anyways. Like a dog.

Someone throw me a bone.

The classroom goes completely silent when I enter. Predictably, That Girl and That Boy give people death glares and they start acting normally. I wonder if they realize that I know what they’re trying to do.

That Girl sits next to me.

She frowns, “You didn’t call me back last night.”

“I was busy.” I really was. I walked all the way to the pawn shop and sold my guitar. And then I sat and stared at my wall for a few hours. I couldn’t sleep. I think I’m developing a case of insomnia.

That Boy takes a seat on my other side, “You haven’t returned any of our calls for the last two weeks.”

“I’ve been busy, guys.” I casually wave them off with my hand, “Damn, since when do I have to check in with you guys, anyways?”

That Girl speaks. “Liz.”

My name.

When was the last time I heard my name? I can’t even remember. I was beginning to forget it, actually. I guess that comes with not talking to another soul for a fortnight. You tend to forget things like that. I liked it that way.

“I’m sorry. But I’ve been busy, okay?” I really wish they would leave me alone. I don’t want their shit right now.

“Okay, Liz.” That Boy doesn’t sound very convinced. “We’ve been worried about you, that’s all.”

I nod, “Well, stop worrying. I’m here, aren’t I?”

The teacher comes in then. We stop talking. I’m usually really good at focusing on the lectures and taking notes. Today I can’t do any such thing. I’m doodling all over my paper. I’m spelling out my name in curls. I’m drawing a caricature of my Calculus teacher.

That Girl and That Boy notice. They give each other looks. I ignore them.

The bell rings after another painstakingly long span of time. I move classes. Where’s that bone I was supposed to get for doing this correctly, again?

Fuck. Second block is Lit. The Other Boy is staring at me. His desk is next to mine.

I don’t look up at him. I walk straight to my desk and sit down, facing forward. I don’t try to catch his eye. I don’t even look at him. I try to ignore the empty desk behind me. I wonder why He didn’t come to school today. I wonder what could have kept Him.

Adult #1 and Adult #2 are going to be pissed at him.

I remotely hear the teacher start class. I also remotely hear The Other Boy and This Boy start whispering to each other. I hate it when they whisper.

I’m not taking notes, now, either. I couldn’t concentrate long enough. My eyes are darting around the room trying to find something to entertain me. Nothing does. I know that today’s going to be a long day. I would go to sleep, but I know that I won’t be able to. My mind will keep me awake. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. My thoughts are racing. One second I’m thinking about what I had for breakfast and the next I’m trying to remember the exact date that the Nazis invaded Poland. Not for any reason. Just because I’m trying so hard to entertain myself. I can’t do it. Where is He?!

As the day goes on, people come up to me and try to welcome me back to school. They don’t mention why I was gone. They treat me like I’m made of glass. I kind of hate it. I also kind of love it.

The lunch bell rings. Finally, someone’s going to feed this bitch a bone. That’s what I am, right? A female dog. One of Pavlov’s dogs. Actually, I am a bitch to a lot of people. But they deserve it, usually. And if I don’t like someone, why would I pretend to? There’s no point to it.

He tells me that my sarcasm is biting. I tell Him that I’m not poisonous. He always laughs at that.

Lunch. I sit down at the lunch table and try to ignore where He should be sitting. I’m going to have to yell at Him when he comes home. He was supposed to come back from the camping trip two weeks ago. He’s so late. Adult #1 and Adult #2 are really worried about him. That's why they're acting different. I know.

That Girl speaks first, “Hey, Liz, you want to practice after school?”

Practice. She means for our band. We’ve gotten very good, actually. We’re Roswell’s pride and joy. They don’t have very much else to be proud about. The entire town is based off of some crackpot alien crash that happened sixty years ago, so go figure that they all love our high school band.

“I don’t think so.” I stare at my tray.

This Boy shifts closer to That Girl, his hand on her arm. He speaks gently, “Liz, we have a gig on Friday. If you’re not ready to play, I get it, but if you are, we need to practice for it.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you guys.” I laugh. “I quit.”

“What?!” That Boy, This Boy and That Girl scream all at the same time. They’re concerned. They’re hurt. They’re… angry.

The Other Boy and This Girl are very quiet through all of this. They aren’t saying anything. They’re staying to themselves.

I shrug, “I quit. I sold my guitar to the pawn shop yesterday.”

The Other Boy moves funnily. I ignore him.

“I tried to play it the other day, and realized that I just don’t enjoy it anymore. It’s not fun. I don’t even like it.”

“You’ve always loved playing guitar, Liz.” That Boy protests. “You got me started on it. Ever since you could talk… that’s all you wanted to do. You can’t change your mind about something that quickly.”

I snap, “I just did. Get the hell over it. And where the HELL is my brother?!”

They all freeze. Tears spring in almost everyone’s eyes. The Other Boy looks like he’s been slapped in the face.

I leave the table. I don’t know why they’re acting so weirdly.

I finish the rest of the day without talking to any of them. I don’t need them. I just need to see Him - my brother.

Thanks for the feedback! College is just starting up so writing's hard to delegate but I think I'll be able to start soon!
Home.

I feel empty again.

Adult #2 is in the kitchen making dinner.

I don’t care. I walk in there and grab a snack.

Her voice is bright.

I don’t know why.

“Liz, honey, how was school?”

“Fine.”

I lie.

I don’t know why my friends are all acting so strangely.

It’s only a matter of time before He walks in the door.

That will show them all.

Dinner.

Adult #1 doesn’t show.

Adult #2 pretends not to notice.

She tries.

Too hard.

I see through her.

I hate her.

I hate Adult #1, too.

How dare they?

I’m hurt

They’re blind.

I’m lost.

I’m full quickly.

I only eat a few bites of macaroni.

Adult #2 notices.

She fusses.

I don’t care.

I’m full.

I can’t eat anymore.

I help clear the kitchen.

Adult #2 hasn’t finished eating yet.

She complains.

Fuck her.

I can’t sit still.

I’m antsy.

I need to preoccupy myself.

So I’m cleaning.

Even though she’s not done eating.

Even though she tells me not to.

When I finish, I go upstairs.

I can’t look at the door across the hall.

I beeline for my own.

My room hasn’t changed.

Not in a few years.

I don’t want to change.

I turn on the tv.

I find it hard to focus.

Why isn’t He home?

Where is He?

How could He leave me waiting?

Especially like this.

It’s cruel.

I do my homework.

Slowly.

It takes me four hours.

Usually takes me one.

If even.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

There’s a knock on my window.

It’s Him.

I knew He wouldn’t leave me.

It must be Him.

I was worried.

So, so worried.

I look out the window.

I open it.

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It’s not Him. I feel my heart fall. It’s starts beating rapidly. I don’t know why I got myself so worked up. The Other Boy is here. I don’t know why. We weren’t ever that great of friends. The Other Boy is best friends with Him. Did he get lost on the way to His room?

“Liz.” He starts. He’s here for me. I don’t know why.

“What do you want?” I’m taken aback. We got along really well before, I’ve even thought that there could be something between us, but he never showed any interest in hanging out with only me.

“You said something today… at lunch.” He looks like he’s been crying. I can’t figure him out. Why is he here?

My heart’s still beating rapidly. “What? Spit it out.” I’m snapping at him. I don’t know why. I feel bad. But I can’t help it. I’m out of control.

“You said… you asked if anyone knew where your brother is.”

I nod, rolling my eyes.

He shakes his head, tears now really rolling down his cheeks, “Liz, you know where he is. Kyle died two weeks ago.”

I faint.

I wake up and I’m lying on my bed. He’s sitting on my bed next to me, holding my hand. I try to move away. He won’t let me.

I suddenly remember what he said.

I shake my head violently, “No, no, he’s not dead! He’s not!”

“Liz, you saw the coffin…” He trails off.

He looks guilty. I know why. I remember. I’ve remembered the whole time. But I haven’t believed it because “I never saw the body. I never saw it. It was just a coffin.”

The Other Boy looks at me with hurt in his eyes. He can’t believe that I don’t believe him. I don’t want to. “Liz, I saw the body. I was there… I was there when it happened. He’s dead, Liz. Kyle is dead. He’s not coming back.”

I break down then. Tears steam down my face and I’m crying louder than I ever have before. I still shake my head, “I can’t believe it. I won’t.”

“Then come with me.” He starts leading me from the bed. I follow.

I know Adult #1 and #2 heard my cries. I know that they chose to ignore them. I ignore the empty feeling I get in my stomach.

We’re in his car driving. I realize where we’re going. I don’t want to. I claw at him, trying to get him to turn the car around. He won’t. He’s determined. He has child locks on his doors so I can’t escape from the inside.

I’m helpless as he pulls in through the iron gates.

Death is everywhere. It’s surrounding me. The stench is nauseating. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. He turns off the car and exits the driver’s side seat. I hate him. How dare he? I’ve been avoiding this place. Yesterday, on my way to the pawn shop I came near here. And walked a mile out of my way to avoid it. I hate it here.

He acts like my fights against him don’t matter. He holds me close to his chest, ignoring how my fingernails are scratching at his skin and how I’m kicking and squirming my hardest to try to get him to let me go.

He finally does. I look up; only to see the one thing I feared the most.

A tombstone.

Kyle Valenti Parker
Loving Son and Brother
June 17 1990 – March 27 2008

No. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real. I avoided the burial because I didn’t want to acknowledge that the entire world was acknowledging his death. I didn’t want to believe it.

But I can’t deny it any longer. It’s real. It happened.

My best friend. My twin brother. My other half. I’m never going to get to see him again.

And as much as I hate The Other Guy, I can’t help myself. I run backwards into his arm, my sobs of sorrow practically screaming in his ear. I pound my fists on his back as he draws me into a hug.

I’ve never felt more lost in my entire life.

My life is capsizing.

More importantly, I’m hyperventilating. My world is going black again. I can’t breathe properly. I’m trying so hard to breathe, but I can’t. My own tears are choking me. I’m full-out panicking. My twin brother is dead. Dead! I will never, ever see him again. I will never, ever get to talk to him again. And I have this empty space in my soul that I had reserved for him. We were connected.

I believe that he’s dead, I can feel the lack of his presence in every fiber of my being, but I can’t handle the fact that he is.

The Other Boy comforts me as best as possible, but it’s hard for him to do. I can tell. I feel tears coming from him dripping slowly down my back. He needs someone to comfort him, as well. Kyle was his best friend. They were almost as inseparable as Kyle and I.

“What happened?” I croak out.

I didn’t want to hear the story when they told me he was dead. People tried to tell me what happened to him, but I wouldn’t let them. All I ever heard was ‘tragic accident’ before I bolted completely.

We sink down onto the ground together. He’s still holding me. I still have no idea what to do.

He starts shakily, “We were camping… and Kyle kept saying how it was important for him to get back in time to see you guys perform…”

My heart hurts. My head hurts. I’m exhausted, but I know I won’t get back to sleep tonight. I need to hear this, even if I don’t want to. I’m overwhelmed. Tears are still streaming down my face. I don’t know how I have so many in me.

“It was raining pretty hard and I kept telling him that we should pull over, but he… he was so determined to get there. He didn’t want to disappoint you or anyone else. You know how Kyle is.”

I laugh bitterly, “How Kyle WAS.”

He ignores me and continues, “And the car… it started hydroplaning. We didn’t see how much rain was actually on the road… the car went out of control and skidded into a tree. His side hit. He died on impact, Liz. He didn’t feel a thing.” His voice is breaking the entire time he says this.

He buries his face in his hands and chokes on his words, “I… I got away with bruises. But I still… I… God, I should have done something. I shouldn’t have let him get in the car.”

My grief is only the second wave that’s hit. The first time, when the sheriff walked through the door, I didn’t want to believe it. It was worse that night than it is tonight.

I shake my head. I scream at The Other Boy. He doesn’t understand. I yell at him to take me home. He silently gets up, takes my hand rather forcefully and leads me away from Kyle’s grave.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

I don’t even look at him as he drops me off at my house. I ignore whatever it is he tries to say to me. I’m numb. I can’t feel anything. I can’t think anything.

I spend the night staring at the ceiling.

Tonight, I know that Kyle will never again open the door to the end of the hall to be either on time or late for school. I know he’ll never open it up again with that goofy grin on his face and have some lame joke waiting for me.

I also know that I will never see him again.

I’ve lost my best friend.

And that hurts more than anything else ever will.