Shapes.

Everything always comes to me in shapes - like broken shards of glass, and I always wake up before I can put them together. Occasionally though, if I’m lucky, the last image will stay imprinted on my mind long enough for me to get it down on paper. I have a notebook full of those friggin’ shapes that don’t mean a damn thing to me. They just sit there on the paper…mocking me for not getting them…like they’re so obvious and I’m just too dumb to see what they’re trying to tell me. If I didn’t know they were clues – visions, or whatever, I’d tear them to pieces. The stupid, carefully detailed, carefully shaded shapes are frustrating. They make me edgy. Well edgier than usual. And I know I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but when my own visions are taunting me, calling me an oron, it's kind of hard not to get pissed off okay?

I think that’s bugging me more than anything else – that I’m basically calling myself an idiot through my own subconscious…

Anyway fine. If I don’t get it, I don’t get it. I’m not exactly up to another road trip, another scavenger hunt anyway – not yet – we still have all the stuff to go through – I need to concentrate on that. Right now I feel like screaming at my brain to give me at least 24 hours to recuperate from the shock of actually getting to the dome, actually finding something, actually being right for once.

Seriously, is that too much to ask?

Max would be shaking his head at me right now completely amazed and confused if I ever admitted this to him – that I don’t want any more visions right now. ‘Cause I’m the crazed one…the one that thinks about going home 24 – 7…which I do…but…this is the first thing that has ever worked for us…this is the first time we have clues – real clues that we can read and hold in our hands and I…I want to savor it. I want to taste every bit of information, commit it to all that memory I’ve been saving up by ditching class.

My hand was beginning to cramp from holding the pencil so tightly. I looked down at what I’d drawn. It was a triangle, tilted downwards, with a thick dark smudge at the thinnest part, and another line just above it. I had done six other similar drawings since coming back from Marathon yesterday morning. All were squares and more triangles, all with marks along their edges that didn't seem to mean anything, or make anything…unless maybe…

I flipped through my pad of paper, then began ripping the used pages out, getting an idea. I slid off the bed and onto my knees on the dingy carpet of my bedroom, and laid each of the pages out in front of me. I took the first one, and tore along the edges of it, then did the same to the other five. Three of them fit together. It looked like an eyebrow and the top of someone's eye. I stared at the pieces of paper, at the part I had put together, trying to force the images back into my mind.

I picked up one of the unmatched pieces. Now that I had the idea of a face, I saw that it sort of looked like the corner of someone's mouth, and set it down on the floor in the general area of where it should be. A face. It was definitely a face. Huh. Maybe I’m not such an idiot after all.

Take that subconscious.

I sat back on my heels and rubbed my eyes thinking about telling Max and Isabel.

They believe me now at least, that my stupid dreams are more than just stupid dreams, that they may be the keys to the locked doors that hold the answers we’ve been searching for all these years…

I want those answers so bad I can taste it – sweet and spicy - the tangy mouthwatering taste of truth, of home. I have never wanted anything else in my entire life.

Well…except for maybe Max's set up.

I try to be happy for him, I do, but…all that I ever really feel when I think about it is a kind of dull jealousy that settles in my stomach and makes my eyes sting. I should be happy for him, and I am, you know …and I don’t…I don’t necessarily want what he has…a nice family, a nice house that looks straight out of a catalogue or some dumb ass peachy keen "Leave It To Beaver" episode…but it would be nice to have a house that doesn’t smell like Coors.

I wonder sometimes why things turned out the way they did, why I ended up in a trailer park with a drunk for a father and Max with Izzy in a nice house with parents who cared, not alone. But then I remind myself that I am the reason I am where I am and shut up about it. I screwed myself over by not trusting them that night when we first saw each other.

I think I’ve been trying to make up for that mistake my entire life.

I now trust them blindly.

I’d die for them without thinking twice.

So of course I’ll tell them about my dream even though I’m kind of reluctant to.

I don’t know why my first instinct is to keep it to myself. I don’t understand that – it has to do with all of us, I’m sure of it…

You know what? Scratch that.

The reason I don’t want to tell them is because sometimes I like knowing things that they don’t. I like being able to think about things by myself without having to share it with them.

Which doesn’t mean I won’t…. eventually.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m being selfish. I admit that I just…I want it to be mine for a little while, and only mine.

When you have nothing… when something comes your way that no one else has you tend to hold onto it kinda tight y’know? Even with that first flash…if Max hadn’t been there when I’d had it I think I might have kept it to myself for little awhile.

Like I said, I’m selfish.

Maybe when we go through the files they’ll trigger something. I’ll bring it up then. I’ll share. After all, these bouts of selfishness don’t last too long – usually only a day or so and then I snap out of it and tell myself to stop being such an asshole and give them what I have because it's just as much theirs as it is mine.

I laid back down on my lumpy bed and thought about the pieces of paper on my floor. I wasn't tired anymore. The adrenaline from finding out what my vision was going to be – a face, was coursing through my veins, but I forced my eyes shut, and started breathing deeply, rhythmically - trying to fall back asleep, trying to get the rest of the pieces, even though I knew that the visions wouldn't come again tonight. I was trying too hard.

That was what had happened at the dome when I'd tried, with the key clenched tightly in my fist, to summon up another vision. That Maria girl - she had told me to try again. And I did. Not because I wanted to prove her wrong but because I could actually feel her believing in me as she stood next to me. It was like a warm breeze creeping into a cold room from a window that was opened just a crack – faint, but undeniable. I couldn’t help but think about that and when I did I saw the hidden room. Weird.

Huh.

I allowed myself to think about her for a moment. Maria. She wasn't so bad – not as bad as I had originally thought anyway when I had leaned over her that night at the Crash Festival and pressed my paint soaked hand to her flesh as she muttered to herself that this was all a bad dream. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to welcome her to my world with a look I knew would have scared the crap out of her. She was scared of me. I knew she was. I felt her heart under her skin beneath the silver handprint I pressed above her breast pound as I leaned over her.

I hate to admit this, (but since I’m being completely honest with myself this morning I might as well), but it’s pretty terrifying when the person you have to depend on is scared shitless and most likely disgusted and repulsed by what you are.

Isabel had every reason to be afraid of her running to Valenti. It’s what girls like her did – they ran to their daddy when the boogeyman came out from under the bed to play.

But I realized I was wrong about her.

Big surprise there, huh? Michael Guerin being wrong…

She was stronger than I thought – than any of us thought. Even Liz hadn’t been sure if she would keep our secret...

But she did.

She faced Valenti alone and she didn’t crack. The fact that she was scared of us made it all the more…remarkable. She had told the one person who could save her from the "evil aliens" to go to hell.

She still annoyed the piss out of me the other day when she insisted on coming with me to the dome though. She still annoyed the piss outta me me when she saved my ass from that cop…

Okay I should amend that…

She didn’t piss me off - she surprised me.

Again.

I don't like her or anything. I don't like anybody. I never really think about stuff like that. Girls. I have more important things on my mind.

She does have a killer mouth though…and I’m not just talking about what comes out of it.

There has to be something better for me out there than Roswell, New Mexico.

She had understood. She felt the same way.

I thought about Max and Liz, what I had read in Liz's journal. I’ve never in my life felt anything remotely like what she described. Never felt connected to anyone outside of our circle…well except for maybe the other night in that dumb motel…and maybe the next morning with that I-believe-in-you vibe she was sending…I felt kind of connected then. Or maybe I didn’t… I don’t know. Maybe I was just lonely. And horny. And all strung out on the high I got from finding the room and maybe I was lying to myself just now about feeling connected. Maybe it’s just me trying to have what Max has.

My alarm clock.

I turned it off and thought about not going to school.

It happened again while I was in the jeep with Isabel and Max, Monday morning on our way to school. They were talking about something I didn’t care about and I had fallen asleep. The second I realized I was dreaming about those damn shapes again, I forced myself awake and immediately unzipped Isabel’s book bag and grabbed a pencil. I took my notebook out, did a rough sketch of what I had seen, and then took the other pieces out from the pocket of it. I put them all together. I had an eye and a half, eyebrows, part of a nose, and an upper lip, all which looked vaguely familiar. I just couldn't place it. I still didn’t know who it was.

I threw the pencil down in disgust and flopped back against the seat. Isabel looked at me in the mirror.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I need to know who it is. I know I said one vision at a time but this feels important. Just as important as what we found in Atherton’s house. It’s important to Max, to Isabel. It’s important to me – I can feel it.

I rounded the corner to the quad where my locker was. I figured I’d grab the set of oil pastels Izzy had given me and spend first period in the art room, trying to do a study of what I had so far. I mean it worked with the dome right?

This was more important than Capitalism or Marxism or Fascism or whatever "–ism" Hallowman was droning on about today.

I blinked when I saw Maria but kept walking towards my locker. It was weird seeing her there obviously waiting for me…I didn’t know if I liked it. What? Did she think we were friends now? That she could just look for me in the halls like we were…friends? I warned her – I told her it was all over, that it was just a "we were on the road" thing so why-

"Hi."

"What do you want?" She frowned at me putting on her usual "what’s-you’re-problem-Guerin?" face and cleared her throat, pushing her hair away from her eyes which is a really pointless gesture ‘cuz her bangs don’t reach that far.

"Yeah...well you know that project that we had to do? You know the one that's due? Like, today? In a few hours?" She looked up at me and I was again struck by how small she was, how she had to tilt her head back to look me in the eye. That was a new thing – looking me in the eye. "You do know that you have to do it too, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So you never got my answers...and I don't want him reading anything about me that you made up."

I stared at her. Does she really think I care about this dumb assignment? I thought I made it pretty clear that I thought it was stupid. I had just answered her questions so she could do her paper, get her grade, and get off my back.

"I wasn’t gonna make up anything. I wasn’t gonna do it."

She blinked at me, like the concept of not doing an assignment was completely unheard of.

"Look. I’m like, ninety-nine and a quarter percent positive that my grade depends on you turning in something. I don’t care if it’s good – I at least want it to be accurate okay? You ruined my weekend. I will not let you ruin my G.P.A., got it?"

I sighed and shoved my hands into my pockets to keep myself from picking her up and physically moving her over so I could open my locker and get my pastels. I really didn’t need to deal with schoolwork this morning. All I had wanted to do was spend a nice quiet day in the art room away from stupid assignments and girls who followed me around because I was borderline nice to them once in a moment of weakness. I looked at her. She was still glaring at me, her mouth pursed and ready to fire.

"Fine. Where do you want to go?"

"The music rooms are open this period…"

"Whatever."

"What’s your favorite ice cream flavor."

"Mint Chocolate Chip."

"TV show."

"General Hospital" I rolled my eyes. It figured she’d like soap operas. "What? I’m a girl okay? I’m allowed…get over it."

"Book."

"Alice by Sarah Flanagan."

"What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you?"

"Liz…being friends with Liz."

"Who’s your favorite relative."

"My dad." I looked up from the paper.

"I thought you said your dad wasn’t around?" She paused. I think she’s surprised I actually remembered anything she had said that night. I’m kinda surprised myself.

"He's not...but...since I don't know what he's really like then I can pretend he's any way I want him to be...y'know?"

I stared at her.

I’ve done that. Thought about what my parents were like, made them special, made them love me.

"Yeah, I know…" I tried not to smile at her but I was feeling that vibe again that I’d felt in the motel. That I-understand-you vibe. I didn’t know if it was coming from me or from her, but I think she felt it too. She gave me a hesitant smile, and whatever there had been of mine slid off my face.

I was wasting valuable art room time by actually caring about her answers.

I cleared my throat.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Have you?"

"I thought we were doing you."

"You never answered that one."

"No." I must have made a face because she immediately jumped on me.

"What’s so bad about being in love?!"

"It’s pointless." She looked shocked.

"How is it pointless? You’ve never been in love so how do you know!?"

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Been ‘in love’?"

She paused for a minute, taking a deep breath, just humming with irritation and said, "No…but…I’ve at least had crushes… I bet you've never even had a crush on anyone."

"So?" I don’t know why I bristled at that, why I felt so defensive just because I’ve never doodled some chick’s name in a notebook. "What’s so great about that?"

"Everything! It gives you this adrenaline. It makes coming to school bearable because you think you might see him or he might see you and your heart beats a little faster…" She realized she had been leaning forward, towards me, and sat back slowly, then looked me in the eye and said flatly, "I bet you don't even have a heart."

I swallowed. That kinda hurt. I don’t know why it did, but it did.

"Sure I do…" I said. My voice was softer than I meant it to be, and I struggled to make up for it before her eyes got any softer. "It’s right here." I rubbed the back of my neck and her eyes widened.

"Oh my God…" I smirked at her, grateful that Intense-Look-Into-My-Eyes-And-Tell-Me-Your-Deepest-Thoughts-And-Emotions Maria was gone and replaced with the one I was used to, the one I could dismiss as a flake, the one I could deal with without feeling…weird.

"I'm kidding Deluca."

She didn't believe me. I could tell.

I rolled forward onto my knees and before I knew what I was doing grabbed her hand, and pressed it to my chest in the general area of where I had touched her all those weeks ago. "See?"

She looked at her hand in mine, pressed against the thin material of my shirt, and looked up at me. I could feel her feeling the slow steady beat of my heart under her palm. I looked down at her, I felt my lips part, breathing in her breath because she was so close, my eyes searching hers.

I immediately dropped her hand probably looking as surprised as she did that I had picked it up in the first place.

I coughed and moved back, away from her.

I picked up the paper and stared at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world when all I really wanted to do is look at her again that close, closer than before when we were in that motel and she had stood up so slowly, coming so near until I thought she was going to…

Shut up Guerin.

Oil pastels. Visions. No Maria thoughts.

Next question.

"What are you afraid of?"

"You probably." I stared at her and she stared back. The silence stretching between us was almost audible until I broke it because I was starting to like it. I was starting to like just looking at her without feeling this intense need to say something, anything, so she’ll get mad at me and stop looking at me the way she had in the car on the way back to Roswell.

"You want me to write that down?" I grinned as she looked away first and concentrated on her sandals, playing with the straps. She had small feet. They were pretty. I found myself staring at her toes as she mumbled, "Just put spiders or something stupid like that…"

"Fine." I tore my eyes away from her ankles before they started to wander any further up. She was wearing a skirt. A short skirt. "We done?" She was quiet for a moment then looked up at me, still tugging on the strap of her shoe.

"You know you don't have to be such a jerk all the time."

"Then how should I be Maria?"

I don’t think I’ve ever said her name out loud before. Not even when discussing her with Max and Isabel about what our plan of attack should be if she ratted on us. Maria was always "She" or "Her" or at most, "Liz’s friend", when I spoke of her.

"Look, I'm involved with what's going on thanks to Liz whether I like it or not...whether you like it or not. You can at least be civil...especially after…" Her voice trailed off and her fingers stopped fiddling with the strap. She was looking at me again.

I knew perfectly well what she was alluding to.

After we had shared parts of ourselves with each other that were usually reserved only for the people closest to us, if anyone at all.

That intense need was there suddenly, the one that was missing earlier, the one that made me want to get her mad at me before the silence crept in and I wanted to just be in it with her.

"After what Deluca?"

She glared at me.

"After…you kidnapped me and fried my car!" I shrugged, wondering if that’s what she had really meant.

"What’s the big deal? Max fixed it didn’t he? It’s running isn’t it?"

"That’s not the point!"

"Well then tell me what is!"

"The point is you never apologized!"

Is that all she wanted from me? A decent grade on a dumb project and an apology?

Fine. I can at least give her the last one.

"I’m sorry your car sucks."

Her mouth dropped.

Eyes narrowed.

And we have…is it…? Is it…? Yes! We have anger.

Mission accomplished.

"Bite me." She growled as she pushed past me to the door and slammed it behind her.

I stood there for a minute.

I stared at her answers I had written down, scrawled out in the margins next to the questions.

I crumpled up the paper in my hands.

I tossed it into the garbage can and noticed her book bag lying forgotten on the floor.

I opened my locker and stuck my head into it, welcoming the darkness and hoping it did something to cool my burning face. I don’t know what it is with these Czechoslovakians. You try to extend yourself, give ‘em the old "I come in peace" thing and they just like act so totally…inhuman.

I’m sorry your cars sucks…

Well, I’m sorry YOU suck!

And to top it all off I left my book bag in there. I needed it for my next class, but I didn’t want to ruin my exit by charging back in there after I had had the last word. Because then he would have the last word – even if he didn’t say a thing, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfa-

*thump*

I looked down. It was my book bag. I looked out from behind my locker door at Michael's retreating back.

Dammit.

I picked up my bag and rummaged through it looking for my paper that I still had to type out in the computer lab and penciled in his missing answer to the second to the last question.

No. It’s pointless.

Honestly? I don’t know why I’m surprised about his attitude towards the L-word. It was kind of what made me notice him in the first place – last year in freshman English, way before the my-best-friend-was-shot-by-Beavis-or-Butthead-and-healed-by-E.T. thing.

Our class had been discussing "Romeo and Juliet" and everyone had been moaning about how romantic it was and Mrs. Milton had noticed Michael scoffing at all of us. I guess it was kind of a shock for her – him expressing anything resembling an opinion in class (even if it was a nonverbal one) and him actually being in class in the first place.

She had pounced on him, and after a moment of him looking like a deer caught in oncoming traffic – y’know caught actually caring about the discussion - said, without blinking an eye, that Romeo and Juliet was not romantic, but pathetic and sad, and that we were too for thinking it was a beautiful love story.

Okay he didn’t really say that last part. He just implied it with the lifting of an eyebrow and an annoying smirky curl to his lip that I have since discovered is his signature expression.

- "What do you mean by that Michael?"

Mrs. Milton had been thrilled, thinking she had broken through his "shell", and had urged him on as she clasped her battered copy of the text to her chest.

- "I mean it’s not romantic that these two clueless people had to grow up and find each other in a world that didn’t understand them and what they wanted…that didn’t let them breathe."

- "And what did they want Michael?"

- "To feel something real…or something that they thought was real other than all the fighting…" he had trailed off with a hard swallow and his arms had automatically crossed themselves in front of his chest signaling that he was done talking and she better move onto someone else.

I remembered thinking that he was right – that "Romeo and Juliet" wasn’t about Romeo and Juliet at all - it was about their parents' relationship with each other. It was about hatred. It was about love being killed by hatred. He was right – that wasn’t romantic. It was pathetic. It was sad.

I also remembered thinking that even though he was right it was odd that that was what he had picked up on first and not the love affair. I remembered thinking he must think the concept of love is bullshit.

I don’t think I was wrong thinking that then, judging from the look on his face when I’d asked him about love today, so really, I shouldn’t be surprised.

But I am.

You’d think after the whole Max/Liz incident at the Crashdown he’d have modified his opinions a little. He’d seen the purest example of love that day just like I had. He had watched someone risk everything for someone else. Out of love.

What, was the guy made of stone?

You know what? I don’t care.

So what if I had like a major crush on him all last year. That wasn’t based on anything real. It wasn’t based on anything other than the fact that I thought he was hot, and that there was something about the look in his eyes when he had said what he said about "Romeo and Juliet", and love being bullshit – something that made me want to prove him wrong even though I kinda agreed with him…

I closed my eyes and shut my locker door.

This is stupid. I do not like Michael Guerin. He isn’t nice. He isn’t even human. What I told Liz was completely right. It could never work. He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him. End of story. He’s just an alien.

An incredibly sexy alien.

Aaaarrrrggghhhh…

This is so stupid. I’m pathetic and he’s a jerk. Stop moaning about it and type up this stupid paper so you can hand it in and never think about it again…never think about him again in that nookie motel…sitting across from you…telling you things about himself that you recognized in yourself…lying on the floor next to the bed breathing deep even breaths while you were awake and wanting to smack yourself for telling him "no"…

I handed Mr. Lewis my paper and leaned back in my chair, looking at Michael out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting with his arms folded across his chest making no move to take out his paper, watching as our teacher came up the aisle towards him.

"Guerin – Your paper?"

"My dog ate it."

I turned around sideways in my chair, facing him. He hadn’t even bothered to write anything. I glared at him to show him what a jerk I thought he was.

I hadn’t really been worried about my grade on this dumb assignment - I mean I’m not Liz. I had just been using it as an excuse to talk to him again to see if I had imagined all that…stuff that had happened between us…all those…vibrations. I realized the second he greeted me with "What do you want?" I had, but I had to think of some reason why I was there waiting for him, and the stupid assignment was the first thing that had popped into my head. He was so obnoxious about it too – like taking five minutes out of his life to talk to me was such pain in the ass…

I was kinda hurt that he didn’t want to know anything about me…and the fact that he hadn’t written anything even after I told him it was important to me…aaaarrrrrggghhhhh!

Let’s just say that I am now one hundred and fifty percent over my freshman year crush on him. The little bits of it that were left after finding out what he is are now completely gone.

And so are the bigger bits that had started blooming after Marathon.

He glanced over at me, smirking, and was about to look away, but something stopped him, and he stared at me. I felt myself start to blush a little under his scrutiny and tore my eyes away from his. I felt…funny…

The bell rang.

I left class in a hurry, not even stopping to talk with Liz. Michael was after me. I could feel him…watching me as I shoved my things into my bag, watching me, following me as I practically ran down the hallway.

Something about the way he had been staring at me…it made me nervous…it still gave me those little fluttery thingy’s in my stomach but they weren’t…nice. They kinda scared me – like they were warning me that the way he was looking at me was not good…

I pushed open the front doors of the school and skipped down the steps. I ran to my car and flung the door open.

I stuck my keys into the ignition and shrieked as the passenger side door opened and Michael slipped inside.

"Skipping homeroom?"

"Look, I’m not driving you anywhere - Texas, Mars, wherever!" I snapped, trying to get my heart rate to return to normal. He wasn’t looking at me so intensely now and I felt myself relax a tad.

I don’t know what I was scared of. I had stopped being afraid of Michael Guerin a long time ago - I mean he may not like me very much, but I don’t think he’d ever hurt me.

I snuck a peek at him. He was staring at me again, curiously now. I flung up my hands and turned towards him.

I can’t take this anymore. In a couple of minutes I’m going to start charging him quarters.

"What!"

"Just…would you hold on for a second!"

"Michael – "

"Sit still!" He leaned forward his eyes traveling over my face, studying my eyes, my lips. I felt my heart start to pound again. I could hear it thumping in my ears and hoped he couldn’t.

"What…?" I whispered, and he sat back, frowning.

"It’s you…"

Yes, hello, it’s me - Maria. What the hell…?

He was looking at me again, like he was trying to memorize my face.

"You’re freaking me out! Just knock it off okay!?"

"Shhh."

"Don’t you shoosh me!"

"Just be quiet for a minute huh?" He closed his eyes abruptly, screwing them shut.

"What the hell are you doing?"

After a moment he opened his eyes, and looked me over again, nodding to himself.

"What are you doing?"

He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of what he was about to say and opted for - "I’m wondering if you are capable of shutting up for more than five seconds…Seriously do you ever stop talking?" - instead.

"I will as soon as you start!" He squinted at me and shook his head, still amazed at something he wouldn’t tell me about. "Speak!" I commanded resisting the urge to take him by the collar and shake him.

"I had a dream about you alright!" He snapped at me and I blinked.

"About me?"

"Parts of you"

"Which parts?" I asked suspiciously and he rolled his eyes.

"Parts of your face. I couldn’t figure out that it was you – I was only getting bits and pieces. I drew them…the pieces…and put them together."

He drew me…

"You drew me?"

"Kind of…Not on purpose!"

"Can I see it…?" He looked out the window.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Just…No…alright?"

He opened the door and slipped out before I could say anything. I watched him leave the parking lot.

Michael Guerin was having dreams about me. Michael Guerin was drawing pictures of me.

I turned my head to watch him disappear behind the school, and a flash on the floor of the passenger side caught my eye. A sliver of light from the window pointed the key out to me and I leaned over and picked it up.

It was Michael’s key – the one that opened the secret room at Atherton’s house.

He must have dropped it…

I slipped the key into my pocket.

I’ll give it back to him after work.

Hey, Liz?"

"Hmm…"

"Do you know where Michael lives?" Liz finished filling the napkin holder and smiled at me.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to sneak into his bedroom tonight and ravage his body" I paused a minute seriously thinking about it, then, remembering I can’t stand Michael Guerin anymore, turned my attention back to Liz who was staring at me, her mouth hanging open in a smile. I never told her I used to have a crush on him. I never told anyone. It had been my secret. "I’m kidding…obviously…No, I just – I have the key…y’know? "The Key"…? And he’s like psychotically possessive of anything that has to do with Czechoslovakia so I figure I’d better give it back to him ASAP…"

"How’d you get it?"

"He dropped it when he was in my car this afternoon." Liz laughed and reached for another napkin holder.

"And what were you two doing that made him drop it?" I grinned slyly and lifted my eyebrows at her.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." I handed her some more napkins for the holder, and hung up my apron. "Liz…"

"Hmmm?"

"What do you think of him?"

"Who? Michael?"

"Yeah…"

"I think …I mean I used to think he was scary…and kind of mean…but…"

"You don’t anymore?"

"No…I actually think Michael can be a really great guy when he wants to be…he just…he has problems…but you know we all do so…" Liz shrugged. "I guess they’re just magnified…being from Czechoslovakia and all, and I guess that’s why he’s so intense about everything…I don’t know. I don’t really understand Michael…but I think under all that attitude he’s…not so bad. He just wants everyone to think he is."

"What made you change your mind…"

"I can’t really say..." Liz looked up at me. "Maria do you have a thing for Michael?" I frowned at her and rolled my eyes hoping she didn’t notice the blush creeping its way up my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I was being so obvious…but then again Liz knows me better than anyone.

"No." That’s it. No comments about his hair (cuz, shhh, don’t tell but I actually kinda like it…) no cracks about his lack of style or his abrasive personality. Just No. That was a dead giveaway that I was lying right there. "So…where will I find him?"

"He lives at the trailer park with his dad…"

The trailer park. I had a friend who lived at the park when I was in middle school. Melinda. She was a nice girl. She never wanted anyone to come over though, so we always hung out at my house. I was always kind of glad. I really liked Melinda but the park scared me. I was glad I never had to go. I was so happy for her when her mom re-married and they moved to Texas. I mean I was sad she was leaving, but I was so happy for her that she and her mom were going to live in a nice house with a nice dad. I remember being kinda jealous of her dad.

It sucks that Michael lived there…no wonder he’s so…tough…I guess you have to be when you live at the park. I remember whenever we used to pick up Melinda outside of the gates there was always someone yelling, some fight going on. I can’t imagine having to grow up there…

I flopped down on my bed and stared at the charcoal I had finished.

I had redrawn the pieces from my dream and filled in the blanks.

It was a charcoal of Maria.

It was tacked to the wall across from my bed.

I had dreamt about her of all people.

I didn’t know what the hell it meant.

I got up and took the charcoal down. I put it in my closet with the paintings of the dome, and laid back down.

What could she possibly have to do with our past, with me?

That was the point of the visions wasn’t it? To lead us to the answers? To lead us to the truth about ourselves and where we came from?

What did Maria have to do with that? She was just a girl. Liz’s friend.

I can’t think about this anymore.

Thinking about her…it makes me feel weird…confused…

I turned my head to look out the window at the darkening sky, and closed my eyes.

"Hi…Mr. Guerin? I’m a friend – um classmate of Michael’s…uh is he home?" I smiled, my lips pressed tightly together, fighting the urge to run as the older man squinted at me and scratched at his chest through the dirty white tank he wore. He made an effort to keep his bleary eyes on my face but they kept drifting down to my chest. I crossed my arms over the front of my shirt, feeling nauseous.

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

Why didn’t I at least bring someone with me?

Why didn’t I bring something with me? Like a baseball bat…

Michael would say I’m being a princess…just because this is a poor neighborhood doesn’t mean it’s not safe…it doesn’t mean that anything’s going to happen to me…

I jumped at the sound of a screen door screeching open and felt tears spring to my eyes as a man and a woman behind me started screaming obscenities at each other. How can he stand living here…?

Maybe I’m being a snob…I don’t care. I was right to be afraid when I was little. This place is scary. Michael shouldn’t be here. No kid should be here…

Michael’s dad turned his head and shouted "Hey! Micky, there’s a girl here for you! Get yer ass up you lazy piece a…" He trailed off as he noticed a beer can on the table beside the door and shook it to see if it had anything left.

I stood outside of the screen door as Michael’s dad went back to the chair in front of the t.v. I took a deep breath and opened it. I stepped inside.

"So…um…should I go…back there?" I gestured in the general direction of where he had yelled.

"You could do that." He said disinterestedly, and turned back to the t.v.

Okay…

I stepped carefully around the newspapers and beer cans that littered the floor and made my way down the cramped corridor to where I assumed Michael’s room was. I knocked on the door.

No answer.

I cautiously pushed it open and peeked inside. Michael was lying on the bed asleep.

I shut the door quickly, and stood there on the other side of it trying to decide what to do.

I felt weird going in there with him sleeping – like I was invading his privacy or something.

He’d probably tell me I’m doing that already by coming in the first place.

Stop being so stupid. I made it this far. I’ll just…go in there and leave the key on his desk or something…

I pushed the door open determined now to just do what I came here to do, and slipped inside, quiet as a cat.

Of course he didn’t have a desk for me to leave the key on.

Or a dresser.

His clothes were piled on the floor near a partially opened closet. There was a little table next to his bed.

I made my way over to it, trying to be as quiet as possible. I stood next to his bed beside the table and looked down at him. One hand was draped lazily across his chest, the other hanging off the side of the bed; both were smeared with charcoal dust. I looked at his face, and smiled at the thick dark smudge across his cheekbone. He looked about twelve years old. He looked normal - not mean, creepy, chip-on-his-shoulder-the-size-of-a-Buick-Michael. He looked sweet…

The KEY Maria

I took it out of my pocket and leaned over towards the bed, deciding to leave it right next to him instead, reasoning that if I dropped it on the table it would make too much noise.

Well that and I wanted to look at him some more, closer.

I was about to put the key on the pillow when something peeking out of the closet caught my eye. It looked like a drawing.

He said before that he had drawn a picture of me.

I leaned in further to get a better look and squawked as a hand grabbed onto my wrist and pulled me down. I found myself staring into Michael’s dark eyes.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was quiet.

"Your dad let me in…" I whispered. I was waiting for him to start yelling at me.

"He’s not my dad. Why are you here?" He was still holding onto my wrist.

"You dropped this…the key in my car today…"

My hand opened and the key fell to the pillow. He let go of my wrist then and picked it up, still lying comfortably on his back.

"Thanks." I looked away from him, away from the stretch of exposed skin where his shirt had flipped up. I swallowed and looked at his face instead. Bad idea. His lips…

Don’t look at those.

I looked into his eyes. He was staring at me.

"You can go now Maria."

I nodded and backed away from him, then noticed the closet again.

"Is that the drawing?" I asked and made my way to the other side of the bed. He suddenly rolled over and got up from it, standing in front of the closet blocking my way. "C’mon Micky lemme see it!" I stood up on my tiptoes, trying to peer over his shoulder. He moved to block me again.

"No and don’t call me that." I stopped squirming and looked up at him, at the coldness in his voice. He was glaring at me...his eyes were so hard…

"I…I’m sorry…" His glare softened a little, and he looked at the floor.

"I just…I don’t like it…He calls me that…"

I whispered another "sorry", feeling horrible, but I was still curious and got up on my tiptoes again.

"Look, would you just - stop…I’m not gonna show it to you." I tried to sidestep around him and he caught me by the shoulders. I tilted my head back to look up at him, glad that he didn’t seem angry with me anymore. He was just annoyed. But what else was new?

"Why not?" He didn’t answer. "Look if it’s of me then I have a right to see it…what, did you completely mess me up or something?" I slipped out of his grasp and stepped around him. He didn’t stop me when I reached out and pulled the picture from the closet. He watched me as I stared at it, then looked away when I looked up. Like he was embarrassed.

He shouldn’t be…it’s beautiful…

He made me beautiful…

"Why…why did you draw this? I mean it’s good…it’s really good but…it’s of me…why…?" I blushed and tried to tell the fluttery things in my stomach to knock it off.

"I don’t know…" I looked at the picture again, then set it down carefully, back where it had been. I didn’t know what to say.

I looked down at my hands. They were now just as smudged as his.

He held out the corner of his shirt.

"Here…" I hesitated for a moment, then, seeing that the shirt was already dirty, wiped my hands on it, my body briefly brushing against his.

"Ahh…"

"What?" I stepped back, afraid that I had upset him again.

"I got some dust on your shirt…" He nodded at my shoulders.

"That’s okay…"

We stood there together, facing each other, so close all either of us would have to do is step forward and we’d be touching.

I had to say something quick. If I didn’t soon I’d end up grabbing him and making good on what I’d told Liz.

"So…I’m a clue, huh?"

"I don’t know what you are…but there might be a way of finding out…"

"What is it?"

"I’ll have to…uh…"

"What?"

"Get inside your mind." My jaw dropped. I couldn’t help it.

"You don’t really expect me to agree to that do you?"

"No", he snapped. "Because if you ever agreed to anything I suggest I’ll probably die of shock."

"Promise?"

"What are you sticking around here for anyway? If you can’t help, go away."

I swallowed. I wanted to help…I did…but…having Michael inside of me…in my head…

I looked at him. He looked so…confused…so frustrated…

"What exactly would I have to do?" He blinked at me, surprised I was even considering going along with it.

I was surprised too.

"Nothing…"

"Nothing? You just stare at me and do a little Jedi mind trick thing and voila - problem solved?"

"No, I’d have to touch you."

"Touch me how?", I asked, suspicious.

"Look", he growled impatiently, "I’m not going to jump on you – there just has to be some kind of contact."

He doesn’t want to jump on me…

Why doesn’t he want to jump on me? I may not be an Isabel Evans but I’m not bad looking…

Shut up Maria!

"And you can’t think of any other way to find out what I have to do with your visions?"

"Not unless you have a better idea. Look, if it’s that big of a deal then forget it."

"It’s not a big deal. I didn’t say it was a big deal. Just – let’s just do it and get it over with." I closed my eyes tight and stood there waiting to feel his hands on me, hoping he wouldn’t notice if I trembled, hoping he wouldn’t hear my pounding heart and laugh because he had this power over me…over my body…

"Would you relax? You’re making me nervous…I’ve never tried this before."

He stepped forward and reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. I felt like I was going to sink into the floor, like his rough, gentle hands were the only things holding me up. My eyes opened, and met his. We stepped in, closer together, and he closed his eyes in concentration, and after a moment of looking at him, of admiring the thick dark crescents his lashes made on his cheeks, I did the same. "Don’t think of anything…just leave your mind open…don’t block me out."

A wave of anxiety suddenly washed over me.

What if he found out something really embarrassing?

What if he found out that I didn’t really mind all that attitude he dished out?

What if he found out that despite how I acted around him I actually really kind of liked him…

And God if he knew what I thought about sometimes when I forgot about hating him…

I started to take a step back, but he held on, still gentle, and drew me back in even closer. His hands were warm, they felt nice. I decided to give into it. If he laughs, he laughs. He feels too good to let go of.

I think I can risk possible death by embarrassment if he’ll just keep doing what he’s doing, keep rubbing little circles into my upper arms with his thumbs…

I’m dying…

This is so unfair.

I took a deep breath trying to remember what Liz had wrote in her journal about the time Max had done this to her, trying to remember if there had been anything there that would help me.

Maria’s skin was distracting me, touching her like this was distracting me, standing so close every time she breathed her chest brushed up against mine was distracting me.

I couldn’t remember one word she had written.

I let my hands drift down to her arms instead of her face…it wasn’t as intimate.

But Liz said Max had been touching her face so maybe I should…

I lifted my hands again and cupped her face in my palms hoping she wouldn’t think I was pawing at her, and let my fingers tangle in her hair so my hands would stay put. It was soft. Everything about her was soft.

And she smelled good…like roses and cough drops…it was weird but I liked it…

She was weird but I liked…

Hello - focus.

Okay ummm…just relax…remember what happened at the cave with the key…just relax and feel her…

I felt a tingling in my arms coming from my hands where I was touching her…it was electric…it made my heart pound…

I started seeing flowers of color blooming behind my eyelids…colors that reminded me of her…violet because of that perfume she had had on that day I stole her car…gold like sunshine, like sunshine falling on her hair in the music room and making it and her skin glow…red like her temper, like the color of her annoying car…pink like that t-shirt she wore, like her lips…green like her eyes and blue like the vibes she sent me…

I had to redo the drawing. Charcoal didn’t do her justice.

She should be in color…living breathing color…

There was a flash and the colors were gone and I saw her walking down the hall, passing where I was standing at Max’s locker waiting for him to get out of class.

It must have been a while ago…she looked different, younger, and her hair was longer and kinda wavy…maybe freshman year…

She smiled at me and I stared at her. I deliberately tuned my head in the other direction.

All of a sudden I could feel her, what she had felt then. I could feel how much my rejection of her smile had hurt her.

And then after the hurt faded I felt her annoyance, her anger. I clung to that because I could deal with Angry Maria…

Hurt Maria was another story…it made me feel bad…

Dammit why’d she have to smile at me anyway?

And why had I been such a jerk about it?

Flash

I saw her lying in the dirt in that ridiculous costume at the Crash Festival. I saw myself leaning over her. I could feel her heart pounding again under my hand but I had been wrong about why…

She hadn't been nervous because an alien was touching her.

She had been nervous because I was touching her.

I saw my hand linger over her just a second longer than was necessary.

I remembered wondering what the rest of her felt like before tearing my hand away and running.

I ran because it was part of the plan.

I ran because I shouldn’t be thinking things like that, feeling things like that…

I heard Maria’s sharp intake of breath and froze as Liz’s words came barreling into my brain, pushing past the image of Maria standing in front of her mirror later that night and staring at my hand on her. It screeched to a stop before my eyes.

"I could feel everything he was feeling…"

Liz had been able to feel Max when he did this with her. She had been able to see his memories.

I didn’t want that…what if she saw Hank…

It was none of her damn business what went on here.

I broke the connection, snapped it like a twig, and the warmth I had felt slid away like the tide being pulled back into the ocean.

I opened my eyes.

We were so close I could feel her breath, soft against my neck. I looked down at her, and when I did, my lips brushed her forehead. I tried to ignore the jolt that passed through me, and she tilted her face up, her eyes still closed.

I don’t think she saw anything…she didn’t look like she had seen anything…she looked like she was still waiting for me to do something.

"Anything?" she whispered.

I swallowed uncomfortably, gazing at her parted lips. I suddenly became aware of her hands, resting on my chest. My own were still holding her face.

She opened her eyes, looked up into mine, then down to my lips a few inches away from her own. The decision was mine. She was giving it to me. I slowly lowered my head and our lips met, soft and gentle, uncertain.

This is how I know I was just fantasizing about it and not really doing it:

I was thinking about how I’d never really kissed a girl before. I was remembering how Isabel had tried to practice on me once when we were ten because practicing on Max would have been "too weird" since he was her "brother". When I pointed out that for all we knew I could be her brother, she left me alone.

See I knew if I was really kissing Maria I would not be thinking of anything else – least of all Isabel.

I opened my mouth slightly and deepened the kiss in my head, imagining what it would feel like, imagining the bare skin of her back under my hands as I slid them under her shirt.

I liked it. I liked her.

I froze.

No. Liking her…that was against the rules – my rules.

I pulled away reluctantly, pushing the fantasy out of my head, and the real thing out of my arms and turned.

I could feel her behind me staring at my back. I could feel her confusion, her hurt and I tried to block it out. I can’t deal with Hurt Maria.

She cleared her throat, and I heard her cross her arms in front of her chest. I turned back around to face her, but I wouldn’t meet her eyes. I knew she was doing the same. I think she was nervous about what I might have seen.

I hadn’t seen anything.

Nothing important.

Nothing that meant anything to me.

Nothing.

She cleared her throat again, and pushed her short bangs away from her forehead.

"So…did you…did you find anything in my head?"

"No."

I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I had to separate myself. I had to stop thinking about her softness, about wanting to taste her, about what she had really been thinking when I leaned over her in the darkness.

I can deal with hurting Maria.

I can.

I have to.

It’s a matter self preservation.

"Just air", I said, finally looking at her.

She stared at me. Her eyes filled with shocked tears. Her mouth opened and closed, and she shook her head.

I forced myself to look at her and face up to what I was doing.

I tried to enjoy it.

I just felt sick to my stomach.

I could see her thinking about slapping me – no – slugging me. But she didn’t. She backed away from me slowly still shaking her head.

"You…asshole…" She got to the door and slammed it shut behind her. I closed my eyes, and felt miserable. I had to do it. There wasn’t a choice really.

I heard the screen door screech shut and went to my window. I saw her through the blinds stumble to her car. I saw her sitting there behind the wheel, her hands to her face, then her fingers sliding across her cheeks and starting the car. She drove away leaving behind a cloud of dust I could feel at the back of my throat.

I am an asshole. I shouldn’t have touched her.

Never, never, never again.

I sat in my car parked in my driveway and stared at my hands on the wheel.

I…

I have never felt so angry and embarrassed in my entire life.

Just air…

The deliberately nasty way he had said it after I’d tried to help him…I had been the one taking the risk by opening myself up to him… and he just…threw it back in my face.

Before that though…when I first opened my eyes again I had thought he was going to…

I touched my lips in the darkness. It had been the most…amazing…almost kiss I had ever had.

When he had been looking down at me like that I could almost feel what it would have been like…not fumbling and awkward…sweet at first, gentle…unexpected and then hot and slow…

He had wanted to kiss me.

You couldn’t almost lay one on someone like that and not want it just a little bit.

I felt my heart tighten in my chest, thinking about the coldness in his eyes when he had looked at me.

It was over.

Not that anything had started but…now nothing ever will.

No way in hell am I trusting him like that again.

I hate him.

I hate him and his hang-ups, his issues, his attitude, his visions (which, by the way, have messed with me twice), and his…his… his HAIR!

He could go dream about someone else...

I really wanted to talk to Liz about what had just happened, but I couldn’t. I was just too embarrassed and angry. Angry at Michael for tricking me into thinking he was maybe halfway decent and angry at myself for believing it.

I rolled over and picked up the alarm clock blaring beside my bed and flung it against the wall. It landed with a thump and was quiet for a moment before continuing to beep pathetically. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed and rested my elbows on them. I dropped my head into my hands, rubbing my eyes and simultaneously tapping the clock with my toe and turning it off.

I was not in the mood for school.

I touched my mouth, thinking about kissing Maria, wanting to do it for real, but knowing I had made the right choice by pushing her away. I looked down at my fingers. I wanted them to be tinged with pink. I wanted to see her lipstick on them so I could pretend I hadn’t wussed out…that I hadn’t let "self preservation" take over…

I wiped my mouth on my forearm and stood.

What the fuck was I thinking? Who cares about Maria Deluca? As long as she doesn’t spill her guts about us I sure as hell don’t.

It’s good that she hates me.

It’s good.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt, and turned to pick up my watch that had fallen to the floor beside my bed. The charcoal drawing caught my eye. I pulled it out from the darkness of the closet and gazed at it.

I don’t like her but it should still be in color.

Violets and golds and reds and pinks and greens and blues…

I pulled out the study I had done – the piece of paper I had taped the pieces to. I might as well start from these again.

I looked at both of them together, compared them.

I realized with a jolt that the pieces that formed the study – the eyes, the part of the lip, nose – they were not Maria’s.

It was a completely different person.

Why had I thought…

I had drawn Maria because I had wanted it to be her.

I stared down at the study, disturbed by this new turn of events, but even more disturbed that I had wanted Maria to be the one I was looking for.

I wanted it to be her.

I wanted to be with her.

Shut up, no I don’t.

I looked at the study.

Back to friggin’ square one.

I didn’t know who the hell it was.

I hadn’t had a vision/dream since yesterday morning. What if I didn’t get anymore?

What if I didn’t recognize Tess when I saw her because whatever was giving me the stupid visions was being stingy.

I rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t think straight. I was getting a headache and I felt like shit.

It was all Maria’s fault.

If she would have just…let me have her damn car I never would have been alone with her…never would have felt those stupid vibes…never would have thought of her when I had the visions when I should have been thinking of Tess - Tess…Who the fuck is Tess?

I shook my head as a wave of dizziness hit me. I didn’t get much sleep last night even though Hank had pretty much left me alone. Well left me alone after pounding on my door and yelling at me to stop jerking off and do the dishes and then harassing me as I did them. When he asked me if I had fucked her yet I wanted to punch him.

Which was stupid.

If I never defended myself why would I defend her?

Maria can take care of herself. She can be pretty damn tough when she wants to be. When she’s forced to be. I’m surprised she didn’t deck me last night.

I swallowed and pulled on my shoes.

I should probably apologize or something…or at least tell her that it wasn’t her. You know just to drive it in a little bit more that I don’t need or want her in case that wasn’t clear last night.

She probably will deck me if I tell her that.

Whatever. I deserve it. If not for messing up with the visions and actually telling her about them, for being such a jerk in the hallway freshman year, for stealing her car, for being difficult, for being myself, for everything I have ever said or done or not said or done to Maria Deluca.

I had gotten through the day successfully without seeing Michael once since he skipped the two classes we had together and he wouldn’t dare show up at the Crashdown during my shift. I hadn’t even spilled it to Liz about what had happened, although I had come really close at lunch when she had broken off mid-sentence to gaze after Max. I wanted to warn her but I realized that wouldn’t be fair. Max is not Michael. Max wouldn’t do that to Liz. He cares about her.

I swear to God if I had seen Michael today I would have beaten him senseless with a textbook or a plate of saturn rings depending on where he showed up.

I hung up my apron and pulled on my coat. All I wanted to do was go home – the one place where I wouldn’t have to worry about Spaceboy showing up and acting like his usual jerky self. I bet if he had walked into the Crashdown tonight he wouldn’t even have acknowleged what had happened. He would have ordered his cherry coke and sat there completely ignoring me like he always does.

And I would have been sitting there behind the counter asking myself if risking jail time by getting in a few good shots would be worth it.

It’s lucky he hadn’t shown up, because my answer was yes.

It was totally worth it.

I waved goodbye to Liz and left through the back door that led to the alley where my car was parked. I drove home in silence not bothering to turn on the radio. It might cheer me up and I wanted to be depressed, angry. Being depressed makes you feel deep and important and being angry gives you this energy and I figured I was due for a little self indulgence since my ego is in tatters thanks to…

Michael was waiting for me at the top of my driveway.

After wondering how the hell he knew where I lived, I seriously considered running him over. He seemed to sense that and held his arms out mouthing the words "go ahead".

Don’t tempt me.

I got out of the car and slammed the door. I walked past him, tossing over my shoulder bitterly, "You’d probably just heal yourself."

"I want to talk to you." He followed me to my door, and I fumbled around in my purse for my keys. I had to get away from him. Hurricane Deluca was brewing inside of me and my fists were beginning to clench in preparation.

"Talking to me – be anywhere near me right now would be seriously detrimental to your health."

I took out my keys and he reached past me covering the keyhole with his hand.

"I can heal myself remember?"

"I don’t want to talk to you Michael." I shoved his hand away and opened the door.

"C’mon Maria -" I started to close the door in his face. "Please…"

Was that a…?

Did Michael Guerin just say "please"?

Did Michael Guerin just whine?

I paused, then slowly opened the door.

"What do you want."

"Can I…can I come in for a minute?"

"No."

"It’s kind of cold out here…" I reached over behind the door and threw a jacket at him. He regarded the fur trim on the collar and squinted up at me.

"I’m not putting this on."

"Fine. Freeze." I grabbed the jacket and he pulled me forward with it. I let it go, almost bumping into him, and he held onto my arm, not roughly, but insistent. I was fighting the urge to deck him.

"What do you want."

He hesitated before beginning with "I’m sorry…" and then copping out with "…that you’re mad…" I ripped myself away from him and shoved him.

"YOU!" I didn’t even know what to say I was so furious. Just calling him himself seemed like a good enough insult until I could think of a better one.

"I made a mistake…" he mumbled, stumbling backwards.

" I was trying to help you! I trusted you-"

"You trusted me…?"

"Well duh you moron! I gave you free access to my mind! Do you think I’d let someone I didn’t trust inside of me like that?!"

"I guess not…"

"You guess not?!" I stepped forward to shove him again and he caught me by my wrists.

"It turns out you didn’t have to…"

I stopped fighting with him and blinked trying to hold back the angry tears that were threatening to fall. The last thing I will ever do is cry in front of Michael Guerin.

"What are you talking about." I spat at him and he let go of me.

"I didn’t dream about you." I stared at him. "It wasn’t you." He said it again like I was slow and didn’t understand.

"It wasn’t me…"

"Nope…you can hit me if you want…"

What?

"What?"

"You look like you wanna hit me, so hit me…I know you’re dying to."

I poked him in the chest. "I don’t need your permission!" I poked him in the chest one more time and backed off. I didn’t want to hit him anymore. It didn’t feel right. Hitting Michael felt as wrong as not kissing him.

I squinted up at him as a lock of his hair fell into his eyes and without thinking I reached out to brush it away. He flinched at me.

"I wasn’t going to hit you…" I said softly. He blinked at me then shrugged.

"Whatever."

"So…who was it…?"

"I don’t know yet…"

"Well did she look like me?" He stared at the ground and traced a circle with his shoe on the gravel.

"Not really…" I frowned at him.

"Well then why did you think it was me?"

He shrugged still staring at the dirt.

"I dunno…"

"You don’t know…"

"No, I don’t know - you think I’m lying?!" He stepped up a little closer to me, trying to be intimidating, but I refused to yield. He stood inches away from me, looking down. He wanted me to run away from him.

"Why are you here?" He frowned.

"That’s what we’re trying to find out…"

"No…No I mean why are you here?"

"I dunno…to tell you I wasn’t dreaming about you…y’know so you wouldn’t worry…"

"I wasn’t worried."

"Oh well good. Fine." I stepped in a little closer if I took a deep breath I’d be touching him.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" He looked scared for a second then said quickly,

"Yup that’s it."

"Are you suuuuure?"

"Uh yeah…what do you want me to say?"

I want you. I need you. I must make you mine.

"Think about it…"I’m…."" I started him off, nodding in encouragement and he frowned.

"…hungry?" I shook my head. Unbelieveable.

""Sorry"! You’re sorry. Geez man!" He shivered and kicked at the ground again as the lapels of his thin jacket brushed against me. He looked into my eyes and I forgot all about apologies, all about the cold, all about how much I was supposed to hate him. I tilted my chin up just a little and he paused a breath away from my lips. The world stood still as I waited for him to touch me, to kiss me. He didn’t.

He stepped back.

He cleared his throat and started to walk away.

"You’re going?" I frowned at him and followed him down the driveway trying to pretend that he did not almost-kiss me again.

"Well you won’t let me in and I’m not putting on your coat. I gotta get someplace warm or I’m going to die of hypothermia." I caught his arm. I didn’t want him to go yet.

"I thought you can heal."

"I’ve never tried it actually."

"Well then I guess you better get warm." It was an invitation. I don’t know if he realized it. He looked at me for a long moment, clutching the fur-trimmed jacket in his hands. He held it out to me.

"Here. I better go." I swallowed and took it from him.

"Yeah…"

Damn it why does she have to smell so good…

She tilted her chin up to me. I breathed in the scent of violets woven in an invisible chain around her neck and I wanted to bury my face in it, taste the scent with my tongue. I leaned forward and stopped. She was so close my lower lip was almost touching her upper lip.

I think I’ll die if I don’t do this…

Kiss her…

I’ll think I’ll die if I do…

Because after I kiss her there’ll be no turning back. I won’t be able to do it just once. And she’ll think it’ll mean something…that I like her, that I want to be with her…

I wanted it to be her.

I wanted to be with her.

No.

I cleared my throat and turned away.

"You’re going?"

She followed me as I walked down to the end of her driveway. I really wished she would just go inside.

"Well you won’t let me in and I’m not putting on your coat. I gotta get someplace warm or I’m going to die of hypothermia."

She caught my arm. I wanted to pull away from her again because even her fingers around my arm, not even touching my skin, were doing weird things to me.

"I thought you can heal." I swallowed looking at her lips.

"I’ve never tried it actually."

"Well then I guess you better get warm…" I stared at her. My mind started running through the endless types of ways I could do that involving her and I shoved them away and thrust her jacket back at her.

"Here. I better go." Her fingers brushed mine as she took it from me and I tried not to care.

"Yeah…"

I turned away again and all but ran down the sidewalk. I didn’t even know where I was going, I just had to go away.

I really wish Isabel hadn’t left. I really really wish she hadn’t left me alone with him. It’s just making me more nervous.

He was just sitting there…

Right next to me.

I nervously picked up the half-empty sugar container and poured it into the other one, filling it up. I had to have something to distract me…the quiet was too quiet and the little taps of glass against glass was kind of comforting.

He hadn’t said anything. He had just finished his stolen piece of cake and sat there on the counter staring at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. So I got up and grabbed the sugar deciding that I might as well be productive and get some stuff done so there’d be less to do tomorrow.

That’s bull.

I just needed something to keep my mind off of him and what had happened between us last night when he had almost kissed me for the second friggin’ time.

What a tease.

He hadn’t said anything about it. It was like nothing had ever happened. It was like he had never had any visions of a girl he thought was me. I had never been to his house, seen his room, watched him sleep. He had never gone into my mind, he had never come to my house and not apologize and almost kiss me.

Well, fine.

If he wasn’t going to acknowledge it neither was I. Two can play at this game…

I stopped pouring the sugar.

I’m being such a jerk.

My best friend is out there doing God knows what and is in a potential life threatening situation and instead of worrying about her and Max I’m pissed off that Michael won’t talk to me.

Actually now that I was thinking about Liz I was getting worried. I should have made her bring her cell phone so she could at least call us and let us know they were okay…It’s been almost two hours…

I started pouring again, to calm myself down, but it wasn’t working. I had to talk or I’d go insane. I decided to let him win the "quiet contest" this time.

"This is taking too long. They're in trouble…."

"Cool your jets."

"We should go out there."

"They'll follow us."

"What are we supposed to do?"

"We wait."

ARRRRGH!

"You know, now I know why Isabel left - You are obviously the last person to be around in a crisis!"

"We were told to sit here and wait until they come back, all right, and that's what I'm doing. I'm not the one freaking out. You're freaking out."

"I am not freaking out!" And if I am it’s because you’re being so damn calm!

"You keep pouring sugar from one container to the other and then back again. Quit it, it's driving me insane!"

You’re driving me insane! If we’re not gonna talk about what happened earlier at least talk to me about this…because if I don’t talk about it, I’ll think about it and if I think about it I’ll go crazy with worry…

"I just...I wish you would say something." I admitted.

"Say what? What do you want me to say?!"

"I don't know what! Just say something, you know, to make me feel calm, to make me feel like it's gonna be all right!"

"Maybe it's not gonna be all right."

I can’t believe this guy!

"Thanks, that helps a ton."

"What do you want me to do?!"

"I don't know!"

"Shut up, then!"

"I hate you!"

"Ditto!"

I stared at him. I didn’t mean that…did he mean that…?

"You know, all I ask of you is just to try to make me feel better! You know, be a guy or whatever. Forget it… I have obviously tried to bark up the wrong tree…"

I walked away from him, congratulating myself on the fact that I had managed to keep my voice fairly steady. I had to not look at him or I’d cry or yell some more or I don’t know… throw the sugar at him…

I held my hand up to my burning face and took a deep breath,

Why do I let him get to me?

She had been the one to break the silence this time. I was just sitting there trying not to look at her…because talking was bad. It led to what Izzy accused us of - flirting or whatever…

I wanted to drop the cake and grab her earlier.

I had to restrain myself from running after Izzy and hauling her back here.

When she did break the silence I fought with her. I fought with her because I was worried too and her freaking out was threatening my control over that worry. I fought with her about going after them, something I had been wanting to do for the past hour, because arguing with her would take my mind off of the fact that whenever I was alone with her I wanted her. I wanted to shut her up with kisses, and if she did talk I wanted her to say my name and not in that whiny "Why-are-you-being-so-difficult-I-hate-you" voice, but the "I-can’t-believe-we-didn’t-do-this-ages-ago-don’t-ever-stop" voice I knew resided deep in the back of her throat with the all the sighs and moans you read about in novels...

I swallowed. Why was I thinking like this…

I’m just upset because I was wrong about the visions.

I’m just upset because Max and Liz are out getting all the glory from the one vision I was right about.

I’m just upset because she smells just as good as she did last night and I’m not close enough to be able to tell if she’s wearing the same perfume in the same places…the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, behind her ear.

I’m just upset because she just told me to "be a guy" when here I was thinking stealing her food and doing everything short of pulling her hair and calling her names was a pretty good impression of one…

But maybe that’s being a boy…not a guy. Not a man.

I obviously need to get out more…or at least borrow some of Izzy’s magazines…

I looked over at her. Her head was bent, and I could see the back of her neck, the gold chain glistening across it. My mouth suddenly felt very dry, my face warm, even though it was cold in here...

Shit, what am I doing?

I’m sliding off the counter.

I’m reaching out and grabbing her arm.

I’m spinning her around.

I’m kissing her.

I’m feeling her lips warm and cherry flavored against mine.

I’m feeling the shadow of her hand against my cheek and I wonder for a split second if she’s going to slap me and then I feel it settle on my shoulder, slide down my chest in half a caress.

I feel her kiss me back.

I want it to go on forever. I want to stay here with her hand on my chest and my mouth on hers. I want to be brave enough to touch her hair, to run my fingers through it. I want to be brave enough to hold her to me, to cup her face in the palms of my hands like I had before, only this time not using her, not taking from her anything she’s not willing to give, not closing my eyes to what she is giving.

But I can’t.

I’m not brave.

I’m afraid.

I’m afraid because she makes me feel different, I’m afraid because she takes away the part of me I hold the closest. The part that’s alien, the part that needs to be separate that needs to not feel a damn thing for anything other than a home I’ve never known.

I pull away too soon. I allow myself to ache for a brief moment at the loss of her warmth. I look at her, and she looks at me. We’re surprised at each other. She raises her eyebrows and I need an excuse for what I just did.

‘Because I didn’t do it before when I had the chance’ is not something I want to say to her.

"That was to calm you down."

"Thanks."

I dragged my hand across my mouth. I’m stupid if I think that’s going to erase what just happened. I can still taste cherries on my lips.

What the hell did I just do?

I turned and walked away from her, my footsteps thumping across the linoleum floor, echoing the smaller sounds hers made as she did the same.

Back to Area 51 (Section III)