Two Days Ago

Michael called the other night. He felt it too. That was why he called. It was a strange phone call. I could hear Maria in the background, urging him to get to the point or hand over the phone. I think I heard Isabel too, maybe Alex, and I can’t be sure, but maybe even Tess.

I didn’t ask them what they were all doing together. And I didn’t ask them why Tess was there. They would’ve taken it the wrong way.

I noticed that I was holding the phone so tightly that my knuckles were white.

While I was concentrating on my knuckles, Michael said, "Liz? Are you there?"

His impatience made me realize that I had forgotten to listen so I tried to refocus, but by that time he had already had enough. He growled: "Put Max on."

"He’s not--" I began, but he cut me off.

"Fine. Tell him to call me."

That was the end of our phone call.

Maria says Michael is a whole lot better at non-verbal communication. If I ignore her obvious double entendre, I suppose that means that his phone call the other night was just another example of Michael’s infamous ability -- or lack thereof -- to communicate verbally. Not that I was much better, I admit.

I was having trouble focusing because all I could think about the entire phone call was that at least I wasn’t talking to Isabel.

Every morning as I watch him get ready to go to the hospital, I thank God that Izzy can’t see him right now. She’s almost more protective of him than I am. And she would be devastated to see how thin and pale he’s become. He’s actually paler than I am, and he doesn’t have the excuse of throwing up every afternoon with misnamed morning sickness the way I do.

I’m sure that the way he is right now is why Michael called. We’re feeling the same thing, Michael, Izzy, and I. The same worry. The same fear.

It’s not just that he’s studying too hard, although I know he is.

It’s not just that he’s worried about my pregnancy and our unborn baby, although I know he is.

It’s something else that I can’t really put my finger on, except to say that I think -- we all think, Michael, Izzy, and I -- that quietly, inevitably Max is slipping away from us.

* * * *

We never should have split up at that roadside carnival. I blame myself for what happened afterwards. I should never have let him go off alone. If I had been with him, maybe it would’ve been all right.

I feel bad for snapping at Liz on the phone but that’s how I am sometimes. I’m not going to apologize for who I am.

I’m too worried to think about apologizing anyway.

I’m worried because I’m not feeling anything from him right now. I felt one burst of pain -- a pain that was so old it was faded around the edges but still so intense that it almost knocked me to my knees -- then nothing. Izzy felt the same thing. Pain once, then nothing. It’s as if he shut down everything so we couldn’t feel him anymore.

So I’m worried. Even I, who have run from more things than I can count and who have hidden pain in places that only Maria knows about -- even I know that whatever he’s doing isn’t healthy.

He’s my best friend. He’s always been there for me, and I’ve always been there for him.

Except for that one time.

That one time that I failed him.

I failed him, and for that reason he had to go through all of our nightmares for us. I failed him, and he paid for it. And I’ll never forget that, even though I know he doesn’t blame me, and I know that he would never say or even think of what happened in those terms. I’ll always wonder, though, if I would’ve failed him if it had happened at any other time but then, which was at a low point in our friendship, when everything that was happening to us -- Tess, Nasedo, destiny -- was tearing us apart.

I don’t know.

They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, but that’s only if you’re looking backwards. Because of who we are, we always need to keep looking forwards. I realize that now. I’ve finally realized that backwards is a mess of unfulfilled prophecies and mislaid plans and pointless pain.

And the pain that still haunts him is exactly why Izzy and I need to go to Boston. We need to find out what’s going on. To make sure he’s okay. To make sure Liz and the baby are okay.

I’m not going to fail him -- or them -- ever again.

* * * *

I could’ve killed Michael when he snapped at Liz then hung up on her. Sometimes he can be so clueless. I came close to thwapping him on the head with the telephone receiver, but I stopped myself just in time, which probably saved my friendship with Maria.

Michael doesn’t realize how hard this is on Liz. She’s as much in the dark as we are. And she’s even more connected to him than us, which is a hard thing for me to say but something I know is true.

I’ve known it was true for a long time. I knew it beyond a doubt after I dreamwalked to him when he was trapped in that hell, when I felt how scared he was and realized that he was as scared for us -- for Liz -- as he was for himself.

I will never forget Liz’s face when she begged us to bring him back to her. I vowed then that I would never again belittle or brush off what my brother and Liz Parker feel for each other. The selflessness of their love humbled me. Their connection amazed me.

When my eyes met Liz’s that day, I knew that we were bonding on some deeper level than sister-of-boyfriend and girlfriend, some level deeper than friendship even. We bonded as sisters-in-spirit, two women who loved a man as selflessly and profoundly as it is possible to love another being. Although in my case, the love was a sister’s love for her brother, and in Liz’s case, it was a woman’s love for her soulmate. But those differences didn’t matter, just like it didn’t matter that we were and are different species. Our shared love for Max meant that we understood each other finally and absolutely.

And that’s probably why I’m so worried right now that I can’t sit still. It’s also probably why I, who abhor any kind of physical violence, was ready to thwap Michael for really just being himself.

Because even though I can’t feel Max -- even though I haven’t felt him since that burst of pain that went away as soon as it had come -- I feel Liz. And her fear and anxiety are crashing into me in waves.

That’s why we need to go to Boston, Michael and I. I need to make sure they’re okay. I need them to be okay.

I love them too much to lose either of them.

* * * *

Today

It occurred to me today that I find it upsetting -- actually upsetting -- that so many people seem to think that living happily-ever-after is easy. Yes, every day is filled with the kind of joy that you can only experience if you’re lucky enough to be spending your life with your true love and soulmate. And yes, every day for us lately is also filled with the heady excitement of waiting for our first child to be born.

I’m not going to say our life together isn’t filled with sunlight and roses, because it is. But I’m not going to apologize for being happy. Because, one, that’s not logical; it goes against the natural order of things and is tantamount to the old cliché about looking a gift horse in the mouth. And two, because we deserve to be happy.

We paid for our happiness by surviving our worst nightmares. And the memories of those nightmares are always with us.

Memories don’t go away. This is partly a good thing, because no one would ever want to forget the best things that happen in life. But it is also partly a bad thing, because it means that bad memories don’t go away either. They just hide.

Max’s bad memories have come out of hiding. I know because every day I see a little more of the broken look in his eyes. Michael and Isabel know because they feel his pain, even from far away.

Max’s bad memories revolve around a door-less, window-less, air-less white room, where a man equipped with needles and knives and hatred tried to destroy his sanity.

Max’s bad memories are a large part of why I say living happily-ever-after in a world that is mostly sunlight and roses isn’t always easy.

It isn’t always easy because sometimes there are times like this, when you’re down on your knees, rocking your husband back and forth in your arms because you found him curled up in a fetal position on the floor of the bathroom, shivering with the memories of things he can’t forget and the reaction of having retched everything out of his stomach even though he hasn’t been eating properly for days.

It isn’t always easy because sometimes you don’t know anything you can say that will make him feel better, and all you can do is just wrap your arms around him, rocking him back and forth, holding him the way you’ll hold your baby when she’s finally born.

Living happily-ever-after isn’t easy because it comes at a price.

And memories of what that price was don’t go away.

* * * *

This Afternoon

Sometimes I regret that I allowed everything to get between us in the first place. It was so much simpler when I just unrolled the sleeping bag he kept for me under his desk, and we lay there in the dark talking. I miss those times still, even the times I had to listen to him talk about whatever new and wonderful thing Miss Liz Perfect Parker had done recently.

I bet if I could just talk with him like that again, I could talk some sense into him. Get him to talk to me about whatever’s going on in his head.

But then again, maybe I couldn’t.

I never liked to talk about my demons either.

* * * *

The thing I regret the most is that we allowed him to put us, me and Michael, first for almost all of our lives. We allowed him to let his own needs, desires, and happiness take a backseat to our wishes and our well-being. We looked to him to be our leader, and he lived up to the unofficial title. Everything he did was for our protection.

And he’s still trying to protect us now by not telling us about what he went through.

I’m afraid for him, as I know Michael is, as I know Liz is. We’re all afraid that he’s killing himself keeping it all bottled up inside.

But I don’t think any of us knows how to get him to talk about it.

* * * *

Sometimes the thing I regret the most in the world is that he was and is the leader, that he’s always been the leader. The drive to protect is part of who he is, but all it’s doing is hurting him because what he really needs to do is talk about what he’s remembering and pour out what he’s feeling.

But he won’t. Because he’s afraid to remember. And he’s afraid to admit that he’s afraid.

And he’s remembering anyway.

He believes he needs to be strong to be the leader, and that’s why he won’t talk about it with me or Isabel or Michael. That’s why he’s shutting everything up inside himself, and why he’s working himself to death so he won’t have to think, so he’ll be so exhausted when he comes home each night that he won’t dream.

Someone once said, "We deceive ourselves when we fancy that only weakness needs support. Strength needs it far more."

I think this is true.

And that’s the biggest reason that Michael, Isabel, and I are worried about Max. Because he *is* strong. He survived his worst nightmare, a hell created by an immoral, inhuman monster. Because he can’t forget that hell is exactly why he needs us to be strong for him. That’s exactly why he needs our support. And that’s exactly why he won’t ask for it.

A long time ago, I told him that he should learn to rely on the others around him. Even after all these years and everything that has happened, we’re still trying to convince him of that.

I know without his having to tell me that he can’t talk about it yet, and that all I can do is hold him and wait until he’s ready.

I know this, just like I know that hell is just a word.

And the reality that still exists in his memories was much, much worse.

* * * *

This Evening

Michael and Isabel arrived on our doorstep earlier this evening. Even before I opened the door all the way, Michael swept me up into a tight hug. It was a bit awkward, and not just because my head doesn’t quite reach Michael’s shoulder and my pregnant belly got in the way. It was definitely a bit awkward, but mostly it felt safe and right. Michael is and has always been a good friend to Max and to me.

After I hugged Michael, I hugged Isabel. I was careful not to look her in the eye, but I think she understood everything I was thinking and feeling anyway. My sister-in-law -- my sister-in-spirit really, just like Maria -- and I think alike, especially when it comes to Max. The real beginning of my relationship with Izzy was probably the only good thing that came out of what happened.

After the hugs were over, the three of us sat down on the sofa to wait for Max to come home.

* * * *

Now

Max still isn’t home, so we’re still waiting. As we huddle together on the sofa, I keep thinking that I’m glad they’re here. I need allies right now because I don’t want Max to slip away from us ... from me.

We need him too much.

*I* need him too much.

And I love him too much.

But I have a feeling that all we can do is wait right now.

* * * *

Author’s Note: The paragraph that begins: "The thing I regret the most is that we allowed him to put us, me and Michael, first for almost all of our lives..." is almost directly quoted from the FanForum Message Board, specifically from a 5/4/2000 post by Dagaz. It is used with permission.

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