Be Like That (M/L)
Title: Be Like That
Fandom: Roswell
Rating: R
Category: M/L
Spoilers: Through Max in the City.
Summary: Max POV. Wish upon a star and your dreams may come true. This is gonna be a real short one. Three parts or so…
If I could be like that,
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that,
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
Three Doors Down, Be Like That
- - - - -
"Miracles"
"Did you sleep with Kyle?"
I hold my breath, and my heart constricts when she nods. It should hurt less the third time around, but it doesn't. Somehow, I'm not surprised.
"Ok," I say, resigning myself to the fact. I try to smile at her, but I don't think it's very successful. Something about a broken heart affects my control of my facial muscles. Go figure. "I'll see you tomorrow."
And for the who-knows-how-many time in the last months, I don't want to. I don't want to see Liz Parker tomorrow. I want to see her yesterday, the day I knew she loved me. Or I don't want to see her at all.
I leave, hop into my idling car, and drive home. It's another place I don't want to face. Mom and Dad aren't really buying the camping excuse anymore, and they're sick and tired of me skipping on therapy. I make a mental note to keep my appointment tomorrow morning; maybe that will get them off my back.
I make a mental note to ask Nicholas to schedule summits on non-holidays the next time we attempt to kill each other.
A face muscle twitch. Could it be a miracle?
No. A miracle, by definition, is "an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs," whatever that means. Divine intervention implies believing in God.
I don't believe in God.
Yet, I've wished for miracles my whole life.
When I had Liz, I didn't need those wishes anymore. All that I wanted, I had in the love we felt for each other.
I'm not sure I believe in miracles anymore.
What is there to believe in when your north star, your guiding light home, turns out to be nothing more than an illusion?
- - - - -
It's the middle of the night, but my bed is cold. The sheets are untouched and the pillow is unruffled.
I don't want to sleep because my dreams haunt me.
They aren't always the same. Sometimes, I dream about the white room, even after all this time, and wake up in a cold sweat. Other times come the random nightmares, my fears manifesting themselves in the form of dreams.
Death.
Destruction.
Failure.
Sometimes I wake up and wonder how the dreams don't seem to be affecting me in real like. Or I wonder if they are, but I just can't see it.
Do insane people know they're crazy?
Suddenly, the walls of my room are suffocating me. I need space.
Air.
So I go outside, and I don't have to worry about getting cold, because I'm still in my normal clothes.
I never bothered to change out of them.
The numbness would stop me from noticing, anyway.
I once heard this joke.
"So, what is it? Ignorance or apathy?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
It appalled me that someone should have that perspective on life.
I feel like I don't know anything anymore.
And you know what?
"I don't care." I say it aloud, because spoken word means so much more than thoughts. Because it's true that I don't care anymore about what's happening around me, because my life is falling apart and I don't have the incentive to put it back together.
There was always a light at the end of the tunnel before, when things looked bleak.
I wanted to find out who I was, and even though it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, the reward was having all the answers I searched for all my life. Then I had Liz, and suddenly my past wasn't too important anymore. I had her, and that was all that mattered. She gave me the strength to search for answers, to protect our group, and even to lead. I knew no matter what happened, at the end of the day she'd be there to love me.
But that strength was just an illusion. There's nothing left fighting for in my heart, and though my brain tells me otherwise, I can't make myself believe it.
I guess I owe Maria for that one. Listening to my heart is probably the only leadership lesson I even took to heart. No pun intended.
As much as I want to make myself care about Antar and duty and obligations, I don't.
I look at the stars, and now I have some idea where Antar would be if I decided to look for it.
I don't want to.
Instead, I simply stare at the inky black sky, littered with its thousands of twinkling lights. Star-gazing has always been one thing that calms me down.
Isabel likes star-gazing more than I do. She wished on the first star she saw every night for years, after our parents taught us the tradition. I don't know what she wished for.
She never told me, because she said then your wish would never come true.
I can't wish upon the first star I see, but then a shooting star appears, and I wonder.
What's the harm in wishing?
It's not like it will change anything.
So I do it. I make a wish on that shooting star. "I wish," I say, "I wish I could just be Max Evans. Not Zan, or your Majesty, but just Max. I wish I was your average small-town guy. Even just for a day…"
Nothing happens.
I didn't expect it to, so why do I feel disappointed?
It must be something about three AM. The hour has to be special if musicians consistently use it in their songs.
Another twitch. Watch out, or soon I might crack an actual smile. What would my therapist think of that?
Warm air explodes from my mouth, and I realize I was holding my breath. Suddenly, it's cold outside. I shiver and climb back inside to my dull, cornball room.
Everything is cast in shadows, just like my life.
I climb into bed, and sleep no longer alludes me. For once, I don't worry about having nightmares. They can't be worse than my life, anyway.
- - - - -
My eyes open to sun cascading into my room. I'm temporarily heartened to realize my sleep had no disturbances, but then my eyes fall on my alarm clock.
It's 8:45, and my appointment is at 9:15. Crap. I could have sworn I put my alarm on.
I pull on some clean clothes, make my hair presentable, and jog downstairs. My mother is making coffee, and she turns around at my footsteps. Her eyes widen with surprise.
"Max, what are you doing up so early?" she asks. She doesn't look hurt or upset at all, which baffles me, because she was so bummed about me missing Thanksgiving yesterday.
"Therapy," I answer, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
She stares at me blankly, as though she doesn't know what I'm talking about. "What kind of therapy? You're usually so eager to catch up on sleep a little during the weekends; school seems to always wear you out so."
"You're right, Mom," I manage. "Excuse me." Panic is gripping me, but I turn and walk to my room in what I hope to be a calm manner.
I take a piece of paper and try to change its color.
Nothing happens.
Am I human?
- - - - -
There's a microscope that is strong enough to see to a cellular level in my closet.
At least, I hope there is. So I fling open the closet door, and now I know something is very, very wrong. My extremely boring wardrobe consisting of black, blue, and gray has apparently had a run in with Roy G. Biv. Now I know I'm hallucinating.
The microscope, however, is just where it should be. No one ever said insanity had to make sense, so who am I to question this stroke of luck?
I plug the machine into the wall and set it on the desk. There are a few slides in the plastic baggie next to the 'scope in the closet, so I take one out. I fumble around in my desk for something to get a sample with. All I can find is a broken pencil, so I shrug and scrape some cheek cells from my mouth with it.
My hand is shaking as I rub the pencil on the slide, and a bead of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I wonder if maybe I'm not really crazy, because I don't think you stress this much after jumping off the deep end.
The slide goes under the microscope and I stick my eye into the hole, bracing myself.
The cells I find myself looking at are completely human.
Lovely.
If I'm human, what does this mean about the rest of the world?
Did I suddenly change everything, or just myself? What about Isabel and Michael? What about Liz?
If I'm human, and if I've always been human, Liz could be dead. The thought causes the breakfast I haven't eaten to churn in my stomach. I have to find one of our tight-knit group and find out what this reality is hiding, because I certainly don't know who I am now.
I decide it makes sense to look for Isabel first. She has to be my sister, right? If I'm not delusional and this is truly reality, Isabel still has to be my sister. I walk out of my room, not paying attention, and turn left.
I bump into a wall.
My house has suddenly become a mirror reflection of itself. Where Isabel's room should be is just wall, and this panics me, but all the rooms are simply going the other way.
Even more lovely.
I take another deep breath and open the matching door that should lead to Isabel's room. It comes out on a sigh of relief as I see a recognizable room, the same room I glanced into yesterday on my return from New York. Whatever has happened, Isabel is still here. Thank God. She isn't, however, in her room.
"Where's Iz?" I ask my mother when I go downstairs.
"Running," she replies, and fixes me with another strange look. "Are you feeling okay, honey? You seem a little disoriented."
"No, I'm fine," I say. "Just a little tired, I guess, like you said. School just wore me out this week. You know, the pre-thanksgiving workload."
"Of course," Mom smiles.
"So, I'm going to head over to Michael's," I inform her. "I'll be back by dinner or I'll call."
"Sure, honey."
- - - - -
I'm knocking on the door of Michael's apartment, and I must be quite impatient, because I hear a bang and some muffled grumbling before the door opens.
"Michael," I begin.
A pair of crystal blue eyes with some wrinkles stare back at me.
"Does not live here, obviously," I finish, feeling like a complete idiot. "I'm really sorry," I explain, "I must have the wrong apartment."
Blue-eyes gives me a half smile and closes the door. I swear I hear a muttered "kids these days" from the apartment.
Damn.
Now what am I supposed to do? Michael could be anywhere. I walk dejectedly down the hall and am about to leave the building, but then I hear my name.
"Max! Hey, what are you doing here?"
I turn to see Maria Deluca fumbling with a set of keys and a purse in her Crashdown uniform. Did she just come from seeing Michael? Maybe I can get her to inadvertently tell me where his apartment is.
"Hey, Maria. What are you doin' here?"
I get a third odd look focused on me, and it's only around ten in the morning. I wonder what I said wrong this time.
"I live here, Max," Maria says dryly. "I guess astrally projecting yourself to New York has left you a little frazzled, huh?"
Her second statement doesn't register. I don't let it. "Do you know where Michael is?" I ask desperately.
"No," she answers. "But if you're looking for him maybe he'll stop bothering me. You know how mad at you he is for kissing my dupe? He's angry enough to forget about Colin for a while."
I kissed Maria's dupe?
Maria has a dupe?
And suddenly her previous comment hits me.
I, Max Evans, astral-projected myself to New York.
Processing, processing, processing.
Maria lives in an apartment building that Michael should be in. I don't have therapy and I'm a human. Maria has a dupe. My thoughts are so confused, refusing to fall into place. Maria has a dupe.
That means she is an alien.
And if she's an alien, and by her comments Michael isn't, all the evidence is pointing to a case of switched identities.
I'm freaking out.
I am. Really.
When I freak out, people think I look pitiful, I guess, because Maria inquires, "Are you okay, Max?" and pats me on the shoulder. Then she looks like she regrets doing it and steps back. Uh-oh.
"Maria," I give her my puppy-dog face. "I think that astral-projection thingie did something to me. My memory of the last few days is a little fuzzy."
Well, the last year and a half, I suppose, but I'll take what I can get.
So, Maria tells me she's heading over to work, and that she'll talk to me on the way.
And she does. The story, of course, rings a bell, and my suspicions are confirmed. Liz went to New York because she's 'her majesty.'
Kyle's dupe told me that because Liz saved me, I was changed. Liz saved me.
Maria asks me suddenly what she thinks she should do about Michael. Then I hear her mutter, "Never mind. I don't think you'd be one to give advice on relationships."
I stop walking, then, and stare at her advancing figure. "Maria," I call, "What are you talking about?"
"The cat's out of the bag, Max." Maria fixes me with a dark look. "Everyone knows about what happened between you and Tess. Just because Liz was too hurt to talk about it doesn't mean we would never find out about it."
My face is blank, pained, confused.
"Don't look so surprised, Max," she says. "I can't be too mad at you because… of what happened with Colin, I think I identify with you, but don't pretend you're the innocent one."
I don't know what to say. We reach the Crashdown and Maria begins to walk to the employee's entrance. "Goodbye, Max," she says.
"Wait." My voice cracks. "Does Liz have work now?" Please work at the Crashdown, please work at the Crashdown, please…
"No." For some reason, Maria looks pleased. "She's probably upstairs, trying to catch up on her work."
I have to find Tess and figure out what the hell Maria is talking about.
If this reality is just flipped over mine, then how could anything have happened between me and Tess. I love Liz, and I know I must love her here, too.
I have to find Tess. I do.
But first I need to just see Liz. Just for a second…
- - - - -
I scale the ladder to Liz's balcony easily, wondering what her reaction will be if she's on it. I don't get to find out, though, because she's in her room. I creep silently to the window and peer in to see her.
She is so beautiful.
I know that I should have gotten used to her beauty by now, but every time I look at her, Liz Parker blows me away.
She's sitting at her desk, and I can see her writing. Could it be the infamous journal? I don't have time to figure it out before she stands up and comes towards the window. I move away as quietly as possible and wonder if she senses me.
I hope not. The way I'm feeling right now, I would tell her what's happening to me, and then she would think I'm a lunatic.
Add to that the whole me and Tess mystery, and from Maria's little speech Liz probably wouldn't be happy to see me.
I peer in and see her pulling on her Crashdown uniform.
It's not easy for me to pull my eyes away from that, but I'm no peeping Tom. When I deem it safe, my eyes venture to look at Liz again. She's brushing her hair, and her eyes look like they're filled with pain.
She looks so sad and lonely, it breaks my heart. And old. She looks incredibly worn, with way too many burdens on her seventeen year-old shoulders.
I wonder if being a leader is eating her from the inside like it is for me. I wonder if she feels like she has no one to turn to, no one who truly wants to listen. I wonder if the only person she wants to tell is me, just as I only want her to know every crevice of my soul.
There's an ache inside me now, thinking about how much I need her.
Then she leaves the room, and I feel like the light inside me has gone out. The book she was writing in sits on the desk, and I can tell even from Liz's window that it is not a binder or schoolbook.
If that's her journal, it would answer all the questions I have.
Yet, even if she's not my Liz, that still feels like a huge invasion of privacy. My head tells me I can't just march into her room and read her journal, but my heart is crying out.
It needs to know if the betrayal that took place in my own timeline happened in this one.
The date is burned into my head, of course.
November second, the day my heart was smashed into a million pieces. If I creep in there quietly, just find that entry, could that be so wrong?
Whether it's the right thing to do or not, I can't help myself. I creep in the window, trying not to disturb anything, though I'm pretty sure Liz is on shift and won't be returning. The journal is sitting on her desk, black and unsuspecting.
I pick it up and try to open it.
Nothing happens. It's just a paper journal, so why does it feel like it's stuck?
Maybe, I realize, this Liz put a little alien oomph into keeping her privacy. While this really sucks for me, it's quite innovative. There has got to be some way to get past this minor hurdle. I'm an alien in a human body, for Christ sake's, in some warped alternate universe. A little alien superglue is not going to hold me back.
Watch out, ladies and gentleman, SuperMax is coming. It's a UFO, no, it's a blimp, no, it's SuperMax!
Unsurprisingly, the journal does not respond to my silent pep talk. I take it between my hands and close my eyes in concentration. Even if I'm no longer a full-blooded hybrid, being changed has got to be good for something.
Doesn't it?
"Bingo," I mumble when the pages fly open. The journal is definitely well-loved, and I flip through dog-eared pages to find November 2001. I don't know if Liz would write the night… whatever I did happened, but it's got to be around there somewhere.
"No, no, no," I mutter. Then, at the end of October, there is a pretty big gap in dates, to the middle of November. I begin to read at the first entry for the month.
I haven't written because I couldn't bear to go through these past weeks events again. I knew the summer was bad, but the hopelessness is taking over again. Max… Max and I are over, forever, I think. It hurts just to think of him, but I have to face what happened. I haven't talked to anyone about it, after seeing Kyle and letting him comfort me that night.
Max slept with Tess. God, how it hurts even to write those words. The pain is still so fresh. I can hardly believe it, but he tells me it's true. So much else has happened, but this much has drained me emotionally. Maybe I'll look back on this someday and not feel this pain in my heart. I don't think I'll ever be able to read the beginning of you, journal, ever again.
I close the book, softly, because my heart is slowly breaking again.
How could I have slept with Tess? It isn't possible. No matter how different this place is, I could never do that to Liz. I know intrinsically that I love her beyond anything else I will ever feel.
If things are the same in this world as in mine, and Liz slept with Kyle as far as I know, while I slept with Tess here, something has got to be seriously wrong.
God, even the thought of being intimate with Tess turns my stomach. I place the book back down on the desk, and I don't think about re-sticking it. I just need to breathe.
There must be some kind of explanation for this.
- - - - -
I jog over to the Valenti's, hoping that their house, like Liz's and mine, is still the same. A little voice nags at me that if Kyle is the alien and Tess is the human, then I don't know who will be a Harding and who a Valenti, but I focus instead on reaching their house.
A Sheriff's vehicle is parked in front of a familiar house. Thank god. The front of the house, however, looks a little more flowery than I seem to recall. I'm about to walk up to the door, but then I hear movement from behind it. I duck around the corner of the house and peer around to see Jim Valenti.
Whew. I was not looking forward for Ed Harding to make a reappearance from the dead.
"Tess!" He calls. "Remember to clean your room!" And then I hear him mutter. "And don't have Kyle hocus-pocus it. Ah, hell."
I smile. Kyle and Tess are not two of my favorite people. I don't think I'm going to like either of them in this reality, either.
Then I just about jump out of my skin.
"Evans," Kyle smoothly says from behind me. I whirl to see his unusually dark eyes assessing me. "Looking for something?"
"Is Tess here?" I inquire, and he frowns. At his eventual nod, I begin to head toward the door.
"You knows, Evans," Kyle drawls, "You sure got the up side of this situation." I pause and look at him. "You got to have Tess in the sack, and Liz still can't keep her eyes off you." Then he smirks. "I must say, your advice on me getting with her wasn't too useful, but she'll come around. Evans. She'll come around."
He walks off and leaves me with a lump in my throat. Leave it to Kyle to make me feel intimidated and unsure of myself.
Regardless, I have to see Tess and make sure nothing happened between us. Because it couldn't have. Right? I knock on the door, and when no one answers, I push it open.
"Tess?" I call out, "It's Max. Are you there?" No answer. Then, I hear a muffled crash and some swearing.
Tess appears a few seconds later, laundry basket in hand and what suspiciously looks like detergent in her hair. She's blushing. "You surprised me," she states. "What's up, Max?"
I'm at a loss of what to say. I know I need to make sure nothing happened between us, but how can I bring it up? You don't just forget things like these, real or not.
"Um," I finally force out, "Have you heard any of those rumors at school? About us?"
The annoyed look in Tess' eyes is not lost on me. "You didn't start them?" she inquires. "'Cause I didn't; I don't need my reputation screwed on something that never happened."
It feels like a ton of bricks is taken off my shoulders, and I'm proud of myself for getting my answer that quickly.
"Sorry," I tell her. "I just wanted to apologize and say I didn't start them, so I don't know who did." It had to have been Kyle. Who else would there be? "Uh, and, I still appreciate you helping me out, then."
I'm prying for more information. My fingers cross behind my back. Now that I know it was a set-up, I still don't know why.
"Sure, Max," Tess nods. "Though I don't understand why you had me do it if you still mope over Liz constantly…"
Damn. "Me either, Tess," I confide. "I don't understand it myself." She gives me a questioning look, but I merely shrug and bid her adieu.
I'm at a loss about what to do now.
- - - - -
I walk home slowly, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle I've gathered. My heart is soaring because of the fact that if I didn't sleep with Tess, the probability is good that Liz was never with Kyle, either.
At least I hope it works that way. I wonder when I'm going to go back home.
I wonder if I'm going back home.
My wish was just for one day.
Will I remember all that I've learned?
I spend the rest of the day in my room, doing some homework that I know I'll have to do in my reality anyway, so it's worthwhile. Dinner rolls around and I sit at the table downstairs, watching my family interact.
It feels like it did a year ago, before Iz and I had the chasm of my saving Liz grow between us. I know she sees now that good has sprung from my action, but all the bad might be my fault, too. Truthfully, I don't think she's ever truly forgiven me for ruining her perfect life.
I don't miss the Ice Queen.
At this dinner table, Isabel talks about fashion and some television show she watched. Then she mentions something about taking a trip as an exchange student to Europe. My parents are apparently very interested in this, because they're still talking long after I excuse myself from the table.
The night creeps up without warning, and it's not long before I'm yawning. There's a certain fear of going to bed because I don't know where I'll be when I wake up, but my body doesn't seem to care.
I don't know whether it's because of astral-projection or a real trip, but I think New York is catching up to me.
The last thing I see before my eyes close on sleep is an image of Liz's face, haunted by what I know is my betrayal and filled with longing.
- - - - -
"Max! Max, damn it!" I hear a voice calling me. It vaguely registers in my fuzzy brain that it's Isabel. "Turn your stupid alarm off already!" she whines. "Either get up and go to therapy, or go back to sleep."
Therapy?
The events of yesterday's trip to that surreal world replay themselves in my mind, and I wonder if it was all a dream. But then I feel the slip of paper in my pants and pull it out.
It's the homework I was working on yesterday afternoon. Whoa. It was real. And then I think to myself that there has got to be something major wrong with me, because who does their homework when they're stranded in some crazy who-knows-what reality.
That's me, Max Evans. I may be an alien, but I'm as boring as they get. I don't need to be human to be a small town boy.
And then I laugh, because that's what I wished for. Now I realize that aside from all this alien crap, my life is utterly boring. Normal, even.
Or not. But we can pretend.
I hear Isabel start to yell again and realize I never turned my alarm off. So I do. I'm not going back to sleep, but there's no way I'm going to therapy, either. I'm too insane for the good doctor, I decide.
My mother's going to have my head.
- - - - -
If I'm not mistaken, Liz should be in her room now, getting ready for her shift. I'm going to use the element of surprise and catch her in her own haven.
Maybe at this early in the morning, she won't have woken up enough to lie to me. Regardless, the truth is going to be revealed this morning.
I climb up the fire escape, only to meet Liz on her balcony. By the looks of it, she's waiting for me.
"I knew you were coming," she half-smiles. "I think this changing thing has increased my awareness."
Weird. I can sense her, too; it will be strange to have it reciprocated. Then I pause, because Liz didn't sense me yesterday.
I correct myself, because that wasn't my Liz. My Liz, the love of my life, is standing right in front of me.
"Hi, Liz," I smile, and I think her eyes widen at the warmth in my voice. "I needed to see you this morning."
"About what?" she asks cautiously.
"I know the truth, Liz." It's said quietly, but I know she hears me. Suddenly, the light atmosphere is gone.
"What are you talking about, Max?" Liz asks fearfully. I see her gearing up, getting ready to lie to me again.
"Don't. Liz, please, don't lie to me any more. I know that nothing happened between you and Kyle. You don't have to explain right now." I see her mouth open to anyway, but I reach out a finger and cover her lips. "Shhh," I whisper. We both shiver at the delicious contact, and I lead her to a lawn chair. "Something happened to me earlier I need to tell you about."
Looking scared, she nods. "You can tell me anything, Max," she finally says. I think I've won her over.
"I know," I affirm. "I know."
Fandom: Roswell
Rating: R
Category: M/L
Spoilers: Through Max in the City.
Summary: Max POV. Wish upon a star and your dreams may come true. This is gonna be a real short one. Three parts or so…
If I could be like that,
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that,
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
Three Doors Down, Be Like That
- - - - -
"Miracles"
"Did you sleep with Kyle?"
I hold my breath, and my heart constricts when she nods. It should hurt less the third time around, but it doesn't. Somehow, I'm not surprised.
"Ok," I say, resigning myself to the fact. I try to smile at her, but I don't think it's very successful. Something about a broken heart affects my control of my facial muscles. Go figure. "I'll see you tomorrow."
And for the who-knows-how-many time in the last months, I don't want to. I don't want to see Liz Parker tomorrow. I want to see her yesterday, the day I knew she loved me. Or I don't want to see her at all.
I leave, hop into my idling car, and drive home. It's another place I don't want to face. Mom and Dad aren't really buying the camping excuse anymore, and they're sick and tired of me skipping on therapy. I make a mental note to keep my appointment tomorrow morning; maybe that will get them off my back.
I make a mental note to ask Nicholas to schedule summits on non-holidays the next time we attempt to kill each other.
A face muscle twitch. Could it be a miracle?
No. A miracle, by definition, is "an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs," whatever that means. Divine intervention implies believing in God.
I don't believe in God.
Yet, I've wished for miracles my whole life.
When I had Liz, I didn't need those wishes anymore. All that I wanted, I had in the love we felt for each other.
I'm not sure I believe in miracles anymore.
What is there to believe in when your north star, your guiding light home, turns out to be nothing more than an illusion?
- - - - -
It's the middle of the night, but my bed is cold. The sheets are untouched and the pillow is unruffled.
I don't want to sleep because my dreams haunt me.
They aren't always the same. Sometimes, I dream about the white room, even after all this time, and wake up in a cold sweat. Other times come the random nightmares, my fears manifesting themselves in the form of dreams.
Death.
Destruction.
Failure.
Sometimes I wake up and wonder how the dreams don't seem to be affecting me in real like. Or I wonder if they are, but I just can't see it.
Do insane people know they're crazy?
Suddenly, the walls of my room are suffocating me. I need space.
Air.
So I go outside, and I don't have to worry about getting cold, because I'm still in my normal clothes.
I never bothered to change out of them.
The numbness would stop me from noticing, anyway.
I once heard this joke.
"So, what is it? Ignorance or apathy?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
It appalled me that someone should have that perspective on life.
I feel like I don't know anything anymore.
And you know what?
"I don't care." I say it aloud, because spoken word means so much more than thoughts. Because it's true that I don't care anymore about what's happening around me, because my life is falling apart and I don't have the incentive to put it back together.
There was always a light at the end of the tunnel before, when things looked bleak.
I wanted to find out who I was, and even though it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, the reward was having all the answers I searched for all my life. Then I had Liz, and suddenly my past wasn't too important anymore. I had her, and that was all that mattered. She gave me the strength to search for answers, to protect our group, and even to lead. I knew no matter what happened, at the end of the day she'd be there to love me.
But that strength was just an illusion. There's nothing left fighting for in my heart, and though my brain tells me otherwise, I can't make myself believe it.
I guess I owe Maria for that one. Listening to my heart is probably the only leadership lesson I even took to heart. No pun intended.
As much as I want to make myself care about Antar and duty and obligations, I don't.
I look at the stars, and now I have some idea where Antar would be if I decided to look for it.
I don't want to.
Instead, I simply stare at the inky black sky, littered with its thousands of twinkling lights. Star-gazing has always been one thing that calms me down.
Isabel likes star-gazing more than I do. She wished on the first star she saw every night for years, after our parents taught us the tradition. I don't know what she wished for.
She never told me, because she said then your wish would never come true.
I can't wish upon the first star I see, but then a shooting star appears, and I wonder.
What's the harm in wishing?
It's not like it will change anything.
So I do it. I make a wish on that shooting star. "I wish," I say, "I wish I could just be Max Evans. Not Zan, or your Majesty, but just Max. I wish I was your average small-town guy. Even just for a day…"
Nothing happens.
I didn't expect it to, so why do I feel disappointed?
It must be something about three AM. The hour has to be special if musicians consistently use it in their songs.
Another twitch. Watch out, or soon I might crack an actual smile. What would my therapist think of that?
Warm air explodes from my mouth, and I realize I was holding my breath. Suddenly, it's cold outside. I shiver and climb back inside to my dull, cornball room.
Everything is cast in shadows, just like my life.
I climb into bed, and sleep no longer alludes me. For once, I don't worry about having nightmares. They can't be worse than my life, anyway.
- - - - -
My eyes open to sun cascading into my room. I'm temporarily heartened to realize my sleep had no disturbances, but then my eyes fall on my alarm clock.
It's 8:45, and my appointment is at 9:15. Crap. I could have sworn I put my alarm on.
I pull on some clean clothes, make my hair presentable, and jog downstairs. My mother is making coffee, and she turns around at my footsteps. Her eyes widen with surprise.
"Max, what are you doing up so early?" she asks. She doesn't look hurt or upset at all, which baffles me, because she was so bummed about me missing Thanksgiving yesterday.
"Therapy," I answer, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
She stares at me blankly, as though she doesn't know what I'm talking about. "What kind of therapy? You're usually so eager to catch up on sleep a little during the weekends; school seems to always wear you out so."
"You're right, Mom," I manage. "Excuse me." Panic is gripping me, but I turn and walk to my room in what I hope to be a calm manner.
I take a piece of paper and try to change its color.
Nothing happens.
Am I human?
- - - - -
There's a microscope that is strong enough to see to a cellular level in my closet.
At least, I hope there is. So I fling open the closet door, and now I know something is very, very wrong. My extremely boring wardrobe consisting of black, blue, and gray has apparently had a run in with Roy G. Biv. Now I know I'm hallucinating.
The microscope, however, is just where it should be. No one ever said insanity had to make sense, so who am I to question this stroke of luck?
I plug the machine into the wall and set it on the desk. There are a few slides in the plastic baggie next to the 'scope in the closet, so I take one out. I fumble around in my desk for something to get a sample with. All I can find is a broken pencil, so I shrug and scrape some cheek cells from my mouth with it.
My hand is shaking as I rub the pencil on the slide, and a bead of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I wonder if maybe I'm not really crazy, because I don't think you stress this much after jumping off the deep end.
The slide goes under the microscope and I stick my eye into the hole, bracing myself.
The cells I find myself looking at are completely human.
Lovely.
If I'm human, what does this mean about the rest of the world?
Did I suddenly change everything, or just myself? What about Isabel and Michael? What about Liz?
If I'm human, and if I've always been human, Liz could be dead. The thought causes the breakfast I haven't eaten to churn in my stomach. I have to find one of our tight-knit group and find out what this reality is hiding, because I certainly don't know who I am now.
I decide it makes sense to look for Isabel first. She has to be my sister, right? If I'm not delusional and this is truly reality, Isabel still has to be my sister. I walk out of my room, not paying attention, and turn left.
I bump into a wall.
My house has suddenly become a mirror reflection of itself. Where Isabel's room should be is just wall, and this panics me, but all the rooms are simply going the other way.
Even more lovely.
I take another deep breath and open the matching door that should lead to Isabel's room. It comes out on a sigh of relief as I see a recognizable room, the same room I glanced into yesterday on my return from New York. Whatever has happened, Isabel is still here. Thank God. She isn't, however, in her room.
"Where's Iz?" I ask my mother when I go downstairs.
"Running," she replies, and fixes me with another strange look. "Are you feeling okay, honey? You seem a little disoriented."
"No, I'm fine," I say. "Just a little tired, I guess, like you said. School just wore me out this week. You know, the pre-thanksgiving workload."
"Of course," Mom smiles.
"So, I'm going to head over to Michael's," I inform her. "I'll be back by dinner or I'll call."
"Sure, honey."
- - - - -
I'm knocking on the door of Michael's apartment, and I must be quite impatient, because I hear a bang and some muffled grumbling before the door opens.
"Michael," I begin.
A pair of crystal blue eyes with some wrinkles stare back at me.
"Does not live here, obviously," I finish, feeling like a complete idiot. "I'm really sorry," I explain, "I must have the wrong apartment."
Blue-eyes gives me a half smile and closes the door. I swear I hear a muttered "kids these days" from the apartment.
Damn.
Now what am I supposed to do? Michael could be anywhere. I walk dejectedly down the hall and am about to leave the building, but then I hear my name.
"Max! Hey, what are you doing here?"
I turn to see Maria Deluca fumbling with a set of keys and a purse in her Crashdown uniform. Did she just come from seeing Michael? Maybe I can get her to inadvertently tell me where his apartment is.
"Hey, Maria. What are you doin' here?"
I get a third odd look focused on me, and it's only around ten in the morning. I wonder what I said wrong this time.
"I live here, Max," Maria says dryly. "I guess astrally projecting yourself to New York has left you a little frazzled, huh?"
Her second statement doesn't register. I don't let it. "Do you know where Michael is?" I ask desperately.
"No," she answers. "But if you're looking for him maybe he'll stop bothering me. You know how mad at you he is for kissing my dupe? He's angry enough to forget about Colin for a while."
I kissed Maria's dupe?
Maria has a dupe?
And suddenly her previous comment hits me.
I, Max Evans, astral-projected myself to New York.
Processing, processing, processing.
Maria lives in an apartment building that Michael should be in. I don't have therapy and I'm a human. Maria has a dupe. My thoughts are so confused, refusing to fall into place. Maria has a dupe.
That means she is an alien.
And if she's an alien, and by her comments Michael isn't, all the evidence is pointing to a case of switched identities.
I'm freaking out.
I am. Really.
When I freak out, people think I look pitiful, I guess, because Maria inquires, "Are you okay, Max?" and pats me on the shoulder. Then she looks like she regrets doing it and steps back. Uh-oh.
"Maria," I give her my puppy-dog face. "I think that astral-projection thingie did something to me. My memory of the last few days is a little fuzzy."
Well, the last year and a half, I suppose, but I'll take what I can get.
So, Maria tells me she's heading over to work, and that she'll talk to me on the way.
And she does. The story, of course, rings a bell, and my suspicions are confirmed. Liz went to New York because she's 'her majesty.'
Kyle's dupe told me that because Liz saved me, I was changed. Liz saved me.
Maria asks me suddenly what she thinks she should do about Michael. Then I hear her mutter, "Never mind. I don't think you'd be one to give advice on relationships."
I stop walking, then, and stare at her advancing figure. "Maria," I call, "What are you talking about?"
"The cat's out of the bag, Max." Maria fixes me with a dark look. "Everyone knows about what happened between you and Tess. Just because Liz was too hurt to talk about it doesn't mean we would never find out about it."
My face is blank, pained, confused.
"Don't look so surprised, Max," she says. "I can't be too mad at you because… of what happened with Colin, I think I identify with you, but don't pretend you're the innocent one."
I don't know what to say. We reach the Crashdown and Maria begins to walk to the employee's entrance. "Goodbye, Max," she says.
"Wait." My voice cracks. "Does Liz have work now?" Please work at the Crashdown, please work at the Crashdown, please…
"No." For some reason, Maria looks pleased. "She's probably upstairs, trying to catch up on her work."
I have to find Tess and figure out what the hell Maria is talking about.
If this reality is just flipped over mine, then how could anything have happened between me and Tess. I love Liz, and I know I must love her here, too.
I have to find Tess. I do.
But first I need to just see Liz. Just for a second…
- - - - -
I scale the ladder to Liz's balcony easily, wondering what her reaction will be if she's on it. I don't get to find out, though, because she's in her room. I creep silently to the window and peer in to see her.
She is so beautiful.
I know that I should have gotten used to her beauty by now, but every time I look at her, Liz Parker blows me away.
She's sitting at her desk, and I can see her writing. Could it be the infamous journal? I don't have time to figure it out before she stands up and comes towards the window. I move away as quietly as possible and wonder if she senses me.
I hope not. The way I'm feeling right now, I would tell her what's happening to me, and then she would think I'm a lunatic.
Add to that the whole me and Tess mystery, and from Maria's little speech Liz probably wouldn't be happy to see me.
I peer in and see her pulling on her Crashdown uniform.
It's not easy for me to pull my eyes away from that, but I'm no peeping Tom. When I deem it safe, my eyes venture to look at Liz again. She's brushing her hair, and her eyes look like they're filled with pain.
She looks so sad and lonely, it breaks my heart. And old. She looks incredibly worn, with way too many burdens on her seventeen year-old shoulders.
I wonder if being a leader is eating her from the inside like it is for me. I wonder if she feels like she has no one to turn to, no one who truly wants to listen. I wonder if the only person she wants to tell is me, just as I only want her to know every crevice of my soul.
There's an ache inside me now, thinking about how much I need her.
Then she leaves the room, and I feel like the light inside me has gone out. The book she was writing in sits on the desk, and I can tell even from Liz's window that it is not a binder or schoolbook.
If that's her journal, it would answer all the questions I have.
Yet, even if she's not my Liz, that still feels like a huge invasion of privacy. My head tells me I can't just march into her room and read her journal, but my heart is crying out.
It needs to know if the betrayal that took place in my own timeline happened in this one.
The date is burned into my head, of course.
November second, the day my heart was smashed into a million pieces. If I creep in there quietly, just find that entry, could that be so wrong?
Whether it's the right thing to do or not, I can't help myself. I creep in the window, trying not to disturb anything, though I'm pretty sure Liz is on shift and won't be returning. The journal is sitting on her desk, black and unsuspecting.
I pick it up and try to open it.
Nothing happens. It's just a paper journal, so why does it feel like it's stuck?
Maybe, I realize, this Liz put a little alien oomph into keeping her privacy. While this really sucks for me, it's quite innovative. There has got to be some way to get past this minor hurdle. I'm an alien in a human body, for Christ sake's, in some warped alternate universe. A little alien superglue is not going to hold me back.
Watch out, ladies and gentleman, SuperMax is coming. It's a UFO, no, it's a blimp, no, it's SuperMax!
Unsurprisingly, the journal does not respond to my silent pep talk. I take it between my hands and close my eyes in concentration. Even if I'm no longer a full-blooded hybrid, being changed has got to be good for something.
Doesn't it?
"Bingo," I mumble when the pages fly open. The journal is definitely well-loved, and I flip through dog-eared pages to find November 2001. I don't know if Liz would write the night… whatever I did happened, but it's got to be around there somewhere.
"No, no, no," I mutter. Then, at the end of October, there is a pretty big gap in dates, to the middle of November. I begin to read at the first entry for the month.
I haven't written because I couldn't bear to go through these past weeks events again. I knew the summer was bad, but the hopelessness is taking over again. Max… Max and I are over, forever, I think. It hurts just to think of him, but I have to face what happened. I haven't talked to anyone about it, after seeing Kyle and letting him comfort me that night.
Max slept with Tess. God, how it hurts even to write those words. The pain is still so fresh. I can hardly believe it, but he tells me it's true. So much else has happened, but this much has drained me emotionally. Maybe I'll look back on this someday and not feel this pain in my heart. I don't think I'll ever be able to read the beginning of you, journal, ever again.
I close the book, softly, because my heart is slowly breaking again.
How could I have slept with Tess? It isn't possible. No matter how different this place is, I could never do that to Liz. I know intrinsically that I love her beyond anything else I will ever feel.
If things are the same in this world as in mine, and Liz slept with Kyle as far as I know, while I slept with Tess here, something has got to be seriously wrong.
God, even the thought of being intimate with Tess turns my stomach. I place the book back down on the desk, and I don't think about re-sticking it. I just need to breathe.
There must be some kind of explanation for this.
- - - - -
I jog over to the Valenti's, hoping that their house, like Liz's and mine, is still the same. A little voice nags at me that if Kyle is the alien and Tess is the human, then I don't know who will be a Harding and who a Valenti, but I focus instead on reaching their house.
A Sheriff's vehicle is parked in front of a familiar house. Thank god. The front of the house, however, looks a little more flowery than I seem to recall. I'm about to walk up to the door, but then I hear movement from behind it. I duck around the corner of the house and peer around to see Jim Valenti.
Whew. I was not looking forward for Ed Harding to make a reappearance from the dead.
"Tess!" He calls. "Remember to clean your room!" And then I hear him mutter. "And don't have Kyle hocus-pocus it. Ah, hell."
I smile. Kyle and Tess are not two of my favorite people. I don't think I'm going to like either of them in this reality, either.
Then I just about jump out of my skin.
"Evans," Kyle smoothly says from behind me. I whirl to see his unusually dark eyes assessing me. "Looking for something?"
"Is Tess here?" I inquire, and he frowns. At his eventual nod, I begin to head toward the door.
"You knows, Evans," Kyle drawls, "You sure got the up side of this situation." I pause and look at him. "You got to have Tess in the sack, and Liz still can't keep her eyes off you." Then he smirks. "I must say, your advice on me getting with her wasn't too useful, but she'll come around. Evans. She'll come around."
He walks off and leaves me with a lump in my throat. Leave it to Kyle to make me feel intimidated and unsure of myself.
Regardless, I have to see Tess and make sure nothing happened between us. Because it couldn't have. Right? I knock on the door, and when no one answers, I push it open.
"Tess?" I call out, "It's Max. Are you there?" No answer. Then, I hear a muffled crash and some swearing.
Tess appears a few seconds later, laundry basket in hand and what suspiciously looks like detergent in her hair. She's blushing. "You surprised me," she states. "What's up, Max?"
I'm at a loss of what to say. I know I need to make sure nothing happened between us, but how can I bring it up? You don't just forget things like these, real or not.
"Um," I finally force out, "Have you heard any of those rumors at school? About us?"
The annoyed look in Tess' eyes is not lost on me. "You didn't start them?" she inquires. "'Cause I didn't; I don't need my reputation screwed on something that never happened."
It feels like a ton of bricks is taken off my shoulders, and I'm proud of myself for getting my answer that quickly.
"Sorry," I tell her. "I just wanted to apologize and say I didn't start them, so I don't know who did." It had to have been Kyle. Who else would there be? "Uh, and, I still appreciate you helping me out, then."
I'm prying for more information. My fingers cross behind my back. Now that I know it was a set-up, I still don't know why.
"Sure, Max," Tess nods. "Though I don't understand why you had me do it if you still mope over Liz constantly…"
Damn. "Me either, Tess," I confide. "I don't understand it myself." She gives me a questioning look, but I merely shrug and bid her adieu.
I'm at a loss about what to do now.
- - - - -
I walk home slowly, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle I've gathered. My heart is soaring because of the fact that if I didn't sleep with Tess, the probability is good that Liz was never with Kyle, either.
At least I hope it works that way. I wonder when I'm going to go back home.
I wonder if I'm going back home.
My wish was just for one day.
Will I remember all that I've learned?
I spend the rest of the day in my room, doing some homework that I know I'll have to do in my reality anyway, so it's worthwhile. Dinner rolls around and I sit at the table downstairs, watching my family interact.
It feels like it did a year ago, before Iz and I had the chasm of my saving Liz grow between us. I know she sees now that good has sprung from my action, but all the bad might be my fault, too. Truthfully, I don't think she's ever truly forgiven me for ruining her perfect life.
I don't miss the Ice Queen.
At this dinner table, Isabel talks about fashion and some television show she watched. Then she mentions something about taking a trip as an exchange student to Europe. My parents are apparently very interested in this, because they're still talking long after I excuse myself from the table.
The night creeps up without warning, and it's not long before I'm yawning. There's a certain fear of going to bed because I don't know where I'll be when I wake up, but my body doesn't seem to care.
I don't know whether it's because of astral-projection or a real trip, but I think New York is catching up to me.
The last thing I see before my eyes close on sleep is an image of Liz's face, haunted by what I know is my betrayal and filled with longing.
- - - - -
"Max! Max, damn it!" I hear a voice calling me. It vaguely registers in my fuzzy brain that it's Isabel. "Turn your stupid alarm off already!" she whines. "Either get up and go to therapy, or go back to sleep."
Therapy?
The events of yesterday's trip to that surreal world replay themselves in my mind, and I wonder if it was all a dream. But then I feel the slip of paper in my pants and pull it out.
It's the homework I was working on yesterday afternoon. Whoa. It was real. And then I think to myself that there has got to be something major wrong with me, because who does their homework when they're stranded in some crazy who-knows-what reality.
That's me, Max Evans. I may be an alien, but I'm as boring as they get. I don't need to be human to be a small town boy.
And then I laugh, because that's what I wished for. Now I realize that aside from all this alien crap, my life is utterly boring. Normal, even.
Or not. But we can pretend.
I hear Isabel start to yell again and realize I never turned my alarm off. So I do. I'm not going back to sleep, but there's no way I'm going to therapy, either. I'm too insane for the good doctor, I decide.
My mother's going to have my head.
- - - - -
If I'm not mistaken, Liz should be in her room now, getting ready for her shift. I'm going to use the element of surprise and catch her in her own haven.
Maybe at this early in the morning, she won't have woken up enough to lie to me. Regardless, the truth is going to be revealed this morning.
I climb up the fire escape, only to meet Liz on her balcony. By the looks of it, she's waiting for me.
"I knew you were coming," she half-smiles. "I think this changing thing has increased my awareness."
Weird. I can sense her, too; it will be strange to have it reciprocated. Then I pause, because Liz didn't sense me yesterday.
I correct myself, because that wasn't my Liz. My Liz, the love of my life, is standing right in front of me.
"Hi, Liz," I smile, and I think her eyes widen at the warmth in my voice. "I needed to see you this morning."
"About what?" she asks cautiously.
"I know the truth, Liz." It's said quietly, but I know she hears me. Suddenly, the light atmosphere is gone.
"What are you talking about, Max?" Liz asks fearfully. I see her gearing up, getting ready to lie to me again.
"Don't. Liz, please, don't lie to me any more. I know that nothing happened between you and Kyle. You don't have to explain right now." I see her mouth open to anyway, but I reach out a finger and cover her lips. "Shhh," I whisper. We both shiver at the delicious contact, and I lead her to a lawn chair. "Something happened to me earlier I need to tell you about."
Looking scared, she nods. "You can tell me anything, Max," she finally says. I think I've won her over.
"I know," I affirm. "I know."