Untold Story - Tess - R
Summary: The truth about what happened with Tess in the warehouse during Max In The City. Tess's POV.
Rating: R (Just in case)
Pairing: none
Warnings: dark, kinda twisted
Note: This idea came to me last night, but I wrote it at three in the morning because I couldn't sleep with this idea lingering over me.
I shudder. His hands are roaming my curves, the rough calluses rubbing harshly against my pale skin, and it’s enough to make me want to puke, to bring my innards up from my gut to my lips.
His breath is hot and it smells putrid, rancid. It just adds to my repulsion, and I want to scratch and kick away from him, for all the good it would do. I would scream if I thought I would live more than a mere second after. They’ve made it clear they don’t care if I live or die, as long as they get what they want, and they get it fast.
And her? Well she’s just as piggish and disgusting as he is, but she’s too snide to actually touch me. She’s likely the conspirator in this whole betrayal, and I have no doubt she would kill him in a heartbeat if she had to. She’s sneaky and conniving where he is not; I should’ve seen this coming. Damn her and damn them and damn us for not seeing what was laid out right before our very eyes.
We’re in a warehouse now where it’s cold and damp and mouldy. He’s tying me up and I wonder how long Max has been dead and if his body is cold yet. Time has no meaning for me here, has it been hours since we left Max’s corpse on the New York sidewalk, or mere moments? I have no idea, and I hope everyone in Roswell is damn happy that they left the king for death while his queen is sacrificed to these punks.
He’s approaching me now, and I wonder what she’s ordered him to do to me. Will he rape me for her? Will he kill me? I pray for the latter, suffering was never really my style.
He has that filthy smirk on his face and that perverted leer. I hate that he looks so much like Michael, yet so different at the same time. If I escape, not that I likely will, I know I can never go back there, back to Roswell, and looks at Michael the same way again. But I know I’m outnumbered and out powered. They’ll get what they want and leave me here, dead or close enough.
He’s talking, but I don’t hear a thing. Maybe they’ll think my brain’s too fried and they’ll leave, but now she’s telling him something and he’s coming closer, close enough to touch me. I recoil, and he laughs menacingly. It sounds like a hyena on crack, and I start whimpering hysterically. I’m going to be raped here by Michael’s oafish dupe while Isabel’s slutty and manipulative dupe watches with perverse pleasure. God kill me.
I try to close my eyes and block it out, but then her hand is slapping my cheek hard and wrapping itself around one of my braids and yanking harshly on it, and I know there is no escaping my fate.
It’s sudden and unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. I feel the sudden build up of power in my gut, and with one hard nudge in my mind, he is on fire and screaming for her to help him. But instead, se turns to me in a rage and pounces my way. By now I have slipped out of my bonds and I lithely bat her away. The adrenaline is pumping as he turns to ash around me. I hear her scream in outrage, I expect she’s unused to loosing, and I bolt from the room. There’s no going back. I’ll change my name and run, forget Max, my dead destiny, forget Roswell and the potential for love and a family.
I’ve always rather liked the name Claire.
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Max raced into the warehouse, relief flooding him as he sees Tess sitting numbly on the floor.
He has no idea that it’s Lonnie wrapped up in his arms a moment later, Lonnie who he takes back to the Valenti’s in Roswell, Lonnie who he kisses at Prom, Lonnie who kills Alex for the Destiny book, Lonnie who he makes love to in the observatory, Lonnie who bears his child.
There are some stories better left untold.