Series: None

Author: DocPaul

Email: DocPaul2002@yahoo.ca

Rating: G

Warning: This is written specially for the group so it is M&M centered. Did you need this warning?

Spoilers: After Departure

Disclaimers: Yeah, they belong to me. I’ve written about them more than Jason Katims, possession is 9/10 of the law.

Summary: Michael pens his thoughts in the dark of the night.

Author’s note: This is a first person piece which I normally do not do, but as you read it will become obvious why it is written this way.

Postscripts

For Fehr’s Moon

It is worse in the dark.

The miles flash by, and the world goes on without you, almost like you’re trapped inside your own world and nothing can touch you. You’re marginal, on the outside. There is no turning back on that road.

It is strange that this is coming from someone who couldn’t find a way into the real world. From day one, it was a battle, a fight to be just there, when everything inside was begging to go home to Antar, even before Antar had a name.

This isn’t a journal or an account of what happened, because it’s stupid to keep such accounts. They weaken you. They expose. And they sound stupid when you go back and read them.

But thoughts are private, and they can’t be stolen. They start in the back of the mind and slowly move forward almost like an awakening. I’m sitting in the darkness watching the small towns race by while Maria sleeps, and my thoughts course though my mind at alarming speeds.

Dead.

The first thought I remember was that I was dead.

That was how it felt. Years later, it still felt the same. Maybe it was the numbness that usually hit my body after Hank hit me. A moment of silence that stretched into eternity, a sense of the unreal.

I always questioned why I deserved it, and later I just came to expect it. Abuse is a strange thing. You can’t always remember the exact moment when you stopped being the victim, and the abuse was just something you deserved. It was like fate. Fate that gave Max and Isabel everything, and me nothing. I figured I deserved that too.

That feeling hit me again when Maria walked away. Part of me was in shock, too shocked to move. Another part of me expected it. I had been waiting for it for the longest of times. Good things didn’t happen to me, so she was a borrowed thing...something that happened by accident, and once the mistake was realized, she would be gone. She was the opposite of the abuse, and nothing was ever given to me. I was living on borrowed time and I knew it. And trying to appear nonchalant about her love and our relationship was the only protection I had, so that when it was over, no one would pity me. I would hate that. I can take anything but pity.

Actually, it was I almost wished that it would be over, just so I could stop waiting for it. From the moment I saw her, I knew. I knew she had me, and the knowing scared me more than the wanting. So I pushed it away, denied it, and made light of it so no one, especially Maria, knew how much it really meant to me. How much she could make me want her, need her...love her. But she knew. A part of Maria always knew. But it was that small child in her that cried when her father left that needed the reassurance. She knew, but she didn’t.

And when she walked away a part of me realized that I had pushed her there. I ignored her for others, pushed her life to the background behind mine. I forced her to give up everything she had for me, almost like proof that she cared, and I offered her no guarantees except that I would leave. And it is so strange, because what I forced her to give up were the very things I wanted all my life. To be warm, safe, loved, home, and a future. Honestly, I wasn’t consciously trying to lose her, but a part of me never trusted that something like her could be in my life, so I pushed her hard to make her break, until finally she did. I knew. I always knew how afraid she was, how lost and how alone she felt at times. But I couldn’t care about that.

I had bigger problems. There were always bigger problems more pressing than my relationship with Maria. Always a new crisis or a new Max and Liz trauma that outweighed her life, my life, our life. And in the end Maria was forced to choice between her life and mine. And my life won for over two years until I devoured hers and left her feeling the same emptiness that I felt my entire life. Maria woke up one morning feeling dead.

Dead. I never meant to share that feeling with her. The numbness. The despair. The feeling of shock, that it couldn’t be real. I never hit her or raised a hand to her, but it must have felt that way. Hank, the abuser left scars.

But the dead can walk. And she did. Away from me. She was trying to save her life, or find some small part of it that still could grow. Slowly Spring came and she found she still had some dreams, and me...I became a fear. The part of her that loved me unconditionally was raging with the part of her that loved me obsessively, and the final part of her saw it as a trap that would return her to the walking state of dead. Pushing it as far away as she could; she pushed me away.

Hate.

The second feeling I had in my life was hate. It started inside, deep in my stomach, and it moved upward into my throat. Hate. It rages and boils. It harms your soul, stains it, and at times the hate is so strong you can’t decide what and who you hate...just that you do.

I hated Roswell. It was a symbol of everything I could never have. It was a symbol that I was abandoned and lost. And Roswell hated me as well. Inside I felt a need to be compassionate, to be good and to emulate Max. But why? He was given everything, and it was never good enough. He was King. He had a family and a warm safe place, a future. He had a soulmate that would walk to the ends of the world for him. I wanted that. Not those exact things that were his, or even all of them, but the sense of them. A sense of being right. A sense of being listened to and respected. A sense of belonging and being loved. I hated that those who had everything took them for granted and looked down on us that had nothing.

I hated because it was easier than anything else. It raged and left me feeling powerful and strong like I was the commander of my own destiny. It made me feel like I was fighting for myself, because no one else would. It made me strong enough to survive.

I hated Maria. I hated that she left me. I was angry that she was breakable, that she let me push her to the breaking point. And I hated that she was very capable of building a life without me. I gave up everything for her. It should’ve been enough. It should’ve lasted a lifetime. That one ultimate sacrifice should have put me in the green forever, so that no amount of ignoring her, taking her for granted, and putting her last should have mattered. I hated her because I wanted her to believe in me, and I wanted her life to be me, her entire life. I hated her because I wanted to be enough, and I wasn’t.

I let that anger and hate change me when I was King. I was sick in my soul. Sick of being left. Sick of being ignored and discounted. And it was my turn to be the top dog, the boss. I let hate fuel me, to make me walk the line between my alien side and my human. I was losing myself. And the only person who seemed to care was Maria. She had saw too much inside me to believe that it was me talking to her, me screaming and wanting to murder anyone. She even knew that all the talk about Isabel wasn’t about Isabel, but about hurting Jesse. Taunting him. Making him bleed by saying all the things that hurt, and fed the same fears that Maria always had...that she wasn’t good enough, because she was just human. In that moment I proved to her that she had a reason to fear the alien thing.

My scar  from the crest still hurts because it was a betrayal of myself, a push to take and keep selfish things, and it wasn’t me. I hate myself because I should have been a better King, but instead I let the anger and hate into my soul and it made me do things that were selfish and vain. Suddenly I was Max saving Liz Parker again, and betraying my sister and best friend. I still am feeling the horror of how bad it all went. I had to find redemption for myself, a reminder that I really was good inside and not corrupt. Power corrupted me. After a lifetime of being a victim, being told how wrong I was, and shown how unimportant I was to those who should have been there, Max and Maria, I let the feeling of power course through me. Strange that the rush gave me something. Something like control. It felt good.

I hated myself because I couldn’t apologize. There was still a part of me that was still angry and hurt, and an apology would have made it all my fault again. It would have been a vindication for Maria for leaving me, and I couldn’t give her that. Not yet. I purposely had made her an outsider, a human that should have been exterminated. I’m ashamed for that. It was the piece of corruption that I regret. For all she’s done for me in the past even when I was being an ass, she didn’t deserve that. I finally found a way to apologize and find some peace about how easy it was to fall to a darker side, how seductive it was. And just when it looked like Maria and I were working our way back to where we use to be, together, it was suddenly over.

Love.

The next feeling I remember really having was love.

I didn’t believe in love. Not really. Not enough to trust it. All those years and I never forgave Max for saving Liz. He was my brother, someone who should have loved me. I was one of two people he had in his entire life, so I should have meant something. And in that moment, he saved a stranger, a person on the outside, and I was nothing. Dust.

Then came Maria. She fought so hard. Refused to back down and leave me. Even when we were apart, she remained loyal and devoted. I walked away so many times, belittled our relationship as nothing but stupid, that when she did it to me...it hurt. Not a little. A lot. I couldn’t believe how many times I must have made her feel the same way, or worse. And yet she remained. So I tried. I tried to get her back. Tried to be her friend and support her, and hope that it would bring her back like all those times I came back to her.

I tried. But I had a disadvantage that Maria didn’t have all those years. I had my anger and hate. She loved me, slept with me, and then walked away. That hurt more than any fist I took from Hank. And it hurt to think that was exactly what I did to her the night we were leaving in the Granilith. I loved her, slept with her, and then I walked out the door. She watched me leave without a sound or a protest. Just silent tears. And for those following hours all she knew was that I was gone forever. The pain she must have felt...I finally understand. I finally get it.

I hated that she made me live every hurt and pain I caused her. I spent five months walking in her shoes. The ones I created for her for two years. Every snub was repaid. I kissed Courtney. She kissed Billy. I had my destiny. She had her music. I had Antar. She had New York. I slept with her and walked away as if it were nothing, something I could live without. She did the same.

Fear.

The feeling of fear is what fuels my life at times. Fear. A small word. A big feeling.

I felt fear as I stood in the Granilith chamber.  Fear that I would never feel alive again. That walking away from my heart and Maria would be the return of that first feeling...dead.

That fear was stronger than the unknown. So I stayed. I knew that I’d rather face any hardship or danger with Maria at my side, than any alone. And ironically, it was her love and the fear of losing it, that saved my life. Saved Max and Isabel as well. Unconditional love changed me.

But it was fear that made me keep pushing Maria away. It made me not pay attention to her enough to realize she was losing herself. I didn’t want to know, because I felt helpless to stop it. It required more of me than I was willing or could afford to give. When she gave herself to me, she opened herself completely. Made herself the most vulnerable she’d ever be. Every time I didn’t notice her, spend time with her, or even think enough about her to change the sheets cut like a knife. But if I finally gave in to her completely, I was afraid I would lose myself. I watched her over the years lose herself in me, and I didn’t want that to happen to me. Selfish, double standard? I’m no saint.

Love. It was the hardest of emotion for both of us. It left us vulnerable. I hurt her in so many places over the years, and she returned those hurts to me. Love made us susceptible to those pains.

I left because of fear. Not just fear of death, or fear of  exposure. I left because I feared that Maria would never walk back into my life. That I’d never be enough for her.

In my defense, I can say that I never knew. I honestly never understood how much I hurt her at times, how much she had to lose until I felt and lost it all myself. I made her pay for leaving me. And a part of me was ashamed. She never really made me pay for leaving her, but then again, she was always stronger. She got that from a childhood with a supportive parent. The only person I had to teach me, was her.

I sat there in the dark. And I held that Lovers card from the whacked out palm reader. Bad things were going to happen, and I needed to believe in love, believe enough to risk everything for it. And once again, Maria saved our lives. She taught me everything I knew about love and caring, about friendship and loyalty. She found me, a boy who felt nothing but fear and hate, being dead, being angry...and she believed. She believed in me, trusted me, and loved me with no promises that I’d ever love her back or keep her. It was the strength she showed in believing regardless of what she got in return that finally gave me the strength to go back for her, for all of them.

Humility.

Maria humbles me. I hate it. I loved her fall from grace when she hurt me. I was finally the victim after years of making her one. But she stood strong, gave her life ambitions a shot, and still came back admitting herself wrong. I still haven’t learned how to do that. But I’m working on it. Someday, maybe with Maria’s help, I can go all the way to feeling good about myself. I am getting better at it every day. I’m not a man without flaws, but they are mine and I’ve learned to live strong despite them, and sometimes because of them.

I watched her get upset and angry when I decided to leave and she wasn’t invited. I saw it in a quick flash in her eyes. The fear, the anger, and the creeping feeling of death...nothing. I put that there. Once again, Maria was the least common denominator, the least important. She wasn’t changed, she wasn’t going to gain alien powers, and no one felt she was important enough to even murder or protect. She was just human. Not even a perfect human. She had her insecurities, her fears, her wishes and desires, and she never pretended to be perfect.

We took her best friend, Alex. The alien thing killed him, and it was changing Liz into something that hardly noticed how scared Maria was that she’d wake up one day and everyone she loved would be gone. And in that moment she was losing all her other friends, her best friend, Liz, and me. And no one seemed to care to notice that she was being left behind. No one asked her or gave her a choice. After all, she was just human.

I told her goodbye and as I rode away, I realized that I was still punishing her. I refused to give her a chance to walk away again or even say yes. Some fears never really go away. I still needed her to choose me over everything, but I was too afraid to give her the chance. I told myself that I was giving her the freedom to live her life without fear, without me. But actually I wanted her to choose me. I needed it. I needed to be enough. I had to go back. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life wanting to know if I had been brave enough to chance it all...would she have given up everything for me? The Lovers card. I just had to know.

And she did. Just like I stayed on Earth for her and gave up my world, she did the same for me. She swallowed her fears, her sorrow over leaving her family, home, and a future free of fear.  She walked away with me. No one. No one person has ever placed me first, or told me that I was everything to them. Maria did. When she looks at me, I’m all she sees, just like she has been all I’ve ever seen since that first day, and all I’ve ever wanted. She told me that it was what it was, and that was good enough. So many roads we have crossed, and so many times we were broken up. But in truth? We’ve never really been apart, because there could never be anyone but Maria for me, not then and definitely not now. I’ve never wanted anyone else.

Now suddenly, I believe in unconditional love.

These are my thoughts and I would like you to forget them soon after you read them, because they belong to me. They make me vulnerable and tell you where my weakness is. It’s Maria. She touches places so deep inside of me that after three years no one and nothing has succeeded in touching me as she has done. If I were ever to lose her I wouldn’t know how to go on.

These thoughts and places where Maria resides in my heart and soul are also my greatest strength. With her, I am in control. Not the diseased control I felt with the power, but a good control. A control that makes me glad to be in my body. I feel strong and free, able to meet a new day no matter what is to come. I see in her eyes all the wonderful things I could do, because she believes in me. There is no turning back on this road. Not anymore. I’m going to believe in Maria, and she is going to believe in me.

I learned to forgive. Not only her, but myself. We started out together as children riddled in fears and flaws, and we’ve grown together into adults. We will not fear love. Not anymore.

So, Ms. DeLuca...Amy...I am writing these thoughts down for you. Only for you. I wanted you to know what I could never say or explain. I wanted you to know that Maria and I are not a temporary thing, or two young hormonal teenagers risking their future on a whim. We have already paid so much of a price, so much pain, misunderstanding and grief just to get where we are today.  I wanted you to know that I’m not stealing her from you with large sweeping gestures of romance, blinding her to what we really are together. Between us there can only be honesty, so it is what it is.  I wanted you to know that your daughter is my life, and I will protect her to my dying breath.

The dark is the worst.

Worlds race by and we no longer have a place there. But I believe. I know now that home and family isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling and sometimes a person. I know that as long as I have Maria I’ll never be alone again, I finally found a home, and in that home deep within Maria, is you.

I could be sappy or something and say, “I’m Michael Guerin, and I’m happy.” But, I can’t. I can’t use such small words with such a flippant attitude to come near to describing what I am.

Best I can say is...

I am alive.

I feel it.

And I love.

Michael.

~~~

Amy DeLuca went out on her front stoop and stood watching the summer sky. No rain in sight. No Maria.

Liz’s journal was strangely unsatisfying because it was all about Liz and nothing about Maria. Nothing about her feelings, her fears and her love of Michael. She was out there. At risk and running for her life, and that would be her life for no one knew how long. And the only explanation or word she had about her daughter was confined to the childish ramblings of a young girl caught up in a fairytale of some supposed idyllic love. Amy sighed and closed her eyes in pain. She had spent her own life chasing that ‘idyllic love’ and the only thing good that ever came out of was Maria. Her daughter.

“Ms. DeLuca.”

Opening her eyes, Amy smiled sadly at the mail carrier. “Walter, how are the kids?”

“They’re fine. Any word from Maria?”

“No,” said Amy quietly.

He handed her a letter with no return address and a smudged postmark. “Maybe this is something? It looks like a personal letter.”

Amy took it and held it tight in her hand trying not to appear anxious or concerned. She chatted with Walter for a few more moments before wishing him well and telling him to stay out of the heat.

After he had gone, she sat in a chair and opened the letter with shaking hands. Pulling out a single sheet of paper, Amy slowly opened it and read it once, and then again. Folding it to put it away, she opened it yet again and reread it one more time.

With a slow tear rolling down her face, she looked out towards the sky as the sun slowly made its way down, losing track of time. In her hand was Michael’s letter, cleverly penned in typical Michael talk that said so much, and a comfort. Far more than an entire three years of Liz’s journals, Michael’s letter gave Amy hope.

Dear Amy,

I love her.

Michael.