Disclaimer: If I owned 'Roswell,' would I be writing fan fiction?
Author's Note: I started writing this when I saw “Graduation” for a second time on the Sci-Fi Channel, but it totally changed today when I picked up a different perspective. So I got rid of the first one and write this one, instead. It’s incredibly random, I think, but sometimes, that’s how life goes. Special thanks to Zia, who looked over it and gave me the confidence to actually post it (‘cause I thought it was weird/random/not good…)
So, without further ado…
* * *
Look at me, my depth perception must be off again
Cause this hurts deeper than I thought it did
It has not healed with time
- Saliva, “Rest in Pieces”
* * *
Fuck. Those. Damn. Ghosts.
They never go away.
No, they always have to dance around his damn head while he attempts to sleep or while he walks around listlessly in the broad daylight or while he sits down in this chair to try to get away from it all. They never go away and he is starting to suspect that they never will completely disappear, because no matter how hard he tries to forget, the memories and the pain are still there. They are a part of him and there is no way that he can wash them away.
Pain, he thinks, what a funny word. How he could live life for such a long time without actually experiencing this heart wrenching pain, something that chills a person to the bone, haunting their memories and thoughts. Funny, a human is only supposed to feel it a few times in life and he feels as if he has experienced it a thousand times, over and over again, like being hit by a semi time after time after time.
The pain never goes away.
Sure, he has felt real physical pain, but nothing like what he is going through now. Hank’s beatings physically wounded him and emotionally closed him off, but what he had never expected was for her to be his savior, the one who saved him from all that abuse and pain he was conditioned to.
She saved him from the person he was bound to become through all the beatings he took silently.
She shone like a light in the darkness. She let him sleep in her bed when he had no where else to go, she let him see her even though he was too afraid to open up to her in the beginning, she made love to him over and over again even though he was different than other teenage males, and she loved him with her whole heart. She saved him from the closed off man he would have become if she hadn’t come into his life.
But it wouldn’t matter now, he thinks bitterly. None of it matters now. She’s gone. Gone away to never return.
She. Is. Never. Coming. Back.
Neverevernevereverneverever coming back again.
He regrets it every day when he wakes up, when he plods through his usual daily actions, when he goes to bed at every lonely night. Sometimes, he can smell her scent on a pillowcase, honey and sunflowers, and sometimes, he can hear her voice singing in the patter of the afternoon rain and in a gust of wind. Sometimes, he’ll wake up from a dream so real, so entrancing, that he will reach out for her only to realize that she’s not there with him anymore. She’s never there anymore.
He’s so tired of her ghost haunting his existence. He’s so tired of life and so tired of his heart hurting.
It’s something like that song she used to listen to, he thinks.
“My heart is sick of being in chains,” he says aloud, attempting to believe the empty words, but failing miserably as his head falls back into his hands and a sob escapes his lips.
It wouldn’t matter – his heart is in chains, whether or not he likes it, because it is his own doing. This is his destiny. The weight of the world was on his shoulders and he failed miserably, like every other important task he was handed, he thinks. He knows that he carries that guilt and the unanswerable question of ‘what might have been’ day to day without a cry for help or a groan of pain.
He suffers silently. Alone.
But, he thinks, at least the pain makes him feel alive. He’d rather feel the sting of her absence than nothing at all.
He killed her, he knows it in both his mind and heart. He killed them all, indirectly, but it’s all the same. They’re all dead and gone and there is no escaping the fact that he royally fucked up, once again, and he will never reproach his actions.
No one is left of the group. They are all gone.
Gone away, hopefully to a better place, he thinks. Surely they’re someplace better, where there is no suffering. Because he has suffered enough for the rest of them combined; they shouldn’t have to deal with his oversights and the consequences of them.
It was the biggest mistake of his life. That one night was when the world came crashing down, fell apart, and never properly aligned itself again, for him, at least.
The depressing thing is that he will never be able to amend his mistake and all that he left with are the memories of what could have been. What would have been if he hadn’t been so thickheaded and stubborn not to listen to what his heart was telling him to do.
He didn’t listen to his heart. Madame Vivian said for him to listen to his heart and he refused, thinking that he knew best. That he was right. Because, after all, he was never wrong before. He never fucked up before.
He was always the one to go off and screw up, whatever it may have been, and this time, it finally caught up with him. No one was there to clean up his mess when she was killed. No one was there to clean up his mess because they all were dying, too.
He shudders and runs a hand through his hair, involuntarily, pushing those haunting thoughts from his mind.
All that he has left is the memory.
And he knows what he is missing. He knows that he will never get married, never have a wedding day where his personal savior walks down the aisle towards him, takes a hold of his hand, and promise her life to him, and him to her. He’ll never have a child in this world and he’ll never experience the miracle of childbirth alongside her, while she’s curing his name in frustration, pain, and utter love. He will never grow old with the one person he truly loves.
This list grows ever day. He adds to it whenever something somewhere reminds him of her and what he could have had. What they used to have before his single most stupid mistake tore their lives apart. What they could have had if he had opened his eyes and seen what was actually going on.
Now the ghost of what might have been chills him to the bone.
He sees her on the street, in stores, on the road. A glint of golden hair is always flickering on the horizon as he sullenly makes his way through life. She is everywhere. She is in everything and he now knows what it’s like to lose someone you truly love. He knows the pain does not heal with time. He knows that her ghost will be persistent with him ‘till the end of his days. She never left him before – why would she fly away now?
He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut one more time.