Hindsight by Vardy

Disclaimer: Nope, Roswell’s not mine. If it was, I’d be sitting somewhere in the sun sipping margaritas, not writing fan fiction.

Summary: Takes place after “Departure.” Isabel POV.

Rating: PG-13

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. It isn’t, not really. Believe me, I’ve looked. I’ve looked back over the last two years, and I can’t figure out the exact moment my life spiralled out of control.

Sure, there were indications, all along, that I managed to ignore at the time. I was happy in my ignorance. Ignorance, as they say, was bliss. But there was never a big flashing neon sign to tell me that my life was about to go to hell. Or maybe there was, and I just can’t see it.

Someone once told me that one day, I’ll find myself at a crossroads, and I’ll have to decide the course of my life. I can’t remember who told me that. Maybe it was a friend of my grandmother’s. Was it an old teacher, perhaps? I just don’t remember, not that it really matters. But I think I’ve reached that crossroads.

Most people would say the problem with standing at a crossroads is that they can’t figure out which road to take. But it can’t be that simple, not for me. Nothing’s ever simple with me. My problem is I can’t even figure out what my choices are, let alone choose. How’s that for screwed up?

Screwed up. Two words that perfectly describe my life. But that’s why I keep looking back, wondering how I got here. How I got so far from where I began. I was, once upon a time, a perfectly normal teenaged girl.

Wait, that’s a lie. I’ve never been normal, even if you ignore my heritage. No, I’m one of the lucky ones, the special ones. A golden girl leading a charmed - albeit empty - existence.

I can thank my face and body for that. It got me into the popular crowd, the jet-setters. The ones everyone simultaneously envies and hates. It should’ve been wonderful, right? I had everything every girl dreams about: friends that hang on to my every word, boys lined up around the block, good grades - even a good relationship with my family. What else could I ask for? But I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t even content. I didn’t care about any of the guys I dated. And I hated my friends.

I hate my friends. That’s a pretty sad statement, right? You’re supposed to like your friends, Isabel - that’s why they’re your friends. If you don’t like them, you call them acquaintances. If you hate them, they could even be your enemies. But no, not me. I hate my friend and keep the people I like at a distance. You’d understand why if you met my friends.

Maggie and Gracie. Vicious, empty-headed bitches. Interchangeable, really. Two identical little kewpie dolls without an intelligent – or even original - thought in their perfectly-coiffed heads. All they cared about was ensuring that they were at the top of the food chain at West Roswell High.

Catherine and Kristy. They got their kicks from destroying the lives of others. They played the game to perfection. They dated all the right boys, skipped all the right classes, made appearances at all the right parties. I hate them even more than Maggie and Gracie. At least they were upfront about cutting other people to shreds. Catherine and Kristy did it deliberately and secretly – not to protect their own status, but just for this sadistic joy they got from seeing someone else fall from grace.

I hate to admit it, but I think I’m worse than my friends. I was the zenith, you see. The person even they aimed to be like. The leader. I should’ve been able to change things. Instead, it was all I could do to protect the people I liked. That’s why I pushed them away, you see. I couldn’t subject them to the hell I lived with each second. I know it hurt them to have me reject them. It’s the only way I knew how to protect them.

And protect them I did. You see, I have a brain. I knew I don’t belong there, but I was desperate. Desperate to fit in, to be normal, to be accepted. So I made it my business to know secrets. Secrets that could destroy people, but at the same time, protect my secret.

What kind of secrets could a bunch of high-school kids have that could destroy their lives? Plenty. For example, I’m the only one that knows Catherine got knocked up by the star quarterback and took care of the problem during her little ‘shopping spree’ in Paris last year. I know Maggie seduced the vice-principle to keep from getting suspended. And I know the captain of the basketball team – Kristy’s boyfriend – is scared to come out of the closet and is using her to cover up his late-night activities with the student council secretary.

I live in a small town, and it’s hard for this kind of secret to stay secret. But I keep them anyway, and gather more information every day. Because it’s the only way I have to protect my family. My secret really would lead to our destruction.

Why do I bother? Why am I the Ice Princess? Max and Michael, they hide, too, but at least they get some modicum of happiness. Hell, Max even gets to tell the secret I worked so hard to protect on a whim. I vowed, the day I found out, that I would never be that stupid. I would never depend on anyone the way he depends on Liz. At least one of us had to keep our heads on straight.

So I carried on. I terrorized the ones who knew our secret. Max begged me not to, even Michael did, but I knew better. I knew what would happen if I let anyone in, depended on someone the way they did. They wouldn’t want to see the real me, and I didn’t care enough to clean up the mess. I dated all the right boys, led them around on a leash. I never got attached. That’s why I made the three-date rule. More than three dates created a messy situation. I like things nice and orderly. I like being in control.

But then everything started to go downhill. I lost control. I became dependent on someone. I let Alex in.

He saw me, and he didn’t care that I was a bitch. He loved me because of who I am, not despite it. I still don’t know why.

That’s when things started getting crazy, and when my identity crisis began. No one dared to object to the princess of West Roswell High dating someone outside the circle of the chosen few. They knew I could destroy them with a few whispered sentences into the right ears. For the first time in my life, I was doing what I wanted – not what was expected. I was happy. I was in love.

That was a strange feeling. Happiness. Love. Sure, I love my family, and they love me back. But I always figured that they kind of had to. Alex loved me because he wanted to. For me, not my face or my body. He made me feel safe, secure. Like I could be a nice person. Like I could be me. Like I could have a future.

That was short-lived, though.

I panicked. I admit it, the unshakeable Isabel Evans ran like a scared little girl. But that didn’t mean I ever stopped loving him.

You see, loving somebody means letting them see the real you. And I know myself very well. I know that if you look deep enough, you’ll see a person few people will like, let alone love.

I know I’m a bitch. The reigning queen bitch of New Mexico three years running, in fact. It’s not who I want to be, but I accept it. Hell, I embrace it. I might hide from love, from happiness, from Alex, but I don’t hide from the truth. And the truth is, I don’t deserve Alex.

He’s a better person than I am. He is so warm, loving, and kind – everything I wish I could be. He has real friends, two girls who would throw themselves in front of a train to save him.

Strange as it sounds…I think I envy him a little.

I know I love him a lot.

I tried to fight what I felt. I tried to squash it, to forget it, to forget him. I tried to forget how he made me feel when he held me in his arms. And I tried to ignore the way kissing him made me see stars.

But my traitorous heart wouldn’t let me forget. Not Alex. Not ever.

And now I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost him. And I keep looking back, wondering how, why.

The past doesn’t hold any answers for me, though.

Hindsight isn’t always twenty-twenty, I guess.