Blush Author: WhirlingGirl Rating: R Summary: Isabel and . . . Max. Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Distribution: Please ask. She didn't know why she was blushing. Of course, she told herself it was because she had been in Alex' dreams and he was clearly in love with her, and she didn't want to tell Max what she had seen. Of course. That must be it. But the blush spread across her cheeks, and her heart pounded harder in her chest, as her brother stood behind her, watching her reflection, watching her. *** She was going insane. She knew it. Ever since the orb had appeared, and she had started feeling urges, stirrings inside her that were completely, well, alien, for lack of a better word, she had slowly grown more and more afraid. Afraid of herself, afraid of what she wanted, afraid of losing control. She laughed silently, bitterly, as she stared at her reflection. Isabel, queen of control, goddess of Roswell High, her subjects prostrating themselves at her feet, falling over themselves whenever she deigned to acknowledge them. The undisputed mistress of the perfect image. Her lips said it all. Full and soft and perfectly tinted, and letting nothing pass them that wasn't intended to further her own purposes. It was the only way she knew how to feel safe. And her safety, and the safety of her brothers, Max and Michael, were of paramount importance. She would die for them. And until that time came, she would be in control. But her control was slipping. She was rattled by this, this thing, that was happening inside of her beautiful body. She looked at herself appraisingly, ran her hands down her flanks, nodded in appreciation of her lush curves, her perfect skin. Her body was her temple, her refuge, her throne to rule from. But her body was betraying her. It was doing things she didn't understand, feeling things she didn't want to feel. She wanted. She stared into her eyes, and an animal, sick with need, stared back. *** Her brother Max had watched her in the mirror and she had lied. She had to lie. She lied to both of them. She told him that she had everything under control. She left the room, striding tall and regal, until she turned the corner of the hallway, and then her control broke, for one terrifying moment. She steadied herself against the wall and bent over slightly, panic twisting her features, agony tearing through her chest, as she fought against what she knew, at that moment, was happening. All her actions after that day were an effort to deny the truth she knew had taken hold of her, inside. She didn't want to know what was going to happen. But she knew it would. *** They talked one night, it seemed so long ago, when she was still dreaming about Michael. She didn't tell him about the dreams, though. Instead, she had sat on his bed, touching his leg, and suddenly felt her fear travel through him, and felt his fear travel through her. She whispered that something was waking up inside of her, and he understood, and for a moment their eyes locked and he said the words, the words that she had been afraid to say, that something primal had been stirring in them, and as she looked in his eyes she felt it stir again. But then Michael had come to the window and she couldn't finish telling him what she felt like, inside, and she hadn't realized, yet, who she was waiting for. But she remembered his eyes when he said those words, and she started to hear his voice in her dreams, and she slowly began to realize what it was that she wanted. After all the excitement died down, they returned to their lives, sort of. Max had told them all to "act normal." He stepped into his role as their leader without hesitation, but with what she could only call sadness. As though he knew things weren't going to turn out well for him. He acted resigned, resigned to his fate. But he had no idea what his fate was. He wasn't going to win any awards for his grammar, she thought ruefully. But Isabel couldn't "act normal." She lay on her bed, and heard him in his room, and suddenly caught herself wondering what he was wearing. Or not wearing. She gasped and grabbed the pillow and pressed it hard to her face with both hands and screamed until she couldn't breathe. *** After a while she couldn't look at him anymore. She couldn't be near him without a warmth spreading in her thighs, a blush staining her cheeks, and images crossing her mind of their bodies naked and tangled and pushing against each other. She rejected Michael, and sometimes he looked at her and there was something unpleasant in his eyes. He was biding his time and she knew somehow he would try to find his own way in. She didn't want to think about that. And, in turn, Max rejected Tess, she was not strong enough for him, and he lost Liz, he had become something she couldn't understand. And there were no others like them, no others. No one. At night sometimes she stood in his doorway and listened to him breathe, her eyes fastening on the bare skin his restless sleep revealed. *** She couldn't sleep. She hesitated in the hallway outside his door, light shining around the edges, and then kept going. She stood out on the porch in her pajamas, shivering, when suddenly she sensed him standing behind her. "Is?" She still saw glimpses of who they once were, but they were getting fewer and far between. His voice was so gentle now, like it used to be, and suddenly the burden of her secrets became too much and she turned to the only person she had ever turned to for help. She went into his arms, and he held her while she sobbed, and she felt him shaking in her arms and her shoulder grew damp with his tears. She felt such relief that her knees went weak and she held on tighter, believing, for just a moment, that everything was going to be different. But then the heat rose in her too fast and strong to resist, and she wasn't sure where it had started, in her or in him. Maybe it was the feel of his bare skin under her fingertips and her realization that he was nearly naked, the muscles in his back shivering under her touch. Maybe it was when she felt the flush bloom under his skin, tasted the sweat that suddenly made it feel even more like silk, heard his sharp intake of breath. Maybe it was the taste of him. She swallowed convulsively and pulled back and looked in his eyes in that last moment of awareness before it all came crashing down and said the only thing she knew to say, knowing it couldn't possibly be enough, knowing that, no matter what she wanted or how hard she fought, this was going to happen. "I'm sorry." And then she kissed him, and he kissed her back so fiercely that the stars behind her eyelids flared and danced, and she thought she heard their laughter of approval as she drowned in his mouth. His tears dropped onto her cheeks, even as they moved together. He whispered, I'm so sorry, even as she felt the waves pulsing through her. She touched his mouth gently, rubbing her finger across his lips as she rose above him, even as he arched under her and she held her hand over his mouth to quiet his cries. *** She still fights. Her days are faded and dreamlike; only at night do things come into sharp focus. She waits through the day for the quiet struggle in the darkness. She knows it is always only a matter of time, but she still fights. She used to cry at night, in shame and loneliness. She missed being able to talk to him, going to his room and sitting near him and looking in his eyes and knowing that he would try to help her figure out what she was scared of. Now she is scared of him. She doesn't cry. And when he is there, she barely breathes. He stands in the doorway while she pretends to sleep and looks at her and there is something staring out from his tawny eyes, and it isn't pretty, and it isn't love, and it isn't safe, but it's what she wants. He makes a strangled sound and turns away, but every night he stays longer, and tonight she feels the heat from his hands on her skin, not touching, but so close. She hears him crying in his room. She hears him punching the wall until his hand bleeds. She hears him do other things to vent his need. She hears him. An animal has awakened in her and it is pacing back and forth, back and forth, padding on soft paws in which claws are barely sheathed, waiting, waiting. Biding its time. Growing stronger. She fears what it will do when the cage is too weak to hold it in. She lies on her bed, listening to it, padding back and forth, in time with her alien heart. END Home