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Ava, Chapter 49: Liz

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Posted to Fanfiction.net June 27, 2004


     I feel really weird, and I can't sleep.  Part of that could be from the fact I'm sleeping in the bed of the person who just walked out of the house.  And possibly that the walls are thin and in the room next to me, Ava and Paige were talking about Tess, and a lot of things that I probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping on.  Now whenever I close my eyes all I can see is Tess.  I don't want to think about her, it's too complicated.  I'm trying not to.  I'm really trying to focus on something else.  I think about Max or Dad or Biology, but my mind always slips back to kissing my way up her smooth face.  Look, I know I was attracted to her when she first showed up, it was a horrible feeling that I couldn't control, but I got over that.  I did a lot of complicated things; she confused me.  But she fucked up my life!  It's not fair.  Nothing's fair, ah the futile scream against the whip of the universe.  It's not fair.  She messed me up, entirely.  I don't want to sleep with her.  I really don't.  I don't understand why I feel this way.  She's dead.  I never felt like this until she died, I never couldn't control my mind.  Maybe it's not her.  Maybe it's a metaphor.  She's my dreams, killed by aliens, but I want her so much I'm going to fight to bring her back, or them back, or whatever.  That's satisfactory.

     But when I close my eyes there she is again.  If she wasn't dead I'd think she was messing with my mind.  Suddenly I feel cold and dark.  My head isn't full of her anymore.  Yes.  I lean back into my pillow and relax.  I slowly pull her back into my mind and start undressing her.  I really don't have a problem thinking about her, if I think it's my choice.  If it's not scaring me and hurting me.  But I don't mind using her as a pacifier.  She's dead.  No one knows, no one cares if I play with her in the privacy of my own head.  Isabel might, but I really hope she's lost the habit of wandering in other people's minds for fun.

     I feel that shudder in my stomach as I picture her demon's eyes on me.  When you're like me it's easy to fall into fantasy.  I was never a knockout.  I never really worried about it, but Kyle was really just a friend, and Max?  well it was crazy, an alien.  I was ready for a taste of danger, and being liked was pretty cool.  I don't think I had ever felt that wanted, ever.  But I had a habit of fantasy.  It was lucky Isabel was more interested in dreamwalking Maria, or she might have not been so happy with her brother's choice of girlfriend.

     It was easy to use Tess in my get to sleep fantasies, because I didn't really like her.  I pitied her when she was vulnerable, or pretended she was, but I preferred the flashes of anger and bitterness, when she was faking it a little obviously.  It's easy to use someone you don't much like, but who you think is one of the most attractive people on this earth at the moment.  So she was a little mean and a bit of a seductress in my mind.  I didn't mind.  But now I think of her and I see her vulnerable, being hurt and used.  I didn't think of her like that.  She had a little more strength than her vulnerable persona.  A lot more strength.  Later we found out how strong her determination was, how evil she was, and I don't want to remember it, but when I found out it was her, when I found out she was a murderer, and had slept with Max, and had done all these things, my first reaction wasn't fear or disgust, it was one of uncontrollable lust.  And I didn't want to be like that.  I didn't want to be turned on by danger or evil.  It passed quickly, but whenever I saw her, especially when she was angry, or thought of her killing, avenging demoness, she made me hot.  I hated it.  I hated myself.  But she left.  She was gone, so gone, and everything started to fade.  Sure sometimes I would have an image of her coming down, power sourcing from her fingertips and I tighten up in fear and lust.  But then she came back.  She came back and then she came to me, and then her vulnerability didn't seem so fake.  It feltÉ she did it.  She killed herself, the fireball, oh god.  I can see it, all the time, I can see it, it's emblazoned on the inside of my eyelids.

     She's dead now.  I'm not going to worry about guilt.  I didn't rape her.  Max did.  She played her self so vulnerable, and when someone finally took advantage of that vulnerability she was shocked and scared and whimpering because she know that this was what she had wanted, had fought so desperately for, and was it worth it?  did it make her happy?  Did it give her the happy ever after she thought she was going to have?  Obviously not since she decided to kill herself.  Obviously not.

     I don't care.  I don't care dammit.  I'm so confused.  I don't know what I'm feeling.  Fine, I was attracted to her.  Yes.  I was.  I didn't like her.  I didn't. Then I was attracted to her again, but I hated her.  And then she was dead and I felt sick and guilty.  And then I slept with Max and I knew what she was like when she was entirely vulnerable, and I pitied her, and I was attracted to her, but it doesn't add up.  It doesn't make sense.  I was always attracted to her when she wasn't vulnerable, and when she was I just disliked her.  It doesn't make sense.  Was this different?  Was her vulnerability real?  I don't know.  This time, I just don't know.

Continue to Chapter 50

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