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Somewhere in Between

Reply to Jenn

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list January 16, 2001

Title: Somewhere in Between
Rating: pg-13
Part: 1/1
Author: Jenn
SN: Jdriuhn (IM me, if you want!!)
Note 1: This is a follow-up to My Isabel..knowledge of that fic, needs to be known.
Note 2: This is for you should have everything you asked for.. =)
Disclaimer: We all know they're not mine....and we ALL know what I would DO with them..if they were. So! Moving right along... The song is by Lifehouse. Thanks again to Jess for the lyrics.

I went to the cemetery this morning.

I've always hated those places, but I guess that it's kind of unavoidable now. Everyone says that it's too soon for me to be going there. "Give it some time," they tell me. "Wait until you know you can handle it, Tess, it's still too soon." She's been gone for almost two weeks now. Only Max knows that I've been there every day since the day we put her there. Isabel would hate it there. What choice did we have? She was gone.

I can't be losing sleep over this
No, I can't

I refused to let them cremate her. That's what the Evans' wanted. I couldn't remember then, why I protested it so much...but I remember now. Her arguments with Max about being too young to be dust. So I couldn't let them do that to her, not even in death. She deserved better. A proper burial. A beautiful headstone with her picture engraved in the back and a small photo on the front. It could never do her justice, of course. But we did the best we could. Everyone's names are on the back, underneath the portrait. Max, Michael, Liz, Maria, me. Even Alex's name was there. We felt it only right. After all, he was our friend. Maybe I'll be able to forgive him one day.

Sterling roses.

Her favorite.

I took a dozen of them to her this morning. Yesterday it was eleven. Ten, the day before that. One for each day that had gone by. I know that I can't continue to do that forever, but for now, I will. The guy at the flower shop looks at me funny each time, but I don't bother paying any attention to him. He doesn't matter to me. He's just a means to an end. So I buy the flowers, get back in my car and drive until I reach the spot where she's resting. The amount of flowers are starting to build. I know that I'm not the only one who's been bringing them. A lot of people have. But that doesn't matter. Mine always rest right in the front. Right where she'd want them. I hate talking about her like she's dead. I know that she is, but that doesn't make me hate it any less. She should be here. With me. Not there and alone.

And I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours
And I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing

When I visit her, I can't bring myself to just sit there and talk to her, so I walk back and forth as if I'm waiting on her to show up and tell me that I've got it all wrong. It's almost worse here, than it is in that quiet house. Believe me when I say that, the house gets pretty bad. When I'm there by myself, sometimes I feel like she's there. Like I'm waiting on her to walk back into the room, like she was only gone to get something from the kitchen. Or the bedroom.

I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening

I try to distract myself with the computer that she had in the living room. The Evans' said that it was okay if I just kept it here. They didn't need it, they said. Even that doesn't help. Everything about it, has her written all over her. Her buddy lists. Her bookmarks. All of that Buffy and Angel stuff. That was something we used to do together every week. Watch those shows religiously. Isabel was always more into the whole star-crossed lovers thing, than I was. "It's romantic," she'd always say. But what's romantic about two people who can't be together because of what and who they are? It was kind of like us, actually. Only, we *were* together, despite what was right or wrong. I guess that's more Max and Liz's thing than ours, though.

There's too much alone time.

Max will be here any minute now. He finally stopped hovering. At least, he thinks he did. But he still comes here every day. He comes to see that I've eaten. That I've gotten out of bed, dressed myself and all that. It's sad now that I think about the fact that, for the first week, he was basically doing all those things *for* me. I didn't care then. I don't even really care now. I just got tired of his nagging and decided to start doing it for myself, just so I wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. I know he's still taking it hard. Isabel being gone, I mean. Who isn't? I can barely function on a day-to-day basis. Mostly, it's because I don't want to. And if Max wasn't here to nag me, I probably wouldn't get out of bed. I probably wouldn't get in the shower. Fix my hair. Get dressed.

Even though I know she's gone, something deep inside of me is still refusing to believe. I think it's called denial. Somewhere in between, is where I'm really at. Believing and not believing. Maybe it's shock. I've heard that people can go into shock for really long periods of time. Yeah, maybe that's what it is. Or maybe that's just what I want it to be. Maybe I'm just searching for an excuse not to go on living without her.

This is over my head
But underneath my feet

I hate this house. I want to hate it because everything about it is Isabel. But that's not the reason. I hate it because it reminds me of what I don't have anymore. Everything I touch, is her. And to think that we were together for almost two years. It wasn't enough time. I didn't get to tell her, all the things that I wanted her to know. All the things that I *needed* her to know. It's too late for that now. And I never thought that I would ever let myself get in so deep. I wasn't supposed to. At least, that's what Nasedo had always said. He's been gone for a long time now. And it's now that I see that everything I love has been taken from me.

Why did they have to take her? Why Isabel? I know I haven't been the best person that I know how to be, but why her? She didn't deserve it and neither did I. We needed each other and no one saw that but us.

Because by tomorrow morning
I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way it was

I still remember the first time she kissed me. We were in her parents hot tub. Everyone had tired out and gone to bed, leaving us there to talk about whatever. So we talked about guys. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, we were just barely high school seniors. Girls. We were supposed to talk about stuff like that. We talked about the different guys we'd kissed. I was surprised when Isabel told me that she'd only ever kissed two guys. Michael, once when they were in junior high, and Alex.

Me, I had a lot of guys to tell about. But they were all just boys that I'd kissed, to get back at Nasedo for jerking me in and out of schools on our search to find Isabel, Michael and Max. And then there was Max, who I kissed, only to realize that, I didn't really want him after all. Then I told Isabel, about the time that Cassie, one of the few girls that I'd been friends with, once, over the years, had kissed me. Isabel asked me a million questions about that kiss. I didn't mind. If I had, I would have never told her about it. Then she wanted to know what it was like. When I spent ten minutes, unsuccessfully trying to explain it, she just asked if she could kiss me. That's what started all of this. That's what led us to this very moment.

wish that it was just that easy
I am waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow

I've thought about that a million times since the day she died. Thinking that if only I hadn't brought it up, then maybe we never would have kissed. Maybe we never would have gotten into the relationship that we ended up in. Not that I regret it. It's just that, for brief moments, I catch myself blaming that incident for the reason that she's gone.

When I'm trying to sleep, I catch myself hoping that when I wake up in the morning, it will all have been nothing but a bad dream. That when I wake up, Isabel will be there next to me. Then I sleep, and I dream about her. That she's lying there next to me. I dream about touching her. About pressing my lips to hers. Our tongues tangling together as our hands set out to explore each others bodies. Then I wake up, roll over and feel for her, as if I expect her to be there. But she never will be again.

And I am somewhere in between

So I lay there, remembering how it used to be. How it used to feel, knowing that all I had to do, was reach for her and find her laying there next to me. Or wake up to find her arms wrapped around me. I lay there, trying to remember what her lips felt like against mine, first thing in the morning. What it felt like, to have her whisper in my ear, all the things that she wanted to do to me.

What is real and just a dream
Would you catch me

Where was I? Oh, I went to the cemetery this morning to see her. Well, not to see her. I'll never *see* her, again. But I needed to talk to her. I needed to talk to her about what the past week and a half has been like without her. I wanted to tell her about the dreams I'd been having. About how they were nothing like the real thing. Nothing like really being with her. I told her that sometimes, it feels like she's really there, and that if I thought about it enough, I could probably convince myself that she was. But then I wake up. I always wake up, despite whether I want to or not. I talked to her about how much I miss her. About how much I miss hearing her voice.

Her laugh.

If I fall out of what I fell in
Don't be surprised if I collapse
Down at your feet again

Her smile.

I miss her smile. Isabel's smile never failed to light up a room. I miss the way she used to look at me out of the corner of her eyes, when she thought I wasn't looking. Then she would smile, knowing that she'd been caught. Isabel had a shy smile. The kind of smile that held every secret she had. And her eyes. Looking into her eyes, was like looking at a book filled with a thousand tales. They were a deep brown.


I don't want to run away from this
I know that I just don't need this
Cause I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening


So that's what I told her. I talked to her headstone. The ground. Anywhere that I thought she might be. I even cried for a while...hoping that she could hear me and know how much I hurt. How much it killed me that she was gone.

Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
I'm somewhere in between

But now I'm home again, in this quiet house. Max is here now, walking around in the kitchen. He cooks for me, unless he brings something that his mother made. Tonight he said he's cooking. Max is an awful cook. Someone should tell him. I would, but I can't bring myself to make jokes about it right now. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to. I don't have the heart to be mean to him, when he's been nothing but helpful. On top of all that, I'm thankful for the company.

The distraction.

What is real, just a dream

Even if he doesn't say much, his presence makes a difference. We watch TV sometimes. At least...Max does. I guess it's his way of pushing back his feelings. Me, I sit there, but I'm not really there. I guess I've kind of turned into a zombie. A puppet, even. Max talks to me, even though I don't really react, or speak. I hear him though. I hear him when he tells me that his mom is crying less. Or when he tells me that his dad has basically shut down and tuned everyone out. He says his mom has nightmares about what happened, even though she wasn't there. I guess talking about how everyone else is coping, is his way of dealing.

What is real, just a dream
What is real, just a dream

Max says that he has dreams. He wants to know if I do. All I can really do is nod. He wants to know what they're about, so I tell him. I tell him that all I dream about, is her being there. I tell him that I dream about making love to her again.

I tell him that the dreams feel real and that when I wake up, I'm disoriented. That when I wake up, I can still feel her touching me. Kissing me.

What is real, just a dream

I tell him that, ever since that day I haven't been able to tell the difference. That I've been trapped somewhere in between my dreams and what's real.

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