|posted on 15-Jul-2002 11:14:31 PM by haunted|
Description: In a marriage that he hates, Max is forced to find solace in Boston with the woman that he loves. Kinda Dark.
He sighed as he watched the clouds pass him by, the noon sun dancing across his face as the plane pressed forward, away from Roswell, the wife he did not love, and the problems that he’d never asked to take on, but were always forced upon him. It was his monthly business trip, of course, this was merely a cover, hardly any business occurred on these vacations from his monotonous life – wake up, eat breakfast, get kids to school, come home, eat dinner, get kids in bed, go to sleep, there was no love in Roswell, there hadn’t been for years, which forced him on these trips, always to Boston, always to his true love.
Secretly, a part of him knew that it was wrong, unconventional, for him to do this to his wife, who had remained loyally by his side for years, ever since high school, they had been bound together by a secret, a connection that he resented with his entire being. Fate had interesting ways of working, he noted, for it was cruel chance that had created life within her womb that night, another teenage pregnancy, however, unlike most, she had no choice, she was forced to keep it for fear that an abortion might reveal their secret. Yes, because of his alien blood, he was given a son, Zan, who had his dark eyes and raven hair, when he was merely a child himself; seventeen was hardly the proper age to be a father, even if he was a king in another life, on another planet.
His amber eyes searched the empty aisle way, landing on a petite stewardess who was blushing slightly, beneath the caked on make up, causing him to smile slightly, his eyes darkening with desire – she looked just like her. Sighing, he turned away, his mind now filled with images of his love in their bed, covered with white rose petals, her soft skin illuminated by the pale moon light. He loved to watch her sleep, the soft rise and fall of her chest was his only solace in the chaos of his being, she was his balance and even though he knew that they could never be more than lovers, he had a duty to his wife and children; she had one to her husband, Kyle, he yearned for the moments where he could merely brush away the stray tendril of hair that had fallen across her face in the middle of the night, the few stolen kisses.
Her body was perfect, small, petite, agile, unlike his wife, her breasts were still round and erect, having not been dragged down by age and childbirth, her eyes still filled with life, not hardships of war. He craved that innocence about her, that even through their secret rendezvous she could still manage to be pure, untainted, no harder than she was in the days of her youth, when her smile would brighten all of West Roswell High School.
Thrown from his thoughts by the bland plea for all tray tables to be in their upright position, he focused again on the window, the trees, houses, rivers coming into view and he felt his anticipation growing with every second, he needed to be with her again, to breathe the untainted air around her. The wheels crashed down upon the pavement of the runway, momentarily jolting his thoughts of her soft, supple lips, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t know that he had been holding just as the flight attendant cheerily stated, “Welcome to Boston.”