posted on 15-Sep-2002 11:41:01 PM by sugarplum17
Title: Comfortably Numb

Author: sugarplum17

Disclaimer: I can't stake claim on the characters from the television show Roswell. They belong to people who never appreciated them anyway. Title comes from a Pink Floyd song.

Summary: Imagine a world where Liz never old Maria and Alex the secret.

Author's Note(s): This fic is a way to work out my pain. It's about pain and sadness and anger. It's about losing a friend who's still alive.

Comfortably Numb 1/1

I watch them together from my lunch table in the quad, hunched over their table talking amongst themselves secretively, casting suspicious glances every which way. As if someone other than me is staring at them. My eyes linger on the brunette for a few more minutes before turning away with a mixture of sadness and anger making up my facial expression.

The person who sits at that other table, I don't even know anymore, and it makes me sad to think that. The person who sits across the quad, hunched over the lunch table and talking secretively is a stranger to me now and it saddens me to realize that someone who was so much a part of me and my identity is no longer someone I can say that I know. For years, we had been the best of friends, practically inseparable. Someone had once said we were married to each other, and our own respective parents said that we were glued at the hip. We had cried together, comforted each other, laughed with each other and now we don't.

It tore me up inside to see us drifting apart, and I had voiced how much it hurt on many occasions. But there was nothing I could do. I can't make someone hear something that they don't want to. I blame them to be honest with you. They have sucked my friend into something and I don't know what, but I've always wanted to find out. He says to leave it alone that there's nothing we can do about it and that it's part of life for people to change. But I can't fathom someone changing so much in a year that they're completely unrecognizable to me.

I sat there and watched as my best friend went out and made new friends, leaving me behind in her dust. It all started when we were sophomores. That was when I first felt the gentle breeze blow between us. It blew across the distance and chilled my bones as if we were entering a place of eternal winter. Now, we're so deep in that place that it blows like a blizzard. So hard that I can't even see a thread of the friendship that we once shared.

Alex told me that when people go through something like that, when they come so close to losing their life and to dying, that it can change a person. He says that we just have to accept it and move on, because there isn't anything that we can do about it, no matter how much we want to we can't. He cares, even though he tries to pretend that he doesn't, I know he does. He's held me in his arms while my tear ducts were open like a leaky faucet and dripping onto his hooded sweat shirt, all the while trying to pretend that he didn't want to cry too.

It probably would have been better if she had died that day in September, to be honest. It would probably hurt us less. To know that our friend is dead to us but somewhere out there, watching over us, smiling down on all we do, and guiding us toward the right decision and keeping us safe . . . it seems so much better than knowing that she's out there alive and well. Living a new life that we aren't apart of, with her new friends that don't acknowledge us, and a new side of herself that we've never seen.

These days when Mr. Parker asks me why his A plus daughter has suddenly become a C student, it's barely a lie when I tell him I don't know. These days when Mrs. Parker sees me outside the restaurant and asks me why I don't come visit anymore, it's not even a lie when I tell her I don't know. These days I don't know a lot. I don't know where Liz disappears to when she cuts class, or where she is when she doesn't come home and Mrs. Parker calls me frantically asking me if I've seen Liz, or if I know where she is or where she might be. These days when Sheriff Valenti stops by my house to ask me whether or not I've seen Liz and tells me that she's been missing for three days, I can't offer any information. I can't tell him that I saw her yesterday, or that I talked to her an hour ago, or that she's not missing she's in my room. I can't tell him that I know where she is or who she's with, or why she's run away this time. He accepts it and doesn't seem too worried, which leads me to believe that he knows more than I do. Maybe he does? These days it's just us, Maria Deluca and Alex C. Whitman. These days, I'm numb to all things Liz Parker. These days I'm comfortable being by myself, and hanging out with Alex. I'm comfortable with the void on my couch where Liz should be but isn't. These days, I'm comfortably numb.

The End

[ edited 5 time(s), last at 17-Sep-2002 4:29:00 PM ]
posted on 16-Sep-2002 5:14:27 PM by sugarplum17
Thanks for the feedback.