Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

FIFTEEN

His mouth fell open as he took in my condition, and he breathed a "Fuck" before grabbing my arm and pulling me inside.

I stumbled, my legs not operating the way they used to.

"Let's go to my room," Max said hurriedly, dragging me along.

At first I had thought that it was the grief that was draining me. I've heard of people sleeping ridiculous amounts of hours in the midst of depression and sorrow. I'd also heard of losing your appetite and your ability to function.

But when the wounds from the fire started to reappear across my body, I suspected something different was going on.

"Liz?" he asked softly as I stumbled again.

He was looking at me intensely and I tried to meet his gaze through the black spots dancing before my eyes.

"I'm fine," I answered, the lie so transparent that I could as well be wearing a large neon sign with the words 'I'm actually broken' above my head.

His hand tightened around my upper arm and he searched my face. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah," I answered, trying to brush his worry away. Of course I could walk. I'd made it this far, hadn't I?

I had, in fact, managed to drive the car to his house.

He didn't need to know that I had reversed into a bin and brushed along a hedge on the way, while bordering on a blackout.

He considered my sparsely worded answer for about four seconds, before tugging sharply on my elbow, making my body collide with his.

As my legs folded underneath me in response to the abrupt movement, his arms folded around my waist and my legs turned, if possible, even less functional as they buckled as his hard body aligned with my weakened one. He pressed me up against his chest, so close that I could feel his heartbeat against my breast.

It was beating hard. Fast.

I inhaled a shaky breath as he said quietly, "Come here."

I looked up into those amber eyes of his and had time to contemplate his two-worded command for one second before he bent and moved his left arm into the hooks of my knees. Before I really knew how it had happened, Max Evans was carrying me.

Let's linger on that for a moment, shall we?

Max Evans, playboy extraordinaire and mystification personified, was carrying me.

I was too weak to react properly. My body wanted to feel elation at the feeling of him so close to me, at the sensation of my body being pressed into his, while my brain wanted to distance itself from his proximity and outright shiver at the situation.

To best describe it; I was confused. Due to my deteriorating condition since the fire, coupled with trying to get over my mother's death, I didn't have the energy to mull too much over whether Max was one of the good guys. I hadn't been able to muster up the strength to decide if I should run and hide from him, call in the law enforcement, or trust him.

Obviously, on some level I did trust him. I wouldn't be at his house right now, in my heightened state of vulnerability, if I didn't.

Max brought me up the stairs to the second floor and my lips accidentally brushed against his throat.

He pushed one of the doors at the beginning of the landing open with his foot and I closed my eyes as his scent enveloped me.

I had almost slipped away into the beckoning darkness of unconsciousness as he gently placed me on his large and unmade bed. Apparently my unscheduled visit was so early in the morning that the cleaning staff hadn't made his bed yet.