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

NINETY-ONE

He was holding her tightly. Almost protectively. Cradling her close in his arms the best he could while his quick steps kept jostling her unconscious body.

My heart was slamming violently against the inside of my ribcage, my hand clammy in my boyfriend's grasp, and I had trouble keeping up with the frantic pace.

Still, I couldn't stop myself from continuously - constantly - looking over my shoulder at my best friend - my passed out best friend - who was being carried by a person who had always intimidated me. Someone I would fight with everything I had to protect Maria from.

And now I was letting him carry her.

Without the spunk of her wakefulness, Maria appeared fragile. Her arms were long and thin, her skin light - almost white, her lips were a pale pink and her limp legs hit against the side of his thigh with every step.

Compared to her, he was as large as a house. His shoulders were broad and the ease with which he carried Maria told me that his body was well-muscled and strong. The disorder of his hair, the slightly-too-long strands sticking out in all directions, together with the focused and hard look in his eyes, made him exude wildness.

Normally, I wouldn't let a man like that get in ten feet of anyone I loved, but these weren't normal circumstances.

These were the circumstances wherein an assorted mix of friends and families fled down stairwells, unlocked hidden doors in the wooden floor and climbed down old ladders, where the pins had been moistened by old water during the span of numerous years, and the murky darkness of the awaiting underground tunnels made my heart kick off in a frenzied rhythm.

Under these circumstances, I was glad that Maria was with us, and not in any danger in the outside world. Under these circumstances, I could even look past the fact that Maria had been rendered unconscious before our flight because she would have been frightened by the dark horrors of her newly discovered reality.

Max pulled tightly on his grip around my arm as I stumbled in a dark puddle of collected old water, and prevented me from falling to my knees.

Focus, he told me sharply in my head, dark desperation and fear clouding his authoritative composure.

I blinked. Tried to get my mind back on track. Tried to find some calmness in the situation. Tried to reach deep inside myself and find that collected, rational being that I used to pat myself on the back for being.

She wasn't there.

She had made a rapid exit in the seconds following Michael making Maria unconscious. Right around the time when Max had pressed his hand against my screaming mouth and I heard the closing of the front door and the shuffling sound of several feet. A lot of feet.

The calm and methodical version of myself was nowhere to be seen when I had realized that we were indeed about to be captured. Or killed. All of us.

The reality of the situation was so surreal, so unrealistic, that my calmer self immediately gave up and abandoned me.

And here I was, stumbling after Max with my hand holding tightly onto his, damp cool air grinding against the inside of my windpipe with my ever strained breath, my feet - only wearing socks - wet and bloodied, and my muscles cramping from the constant running.

The adrenaline kept me going. The adrenaline dried up my tears. The adrenaline threatened to bump my heart out of my chest.

My head was hurting from the sharpness at which I concentrated on picking up on any sounds behind us. Sounds of being followed.

I was glad that both Michael and Alex were running behind Max and I. That my back wasn't exposed to the empty darkness of the tunnel. Where something could at any time jump out and put its claws into my back.