"Liz? Liz? Can you hear me?"

"Oh baby, you're bleeding."

I looked down at my scraped knee, feeling the steering of the bicycle jut into my thigh as it laid in odd angles on the ground. The blood was running down my leg and I swallowed, my field of vision shrinking with building panic.

My mom's face hovered in front of the horror, grabbing my chin to make me look at her. "Are you okay, honey?"

"What did she see? Did she see you?"

"Shut up, Michael. She might hear you."

"No... no, she's unconscious. I can't get in."

There were soft touches against my cheeks, across my forehead. They were warm but fleeting. I struggled to pull myself out of the darkness, but it was too hard.

"How much has she had to drink?"

"How the hell should I know?!"

"Look!" a 7-year-old Maria called out, her fingers covered in white paint. As I watched, she put her fingers to the pink wall of my bedroom and traced a white line over the wallpaper. "I'm making the wall glow."

Fear grabbed me. "No, Ria. They will see."

Maria continued to paint. "It's beautiful. Look!"

"Mom will be angry," I tried.

The edges of the surroundings glowed brighter, forcing me to squint in the brightness. It only lasted for a couple of seconds before it snapped back to its original. Well, almost.

A 7-year-old dark-haired boy had taken Maria's place. He turned to look at me with a small secretive smile lingering on his lips. "I can make it glow, too."

Without a trace of paint on his fingers, the top of the boy's index finger started to glow white and I felt the ground move beneath my feet, my hands tremble in fear, as his finger created long squiggly lines on my pink wallpaper.

When he was done, he took a step back and smiled at me brightly. "See?"

I looked at the wall and his 'masterpiece'. His magic finger had painted three letters. L.I.Z.


The voice was so familiar, but simultaneously unknown. That voice was usually mocking, arrogant or amused. In that one short word I could only hear worry and fear. It made me fight harder to get back, to push away the darkness.

"Should we take her to the hospital? She might need to get her stomach pumped?" Isabel's voice. She also sounded concerned.

"And risk her blabbering about what she saw?" Michael. He was not concerned. Well, not about my well-being at least.

"Why didn't you search the room?" Isabel again.

"Oh excuse me. I didn't know I was supposed to look behind desks." Michael, tense and angry.

"We need to get her off the floor." It was that worried voice again. Max.

I had troubles regaining full consciousness, but still felt his touch - in every cell of my body - when he pushed his arms between the floor and my slack body and scooped me upwards. I felt the warmth from his chest as I was pressed against it, felt the heat from his skin as my head lolled into the crook of his neck.

"What if she saw? Could you make her forget?"

Against the background of Isabel's agitated voice, my body was slightly jostled along with the feeling of flying, before softness graced my back and Max's body pulled away.

Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) ·  √Read this story for FREE!