He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up in a fascinating way. I stared, bewitched, as I slowly move into a seated position.

"How long has it been like this?" he asked breathlessly, rubbing his hands over his face, and my captivation with the beauty of Max Evans was (temporarily) broken.

"Since the fire," I mumbled.

His head snapped to mine and there were strong disbelief and incomprehension marking his features. "But I healed you."

I worried my bottom lip. "So... you really can, can you? You can heal?"

He looked away and ground out, "Yeah, I'm like the fucking Christmas miracle."

I briefly pondered the bitterness to his voice (I would've been ecstatic if I could heal, but evidently Max wasn't), before flinging a follow-up question at him, "How?"

He glanced at me and shrugged casually, before looking away and answering vaguely, "A gift from God? I don't know."

Something about his answer rubbed me the wrong way.

"So why doesn't anyone know about it? Why aren't you - or your parents - making money off this?" I've met his father; he probably wouldn't be above making money off his son. "People would pilgrimage to be healed by you. They would probably pay a lot for it too."

He rose from the chair, irritation saturating his hasty movements. I noticed how he swayed before regaining his balance; still weak from healing me.

Wow. The concept was too big for me to grasp. Still, my painless body was proof enough.

"I guess I don't want to feel like a freak, okay?" He walked over to the window, his back towards me. "And my parents are not bad people. They wouldn't do that."

"Really?" I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but Max seemed to remove all of my filters.

He sighed, his shoulders straight and tense. "Which is why you can't tell anyone about this."

"Yeah, you already told me that," I said with a hint of impatience.

I let my legs cross in a more comfortable position on his bed and asked, "What about the visions?"

He sighed and turned around, looking more like the more well-known version of Max Evans than he had since I fought to remain standing outside the front door to his house. "What visions?"

"When you..." my hands flew in the air to search for the most suitable description, "...healed me, I see things. Things from your perspective. I'm guessing they're your memories."

Max blanched. No, that would be an understatement. All color rapidly drained from his face, his mouth fell open and his eyes widened in horror.

"What..." a strangled whisper, "What do you mean?"

"I saw who hurt you that night. It was Sean Carter's father, wasn't it?"

I was observing his reactions; categorizing and putting them away for later. There was something more going on here. Not that I was an expert on people with the power to heal, but from all the 'Praise Jesus' and 'Hallelujahs' I've watched in response to seemingly gifted people putting their hands on damaged persons and fixing them, I've never heard anything about the cured getting private information or images from their healer.

He stared at me. His hands were shaking as they hung limply along his sides. His breathing was uneven and with his hair still standing in all directions, he looked like a madman about to explode.

The state of pending disaster lasted for about five seconds before something flowed through him, transforming him. The change perfectly described the phrase 'pull yourself together'. He straightened, lifted his chest and regained control over his face.

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