The meeting had been going on for two hours and I just wanted it to end.
For the first 20 minutes, I had been angry. Angry at the aliens. Angry at the mayor, angry at the world. Max had shared in my general feeling of frustration and anger, and he had followed me straight into the next feelings that were emerging; disappointment and sadness.
Disappointed that the remaining aliens couldn't even capture one alien, considering that we had done the largest part of the job for them: killing Command.
But mostly I was sad that I had got a taste of freedom and a hint of a peaceful future, only to have it ripped like a rug from under my feet. We were saddened by the fact that Max and I would probably need to obliterate the mayor as well. Which meant that we had to put ourselves in danger. Again.
Next came fear. It was brought on by the realization that, with the mayor hiding somewhere, we couldn't know when, where, or if he might strike. The overwhelming, all-consuming, drowning fear coursed through our bodies and minds like acid, distancing us from the meeting, cocooning us inside our minds and the privacy our connection provided.
There, within the connection, we alternated between trying to calm ourselves down - attempting to convince ourselves that it wouldn't be that bad and that the (good) aliens most likely would quickly locate the mayor and bring him to justice - and plummeting into deep darkness with the conviction of having no way out.
Helplessness. Constraint. Duress. Detachment. Take your pick, we felt it.
After about half an hour of that, with Max's father asking for our attention, we went into our current state of mind: apathy.
Eventually, my body was fed up with all the emotional pressure and decided to throw some very real and very physical symptom in my direction; nausea. Perhaps as a final resort to get me out of this situation. It was strong, sudden and invasive. It didn't slowly creep up my throat like it usually did, instead it instantly fired up my salivary glands, making me produce more saliva than normally, forcing me to swallow and swallow while I fisted my hands against the surface of the brown leather couch.
Max was pulling me off the couch before I had a chance to make a conscious decision about what to do next.
Before the 30 or so participants to the meeting could ask what was going on, Max explained in a hurry, "She's not feeling too good."
The meeting had grown immediately quiet and if it hadn't been for the effort it took me to concentrate on not throwing up, the silent stares that followed my hasty departure from the room would have creeped me out.
His arm was steady around my waist, his body sure and strong against my side as he quickly led me to the closest bathroom.
With only a second to spare, Max got the toilet seat up and I emptied my stomach into the bowl while barely having time to get to my knees.
The dry heaves that followed were the worst. It was always better to have something to throw up than for the stomach to have been emptied in the first go. It felt like the stomach was on fire, each continuous attempt to retch making it turn inside out with more than a little burning sensation.
I hated that Max was there. Even though he was holding my hair back, like the perfect boyfriend, while stroking my back, I hated that he had to see me like this. I worried that he would find me disgusting, that he felt forced to be there and support me even when he didn't want to.
It made me think of that time when I was unprepared for the arrival of my period and I bled all over the bed sheets. The humiliation had been horrible.
YOU ARE READING
Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √Fanfiction
I saw him right before Max did. When he did, his gasped "Fuck" magnified the jump of fear made by my body when I found myself standing merely two feet from an alien. His large bottomless black eyes were staring emptily into mine and I could see the...