Unbreakable - Surviving the Truth · (Roswell Fanfiction) ·

THREE

"It was just a dream," he whispered and I curled up in his embrace, pressing my nose into the warm indent at the bottom of his throat between his collarbones.

"I know," I replied in a whisper, the barely dried salty tears making my cheeks feel oddly stiff and changing the quality of my voice. "I know."

He was threading his fingers through my hair, moving his hand soothingly down my back and then back up to my head again. The movement was slow and repetitive, quietly pulling me back from the dream.

"Why do I have these nightmares?" I mumbled after minutes of silence. 

I had always been plagued by nightmares. For as long as I could remember. They had escalated after the death of my mother, but regardless nightmares had always been a part of my life. 

"I don't know," he replied. After a long pause, he added, "Maybe it's your mind trying to deal with things. Maybe even giving you clues."

"How do you mean?"

My arms were bent between my breasts, squeezed tightly between us, while leaving my fingers free to slowly roam a small area of his well-shaped bare chest. His chest was still thin, his muscles not as filled out as they had been, his skin not the warm bronze color I had become used to.

He hesitated before answering. "There is still so much we don't know about parims. About what we are. Maybe your nightmares are a part of that."

I frowned. "Why would the parim status - if it's supposed to be so pure and good - give me nightmares?"

He shifted slightly, entangling his legs with mine, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm thinking that it might be because you're so good, the evil of this world is too much for you to handle. Instead it seeps into your unconsciousness." His Adam's apple bopped against the tip of my nose as he swallowed. "Maybe it's a consequence of all those memory erasures you have endured when growing up."

When I didn't say anything, he shrugged, "Or maybe you're simply having nightmares and there's no reason for it."

"Maybe," I mumbled in a small voice.

We laid like that for several minutes, our legs entwined, our chests pressed tightly together, my breath warming a spot on his skin, and his ruffling the air above my head.

"Do you want me to leave you alone again?"

His quiet request made my stomach coil. I was struck with immeasurable guilt for making him feel unwanted and for having pushed him away earlier. The very real risk of having to sleep alone again prickled along my arms and legs with acidic intensity. Sleeping without Max next to me usually resulted in worst nightmares. Making the monsters more real and the evil darker.

"No," I whispered brokenly and pressed my cheek as hard as I could against his skin. "Don't leave. Don't leave me alone."

It was not until his body relaxed at my words that I realized how tense he had been, which didn't particularly ease my bad conscience for how I had reacted earlier. 

"I haven't known for long," he said then. He was controlling his thoughts enough to not let me read him ahead of what he was saying, making me grow silent in anticipation of his next words.

"I should have known," he continued. "I should have found the fetus when I scanned your body after we had sex in the bathroom."

The memory flashed through my mind. The memory of Max taking me against the wall after removing me from that meeting with his father, when Mr. Evans had shown us his memories of Max and I as young. I was reminded of Max's reaction at the time. Of how betrayed by the connection he had felt. How he had felt manipulated by it, as if we were not in control of our own bodies or urges.