It had been three days since Max had overheard Michael's conversation with his sister. Three days since he had last left the sanctity of his room. He didn't even go for food any longer, simply eating the pre-packaged food that he already had stored in his room. His pain had become numbness and he simply couldn't find the energy to care about anything any longer. The only reason he got up now was because the need to shower overwhelmed him. He was beginning to feel sticky and he didn't need that unpleasantness on top of everything else.

Hefting himself to his feet, he groaned as his unused muscles screamed in protest at the movement. He ignored the pain. It meant nothing. Life meant nothing to him, not now. Liz was with Kyle and would never be his again. He would never get to touch her or hold her, see her smiling up at him or kiss her lips. Never again would he get to watch her sleep or hear those breathy little moans she made when he kissed that one spot on her neck. All of that was Kyle's now.

He was supposed to move on with his life, that was her intention when she left him that day. For him to fulfill his destiny. To Liz, that meant being with Tess. Tess, who he didn't love, hell didn't even like much. Tess who he tolerated simply because she was one of them. Now he was supposed to spend the rest of his life fighting off a species that enslaved and killed his race while being tied into a marriage with someone he could barely put up with. Well, fuck that. As long as Isabel and Michael were fighting against their newfound, prearranged relationship, they couldn't bitch at him for doing the same.

Grabbing the handle to his bedroom door, he yanked it open and stood frozen at the sight before him. Standing in the doorway to his sister's room were Isabel and Michael. Having just pulled away from a shared kiss, they now had their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Isabel's cheek rested on his shoulder and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

As their grip on one another loosened, Isabel opened her eyes to see Max's furious countenance looming out of his bedroom door. "Max," her lips formed the word and her eyes went wide as she realized he had seen the exchange between the two. Quickly, guiltily, she pulled away from Michael and turned to explain.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said coldly before Isabel could speak. "I wouldn't want my presence to prevent the two of you from whatever activities you had planned."

"Max, it's not what you…"

He turned on her before she had a chance to continue. "Tell me Iz, how easy was it for you to ditch Alex like a dog by the roadside before you ran into Michael's arms?"

Isabel looked away from his gaze, hurt by his accusations.

"Look, Max your jumping…"

Max aimed his wrathful tongue at Michael next, silencing him with his vehemence. "How about you? Didn't take you long to leave Maria's side and jump into my sister's bed, did it? But then again, you've never had anyone love you before. I guess that makes it easier."

Max walked briskly past the pair and into the bathroom, slamming the door before either could say another word.

He couldn't explain his anger. It was irrational to say the least. But why should Isabel and Michael be able to accept something he could not? He was the strong one, the leader. If any of them should be able to acknowledge what they were supposed to be and live up to those expectations, it should be him.

He could hear Isabel's ragged sobs from the other side of the door, Michael's hushed attempts to soothe her. He never should have taken his anger out on the two of them, it only made him feel worse and he hadn't realized that was possible. Breathing heavily with his bottled up emotion, he slapped his hands down onto the bathroom counter, hanging his head. He tried desperately to regain control, taking long deep breaths.

Looking up into the mirror, he was shocked by the reflection that stared back at him. His eyes had deep, black smears beneath them and his face was covered in thick, patchy stubble. The pallor of his skin was shocking, the gauntness of his features, even under several days worth of facial hair, was glaringly obvious. He ran his hands through his dirty, greasy hair and heaved a great sigh before turning the shower water up as hot as he could tolerate and stepping in.

Grabbing the soap from its dish in the tub, he quickly and efficiently scrubbed his body down. He squeezed a blob of shampoo into his hands and massaged it into his scalp and then stood, letting the hot spray pound into his body. The overwhelming urge to cry struck him like a physical blow. He had screwed up everything. Ruined the lives of everyone around him, all to save the life of a girl he loved beyond all reason. A girl he could never be with, who chose not to be with him.

He felt the tears prickling the back of his eyelids, but refused to give in to them. Whatever pain he was now in, he had brought upon himself. He deserved this hollow ache inside him and he would not allow himself the emotional release he knew tears would bring. Sticking his head under the showerhead, he let the water flush the shampoo from him. It stung his eyes as the suds ran down his face, but he refused to move. After all the agony he had caused, he could endure this simple pain. Glancing down to assure that all the soap was rinsed from his body, he stepped from the shower, turning off the water as he did so.

He grabbed a towel and briskly rubbed his body down, running it over his hair as well, before wrapping it around his waist and tucking the end in place. His skin was flushed a light pink from both the vigorous rubbing of the terry cloth and the warmth of his shower water. He barely noticed. Wiping the steam from the mirror, he picked up a can of shaving foam and lathered his face.

He looked at the razor he now held in his hand with a furrowed brow for a moment before realizing that no matter how much he hated his life, he wasn't that much of a coward. Even with his behavior lately, too many people still loved him and he could never put them through his death. His shook off those thoughts and quickly shaved away the expanse of hair that covered his face. After rinsing the remaining lather with hot water, he slapped on his after-shave, enjoying the sting it left behind.

He trudged back down the hall towards his room, hearing muffled voices as he past his sister's room, but seeing no one. Maybe they were locked in her room having comfort sex, he thought with repulsion. Walking into his room, he slammed the door shut behind him, startling the blonde girl sitting on his bed.

"Max! You scared me."

"Get out, Tess," he growled at her, walking to his dresser to pull out some clothes. If he had to pick the one person on this planet he least wanted to see, much less talk to, it would be the tow-headed girl behind him. What fucking nerve she had to barge into his room like this after destroying everything he had!

"Max," her false, saccharine voice continued. "I just want to help. I know things have been…difficult lately, but if you'd just let someone…"

"Leave, Tess. You're not wanted here." With a sudden clarity he realized that maybe everyone's misery didn't lie solely on his shoulders. His saving Liz may have brought attention to their alien nature, thus endangering them, but they had all been quite content, almost happy in their new found loves and friendships until she had come along.

"Max," he felt her body heat behind him, her arms wrapping around his torso as she brought her body in contact with him. Her hands stroked along his chest and he felt her hot breath on his ear as she continued. "We were meant to be together. You heard the message, too. We belong together."

"No," he said forcefully, pushing her hands from him. "I don't want to be with you, Tess."

She lifted her hands again, this time settling them low on his waist, toying with the edge of the towel that covered him. "It won't be that bad, Max. I can do things to you that you'd never dream of doing with sweet little Liz."

His jaw tightened as he fought to ignore the feel of her hands against his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he tried to control his fury over the way she had casually thrown out that comment about Liz. He could tell by the direction that her hands were moving exactly the sort of things she thought she could do to him. Reaching around, he settled his hands over hers, holding her wrists rigidly to prevent them from moving any lower. He heard her sigh as she pressed in even closer, raising up so she was level with his ear, letting her tongue graze the sensitive flesh behind in as she said, "Do you find me that horrid?"

He thrust her hands away from him and turned to face her. "You just don't get it do you? You've ruined EVERYTHING in my life! Everything that meant anything to me has been destroyed by you!" He acknowledged the fact that he was screaming at her and that his grip on her wrists must surely have caused her pain, but he didn't care. She deserved his rage. Shoving her away from him, his gaze shifted and he found himself staring at the floor as a wave of anguish swept over him. His anger had left him to be swiftly replaced by regret. "You've taken everything good in my life and demolished it." The timbre of his voice had changed to a low, vacuous sound.

"I know it may seem that way to you now Max, but none of this is my fault. I didn't choose this life for you, for us. I was merely the messenger." She approaching him again cautiously, as one would approach a skittish animal, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders. "Won't you at least give me a chance? Is being alone and living locked up here avoiding everyone, really better than being with me?" When he didn't offer an answer to her question, she raised up onto her toes and pressed her lips firmly to his, holding his face steady between her hands.