The last thing I remember is running down through the rocks, running until I couldn't breathe. Why was I running? I can't remember.

Then I realize I was running away from Max.

Please tell me this isn't happening, please. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Please tell me this is just a bad dream.

Suddenly I'm screaming, the sounds tearing out of my throat, in the darkness of my room. I'm screaming with my whole body, and though it's dark, bright lights dance in my eyes. With my parents' arms around me, the screams finally turn to sobs, which hurt even worse. I feel like my insides are tearing apart. Between gasps, I ask for Maria, get Maria, please get Maria.

In the morning, Maria comes and puts her arms around me and cries, but I am done crying.

***

I'm sure I'm dreaming. It has been several weeks, and I am just a spectator in my own body. I'm going through the motions of living, but real Liz is somewhere off to the side, watching it all happen.

Life is so mundane. We spend our time doing meaningless, trivial, redundant things.

Clean the coffee pot. Fill the coffee pot. Empty the coffee pot. Clean the coffee pot. Sweep the floor. Walk on the floor. Sweep the floor.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

I see images of other people, ghostly quiet, slipping past and around me like I'm not there. I know they are speaking sometimes, I know I answer them, but I can't hear what I'm saying.

I'm just going to stay here for a while, until I can stand to hear noises again. It's so peaceful, in a way. But the pain is there, just below the surface; it feels like an ocean, rising and falling with each breath I take. As long as I breathe shallow, the ocean stays calm.

***

And then suddenly, one day, I'm awake. I lie here, in the quiet of my room, breathing shallow. Then I go over to Maria's, and I ask how long it has been since, you know, and she hesitates, then tells me.

Two months.

I almost disappear again, but something keeps me here, I don't know what. I just know that I couldn't go back to that place. Though I can't say being awake is any better.

Now, sometimes, I wonder where he is. I know it hurt him to watch me go, but he didn't say anything when I turned around, and looked at him one last time. He didn't ask me to stay. I can't blame him, though. I knew that he couldn't. There was no place for me there, no matter how much either of us wanted it to be different. I knew that I had to leave, to give him a chance to become what he was truly meant to be. With me there, he would have been too vulnerable. I couldn't live with myself if being with me put him in even more danger, or ended up getting him, or one of the others, killed. I had no choice.

But if he had asked me to stay, I don't know what I would have done.

Strange things have been happening around the world and I know it is connected with the signal, the other aliens. It tells me that he is still alive, and that they are doing what they were meant to do. I knew Max would be a good leader. He is so strong, so responsible. He would die before letting anything happen to any of them. I wish it made me feel better to know this.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly sorry for myself, I wonder if he has given in and taken Tess into his arms, and let her hold him in the darkness.

I don't want him to be alone. I mean, I know he has always had Michael and Isabel, but it's not the same thing. He needs someone who will touch him, and even if that can't be me, I don't wish that it isn't anyone else, even if that means it's Tess. I know that sounds crazy coming from me, but I really mean it.

I wonder if he will ever be able to love her the way he loved me, though. I wonder that about myself, too. Not because of some romantic notion that we are the only two people in the world either of us could be with; that's not true. It's something else. When we kissed for the last time, I felt a tremor go through both of us, a tiny seismic shiver. I stared into his eyes, and my mouth fell open as I felt the space between us suddenly become a tangible thing. I can still feel it in me, that space. I think it's probably in both of us, for good.

But things have quieted down here, and every so often, I notice something beautiful, like the smell of the rain. It makes me think that maybe I will make it through this. Maybe my life will be better. Maybe Max will come back for me. Or maybe I will find someone else to love.

Yeah, I wish I could believe that one.

***

I'm dying. It figures.

I know, it sounds so melodramatic, like any teenager who loses her first boyfriend and is convinced that her world has ended. But I'm not a typical teenager, which hasn't always been fun, let me tell you.

The reason that I think I might be dying is that I can feel something is terribly wrong with me, inside. Something physical. It feels really strange, like a silence, an emptiness, that is slowly spreading.

Even more strange is my detachment from it.

My parents are worried, but they think I'm just suffering from "young love", I think I heard one of their friends call it. There is no such thing. Love is old. Love doesn't honor wishes, or boundaries. Love doesn't stop for death or loss. Love exists, whether you do or not. Love is without fear.

I know I love Max. When we were together, neither of us was afraid of anything, and right now, I guess the only thing I fear is a life without him. I don't even fear death. Which is a good thing, since I think it might be coming much sooner than I ever expected.

***

Things have gotten interesting around here.

Given the evidence I have collected, I am fairly certain that, for some reason, I can't survive without Max. Literally. On a physical level.

I have a theory. I know this will sound crazy, but I think that something changed in me when I connected with him. Maybe it has to do with human energy, or chemistry, or something. Maybe each human being has their own energy source, or field, and somehow, my connection with Max disrupted or changed mine. Maybe Max became my energy source. Maybe my energy field became part of his.

Maybe I'm out of my mind.

But that doesn't change the fact that I've observed, with clinical interest, as my body has become more gaunt, my bones more prominent. I hide it well, with baggy clothes and a jealously guarded solitude, but when I take some time, every few days, to strip and look in the mirror, I let myself see the truth. I even take notes.

When you see the truth, it's always a good idea to take notes.

Oh, and a few days ago, the handprint on my torso showed up again. I wasn't really surprised. It's actually a nice reminder of when I died once before.

I guess I can't say that I want to live without Max all that badly, but I don't have an overwhelming need to end it all, either. That's why I believe that this is happening on a physical level, and that I can't control it. I can't just decide I want to live and have it work out that way. Which is almost a relief, in a way; I don't have to make a choice. I can just watch and learn.

At least it has been fairly painless so far, other than the constant ache in my bones. I'm pretty sure that if I went in for tests, they would find some kind of cancer spreading throughout my body. But I don't want to give it a name. If this is the only thing I have left from being with Max, then I don't want to fight it. It's a part of me now.

I don't want to be distracted from the process. I want to understand, before I die, what happened to me.

So I cradle my solitude like a baby, so that no one will interfere with this journey I'm taking.

***

It hasn't rained in months.

I have grown steadily weaker and more fragile, and my eyes have grown large and deep and dark. But mostly the changes are inside, now. Part of me just wants to let go sometimes, but something still keeps me here, in my body. Maybe it's hope. Maybe it's just a tenuous, primal addiction to the mechanics of breathing.

What did Max say? When things get intense, sometimes we see things.

Well, tonight, all of a sudden, I saw him, a clear flash of him. I could tell that the others were nearby and that they were all alive. That should have been reassuring, right? What scared me was the look in his eyes. They were two pools of darkness, deep as the ocean, like mine. Then, suddenly, he laughed quietly for a moment. I have never heard anything so awful.

At that moment, I knew that he was dying, too.

This can't be happening. I left him to his destiny to protect him, to give him a chance to live. But maybe I got it all wrong. I can barely bring myself to ask this question, but what if neither of us can survive if we're apart? I can't believe I'm actually thinking this, but what if it's true?

That thought sends a sudden surge of adrenalin singing through my body. I have to find him. I can't let him do this. Max can heal himself, I know he can. I just hope it's not too late. I've got to get to him before it's too late.

I stand up too quickly, looking around for, I don't know, what to do next, I suppose, and suddenly I can't hear anything but static, and everything fades into darkness.

***

Mom found me lying on the floor; the adrenalin rush was probably too much of a shock. I'm lying down in my room and I can hear my parents talking downstairs. They want to take me to the hospital, I think, and then I won't be able to get away. I have to go now or I won't make it out of here.

I put some clothes on. Then I sit still for a long time, to prepare for what I know is going to happen. To find him and try to help him, I will have to let myself feel again. I will have to breathe. I exhale, and for the first time, I slowly take a long, deep breath into my body. It fills my aching lungs, swirling in a deep whirlpool.

Without warning, though I knew it would come, the pain swells up inside me. It's different than I imagined it would be, though it's still like the ocean; it comes in waves, rising up and crashing into my body. But it's almost manageable. The months have given me some distance, I think, from my grief. It has been tempered by acceptance.

It still hurts a lot, though, and my physical condition isn't the best. But, either I'm going to die right now, or I'm going to ride this wave to the end, and then maybe I can lie down and rest. That thought is the only thing that keeps me going.

I don't know what I can do to change what is happening to Max, but I have to try. It will probably be the last thing I do. I'm ok with that.

I stand up, and I feel surprisingly light. I climb out the window, lower myself down the ladder, and start walking. My brain tells me that he could be anywhere in the world, or the universe; but my heart tells me he is in the cave. I walk faster.

I notice an unfamiliar, metallic taste. There's blood in my throat. I swallow it and keep going.

***

I sense a change in the air. The heat from the day radiates up from the dry rocks and sand, but there is a waiting feeling, and suddenly I see clouds swelling up over a ridge in the distance. There's a rumble from far off. A storm is coming, I think.

Suddenly I think I'm having another vision, but then I realize it's just a fantasy, the one that kept recurring night after night, until I willed it to stop. But it has come back to haunt me.

I don't know where this is coming from; I gave up self-torture a long time ago. Hope and grief are a terrible combination. I have no reason to want to escape where I am right now, but rather than shut it down, I let myself open up to it; maybe there is a reason this is happening.

Maybe because I don't fight it, it takes on a life of its own, and I just watch the scene play out, like a movie behind my eyes.

I see him come to the Crashdown at night, while I am sweeping the floor. I suppose I can't help but be a realist even in my fantasies, so of course I notice how tired I feel, and I think that I must look awful. Suddenly he is standing there, looking at me. I sway, feeling the world start to move under my feet, as I stare back.

He stands very still and watches me cautiously, like he's scared that I'm going to run away. Never mind that I couldn't run right now if I tried. But I shake my head and look away, because I don't really believe he is there, that this is just some cruel trick. I am always so practical, even in my dreams. But then I hear his voice, he says my name, and there is so much pain in it that I can't help but look at him again. My eyes meet his, and suddenly I find myself hoping that he is real, and hope after so long feels like dying. Suddenly I am lost in the dark depths of his eyes and I start to fall. I didn't see him move, but I feel his arms around me, his warm breath in my hair, I hear him swallowing his tears and sobbing my name. I take a deep breath, and let out the tears I've kept in for so long.

No, I will not cry. I angrily push the dream away and move faster, leaping from rock to rock - anger, that's good, maybe that will keep me going.

***

I don't know how many hours it has been, and I don't know where I am, I'm stumbling and half-crawling more than walking. My eyes are open but I can't see much of anything anymore. I'm so very tired. Finally, I just lie down on the ground. I know that I don't have much time left. This was crazy, I should have known it wouldn't work. I will never make it back home.

He can't hear me, but I say the words out loud anyway, into the cool desert air.

I'm sorry Max. I couldn't find you. I didn't know where to go. I wasn't strong enough to get there.

I love you.

Then suddenly I'm crying hard for the first time in so long I can't remember that far back.

After a while, I stop crying and just look out into the darkness, and then I feel the first few drops of rain. I think that there are worse places I could be, I suppose. Just lying here is so peaceful, in a way. I turn on my side in the dust, cradling my head on my arm, and watch little puffs rise as the drops land on the parched earth. I notice that metallic taste again, and realize that blood is dripping from somewhere in me onto the ground.

I just realized why I love the smell of the rain. It smells like him.