I keep seeing her face when I told her that it was over, that look that crossed her eyes when I turned away and said that I don't get involved. I know she was going to cry, and man, I'm glad I didn't have to see it. It was exactly what I was afraid of in the first place. But not seeing it doesn't mean shit, I know that I hurt her. I didn't want to hurt her. I wanted to run after her and tell her immediately that I didn't mean it. That I had made a mistake. A grave error. But I can't. I feel flaccid, weak, I'm hopeless with this crap. Can't she see that I'm not the person that she needs? I'll never be that person. The person that she should be with, the man who's lips deserve to cover hers, should be someone who can love her and take care of her. Not someone like me. Not me.

Her lips. Her full, strawberry-glossed, pouty lips. I can taste the remainder of them on mine still, and I want to go to her. I want her to scream at me like I should have let her at that damn rave and not turned away from her and cut her off. I want her to go for me in anger, so I can catch her hands with mine and pull her to me again. To lift her body to mine and press it against me, to feel her heart beating beneath my chest. To taste those sweet lips between mine and to-- this is so wrong. To even want her is wrong, and I shouldn't have let it get as far as it did. I should have let her alone and left it at that one kiss, before we'd moved past one lust-filled advance to groping against the Crashdown counters.

I see myself that night; sitting in my bedroom, the sweat dripping down my chest before I went outside to get some air. I walked past Hank, drunk off his ass in front of our only fan, and sat on the trailer steps, the air so hot against my skin when I needed it to cool me, my head swimming with illicit images of her. Like a dream almost, minutes later, I was in front of the Crashdown, staring at her hungrily through the glass. It's all my fault. If I'd been strong enough to just go back inside my room and relieve myself of the thoughts on my own, I wouldn't have brought us to this moment at all. And I wouldn't have had to hurt her. It was too intense for both of us. What is it about sexual attraction that makes you do such stupid shit?

The halls of school will never be the same, the Crashdown will never be the same, I'll never be able to look at an upside-down ketchup bottle without thinking of her tight body in my arms as I effortlessly lifted her to the counter, her legs wrapped around my back as I tasted the salty sweat from above her lip. I look at my hands and I picture her skin beneath my fingers, her ribcage rippling under my touch, her body completely responding to me. The taste of her skin between my teeth. Part of the excitement was how she responded to me, it was unexpected and perfect and amazing. No one has ever made me feel so in control and uncontrollable.

She'll never look at me again, I suppose. And it's probably a good thing, too, because I still want to drag her into every dark, secluded place and ravage her entire body with my hands and my lips. We've already gone too far to come back, and I've already screwed everything up anyway. But what else is new? I've always screwed everything up. Why should this be any different?

She thinks it's her. She thinks it's that I don't want to be with her. She couldn't be further from the truth. The truth is, it's always been more than just a kiss, from the first time I caught her lips in mine and felt her hand go around my neck. It's been way more than just a simple kiss. And as much as I honestly wish that I could wave a hand and take back everything I said to her at the party, I know it's for the best. I can't let her inside of me, I can't allow her to know any more than she already does, and I can't fall in love. I can't fall in love. I wish my touch could heal her heart the way Max healed Liz from the bullet, making all of this come colliding down on all of us.

I want to be that man for her. I want to be able to give to her the things that eventually someone else will. But, I'll never be that man, because I'm not a man. I'm a fucking alien, from god only knows where, and god only knows what that really means. Right now, the only thing I can come up with is that it means that I am destined to be alone, with just Max and Isabel to lean on. There will never be a woman in my life that I can be with entirely and wholly, and I'll never be capable of anything more intense than a roll in the fucking hay, as much as my nearly empty heart can't stand the idea of that. I will never have a "soulmate", I will never have "true love". I have to push everything else out, and realize that anything beyond the surface is impossible. I only have to look at Max's control to know where I need to keep myself. Outside.

This had better be worth it.