I think I like it.

I like that he didn't really ask me to come with him, that he just assumed. And I like that he's not pretending it means something. That none of them are. They don't see me. I am just a seat filler. A replacement. It's refreshing to see the blankness instead of the forced politeness or the blatant hatred. It's refreshing to hear no lies in this Camaro as it zips across state lines. Hear no lies, see no illusions. Especially the ones of my own making.

With every mile that takes us farther away from Roswell, I get more certain that I shouldn't have left. That, somehow, I'm going to be forgotten. But then I remember that I all ready AM forgotten...and I press my nose to the dirty glass and try not to laugh as the trees whiz by in a blur.

I feel like I'm finally free. Free to be silent. Free to frown. Free to think. Free to rage internally.

For months, I've had nothing but emptiness in my head...nothing but a smile on my face. Like a Barbie doll. Complete with plastic packaging and accessories. I come with make-up, manners, and mass murder. Take your pick. Which is the real me? I'm not even sure *I* know. And then comes another version of me...a distorted mirror image. Punk Barbie Tess. Ava. Or am I another version of *her*? Or are we both versions of someone else? Someone neither of us fully remembers. We're both dolls. Engineered facsimiles that are variations of an original. Switch our clothes and hair... are we the same?

It gets harder and harder to keep my head empty. To keep the questions and the doubts down.

Did she cry when he died? Would I cry if Max died? Max or Isabel or Michael. Would I cry if Kyle died? Do I even have tears inside me? Do I really belong with all these people who don't even like me? Why don't I leave? Why can't I walk away from them like she did earlier tonight?

But I know the answers to those questions all ready. Even if I'm not ready to face them.

I know why I almost fucked Kyle a few weeks ago.

I know why I enveloped the Skins in flames without even thinking and lifted up my face to feel their ashes.

I know why I continue to ask "how high?" when the others tell me to jump.

I know, now, why Nasedo brought me to Roswell.

Everything outside the windows is dark. The radio is blaring some godawful scream that passes for music. I think Lonnie is giving Rath head up front because he keeps swerving. And Max hasn't said a word since we left.

I think he finally fell asleep. He is slouched against the other window, as far from me as he can get, but his arm is outstretched. The tips of his fingers almost touch mine.

With every word Max doesn't speak to me, I grow more convinced that we will be close some day. More convinced that he will eventually trust me some day. And more convinced that I will not care by then.

But I'm going to smile when it's light again....when the car stops. I know that much. I'll be ready with the sweetness, with the quiet support of a proper bride. With the neediness of an adoring puppy. With the emotions simmering down below the surface, ready to incinerate another group of people who might raise arms against a man who isn't even really mine.

I'll bet Ava never had to fake it.

She loved Zan. Zan loved her. I can picture him. A dark-eyed, dark-haired boy...probably dirtier than the version next to me. Probably a worse dresser. Probably more focused. Definitely dead. But at least she had him for sixteen years. At least she didn't have to question her destiny...to hear him say someone else's name like he should've been saying hers...to look into a pair of blue, very human, eyes and wonder if her only other choice lay in their depths.

Ava is lucky.

I hope she knows that.

*They* are lucky...this three who have no illusions, no ties, and nothing to miss.

She's lucky. She's free.

And I'm trapped.

But I think I like it.