More human interaction after one night in Roswell than in sixteen whole years in New York.

And I liked it.

I liked seeing myself in those warm eyes. Liked seeing their faces light up. Liked watching the tail lights of a stolen Camaro speed further and further away from me.

I feel like I'm finally free. Free to speak. Free to smile. Free to think. Free to grieve.

For weeks, I've had nothing but buzzing in my head. Grinding noise like an industrial strength fan. And not just from all the dope Rath scored us before we hit the road. Taking a toke or two did nothing to quiet the sound. The sound of tires squealing. Of bones crunching. The sound that my heart made when there was Zan...and suddenly there wasn't. I loved him. I loved him for two lifetimes. Programmed or not, it came naturally to us. Before we even knew it had a name, we knew we were meant to be. It came naturally to lose our cherries together on my thirteenth birthday. It came naturally to share our thoughts with just one look. It came naturally to stand by each other no matter what. It came naturally every night of our lives except the one I'll never forget.

I didn't stand by him then. I didn't die with him.

Maybe I should have.

But I forgot. Just for one instant, I forgot how to love.

Rath and Lonnie don't know what love is. They couldn't possibly. They just know how to fuck and to fuck over. Each other. Me. Zan. Me & Zan. We should've died together. Maybe, in that instant as the truck sped up, I would've finally felt alive. Felt like more than a piece of soiled flesh, a used memory.

But then I wouldn't have had the chance to walk in the darkness tonight. To see what I missed...what Zan and I missed our entire lives. What we could've had if we'd been born here.

Six people smiled at me. Five said "have a good night." Four told me there was a party at Billy Easton's house on the other side of town. Three said "hey, love your hair!" Two gave me strange looks. And one called me by someone else's name.

A human boy with bright blue eyes.

He called me "Tess." The name of the girl who rode off with someone who looks like my Zan, but isn't. The girl who looks like me, but isn't. The girl who is really the Bride, really the Royal. "Coming home from a party, Tess?" he asked, eyebrows quirking at my outfit and the piercings he thought were clip-ons.

If I'd met him on a street in another city, he might've ended up dead for asking the question. Dead or at least riding high on a wave of X by the end of the night. But here in Roswell, there was no one to stop me from smiling. From hearing the word "home".

I nodded "yes."

And we walked there together. A house. A real house. A *home*.

He's lying next to me now...in a real bed.

Beautifully weak and asleep.

He didn't seem to mind that I tore at his clothes. That my hair stayed purple and didn't come off in his hands. That I cried as I fucked him. He certainly didn't mind the barbell in my tongue. He took it all at face value. He accepted it.

Every time he called out "Tess", the buzzing in my head cleared just a little bit more. The tears poured down my face just a little bit faster. And every memory of Zan I have flashed before my eyes. Zan who is not Max or this human boy, Kyle. Zan...with his dark hair and his dark eyes and the beard that always tickled my belly. Zan...who will never call out *my* name again.

Tess is lucky.

I hope she knows that.

*They* are lucky, this four who have each other and so much more.

She's lucky. She's loved.

And I'm alone.

But I think I like it.