Title: The Perfect One

Author: Courtney

Email: MsDawCreek@aol.com

Rating: PG-13

Category: Isabel/Alex, Alex's POV

Summary: Alex thinks about his relationship with the girl of his dreams.

Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to David, Jason, Melinda, et al. The lyrics belong to Lit from the song Perfect One off the album A Place in the Sun.

Distribution: Post it if you want, just email me with the site address and keep my headers on the story. Thanks.

Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from. I have just been wanting to write an Alex/Isabel fic for a while and this song just sounded so much like Alex to me.

Thank you: I have to mention Miri, Brandi, and Elizabeth for reading this over and giving me their opinions. Thank you, thank you, thank you! :-)

My Fanfic site: http://courtney.simplenet.com/fanfiction/roswell




THE PERFECT ONE
By Courtney

I'm an ordinary man
With an ordinary life
Does she know that I'm alive?
Man she's really something else . . .
You're the perfect one
And I don't expect a thing from you at all
You're the perfect one
And I can't even breathe . . .
I get weak when she's around
I can't speak when she's around
Yeah she turns me upside down
Man she's really something else . . .
*******


Jerk. Prick. Asshole. These are all words you'd associate with the average high school guy, right? The guys that take you to a party and spend half the night watching some cheerleader in a mini-skirt. The guys that forget to call you half the time. The ones that take you to a football game and a keg party instead of dinner and a movie. The individuals with no real appeal to any girl with half a brain . . . so why does every girl in high school want to date these guys while the nice, loyal, considerate ones sit at home on the weekends and dream about that girl who won't give them the time of day?

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the sixty-four thousand-dollar question. That's the one that keeps me up at night. It's the quandary that is quickly and effectively ruining my whole entire life as I forgo everything else in the world in pursuit of that one perfect, untouchable goddess. Isabel Evans.

I flop back onto the bed and sigh. I, Alex Whitman, am officially pathetic.

Where did I go wrong? I just can't figure this whole thing out. Okay, so my first big mistake was letting myself actually consider the remote possibility that Isabel Evans would want thing one to do with me. I mean, yeah, there are guys that she would be even less likely to date than me. I may be a geek, but I'm not the biggest geek in the school. I have friends; I have a life. Well, alright, so my friends are mostly girls who treat me like one of their "girlfriends" and my life is mostly composed of hanging out with said girls and playing in a band that doesn't really have any fans and doesn't do much more than practice in my parent's basement. But I have a life. Hey, it's better than being president of the chess club, right?

Isabel hates me. At first it was just that she was annoyed by me or embarrassed by me or whatever. That I could deal with. That I was used to. But now she gives me these looks . . . it's hard to describe them. It's like, 'Oh God, not *him* again.' And then I get the feeling she really wants to turn around and run like hell. I've gone from the geek she put up with to the pathetic loser that she can't even stand to be around.

When did all this happen? When did my less-than-perfect life go the way of truly disastrous?

All right, so I'm being dramatic. Overly dramatic. But that's me. I have no real drama in my life so I have to invent my own. Do you have a problem with that?

Yeah, me too. It's pretty sad, huh? Liz and Maria would say that I'm over analyzing the situation. They'd tell me to chill out and stop worrying about it so much. But then, what do those two know anyway? Liz spends so much time staring at Max Evans that I don't know how she has time to give out advice. And Maria . . . well, I think she left her brain in the eraser room if you really wanna know the truth.

Damn, what a jerk. My two best friends in the world and look how I think of them. Well, I'm sure that if they think of me nowadays, they picture the little puppy dog tagalong to Isabel that I have become. Someone should tell Isabel that it's really cruel to kick a puppy across the room.

The weird thing is that I don't blame her at all. It's not her fault, really. It's mine . . . all mine. I'm the one that wanted to know their secrets. I'm the one that let her smile at me that way and tilt her head just so and all my common sense flew out the window as I devoted myself completely to worshipping her. It's my fault. I should have known all along that the prom queen never dates the band geek.

When she turned me down at her house that day, she told me I was pushing her. She thought I was there too much, just always around. Where else would I be? There wasn't any other place. I can't even seem to think about anything but her. Why can't she understand that? Hasn't she ever felt this way about someone? Hasn't she ever had her whole life consumed by something that seems to take hold of you and refuse to let go?

I'm starting to think my dad's idea about counseling might not be so bad after all.

Okay, I have to get a grip. I have to figure out a way to stop thinking about her. I have to tell myself that she is *not* the only girl in the universe. She's not the end all be all of existence. Hell, she's not even human for God's sake! It can't work. It can never work. Logically, I know this.

So, why do I still see her face every time I close my eyes? Why does she haunt my dreams and distract me all day, every day? She wants nothing to do with me. Why can't I just figure it out already and get over it?

I think I'm in love with her.

Oh God, I really am a total loser. I love a girl that wishes I were vapor. I spend 24 hours a day thinking about someone who only thinks about where I am so that it can be where she's *not*. Isabel, do you know what you're doing to me? Do you even care?

I sigh again as I stare at the ceiling. Maybe someday I'll be able to lie on this bed and not think about how her hair smells or how her lips always look like she's been nibbling on them. I'll be able to sleep without thinking about her long, curvy legs and her perfect, white teeth. She won't talk to me in my dreams and ignore me when I'm awake and drive me crazy every second of the day. I'll get over her. I'll move on. And she'll be just an old crush whose name I have trouble remembering when I'm 40 and married to someone else and raising our 2.5 kids. I'll be normal . . . it'll all work out.

I roll over and face the wall, dreading the day that all of that happens . . . and I forget the first girl I ever loved.



The End
February 8, 2000