Today I sat down and asked myself why I loved Max. With my pencil in hand, I lowered my little body into the chair beside my desk and thought.

        Why do I love Max? It's funny I never thought to ponder that question before. Perhaps because it was always assumed. Of course we love each other.

        He saved me...

        ... didn't he?

        I sometimes wonder. I begin to make a list. All the little things that seem to matter so much. He covered the hole in my belly with his hands and made it glow. He left his imprint on me... his mark. It should be sexual. Raw and earthy. It's not- you know- because we never were.

        He never really would touch me. Sometimes we'd kiss and get lost in our tongues and hands- but he never went deeper. His fingers wouldn't have gotten caught between my thighs- deep inside me- until they were drenched with my wetness. Never, ever, would Max touch me like that.

        The list is long. I love him because he's loyal. He didn't want to kiss Tess, it was a mindwarp. I love him because he's powerful and a leader and because he's sweet and kind. I love him because he loves me. Because he makes me feel beautiful. I remember looking in the mirror last year and seeing that my eyes glowed- because he loved me. Max Evans, who was an alien, no less- he loved me... little Liz Parker.

        Suddenly I was special. I guess being in love- having someone bring you back from the brink- makes you feel special.

        I write that down on the list. Special. Check. Got it.

        My hand starts to hurt. The pencil is no longer sharp. I love him because he's like me. He's analytical and he thinks a lot. I like thinking, I like turning problems over in my mind, breaking them down so they make sense. Max is like that. People that aren't tend to scare me.

        Maria doesn't usually think... she acts. So does Michael. I used to watch them and be terrified of the clashing battle of wills they had going on... the fevered glances he'd throw her when he was sure no one was watching... and I'd think... Max doesn't love me like that.

        He doesn't love me like Michael loves Maria. There's no blood or sweat- he'd die for me- but he'd probably be sure to do it cleanly... a quick gunshot wound maybe... hardly any blood. A whispered goodbye. Neat and soulful. Oh... I forgot- Max is my soulmate. He saved me, therefore he is. I have to write that down. Soulmate.

        No one's ever questioned it. Not even me.

        Until now. Until now when I realize what I've felt all along has been a lie. A big stupid mess of lies that even went over my head.

        I do love Max.

        For all the reasons that are listed here, in my careful script.

        But I love someone else more.

        Don't ask me why. I couldn't tell you. There's no answer. No rhyme or reason or sense to be made of the feelings that sweep through me when her soft lips are under mine.

        I cannot put it down on paper... the turbulence... the volatile nature of my lust, my love for her- that woman- and if I could, I would. I'd like to be able to categorize it, make some sort of conclusion... but there is only one that rings true. I love her. She is my love... the sun, the moon... everything that makes me breathe.

        Yes, I do love Max.

        For one main reason.

        He brought me to Isabel.