Disgustingly warm coffee was already halfway my throat, when the peaceful flow of my thoughts and my biorhythm were broken and stopped.

"Marie?"

I rarely go outside alone, although Professor says I should, but I'm afraid. They won't understand, you won't understand, nobody will, because every person who is close to me is also close to death, they just have no idea how close. Someone can grab me by the hand to ask something, or -- my worst nightmare -- in such big city crowds are chaotic, they form and break up quicker than the blink of an eye, and, surrounded by physical contacts, my body will start the process of killing.

It took a lot of courage to sit there, in a small cafe, with the book, which I'm not reading anyway, and spend almost two hours. I chose the table outside, where there are many ways out, but jumped on my seat anyway, when the waitress approached me to take my order. She could touch my bare shoulder, and then... the thought scared me to death, so I could barely speak, although normally waitresses aren't much friendly in the end of the day and they definitely don't grab the clients, starting to hug them.

I slowly raise my head -- and damn it -- I wish the sky could came crushing down on me, on the cafe I chose and on Rachel Reese, who stands right before me.

She changed. But I'm afraid it's not the right word. She came back from the time I gladly forgot not long ago, and probably there, where Marie D'Ancanto already started to study magazines in search of a nice dress for the graduation party, Rach stayed the same. It's not difficult for her: she doesn't know how many times she and the rest of humanity were in one step of death, she doesn't know people who saved her and others personally. I do. I'm one of them.

"Ohmygod," she breathes out, reaching to me, and I automatically hide my glove-covered hands under the table. Nothing personal, I just don't want anybody to get hurt, remember? I still can't believe that thin layer of fabric may be solution of all my problems, almost all of them.

"Oh my God, I saw the President speak on TV last year, and he mentioned your name. We didn't believe, of course, because he said you were... you know..."

I know. And that's the problem. Sometimes I wish I could give the power away through the touch, not take it. Then, I would forgot that she was my classmate, grab her and make her suffer from the deadly skin.

Suddenly, I feel offended. I'm not "you know", I am a citizen of the United States, where one's freedom is the most valuable thing (well, the Constitution says so). I am a human being, who was created special and let me state it clear, I didn't ask God or nature or my parents to make me different. Just there is such thing as balance: for every perfect person, a freak like me must exist. "Somebody has to pay." It was John's favorite song, he's God-knows-where now -- maybe, right behind my back making evil plans with Magneto and his blue bitch -- but I still can hear his voice singing it with right intonation, that makes it clear, that somebody does have to pay, and mutants were chosen for this almost holy purpose.

Sometimes I can see the image, the scheme on God's table, where it is written with golden letters, that every their smile or happy second costs one our tear.

I'm not always sure if this vision is right. But then I start to think about Cyclops, who can't see, how beautiful are the green eyes of Jean, about Logan, who disappears with the first snow each year to look and find his past. His rational part knows well, that the pieces of past he's got from his nightmares, Professor and Stryker one would gladly forgot without single look back, that now it's time for him to live with the present, that he had found in Xavier's mansion, but the strong instinct, the feeling I cannot understand, similar to one, which makes children, who were left by their parents in early childhood and raised with love and care by other good people, leave their rational life behind and find the real mother and father, even knowing, they won't be happy in the end of their path... He calls it "the calling of blood" and smiles sadly. I see the sharp pain inside his silver eyes, and let him go every winter without asking. I think about Marrow, who spent all her childhood in the darkness of basements, under the bridges, in ruined buildings, afraid to show up in broad daylight. She's about 20, and already is suffering from arthritis all over her joints because her bones act like they want, turning her into a freaked monster, that reminds of walking deer horns. I can continue to remember names, and the list will be endless. Looking to this imaginary list I always think, that the price WE pay for THEIR happiness is too high. It can not only pay off all the future sins of humanity, it creates a giant stock, and they can continue to build and destroy, destroy and build, trapped in never-ending process, called evolution.

While I am thinking, Rachel manages to order her portion of caffeine and sit in the front of me. I'm like a puppy for her -- she wants to reach out her hand and touch me, but is afraid that I'm gonna bite. Wanting it or not, I will.

"So... What does it feels like..."

I hate the word "so" and the way some people say it. It's the word-parasite, it's used when you have nothing to say, but want to start or continue the conversation, so... they say "so". It's always "so..." for the start, when they see a young woman with grey strands in her hair, but it quickly transforms into "soo..." or even "sooo...", when they find out who am I and what can I do. "So" -- it's just two letters, that can fill the blank space, when you got nothing to say or when the even line of narration is broken with some sharp fact, that cuts it like the blade of the knife cuts the fruit. That is why I absolutely adore the way Logan says "so". For him, "so" means just "so" and isn't surrounded by the uncomfortable silence. "So, let's go," -he usually says, grabs me by the hand, and we leave immediately.

"To be a mutant?" I continue, because she will never be able to say this word aloud.

"Mutants" were okay when they were cows with five legs and dogs with two tails, but when they become human-beings, who can walk, talk on the cell phone and order pizza with pepperoni -- oh God, it really started to get scary. They were just "mutants" then, but now we are "uh...well...so to speak..." and "kinda... sorta..."

"Uh... yes... I heard the President said you were... a bit..."

Humanity is hysterically scared of us. It's not a reasonable adult fear, it's childish fear of a monster, who lives under the bed. They even afraid to say IT aloud.

"Mutant", I repeat almost proudly.

Man, I never noticed I was proud of the fact that I was a mutant. And not a bit. To be a bit mutant -- it's like to be a bit pregnant. I'm completed, full-time genetic freak.

"Yes".

At least she found some power inside herself to admit it.

"I can take it." I smile slowly.

Some of them want to use me... in their laboratories, put me inside the cage and study the abilities of my skin and brain. Some of them want to kill me, using the stupid slogan: "Good mutant -- dead mutant" to justify their crimes against us. Some of them want to forget about my existence like my parents did. But I really can take it.

Rachel leans closer and whispers conspiratorially:

"So what's your power?"

I copy her movements and intonation and ask back:

"Are you working for them?"

"For who?"

"For government. If so, I'm already sorry for you, because my power is killing breath, that takes away lives of my poor helpless victims..."

Rachel yelps and leans backward so sharply, that her chair falls with her. Cyclops was right -- sometimes it's fun to be center of attention.

"I was joking," I explain, giving her my glove-covered hand. "I steal life energy through the touch..."

She screams again and halfway up falls down, landing on her perfect ass.

"It's covered with the glove, fool." I show my palm to her.

At least, I managed to clear that curious expression from her face, when we're back to our weird conversation -- which I didn't started, by the way -- again.

I can understand Rachel. We used to know each other from early childhood, and it's hard to believe, that I can possess any kind of dangerous power, although she probably heard many scary stories about mutants in general and me personally.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Girltalk -- nothing gonna change it. Yes, darling, I have a man, who loves me, has a bike and says "so" the way I like it. And seeing him, you will want to become a mutant, but this desire won't last long.

"Yes."

"What is his name?"

"Logan."

"Just Logan?"

"His enemies call him Wolverine."

We're on the biology lesson, where Rachel brought her own pet, called Marie. She wanted to show, how she can make sacrifices in the name of science. Little Marie has nice pink ears and likes to eat cabbage and carrot. I can physically feel her cold fingers touching my brain, trying to catch my thoughts, to bring them to the broad daylight, where anyone from the class can study them and they will melt instantly. Sooo... Rachel is human-being, and she can't read thoughts like Jean or analyze and predict them like Tessa, no matter how hard she tries. But since she's the part of my past, and I want to make the story, that will be retold for million times, more truthful or at least interesting, I'll let her to take a quick glance inside.

"And Marie... I'm sorry, but... If he can't touch you, how do you... you know..."

Yet again, I know. And do you know, Rach? I hate to disappoint her and ruin her shiny crystal fantasy about Marie D'Ancanto being the last virgin of the school, but I can clearly see jeer behind her sugar-sweet smiles.

"There are many ways out," I say matter-of-factly, leaning against the chair and raising my hand up in some important gesture, copying Emma Frost's model of behavior, when she comes to visit the mansion, lays on the sofa and starts: "Ahh, kids, I had many men in my life..."

"Really?"

"Of course. I can caress him until he will be fully erected, then take his jeans and underwear off. You know how to do it without touching the skin, don't you? Then I straddle him, leaving my pants on, and rub my clit against his..."

If Emma heard this words coming from my mouth, the would need a couple of weeks to bring her jaw back in the normal position. I'm a dirty-talker... Maybe, it's another part of mutation, which I didn't explore yet? Anyway, Rachel, who came here to get all useful information and then offend me verbally or even physically, is now shocked. The quiet Marie D'Ancanto, a mutant, is having personal life and doesn't want to become a normal person again? I thought about it for many nights, but then decided, that everyone has their own scale of normality, so... But I have to make the "control shot" right in her oh-so-normal head. And I set the bullet free:

"...dick. It doesn't take much time usually, you know, this contact is very arousing, so after a few minutes we have an orgasm. We both do."

No, she needs help with her jaw first.

"Marie..."

"My name's Rogue. And Marie..."

I can hear the roar of the bike behind my back. Logan, my sweet Logan, never understood all this soul-searching thing, so he decided to find me. I jump to my feet and grab my coat. And I was scared and wanted to run away... Come on, being different among them can be fun.

"Marie left her hometown and died somewhere soon after..." I whisper, leaning to Rachel's ear and making her gasp. "Bye, Rach. It was pleasant to see you."

Logan can't figure out why am I smiling, but smiles back and presses me hard against his chest, touching my hair with his lips.

"I was worried about you, so I came to take you home," he whispers, meeting Rachel's gaze for a moment.

"It was... interesting this time," I say, straddling the bike and holding him by the waist. "Say it again."

"What?"

"Oh come on, you're smart, you know what to say."

"So...?"

"Exactly."

THE END.