She knew that she should stop listening to that song; she knew she should get as far away from it as she could because every time she heard it, it was like a knife slicing deep and true into her soft places, into those things that she tried to keep safe and secret.

Into those things that were just for him.

Not that he wanted them, or if he did, he was too goddamn noble to take them.

They all thought she was a child, still a girl. She was anything but. She’d seen the darkness in all the souls that had touched her, felt the black tentacles of depravity tangle around her. Magneto had been inside of her with all of his memories of hell where they’d tattooed that number on his arm.

She even knew what the gas smelled like, she’d felt what it was like to die as the very air was poisoned and she’d smelled the stench of genocide as the bodies burned, carrying ashes on the wind like a tornado of death.

She’d seen it all. All of the corruption and horror that belonged to humanity. It was her lot in life to only see the dark. She’d been physically bound from the light, forbidden. Because she was death.

Marie decided that she should have chosen Thanata as her name. She was Rogue no more.

Rogue meant that she was still fighting her fate; that she was still grasping with sticky fingers at that salvation cookie, like a child who wasn’t aware he’d eaten too many. No, there was no more of that for her now.

She pursed her lips together and hit the play button again on her cd player. Yes. She should have gotten rid of that cd a long time ago when she realized what it did to her. It was a spiral slide that carried her down on a current of despair.

But finally, she was learning how to relax in the water. How to float. Marie had been drowning for so long, fighting the tide. Now that she let it take her, there was safety in the dark oblivion, peace in the depths.


Must be your skin that I’m sinking in

He couldn’t have known when he wrote it how apt that description would be; that some poor mutant girl would pour all of her angst into those few words. Gavin Rossdale couldn’t have known about the girl whose skin was death. He couldn’t have known how easy it would be to sink into the waiting dark from only the touch of her sweet lips.

It must be for real, because now I can feel

Logan had said that to her one night, whispered it against her ear under the pale blanket of stars on a clear, crisp night. She’d felt so much joy then, she was sure her heart would burst. Until she realized that he meant Jean. That he wasn’t numb anymore because he ached with the loss of her. That his heart was bleeding for that whore.

Everything was always about Jean. Poor little wounded, powerful Jean. Always the victim. A victim of circumstance, a victim of power, a victim of her sanctimonious love.

Yeah, she was a whore. She’d been married to a good man like Scott and she’d thrown that away for Logan. For Wolverine.

But who wouldn’t?

Now Scott was dead, he wasn’t feeling anything at all.


I’m never alone, I’m alone all the time

They were always there, those who were left. She never had a moment to herself. Probably because they knew she’d be here, doing this, slip-sliding down into her own deliciously sweet despair.

But they would never understand her, never know what it was like to be her. She was denied the most basic of human needs, touch. People take for granted how much you can communicate with a touch, how much goes through two people with just a touch of the hand.

Storm wasn’t afraid to hug her, but everyone else was. She could see it in their eyes. They would talk to her, but no one wanted to sit too close to her. Could she blame them? That also was a simple human instinct; it was called survival.

Marie could touch, though. More intimately than anyone cared to be touched. Her touch was more complex than skin to skin, it was insides and soul; guts and fascia of your psyche with a simple brush of her hand.

For that, she was damned.


Could have been easier on you, I couldn’t change though I wanted to

Logan had tried to change for her. He’d tried to be what she needed. He loved her. But it wasn’t that all burning and consuming passion he’d felt for Jean Grey. To him, she was still “kid”. That broke her heart.

He was the only one she could touch. The Statue of Liberty had somehow shorted out the circuits of her skin, at least when it came to Wolverine. He understood what that meant to her.

He’d kissed her hard and fast, his hands tangled in her hair, his body hot and hard against her.

Marie loved how he’d already been inside of her, his adamantium thrust deep inside of her… Death and sex were forever intertwined in human psychology, the intimacy… It had been beautiful.


I needed you more when we wanted us less, I could not kiss just regress

Yes, he’d needed her. Not in the way she needed him. He needed her when the dark came, when the nightmares forced his claws and memories to burn him. Needed her when his brow was damp with sweat and fear. And rage.

He needed the steady beat of her heart and the softness of her breasts against his cheek.

But he didn’t want to fuck her. He wouldn’t. Said it wasn’t fair to take that from her too. He didn’t understand that was the only thing he hadn’t taken, this one thing that was hers to give to who she would. Hers to give like a gauntlet. The Prince had to pass The Test to claim The Princess.

Though she knew now, there were no princesses, no white knights and no happily ever after. Though, there were evil witches who enchanted would-be princes into white steeds that shit on the road during the parade.


It might just be clear and simple and plain, well that’s just fine

And it was now that she realized it. Now that she knew. It was all so very simple. This was all the world had to offer her. This was it. Clear. Simple. Plain as the death on her flesh.


Don’t let the days go by

Though they were, the days and nights of her future whirred past her, the years in a rusty blender, blurring love, death, pain, and perhaps whatever joy she’d found once a long time ago.

Especially since he’d gone. All she wanted was for him to come back. She’d never tell him she loved him again, she’d never ask him for anything. And she’d never, ever, tell him what his touch meant to her. Never tell them that this was their song.

When he came back, and he would come back, she’d be here. He’d never know that she was waiting.

Because Marie knew that if she dared to wait, shimmering with the sparkling stardust of hope, she’d wait forever. He could be standing in front of her for the rest of the years left, and yes, she’d be waiting.

Must be your skin that I’m sinking in

Yes, it was her skin that she was sinking in. She was getting comfortable in it.

Finally, she thought it looked good on her.

~End

*Lyrics are from Glycerine by Bush