Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Ouch. Bright fluorescent lights.

“Ah, Rogue! I’m glad to see that you’re awake.” You’re blue. “Of course, you are still disoriented. You have been through a great ordeal. You need your rest.” How does he know what I’m thinking? “I’m going to check your vitals. I apologize in advance; this might sting a little.” I don’t feel anything. “Hmmm, that’s odd. Let me try again.” What’s going on? “This is most irregular… Unless, of course! How could I have neglected that? You absorbed Ms. Marvel’s power; therefore, you assumed her resistance to physical harm. That would constitute ordinary needles, I suppose. Very well, then. We shall work around this, Rogue. Oh, don’t mind me. You must think me a fool, the way I’m babbling on!”

Ms. Marvel? Is that me? What’s going on? Why am I even in here? What happened to me? “My goodness, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! No, no, don’t move. Lie down.”

No! I don’t want to lie down! I feel like I’ve been lying down for days. My bones are so sore. Why? Somebody tell me what the hell is going on! “Rogue, calm down! You’re safe!” Keep your blue paws off me, Bub. “Rogue, you need to relax; your heart rate is off the charts. You have nothing to be afraid of!”

Where’s my voice? “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Hank McCoy. Please, Rogue, lie down.”

“Where am I?”

“You are in the mansion of Charles Xavier. Your name is Rogue; you’re a mutant.” Charles Xavier. I remember him, but not...

“I’m not a mutant.” Don’t be ashamed of your kind. But, it’s not my kind. “I’m not a mutant!”

“Yes, Rogue, you are. You’re very powerful and very dangerous. Tell me, what can you remember, Rogue? And, please, just lie down…”

“J’en ai marre! I’ll get on that table when I’m good and ready, Furball. Now, do you mind getting out of my way?” How uncivilized. “Charles has a very bad habit of teaching his students to meddle in my business.”

“Rogue, what on Earth-…?” No. No. No. Not again.

“Hank? Hank…it’s me. Carol. You have to help me! You have to get this…this girl out of my head. Help me! These things that I see and remember, they’re not mine. No, they’re mine. She’s in my head, and she won’t go away. No, those memories are mine and you stole them from me, just like you stole my power. Leave me alone!” Why are you staring at me? Stop looking at me! “STOP IT!”

“Oh my… “

******************************************

Logan growled and rolled over in his bed. “Turn the damn light off, Storm! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Logan, you’ve been milking this for all it’s worth. You haven’t been out of your room for three days, except to go downstairs and eat. Or visit the med lab.” She opened the thick forest green drapes hastily, relishing Logan’s scowl. “Have you forgotten that you are a member of the faculty?”

“I ain’t a teacher,” Logan protested.

“You can pretend all you want, but I know you enjoy this place. Dare I say it…we’re like family to you?” Storm grinned and tugged Logan’s toes through his sheet.

“Don’t push it, Monroe.”

“C’mon, Logan. Get up. It’s almost noon! You are supposed to be teaching physical education to our students, and if you lie around like a tree stump, you’re not setting a very good example.” She scooped his jeans off of the coat rack and hurled them toward his head. “Believe it or not, the kids are asking about you. Now, get up and get dressed. The Professor expects you to join him for lunch.”

Indignantly, Logan showered and poured his tired muscles into a t-shirt and sweatpants. He decided that he was a little hungry, but he was going to take a detour on the way to meet Professor Xavier. As the crescent door to the elevator rolled shut, Logan took a deep breath. The night that they had brought Rogue back to the mansion, Tessa used her abilities to help Logan and Gambit regain consciousness. The Professor managed to convince him that Gambit was loyal to the X-Men, but after hearing him describe his interaction with Rogue, Logan wanted to rip the Cajun’s eyeballs out. He had earned her trust and her heart, and he betrayed them. Logan knew that he was no better, but it still made his blood boil to know that someone else had hurt her. She was his, and knowing that for six months, dirty, worthless men were ogling her creamy skin and luscious curves made him sick to his stomach. They threw money at her, but she was invaluable.

During the months that Rogue was gone, Logan tried not to think about what had happened between them. He deluged himself with maintenance work around the mansion, repairing windows, doors, and wires. When he couldn’t find anything else to fix, he resorted to breaking things at night in fits of rage and excruciating remorse. Sullenly, he endured the idle time between lessons, stealing glances at the parkway and perking his ears up at the distant sound of passing cars, entirely inaudible to the other residents. He knew that was what Rogue went through, and it irritated him that the tables had turned.

The most he was willing to own up to was that he owed her a whole lot of apologies. But, he wouldn’t let anyone know the depths to which he missed her. She was an enigmatic balance of innocence and raw sexuality, and he was completely enthralled. He felt sick and twisted for thinking about how good and tight she was, and hearing her whisper his name gave him chills. Normally, Wolverine didn’t give a damn about hearsay and the consequences of his insatiable lust, but he had shirked a very sensitive boundary.

As soon as the elevator reached the lower levels, Logan heard the screams. Marie. He darted toward the infirmary and found Dr. McCoy staring helplessly at the girl before him, baffled by her incoherence. She appeared to be having an argument with several people, none of who were perceptible.

“Logan, I…I-I…I don’t know what to do! I underestimated this entire situation. She has been outright traumatized, and I don’t know how to fix it. She won’t let anyone near her, and she’s manifesting you, Magneto, and Carol Danvers with no rhyme or reason. For pity’s sake, she’s speaking French! Maybe you can calm her down. I’m going to get Charles. Right now, he’s the only hope for her.” Hank departed from the sickbay at once, leaving Logan alone with a hysterical Rogue.

Logan had no idea how to reason with her. His heart felt like it was being shredded slowly and painfully. She embodied utter pandemonium in her tangled mane, bloodshot eyes, and sickly skin. The gray sweatshirt and pants that adorned her frail body looked ten sizes too big. In the bright lighting of the lab, he noticed the bruises on her face and neck for the first time. He vowed that when he found out who tarnished her like that, he was going to kill them. Secretly, he hoped it was that damn Cajun. Logan crouched next to her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She shrieked and scuttled out of his reach.

“Relax, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you…” He recalled the first moments they had ever spent together; when he found out she was just like him—a mutant. He felt an instant connection to her, and it had never left.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it… Stop it…”

“Kid, just calm down.” Despite her protests, he sequestered her upper arms and lifted her onto the exam table. “Marie, look at me. Look at me!”

Awareness seeped into her gaze, and her sniveling stopped abruptly. “Logan?”

His thick eyebrows gathered, and he nodded. “Yeah, kid, yeah, that’s me.”

“Kid?” She tossed her head back and laughed richly. “I never objected to your pet names, Logan, but ‘kid’? I can’t imagine you growling that one into my neck." She found composure and whispered, "Shhhhh, don’t let them hear.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Carol?”

“You know, Logan, I get the feeling that all of those sweet little nothings you promised me so many times were just reckless words from a lonely man,” she leered. “First, you stab me right through the heart—which, incidentally, is something you’re very good at. Then, you seem rather displeased that I survived. Really, Logan, I thought we had something.”

“That was a long time ago,” he snarled. “You’re a frigid bitch, now.”

“Haven’t you heard?” She snorted and mockingly adopted a stern expression. “I’ve been the victim of identity theft. I’m desperately trying to reclaim what I’ve lost.”

Logan tightened his grip. “Where’s Rogue?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, purring at his instant animal response. “But, that hurts. Brushing me off so quickly when we’ve got so much catching up to do.”

“Dammit, Carol, don’t play games with me!”

“Games?” She rolled her eyes and snaked her arms around his neck, pouting. “This is hardly my idea of fun.” She pulled him dangerously close to her lips. “I don’t know where your little doe-eyed protégé is, but I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. This body, this is Rogue! You’re just a visitor, and you’re overstaying your welcome, darlin’.”

“That’s her fault! She destroyed my life, Logan. Why are you on her side?” she hissed.

“It was an accident. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“She was with Mystique, Logan. Obviously she’s working for the Brotherhood.”

“Why don’t you let me talk to her about that, huh?”

She chuckled contemptuously. “You can’t just flick a switch and turn me off.”

It took every ounce of discipline within to bar himself from fucking the smirk off of her face. But, Logan growled and unpinned her legs from his hips. “Believe me, I’m going to find a way.”

The grand steel door to the lab slid open and Professor Xavier appeared, followed by Hank and Tessa. Rogue shook her head, as if to clear her mind, and disgust was plastered across her face. She drew back from Logan and shoved him forcefully into a tray of vials, needles, scissors, and scalpels. She turned toward her latest company. A loaded smile curled the corners of her mouth and she cheerfully hailed, “Charles! It has been too long, old friend.”

She hopped off of the metal slab and kneeled to his level, resting her palms on the limbs of his chair. The glee faded from her eyes. “There’s no use reading my mind. You already know what’s inside. You know that you have failed her, as you failed Jean.” There was that mental switch again. “I need a drink...”

The Professor studied her for a moment. “I shall require solitude,” he motioned for the others to leave.

“What are you doing?” Logan extracted a blade from his ribcage.

“I am going to assess her condition.” Growing bored, Rogue stood and began pacing the room, muttering to herself. “I trust that you will not question my methods, this time.”

Logan nodded in agreement. “If you can cage that beast,” he motioned toward Rogue, who had ruptured into a fit of manic laughter, “then more power to you, Chuck. Whatever that is over there, it ain’t my Rogue.” He filed out of the room right behind Tessa and Dr. McCoy.

**********************************************

Logan shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and gulped down half of his glass of iced tea. He carelessly clanked his utensils against the china dinner plate, inhaling his meal boisterously. He was oblivious to the stares from the other inhabitants of the staff’s dining room. Students knew it only as that, but all the members of the X-men team ate at the table every night. There were two empty chairs, one on Logan's right and the other belonging to Professor Xavier. Between bites, he grumpily eyed the unused place settings and the clock. It was 6:15 already, and there was still no word from the Professor about Rogue.

Storm cleared her throat and dabbed her lips with her cloth napkin. “Um, Logan? Is there something bothering you?”

He snapped his head in her direction, as if he had just awoken from a trance. He scowled. “No. Why?” He took another sated bite of meat and vegetables.

“You’re just…uncharacteristically quiet this evening, more than usual.” She sipped from her water glass. “You seem restless.”

“I’m fine,” he barked.

“I think what Storm’s politely trying to tell you is that you’re being obnoxious,” Scott interpolated, tearing a small chunk from a piece of French bread.

“Scott,” Storm warned.

“Here we go again,” Jubilee rolled her eyes, reaching across the table for the saltshaker. Everyone held their breath for the usual testosterone laden tussle of insults between Cyclops and Wolverine, but Logan simply grunted in annoyance.

“Wow,” Scott cocked his eyebrows. “No ‘I’ll shove those glasses up your ass’ or ‘I could accidentally kill you when I sleepwalk, asshole’?” This has got to be a first.”

The well-known hum of the Professor’s wheelchair pervaded the room. Quietly, he took his place at the table, and a butler served him a plate of piping hot beef medallions, potatoes, and squash. An additional portion was set obliquely to his left. Rogue appeared a short time later, exhaustion and apprehension visible in her movement. Her hair was still damp from a shower, and she wore a new pair of sweats. She averted her gaze to the floor and sat in the empty seat next to Logan. No one spoke, and the silence was tense. Bobby and Jubilee exchanged calculating glances, Kitty nervously swirled the ice-cubes in her soda, and Tessa pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

Logan looked questioningly at the Professor, and he smiled back with an eloquent twinkle in his dark pupils. You and Erik and Remy will fade within days, but it will take time for Carol to regress. I trust you to protect her, Logan. This will be a very taxing process. Logan nodded and turned to Rogue. Her hands were folded in her lap, not out of etiquette, but to keep them from trembling as much as the rest of her body. Logan grabbed her empty glass and filled it with tea. She reached for it as soon as he set it next to her salad plate, but her unsteady fingers slipped, and the crystal cup tipped over. The amber liquid soaked into the linen tablecloth, and she witlessly fumbled for a napkin to clean up the mess. Her breathing became stressed and shallow, and she swallowed repetitively to keep from erupting into a hysterical mess.

“Hey, kid, it’s alright!” Logan struggled to mollify her and track down a towel at the same time. Without hesitation, he laid a reassuring hand on her abnormally skeletal shoulder blade, a minimal gesture that sent her over the edge. She tore away from his touch, leaping up from the chair. She massaged her forehead and coiled her fingers.

“I…I can’t do this!” She fled the room, and Logan stood to run after her.

“Don’t,” Charles stated firmly. “She has had a difficult afternoon. Leave her be.”

“She needs to be here with us! She needs to know that she’s still welcome here!” Logan argued.

“She is not ready to wholly rejoin us, Logan. All of you need to understand that.” He made eye contact with each person at the table. “Rogue has been changed, altered in a manner that is irrevocable. For the rest of her life, she will be subject to attributes and memories that do not belong to her and that shall never fade. I ask that you disregard the means by which she acquired these traits, and instead, offer her a home and a family. She has made mistakes, but so have you and I.”

Logan grumbled in defeat and eagerly took the towel that Hank offered him. He mopped up the tea, scooped the ice chips into his hand, and dumped them back into the glass. Taking one for the team, Kitty asked, “So…what exactly happened to her?”

All eyes probed the Professor for a response, but he finished chewing before he answered. “From what I have discerned, Rogue was under the impression that Mystique was going to simply talk to Carol Danvers, albeit the plan was less than diplomatic. Mystique underestimated Carol, and Rogue was pulled into the conflict. It seems that the stress of the situation triggered her mutation. The exchange with Carol was not intentional.”

“So it was an accident,” Bobby reflected, out loud.

Logan angrily slammed his hands down, leaning against the table. “What the hell made you doubt that?”

“Nothing!” Bobby shrugged.

“What, did all of you think she’d turned to the ‘dark side’ just because of him?” Logan’s beady eyes shot daggers in Bobby’s direction.

“Jesus Christ, Logan,” Scott glowered. “Sit down and shut up!”

“Don’t play the peacekeeper card, Scooter! Maybe if you all hadn’t treated her like a fucking outcast, this would’ve never happened.”

“Logan, that is not true!” Storm piped in, forcefully. “She left because she felt she had to. She felt that she had no choice. It wasn’t as if I could just put my foot down and ignore that she’s an adult.”

“You didn’t stop her the night she left to get the cure,” Jubilee blurted out, regretting it immediately. Logan looked like he was about to chop her into fertilizer. “I wasn’t spying on you or anything, so don’t get all mad. I was coming down the stairs and I stopped when I saw that you were talking. I didn’t hear anything. I just saw that she had her bag. Then she left and you didn’t go after her, so I figured she had your blessing.”

Gambit had been a specter throughout the meal, and his mellifluous New Orleans twang caught everyone by surprise. “I never thought you’d be much of a cowboy, Wolfman, but you’re sittin’ mighty high up on your horse there. What Remy knows, Remy won’t tell, but you ain’t above suspicion.”

Logan rose to his full height and cracked his knuckles. “You got something to say, Froglegs, then say it. The way I see it, you’re a double-crossing thorn in my side, and I don’t trust you one goddamn bit.”

“Enough!” Charles demanded. “It accomplishes nothing to try and dispense blame. We now have a common goal, and we must move forward. I will not tolerate a civil war in my house.”

A cumbersome tension ruined the elegant and tranquil ambiance of the dining room. “I don’t need this,” Logan snorted. Tossing a death glare at Cyclops, he strode arrogantly from the gathering.

“Good riddance,” Kitty mumbled under her breath.

Logan slammed the door to his room and threw open the drawer to the bedside table. He snatched the bottle of Whiskey that lay half-empty next to a box of cigars and took a long, satisfying swig. He screwed the cap back on and tossed the bottle onto his bed. He had spent the past few hours sulking in the garage, and he figured that it was late enough to avoid interaction with any of Xavier’s brood. Arming himself with a fresh cigar, he swaggered toward the French doors that led to a narrow balcony. A familiar scent brushed his nose. The bathroom door was ajar, and the light was off, but someone was in there. Changing course, he flipped the light switch and examined the stark white tile of the floor and counter. Muffled sobs echoed to his left. He sniffed the air instinctively and slid the shower curtain open.

Rogue sat in the bathtub, knees drawn to her chest, her eyes red and raw. The expression on her face resembled a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Logan rested his hands on his hips and asked, “What are you doing, kid? Most people shower with the water on and their clothes off.” He secured the cigar between his thin lips.

She stammered. “I…I… This isn’t my room...is it?” It was definitely more of a statement than a question.

Logan chuckled. “No, that would be the next one over.” He extended a hand to help her up, and quickly realized his mistake.

She shook her head vehemently and muttered an apology. She pulled herself up with the soap shelf and the faucet head, but her bare foot slipped. She knocked her elbow against the metal tracking as she fell on her back, her skull barely avoiding the sharp handles of the water spigot. Without a second thought, Logan scooped her up by the waist and gently sat her on the closed lid of the toilet. He had failed to notice just how tiny she was in the high strain of the events of the past week. She weighed a good twenty pounds less than when she left the mansion and disappeared. His hands, though they were larger than most, fit loosely around her arms and then some. “Jeez, kid, don’t you eat?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the torn fabric of her sweatshirt near the base of her humerus turning burgundy and sticky with blood. “Le’ me take a look at that.” He pushed the sleeve up and grimaced at the sight before him. It was a small gash, but her apparent lack of nourishment was a big problem. “Kid, you’ve got bruises all over you!”

Logan grabbed a washcloth from the cupboard under the sink and saturated it. Crouching down to meet her, he dabbed at the cut kindly, careful not to touch her exposed skin with his. Suddenly, it occurred to him that if she had absorbed Carol’s powers, then theoretically, it would have been impossible for the jagged metal of the shower to harm her. Gesturing toward the laceration, he pursued the subject. “Kid, I don’t mean to pour salt in a wound, but…how is this possible?”

Her dull and arid lips parted, and she shrugged. She turned her head away, sending a few unruly strands of hair forward and away from her neck. Her sweet intonation adopted a cynical attitude. “I dunno. The Professor says that everything will come and go until… until I can get control and allow her to be part of me.”

Pausing to read her emotion, Logan kept quiet for a moment. “So, right now, it’s you?”

“What do you mean?” her upper lip crooked slightly, a quirk that Logan had discovered, a long time ago, to mean insecurity.

He did not want to offend her, and he racked his brain for a nice way to play interrogator. “I mean, Chuck managed to suppress the others for a while?”

Her eyes donned a sad emptiness. “They’ll come back soon. I can’t hide them forever.” Logan knew that if he pushed any further, she would start crying again, and that was too awkward for him. He took the soiled washcloth to the sink and rinsed it, casting a rose hue on the basin. He opened the medicine cabinet that disguised itself as a mirror and grabbed a small box of isopropanol swabs. Tearing open one of the packets, he asked Rogue to hold her arm out.

“This is gonna sting a little.” He wasn’t lying. She hissed as the alcohol seared her skin. “That’ll dry it out. You don’t need a bandage.”

Coddling her elbow, she murmured, “Thanks.” Childishly, she watched Logan clean up and put the red-stained towel in the garbage can. As he shut the door to the cabinet, he caught her staring at him through the mirror. “I…I’m sorry for the trouble. I should be going now.”

She stood, her vision spinning slightly, and tottered out into the bedroom. Logan shut off the light and followed. “You okay, kid?” She looked as if she was going to topple over if someone so much as breathed on her. “You want something to eat?”

Hugging her arms across her chest and shivering, she nodded. She gasped in surprise when Logan hoisted her up and carried her downstairs like she was some sort of damsel in distress on the cover of a romance novel. He set her down in the communal kitchenette, and she lifted herself onto a stool next to the granite-topped island. Logan tugged open the fridge and examined its contents. “There’s some leftover steak… turkey… Carrot cake? Wait, don’t eat that. One of the squirts made it. Tastes like cardboard. Uh, beef stew… ham?”

“No…” Rogue scrunched up her nose in aversion. “I… I’m a vegetarian.”

“Since when?” Logan turned his head toward her slightly.

“Since… like…” she knitted her brows and chewed at her thumbnail, “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure if it’s me or…her.”

Logan bumped the refrigerator door shut and moved his search to an overhead pantry. “It’s you, kid. Carol likes cooked animals almost as much as she loves Guinness. You got anything against peanut butter?”

She shook her head, and Logan carried a jar of extra crunchy Skippy, a plastic squeezable bear filled with honey, and a loaf of wheat bread to the islet. Rogue spun the bread bag open and took out four slices, spreading each with a thick coating of peanut butter. She drenched her sandwich with honey, and it dripped from the crusts of the bread. Logan snatched the bottle from her before she could destroy his. “Why don’t you just pour the damn thing down your throat?” He handed her a paper towel.

“You know what goes good with peanut butter?” she ignored his sarcasm, taking a large bite. “Coffee.”

“You’re crazy,” Logan chuckled. “Just putting this stuff anywhere near coffee makes the whole room smell like silicone.”

“What?” Rogue coughed, launching crumbs from her mouth. “Are you serious? What, like breast implants silicone or plastic putty silicone?”

“Both.” He grabbed two glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with milk. “Speaking of fake knockers, how’d they let you on stage without ‘em?”

Rogue flouted the question and scraped peanut butter from her teeth with her tongue. “You knew Carol?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s reply was curt and touchy.

“Are you mad at me?” Rogue looked him square in the eye for the first time.

Never one to give a straight answer, Logan shrugged. “Why?”

“Because of what I did to her…” she sipped delicately from her acrylic tumbler.

Logan shifted uneasily. “There wasn’t anything you could do about that, kid. Don’t dwell on it. Besides, I haven’t seen her in years. We went on a couple missions together for the CIA, and I guess you could say… she was one of the first people I could trust. What I don’t get is why you thought you could trust Mystique.”

Rogue gulped down the rest of her milk and poured a second glass. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, kid.”

“Look,” she exhaled despondently, “I’m not going to justify myself to you, Logan. I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what happened. Please don’t ask me for anything else.”

He leaned across the cool slab. “I deserve an explanation.”

“For what?” her voice cracked with indignation. “Logan, I was suffocating here! Whenever you felt the smallest hunch of being tied down, you left. Besides, you don’t even know anything about me!” She brandished the last small chunk of her sandwich and waggled her head in frustration. “And, as for how I dealt in the big bad real world…that’s none of your business.”

“You are my business, kid. I can’t exactly protect you if you’re in some Louisiana dive playing out fantasies for a bunch of lowlifes. Did it make you feel good to have those scumbags eyeing you like a skirt steak every night?”

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Please, Logan. You and I both know that you forfeited the titled of older, protective father figure a long time ago. I’m grateful for your concern and your noble sacrifices, but I don’t regret anything. I got a chance to live a relatively normal life. I got to have a job and take cooking classes and manage money and go to the movies and go on dates…”

“Couldn’t you have just been a waitress or something?” Logan smirked.

Rogue wiped the crumbs off the counter and into her hand. “Could you be an accountant?”

Logan smiled at her. “You’ve got a point.” To an outsider, their argument seemed to go unsettled. But, they had reached an understanding. Rogue was more independent than ever, and Logan had to get used to it. He liked her sassiness. She padded across the kitchen to the garbage and tossed in her crumpled up napkin. She washed her hands in the sink and flicked off the excess water. When she turned around, she jumped in shock. Logan stood unnervingly close. He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger and inspected her from head to toe. “So what’s Chuck’s plan for you?”

She rested her elbows against the smooth tile ledge. “Intense therapy sessions. He’s going to test out what triggers my behavior and build on that. I feel bad because it physically exhausts him. Today, he managed to create a temporary shield, but he said it wouldn’t last long. And, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.”

He slipped his arm around her and nudged her into his chest. Shakily, she complied. He rubbed her back soothingly. “Am I still in there?”

“All the time…” The loud drone of the refrigerator and the crackling of the icemaker nearly drowned her words. They stood, fit together like puzzle pieces, for almost fifteen minutes.

Disturbed by the unexpected sentimentality, Logan forced as much masculinity and authority into his voice as he could. “It’s late, kid. You should get to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” she nuzzled the fabric of his undershirt.

“You will be in the morning. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your-…”

“No!” she snapped. Logan’s body tensed when he felt her hands trace the waistband on his jeans and her thumbs hook into the belt loops. She looked up at him and there was a difference in her demeanor. The gawky teenager was gone, displaced by a seductress. Testing his intuition, his hand inched lower down her back. She bit her lip and hummed in satisfaction. Knowing that no good would come of his predicament, he retreated quickly. She caught him by the buttons on his shirt and pulled him back toward her. “Why do you keep avoiding this, Logan? You were never scared of me before.”

“Carol…” he squirmed free of her grip, “like I said; you’re not yourself.”

“Call it role playing…” Her hands found his weakness, and he temporarily lost clarity.

“Stop it,” he spat through clenched teeth. She was persistent and ruthless, and he didn’t like having her in control. He grasped her thighs forcibly and boosted her onto the counter, unsympathetically knocking her head against the cupboards. She giggled in delight.

“You always did like it rough.” She burrowed her hands into his thick brown hair and pressed her lips brutally to his. He was imprisoned by the pull of her skin and it pilfered his strength, thrashing his lifeblood. She ended the agony and grinned wickedly.

“Bitch!” Logan panted. He was pissed off and aroused and ready to pass out. She yanked his hips deeper between her legs. He gave a violent thrust and sank into her curves, capturing her in a second fiery kiss. It was much shorter, and he recoiled with a roar. Her eyes exhibited defenseless lust, and he wanted to devour her. Their lips met again, and he fought her power, tasting her fully. Stopping only to breathe, her name escaped the confines of his mind before he could smother it. “Marie…”

She pushed herself further against him and teased, “I’ll be anybody you want.” That did it for him. His face contorted in repulsion as she closed in on his mouth again. His rejection incited the monster deep within. Her lanky, but sturdy fingers trapped his throat. Perusing his thoughts, she smiled venomously. “You want this, Logan. But you’re too chicken shit to take what I’m offering.” She tossed him to the floor, and he slid several inches across the linoleum. She hopped off of the counter and kneeled next to him. “The body of the forbidden fruit and the mind of a woman who knows how to satisfy the beast. And absolutely no commitment.”

In one swift motion, he razed her and pinned her wrists to the floor, carefully avoiding her noxious skin. “Is this what you want?” he snarled. “You want me to give in to your sadistic, fucked up little source of amusement? You think it’s fun to torment her, to use her mutation as a fucking weapon? To absorb so many thoughts and emotions and memories that she’ll never know which are her own anymore? To let me fuck her night after night and have her never remember any of it?”

“Logan…”

“Shut up!” he barked. “There’s nothing you can say that’ll get my sympathy! You're a desperate, conniving bitch, and I will not be part of your bullshit!”

“Logan,” his name was a strangled cry. “Please stop…you’re hurting me.” Her eyes were gaping with disorientation and panic.

The hard angry lines across his forehead softened, and he surrendered his hold on her. The sorceress was gone. He sat back on his heels, and she hooked onto the rungs of the bar stool to wrench herself free. He reached out to reassure her, but she ducked. “Kid, you were having another…another episode. I had to control you.”

“Don’t…” she rose to her feet and slowly backed toward the arched doorway. “I can’t… I can’t…”

Chest heaving with anger and defeat, Logan bared his gritted teeth as she vanished into the dark hallway.

I wake up every morning with images of a family and places I don’t know, and at night, when I go to sleep, he’s there. I don’t know if the memories are real, but I can feel his touch. I know all of his desires and all of his fears, but what about the most intimate details? I see my skin burning bright red as I sway beneath him. I see my body from his perspective, and there is undeniable lust. I see his body as if it were my own, a hand stroking his most prized possession, breathing labored and erratic. I see a pool of liquid, a cage, and men. I see bloody sweat in my eyes as the bitter cold of the Canadian wilderness lashes at my naked frame. I see blood dripping from my hands and claws extended. I see the faces of a hundred women, thriving with pleasure. There are faces of a thousand men, writhing with pain.

There’s a man, tall and blonde. He smiles at me lovingly and his touch is tender. I hear screams of pain, and there are flashes of light. I fight countless villains. I sip coffee at an outdoor café, a different man sitting across from me. I’m a bridesmaid. A lover. A CEO. A heroine.

It has been a week since I woke up in the med lab. The Professor has worked with me rigorously, and I’ve actually started to weed out some of my own memories, things that happened months and years ago. He sensed my hesitation with Logan, and he advised me that I should keep away from him. There’s too much history with Carol, and he could hurt me. I’m not scared of him, but I’m kind of glad I have an excuse to avoid him. Snapping out of a spasm and finding that he’s got me pinned to the floor was unpleasant. Besides, this whole situation has to be hard on him, too. An old flame shows up in my head, and suddenly I’m trying to seduce him every five minutes.

The students scatter like sewer rats when they see me. The only ones being nice are, surprisingly, Bobby, Kitty, and Jubilee. I guess you could say that we’ve made peace, because, well, I’m not so heartbroken or bitter anymore. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. And, a lot of changes happened while I was gone. Romantic ones. Kitty fell hard for Pete, and Bobby was pissed for a while. Then, Alison showed up, and he got over the jilted lover thing really quickly. He has some competition with that Angel guy, though. Storm has a boyfriend, and it’s really weird to see her in love. I was taking a walk yesterday, and I saw her on the veranda watering the roses. A rather attractive man, who goes by “Forge”, approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Storm smile like that. I felt like I was watching my parents, though.

There’s another guy, named Bishop, who Jubilee goes weak in the knees for. But, apparently, he’s more interested in Tessa, another newbie. Well, to me at least. She’s really nice, and I think she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She’s like a walking computer. She sat in on one of my sessions with Professor Xavier, and I found out that she has the ability to analyze information really quickly, even DNA. She can repair the mutant gene and make it go from dormant to hyperactive. That’s how Logan and Remy managed to survive.

Remy’s become quite the charmer. He’s taken to doing card tricks for the younger kids, and charging their textbooks so they explode, which pisses Scott off to no end. I worked up the courage to speak to Remy, and I apologized for sucking the life out of him. He gave me the most swoon-worthy smile and said there were no hard feelings. He told me that he followed Mystique to Carol’s place. When things went south, he took Mystique back to the hideout, grabbed my duffel bag, and had my things expedited to the mansion. Then, he went off to join Magneto. He promised that he never thought things would go so badly. He's forgiven, though. Thanks to him, when I finally settled in, all of my clothes were folded neatly in a dresser, waiting for me. He doesn’t like Logan, which isn’t surprising. Logan doesn’t appreciate the danger that Remy faces being a double agent. Personally, I think he just resents the fact that there’s another badass in the mansion, now.

I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, because boredom leaves the door open for Carol. Dr. McCoy has managed to find a few mundane tasks for me, like alphabetizing his collection of medical journals and reorganizing the library. Other than that, I stay in my room and read. Sometimes, I’ll doze off and when I wake up, I’m hovering a foot above my mattress. Last night, I climbed onto the roof and considered jumping off, but I couldn’t muster the nerve. I mean, as ridiculous as it sounds, I can fly. I know it. But what if something went wrong? I’m dying to practice, but I don’t want everyone looking at me funny. Well, more than usual.

I’m sitting in the music room at the lacquered baby grand piano. There’s still a half-hour until dinner. My grandmother on my father’s side taught me to play. I’m a little rusty, so I hope nobody hears me. They shouldn't. Students don't exactly hang out in the classroom wings after hours. The only piece I can remember right now is Beethoven’s Six Easy Variations on a Swiss Tune. That’s just a study piece, though. Anybody can play it. My fingers glide with amazing recollected skill across the white and black keys. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I’ll remember my favorite piece…Chopin’s Prelude in E Minor. I clink out the first few notes of the Funeral March and I can’t help but laugh. That song is so morbid.

It’s raining outside. April showers are my favorite because even though the raindrops are dreary, the air is warm and sweet. In four days, I’ll be nineteen. I haven’t told anyone about my birthday, not even Logan or Bobby. I don’t really think it would make a difference if I did. It’s not like I’ll get a frosted cake and presents wrapped in pastel colors, topped with giant bows. The last time I actually celebrated my birthday was when I turned sixteen. My friends and I went bowling. The next day, my daddy took me to the mall parking lot and showed me how to drive his old Dodge truck. His knuckles were white by the time we went home. He said I had done about 15 years of damage on the clutch in an hour and a half. I haven’t driven since.

Three months later, I got my first kiss, and oh was it the kiss of death. My parents took me to every specialist they could find. I was prodded and tested more times than I care to remember. David’s mom threatened a lawsuit, but she had no case, so her attorney husband advised her to drop it. Everyone at school found out, and the principal asked my parents to consider switching me to another school. My mom spent her days crying and my daddy ignored me, and I knew I had to leave. The last straw was when we came home from grocery shopping and the front window was smashed in. Our sunny living room was splattered with large red letters: M-U-T-A-N-T.

I packed my bags and left in the middle of the night, 46 dollars in my pocket. I walked for a long time, just waiting for something bad to happen. I went to the 24-hour diner at the truck stop near the interstates, and I scoped out everyone for a ride. I found an older woman named Vicki, and she took me to the Virginia state line. She gave me the name of a friend who was heading up north and my twenty bucks back. I didn’t want to take it, but she insisted. She said that I’d made her trip shorter, and she was grateful we crossed paths. Sure enough, Lou showed up a couple hours later. I was out front of the gas station when a tall, skinny guy with a denim shirt that said “Lou” across the pockets emerged from the mini-market with a new pack of cigarettes. He was less friendly, but he took me, and half of my money, to a small town on the Canadian border. Things got a lot more difficult from there.

I hear my name being called. It’s Storm. “I’m in here!”

“Ah, there you are, Rogue. You should come join us in the dining room. Dinner’s ready…”

“What’re we having?”

“Lasagna. No meat. Special orders.” She winked.

“Thanks,” I smile back. “I’m famished!”

---

Logan is staring at his plate like it’s a poisonous snake. I’ve been watching him for several minutes, and it’s rather amusing. There’s a little too much cheese on top, but other than that, the lasagna is excellent. Oh shit, he caught me. The look he’s giving me is making me thirsty. Where’s my lemonade? Really, I resent the insolence in his gaze. If he’s trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not going to work. He knows why I didn’t sit next to him…why I chose the seat furthest from him. He knows why I can’t speak to him or see him. But still, he’s trying to make me feel bad. I have to look away. This is getting intense.

Remy leans over and whispers in my ear, “Looks like da Wolverine tinks his manhood is jeopardized by squiggly pasta.”

Oops, I laughed a little too loudly. Now everyone’s staring at me. Good defense mechanism—shoving a pile of food into my mouth and pretending to be very interested in the butter dish. I guess it worked. They’re back to their respective conversations. Whoa. Did Remy just put his hand on my thigh? He did. And Logan is glowering at him. He couldn’t possibly have seen, though. But, Logan is the jealous type, and he doesn’t hide it. Wow, I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle a one-night-stand with him, but it looks like he’s the one having a problem.

I giggle into my napkin. No wonder Jean let Logan trail her like a puppy dog. I could get used to this. No, I can’t. I can’t use Remy, because I actually like him a lot. And from what I can tell, he feels the same way. Besides, the age gap is smaller. Ouch, why do I feel bad for saying that? I feel like I’m hurting Logan. I shouldn’t care so much and I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Remy’s a lady’s man, fair and square. He’s Logan with a N’awlins accent. I can’t just assume that he’s going to fall for me. I’m going to have to work for it. That’ll definitely keep me busy, and right now, I need all the mental stimulation I can get.

---

I can’t sleep. This must have been Bobby’s old room, because I feel like I’m in an icebox. Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m tired and frustrated, and my teeth have been chattering for so long that my jaws are numb. Carol keeps trying to wiggle through the cracks, but I won’t let her. I really don’t want to sleep walk into Logan’s room because it’s fucking freezing beyond these blankets. I know, because an hour ago I got up to put on three pairs of socks and my gloves. Add my tights and sweatshirt to that equation, and I’m just oozing sex appeal. Just thinking about those nights at the Peach Tree and all those skimpy outfits makes me snuggle closer to my pillow.

I wonder if Logan would’ve thought I was good. He’s probably seen a lot of strippers in his day. I wonder if Remy enjoyed it. Back on that road trip to San Francisco, we camped out at a trailer park in Utah. I had my first taste of Bourbon, and I talked Remy’s ear off while I wiggled my hips. My face is burning up just thinking about it. He was a gentleman though, and wrapped his trench coat around me, laughing. Would you believe that he called me a River Rat? Oh brother, did I just sigh? I guess fancying a good ol’ southern boy is better than my foolish Logan hero worship.

I’m making a decision right now. No more Logan. I’m going to show him that I’m a grown woman who is immune to his brute animal magnetism. I have to get my life in order, and I can’t do that unless I distance myself from things that make me feel confused and insignificant. You know what? Logan’s not that sexy, if you really think about it. He’s just a big jerk. Wow, I’ve had many reactions in regards to Logan, but I’ve never been physically disgusted before. I think this is a step in the right direction.

---

Knocking. Come in. Wait, it’s not my door. It’s outside. A woodpecker? No. Please don’t make me get up. Why are you making me get up? It’s so bright outside. Daylight? I really don’t remember falling asleep. Where the hell is that noise coming from? There. Logan. Is he….? He’s chopping down a tree! In April. It’s a perfectly nice tree. Why is he killing it? Maybe it’s one of his mountain man things. He has to chop a tree down once in a while. Build a cabin. Make fire. What time is it? Oh come on, Logan! Eight thirty in the morning and you have to fulfill your undomesticated urge to be one with the wilderness? They don’t even serve breakfast until 9:15, so you just robbed me of another half hour of sleep. Thanks a lot, you big ogre. Well, I’m awake now. Might as well take a shower.

---

I never thought that it mattered where you eat a plate of pancakes, but I have been proved wrong. Bobby, Kitty, and Jubilee invited me to sit with them in the boathouse, and there’s just something about the lighting in here and the view of the lake that makes my fluffy discs of flour, eggs, and milk taste spectacular. Yeah, they’re a little cold from the long walk, but I don’t mind. The conversation is carefree and fluid. According to Jubilee, Logan was chopping that tree down because a statue is being built in its place. A statue for Jean. I feel like an ass.

Why is it that just when I’m trying to find every possible way to stop glorifying Logan, he does something sentimental? Yeah, it’s at the Professor’s bidding, but he could have said no and he didn’t. I wonder how Scott feels about sharing this venture with him. It has to feel like a slap in the face, right? He’s building a memorial to the woman he loved with all his heart, and the target of her mental adultery is clearing the land. Did Logan feel the same way when I died? I can’t remember it, but clinically speaking, I kicked the bucket. If I stretch my brain hard enough, I can see blood on my hands, but that’s about it. Nobody will tell me what happened, and I’m sure I want to know all the details.

There’s my name again. “Rogue? Rogue?”

“Yeah?” I’m so bad at pretending to pay attention.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Haven’t you been listening at all, chica?”

“Er…no…sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. What did I miss?”

Bobby shrugs. “We were just talking about whether or not the younger students should receive combat training. The shit’s kind of hit the fan…”

“What do you mean?” I haven’t been reading the newspaper or watching television that much. I’m out of the loop when it comes to world events. Oh no, they’re giving me that look. The look you give someone when you don’t want to hurt any feelings.

“Things are just a little more tense now, ever since the SFPD blamed Carol’s disappearance on mutant terrorists.” Suddenly I’m glad I haven’t been listening. “But nobody blames you.” Um, thank you?

“Rogue, don’t get mad. All Kat means is that Mystique’s stupid plan has created a big problem. It’s affected all of us.” Marie, just calm down. These people are your friends. Just try to understand. “But, anyway, that’s not the point. We were just saying that it’s more beneficial to learn useful defense tactics than to run laps for P.E., especially if we were ever to be attacked again.”

“What she said,” Kitty smiles weakly. I smile back, because I want her to know that it’s okay.

I don’t know how I feel about that. “It depends. Some of the kids here are only seven and eight years old. Can they handle the discipline?”

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be regimented. If someone other than Wolvie teaches it, it could actually be fun. What little kid doesn’t want to play ninja once in a while?”

“Wolvie?” I snort.

Jubilee sets her plate on the workbench behind her. “What? Wolverine sounds ridiculous, because he may act like a furry little mean weasel, but he doesn’t look like one. And I can’t call him Logan because…I don’t like calling my teachers by their first names. Could you call Professor Xavier ‘Charles’ or Storm ‘Ororo’?”

“I can’t even pronounce Storm’s name,” Bobby smirks.

“Bobby!”

“Wolverine sounds ridiculous, but Wolvie doesn’t?” Kitty has a good point. “Anyway, maybe you could bring it up with the Professor today, Rogue.”

I have a meeting with him after lunch. Usually I’m too uncomfortable and worn out to make small talk. “I guess…”

We all jump as the clock on the wall cuckoos. Jubilee grabs her dish and skips to the door. “Oh my gosh! It’s ten, guys. We have to get to the foosball table before the rest of the runts.”

“I hope Pete’s ready for his Saturday morning ass-whooping!” Bobby hurdles over a pile of scrap wood with Kitty hot on his heels.

“Oh no you don’t, Iceman! Last time you got us in trouble!”

It’s true. Apparently, Bobby got frustrated and froze Pete’s entire team, along with half of the table. Needless to say, ice melts…and he flooded the Rec room carpet. Storm was not happy. She had to evaporate it, and the bottom floor was like a sauna. I wasn’t there because I was still hiding out in my room, but it was the talk of the mansion for almost two days. I should thank Bobby. It got all of the students to stop whispering about me.

“Rogue, you coming?” Yeah. I’ll be there.

I have been exposed for the coward that I really am. I cannot name the culprit, but something made me cry on the Professor’s couch today. It was humiliating to be so weak and callow, but as valiantly as I tried, my tremendous gush of emotion would not go away. He said nothing, and he did nothing, and I am thankful. He gave me copious freedom to let everything spill out of my bruised heart. I even told him about my love woes. I thought it was a good idea to focus on someone to make me happy, but nobody can. I’m too broken and weary to put my best aspects forward. I feel instinctively drawn to Logan, but I think that’s because I have so much of him in my head, still. Not because I’ve ever felt more for him than a starry-eyed infatuation. I kept the part about Logan to myself, but everything else came pouring out like a bad hangover.

The Professor thinks it would be a good idea for me to start interacting more with the team. He said that the Danger Room would be good therapy for me. I can let out all of my bottled up pain, and I’ll be forced to integrate Carol’s powers with my own. And, because of that, I can ultimately assimilate her personality and block out her memories. I’m happy that I’ve got a get-out-of-psychic-block-building-class-free card, but I feel the invasive anxiety as I wander the steel halls of the lower levels. The last time I was down here, training for combat, it was the beginning of the end of my first real romance.

The red light is on, which means the room is in use, so I head into the power bay. I have a habit of counting steps. I’ve done it for as long as I remember. Thirteen. My shoes squeak on the slick floor, and Scott…Professor Summers…whatever…is startled by the noise.

“Hey, Rogue.” Not again. Do I have a crush on everybody? I just noticed his dimples. “Pleasant surprise.”

“Who’s in there?” I nod toward the colossal, metal-plated walls just outside the protective glass.

“Beauty and the Beast.”

I step closer to crack his interesting code, and I am graced with the image of Remy and Logan locked in a struggle. Wow. They are really going at it, and Scott’s just watching in amusement. “How rough do things have to get before you, uh, turn the simulation off?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Well, Gambit’s slightly more adept at hand-to-hand combat than Logan, but Logan has an adamantium skeleton and healing powers. So, basically…when someone gets blown up or bleeds to death.” He chuckles at the horrified expression on my face. “Just kidding, Rogue! It’s timed for thirty minutes.”

“Why’d they have to go in the Danger Room to beat the crap out of each other? Why not the basketball court or the garden?” I mean, isn’t the DR supposed to be for, like, real danger? Not a platform for two guys who don’t get along.

“Too risky.” He adjusts his visor. “LeBeau could demolish the school and the other one,” I assume he’s referring to Wolverine, “would shred Storm’s lilies. Then she would fry him. Then Logan would be holed up in the lab for a few days and come out crankier than usual, which we would have to deal with. Thus, it is better for all of us to just let Logan wrestle off his pent-up aggression. Incidentally, you know why he’s so angry, don’t you?” He turns to look at me and continues with a matter-of-fact tinge. “Because he’s got such a bad haircut.”

I cock my head and smirk. “Wow, you really don’t like him, do you?” He never fails to have an insult for him.

Scott tweaks some settings on the control panel and laser blasts begin whizzing from sconces on the walls. “I hate him.”

“Hate is a strong word, Professor Summers.” Everyone kind of sees their bickering as a fight to be Alpha male.

He turns and gives me a half-smile. “Call me Scott. And I take it back. I loathe him.”

“Why?” I suddenly feel embarrassed. “Because of…”

“Jean?” Her name catches in his throat. He composes himself and shakes his head. “No. People can think what they want, but Jean has nothing to do with it.” He sits in the desk chair and slides across the room to another set of switches. “Well, actually, I lied.”

I can tell he is uncomfortable being so open with me, and I honestly couldn’t tell you why we are even having this conversation. I feel a sense of duty, though, to urge him to talk. Who knows? Maybe he will do the same for me. “Let me put it this way, Rogue. Hypothetically speaking, let’s say you fall in love with someone, and you give that person every part of you. For the first time in your life, you really know what it feels like to be completely, indisputably happy. Then, someone else comes along, someone impulsive and out of the ordinary…”

“And you know that she loves you, but you still feel like you have to prove something to her in order to keep her?” Whoa, where did that come from?

“Yes,” he concedes, looking at me in awe. “Then, something terrible happens to her and you grieve because you want her back so badly. But, something gets in the way. And you are robbed of precious time with her…”

I lay an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “You’re not angry that she’s…she’s dead.” The words sound so ugly spilling from my mouth.

“What keeps me awake at night is that I couldn’t save her. She took her last breath in his arms. I can’t live with that.” Brusquely, he presses a button and the Danger Room is engulfed by darkness.

I watch the red sparks of light nervously, wondering if Remy and Logan can handle it. A glowing, sizzling Ace of diamonds lodges itself into the large, formidable observation glass. There's my answer. I turn back to Scott. “That's not your fault! You were badly wounded, hitchhiking your way back to the mansion. And that woman… it wasn’t Jean. I think…” I know because Logan knows. “I think the Jean Grey you loved truly died the moment she thought you were gone.”

His eyes are hidden by a bulky visor, but his face is a heart-breaking jumble of anguish, misery, relief, and puzzlement. This is going to get awkward soon. He stands—gosh, he’s tall—and runs a hand through his hair. His jaw is clenched, and I recognize it as armor. “I…excuse me.”

I feel terrible. Why did I have to go all Dr. Phil on him? “No, Prof-…Scott! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. I’ll go.”

“No, it’s alright, Rogue. Thank you, really. I just need to take a walk.”

He disappears down the stairs before I can protest anymore. Great. I’ve made yet another person run away. I’m real good at that. The lights are back on in the Danger Room. Time must be up. I think I’ll just hide out in here until I’m sure that Logan’s far away, upstairs. I’ll give it fifteen minutes.

I hear the clunk of boots. That’s definitely not Scott coming back to let me apologize even more profusely. Logan materializes in the doorframe, shirtless, puffed up and loaded with adrenaline. There is a nasty gleam in his eyes, and I know he is looking for Scott. “He’s not here.”

“I can see that,” he snaps. “But you are.” Oh no. He’s moving toward me. I back away, but there is no sign of escape. He lodges me against a filing cabinet, and one of the protruding handles digs into my spine. Why is he being so rough? I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. “I’m onto your little game.”

“Wh-what?” I want to kick him and tell him to get the fuck away from me, but I can’t. I know that, now, I’m physically stronger than him, but he has rendered me powerless.

“Cut the act, kid. I’ve seen those looks you give him. The way you hang on his words and lick your lips.” He grabs hold of my hair, close to the scalp, and tugs brutally. I will not cry. I won’t. As badly as it stings, I won’t. “You think that Cajun’d ever touch you like this?” He forces our hips together and kisses me with so much viciousness that I begin to feel lightheaded. He’s kissing me, bruising my lips, and I can do nothing to stop the torrent of my mutation. He rips himself from the connection, panting with fatigue. I have never felt so hollow. I do not know the man standing in front of me, and I feel constriction in my chest as his perverse thoughts seep into my blood. “If there’s something you want, you come get it from me. Don’t use her as an excuse.”

He lets me go and saunters, in his arrogant and vulgar way, out of sight. I hate myself for not fighting back. How could he do this to me? Logan is supposed to know, to sense what I’m going through. He thinks that I’m pretending, like a scared little girl ripe for attention. I feel deceived and alone and frightened. I want to run. It’s what I always do when life gets difficult. But I know that I can’t, because that will give him more reason to think he has me all figured out. My hope leaks out of my body like grain from a sieve. I’m being strangled by the swelling in my lungs and throat. I can’t see a damn thing as I make my way to the elevator. My vision is hampered by a watery haze. I don’t think I can make it to my bed before I cave in.

I have to keep my head down. I don’t want anyone to see. I don’t want sympathy or comfort or a pep talk. Only a few more feet. Finally, the sanctuary of my room. It seems dramatic and cliché to crumble to the floor and sob, but I do it anyway. I want to go home. I don’t even know where that is, but I want that kind of security. I want this hole inside of me to go away. I don’t want to feel anything, right now. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be alive, and I don’t want to be dead. I don’t want to think or reflect or speak or breathe. I don’t want to be in this skin. I want to give in to Carol so I don’t have to be Marie.

---

Something just hit the back of my head. The door. Okay, I need a moment to collect myself. I’m on the floor, which has probably left a grid in my cheek. My eyelids are sticky with dried tears. There’s a kink in my neck, and I can barely turn to see who is standing over me.

“Hey…what’re you doing down there?” Bobby stoops to lend me a hand. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” My voice sounds horrible. I must look terrible, too. “What time is it?”

“Pizza time.” Bobby grins and wiggles his eyebrows. Saturday nights at the school are pizza nights. Every possible combination of toppings is sprawled out over about thirty rounds of crispy dough. Everyone eats in the cafeteria, including the teachers and staff. The younger students usually bring board games, and the rest of us play poker or charades.

I struggle to get myself up, using Bobby and the door handle. I mend my tangled ponytail and wipe self-consciously at my features. We may not be anything more than friends, but Bobby still knows how to read my temper. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Do I have anything…?” I signal toward my eye make-up.

“No, you look good. Hey, Rogue?”

“Yeah?” I make one last attempt to erase the sleep from my face.

“I know we’re not really that close anymore… and I’m sorry. But you can still talk to me, if you need to.” I smile at him and poke his rib playfully.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Race you downstairs?” He never was one for awkward heart-to-hearts.

“You’re on!”

The cafeteria is already crowded with hungry students. I sit at one of the tables with Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Pete, Warren, Alison… you get the picture. The “Mutant Brat Pack”, as Jubilee calls it. Storm gives three of the pizzas to us, a small gesture of favoritism. I’m not really hungry, but I guess I’ll have a slice of plain cheese. Anybody who doesn’t live inside this mansion would look at this scene and be utterly traumatized. Warren’s harassing Pete with his wings; Bobby keeps freezing the Parmesan whenever Jubilee reaches for it; boys and girls of every color, shape, size, and skill chat energetically. To me, this is as normal as you can get.

The affection in my thoughts is smashed to smithereens. Logan just showed up. I don’t want to look at him, but it will take time to break the habit of watching his every move. I hate him. I hate the way he makes me feel. Most of all, I hate him for tricking me into giving him all of my faith. The day that I met him, he scared me to death. But I knew he was just like me, and I took a chance. In return, he took a chance on me. He promised to take care of me, and I foolishly handed him my heart on a platter. I didn’t even make him work for it.

Today, I witnessed the ugly beast inside of him rear its head. The monster that surfaces when need and hunger and possession plague his sanity. The part of me that is still so green wants to forgive him, blame it on a big misunderstanding. Blame it on stress. I won’t lie to myself, though. I knew this day would come. Yes, Logan has fully acknowledged me as a flourishing woman, and at any other point in my life, I would have considered his behavior toward me the sexy kind of domineering. But I’m not dim-witted. I’ve been through too goddamn much to neglect that he violated me. He mentally and emotionally and physically pillaged me. The compassion that I knew he harbored, covertly, for me is gone. Maybe it was never there.

He’s observing me in a blatant and revolting way. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I need some water, but I can’t get it because he’s guarding the ice chest and soda fountain.

“Hey, Rogue, you okay?” No, I’m not okay, Katherine. “You’ve been chewing the same bite for…a while…”

I don’t mean to give her a death glare, but I do, and I feel remorseful right away. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Great, now I’ve caught the attention of everybody else at the table.

“Hey, Roger,”—Pete’s nickname for me—“did you ask the Professor about training the students?”

Oh, right. “No, sorry, I kind of forgot.” I really don’t want to have to explain myself, but I know how zealous my friends are about the subject. “Things were kind of…hectic today.”

“It’s cool,” Jubilee shrugs.

“Maybe Rogue should just ask Wolvie,” Bobby shoots a smug glance at Jubilee, and she sticks out her tongue.

I throw my slice onto the plate just a little too harshly, and I hear myself snap. “Why does everybody think I’m so close to Logan?! Why don’t one of you ask him? He’s your teacher, too!” Before anybody can call me out on my serious overreaction, I swing my legs over the bench seat and flee.

The only way to get out of the cafeteria is to walk directly past him, and I am acutely reconsidering my decision. I guess I caused more of a stir than I thought, because a hundred pairs of eyes are following my walk of shame. Storm, could you please strike me with lightning? Scott, maybe you could beam me up. Somebody finish this mess that I started. Logan is blocking my escape route. He's getting good at this. He could easily move out of my way, but he’s a pain in my ass. Does he enjoy humiliating me? Ugh, apparently he does. He’s walking backwards, standing right in front of me.

“Move.” There is no inkling of request in my voice. It’s a direct order.

“You shouldn’t skip dinner.”

“MOVE.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and that is the final strike.

I swear I just heard his jaw crack. How hard did I hit him? Oh my god, I just punched a teacher. I executed a right hook on Wolverine, and it hurt him! Not me. My hand should be broken right now, but it’s not. I don’t feel anything. No pain or numbness; just the regular feeling of bones, veins, and sinew. It is really quiet in here. Oh my god, I just walloped a professor right in front of the entire student body, not to mention the headmaster. That’s it. I’m expelled. I’m done for. I’m going to be kicked out onto the curb. All the sympathy and leniency was contingent upon the fact that I wasn’t going to turn violent, but oops.

My legs feel so heavy. I’m running with no real destination. My only goal is to get as far away as possible and hide.

I didn’t get into as much trouble as I thought. In fact, everyone is being nicer to me. But they’re still giving me that damn look. The Professor pretty much ordered me to spend the morning in the Danger Room, so that’s where I am. My palms are sweating inside my leather gloves, and the zipper on my suit is making my throat itch. It is so nerve-wracking waiting for the simulation to start. Luckily, I have Pete, Bobby, and Jubilee in here with me. It’s supposed to be a simple exercise to help us utilize our powers and gain better control. I guess Professor Xavier figures that the best way to help me is to force me into intramural ass-kicking.

It’s really weird to watch the metal room transform into a virtual reality obstacle course. Right now, we’re in a sewer—at least that’s what it looks like. There’s water, to our calves, and it’s rising fast. What the hell is the point of this? This isn’t going to be like Titanic is it?

“We have to find the valve!” Bobby shouts.

“Just freeze it!” Pete hollers back.

“I can’t! We’ll be trapped, and there’s no way to get out!” Duh. Sometimes Pete can be so dense, and I don’t mean that in terms of composition. “And there’s no way to climb up, otherwise I’d freeze it once we were out of the way. Pete, it looks like you’re the only one who’s not gonna drown.”

Wow, we have been in here for less than a minute and Jubilee already broke a sweat. She doesn’t look too good. “Are you okay?”

She’s pressed up against the stone, panting. “Girl, I don’t even go near the swimming pool. This is pure insanity.” She’s scared of water? The Professor had to know that. Why is he putting her through this? It’s one thing to face your fears, but to be traumatized by them? No way.

“Where’s the valve?” Bobby and Pete are staring at me like I just spoke Greek. “Where’s the water coming from? C’mon, don’t look at me like that!” I have no idea why I’m assuming leadership. I must be out of my mind.

“From underground. We’re going to have to look for it. How long can you hold your breath?” Bobby turns in all directions, the water swishing around his thighs.

“No,” Jubilee exclaims. “It’s up there!” She points toward a hub on the ceiling. “This is an aqueduct. A dirty, flooded pipeline.” There’s a long, rust-covered conduit descending along the mucky bricks. It disappears into the swiftly rising water line several feet away.

“How the hell are we supposed to get to that?” Bobby marvels.

“Can you freeze the pipe?” Pete must really like Bobby’s powers.

“It’ll crack. There’s no point.”

“It’s our only option, right now, hot shot,” Jubilee rationalizes, growing more fretful by the minute.

“No, it’s not.” I understand now. This is the reason I’m here. This isn’t practice for Iceman, Jubilee, or Colossus. This is where Marie becomes Rogue. Professor X wants me to practice flight. He wants me to use my strength. I’m the only one who can save us. In all those heroic movies, I would just suddenly be able to fly up there and turn off the water flow with my superhuman muscle, but this isn’t a movie. This is my life, and I’m so scared that I’m paralyzed. How do I even begin to do this? My peers are looking to me for guidance, some kind of miracle. But can I even deliver on my promise?

“Rogue, are you gonna share your plan with us? ‘Cause we’re waist-deep.” Bobby clutches my arm and snaps me out of my stupor of insecurity. I glance at Pete; he has Jubilee propped up on his broad silver-glossed shoulders. If I don’t react soon, even Pete’s 7’5” frame won’t be enough. Purposefully, I toss my shoulders back and take a deep breath. I have to concentrate. “Rogue… Rogue?”

Bobby keeps saying my name, but I zone him out. My eyes are closed and my breathing is steady. I need to think about nothing but my duty. Do I need to hop? Do I need to put my arms up toward the sky? What do I do? Is there a mental switch I have to find? “Rogue!” Ignore him. I can’t break my focus. Carol, I know you’re in there. I need to borrow your power right now. Please, just give me a hint. Please. Please.

I feel it. I feel the twinge in my fingers and toes. I feel the lurch of my stomach. I feel cool air on my cheeks. Tilting my head upward, I open my eyes. The ceiling is coming toward me. No, I’m moving toward the ceiling! I don’t dare look down, because I know I’d lose my grasp. I grab the wheel of the valve, and I feel my weight hit me. It’s gone. I lost my concentration. Focus, Marie. Don’t think about anything else. Just focus. I take a long, thorough look at the water below and I feel my chest tighten. Why did I do that? Just breathe. Stay focused. Trust yourself. I do trust myself. No, I don’t. My hand is slipping. My jaws are clenched shut with dread.

Dammit, Marie! You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out. I know I can make myself fly, but how am I supposed to keep myself in the air while I get this thing to shut? It’s corroded, and it won’t budge. I know I can move it. If I pummeled Logan, then I can defeat this stupid thing. My arms are getting tired of dangling. I have to decide quickly. Centering my energy, I slowly release my grip on the valve. Please, God, don’t let me spiral to a watery concrete death. I’m hovering. I’m not dead. With all of the might I have left, I take hold of the spigot and push it clockwise. Wow, that was easy.

I feel strange. Something isn’t right. I feel like something is pulling on my skin. The metal. I want to touch the metal. A loud droning digs deep into my ears. Sparks? Where did that come from? My head, it’s pounding. My heart is the same. I can’t get my hand off of the valve. It’s burning, glowing red, and burning. What’s happening? It’s melting. Everything is melting. The simulation is fading. I’m falling, and there’s nothing to stop me. I hit the steel floor, and I feel it cave in. I hear shouting. I hear my name. I see red flashes. There’s fire and ice, too. I see metal sheets tearing themselves from the walls. There’s red everywhere. I hear creaking and searing and blasting and crashing. I can’t stop. I can’t stop any of it. I know it’s me; it’s my fault.

“Rogue!” “Rogue?” “Rogue!” “What happened?” “Are you okay?” “What’s going on?” “Somebody get Hank!” “Professor, what is going on?” “What the hell did you do?” “Is she okay?” “Do something!” “Whoa, she’s ripping the place to shreds!” “Piotr, are you okay? How’s your head?” “Logan, stay out of here! She’s channeling Magneto!” “Get out of my way!” “Oh my…” “What do we do?” “I cannot control it. She needs to be sedated.” “How?” “Bobby, take Pete to the med bay. Everyone out, now!” “I told you this was a bad idea!”

I am screaming. I hear it. I hear their voices. Everyone’s going to be so mad at me. Where are you taking me? Logan? Scott? Professor! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t stop it! I can’t do this. I can’t control any of this. I’m not strong enough. I want to die! Please, just let me die! Get away from me! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to do this anymore.

Rogue, I want to help you. I know you can overcome this. No. No. Get out of my head. I don’t want to. I give up! Do you hear me? It’s over. I’m over. Rogue, be at peace. Professor? Please help me! Make this stop. Make this go away. Let me go! Let me…go…

---

Oh no, not the med lab again. I feel like I have a hangover. This one time, back in New Orleans, I went out with a couple of my roommates and their college friends. We went to a party at some rich kid’s house in the Garden District. We ended up playing Jengameister, and my nerves had me shaking like a wet puppy. Needless to say, Libby, Genevieve, and Libby’s brother had to carry me home. This headache is on par with the one I had then. My throat hurts; I really could use some water. Or, ironically, a good drink. I want to open my eyes and stretch my legs, but I’m afraid of being attacked by questions.

“You awake, kid?” Logan. Why is he here? He’s not the person I want to see right now. I lift one eyelid and peak at him. He is decked out in his usual garb—white tank top, jeans, boots, and dogtags. He looks harmless, really.

“I feel…” My voice sounds hoarse with sleep and exhaustion.

“Like shit?”

“Yes.” His bluntness is so endearing.

“You should. You put up quite the fight.” What does he mean? What even happened to me? “Chuck says that the stress of everything got to you, and you started to manifest all of the mutations you’ve ever absorbed. Way back to Popsicle and Pyro.” Oh my God. I have gone crazy. I could have killed everyone. I’m a fucking monster. “Whoa, kid, there’s nothing to cry about.”

“Ugh, save it, Logan! You don’t know what this fucking feels like. You think I’m fucking pretending. Well, is this good enough for you? Do you see how completely helpless and out-of-control I am?” I hate emotions. At any other point of my life, I would hold back my tears until they made my throat and nose burn. But I can’t. I have just given up on everything. My skin is burning up—it’s the damn leather uniform. “Get this thing off of me!”

I sit up and tug at the zipper. Logan places his hands on my shoulders and forces me to meet his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” I bark, pulling the metal tag down to my abdomen. I pry the clingy material from my skin. My camisole sticks to my breasts, stomach, and back with sweat.

“Kid, listen to me.” Wow, he’s really got a thick skull doesn’t he?

“Enough! Logan, I’m tired of this. I’m really fucking sick and tired of you. You don’t make any sense! You cross the continent to find me, accidentally stab me, and then save my life. But then you decide you don’t like the fact that I’m not so innocent anymore. So what do you do? You add to my confusion and self-doubt by treating me like a devious hooker. I’m not as scheming as you think, because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not feeling too hot right now! I don’t know who the fuck I am or what the hell I’m doing! I can’t control anything, and I’m so afraid to even leave my room because I don’t want to hurt anybody!”

“If you’re so dedicated to solitude right now, why do you keep seeking out that damn Cajun?” Oh please, not this again.

“I’m not going to explain myself to you, Logan. Besides, it’s not like I can talk to you anyway!”

He grabs my arms and squeezes possessively. “I’m here, so talk.”

“No! You don’t fucking understand!” His grip tightens, and I feel that stinging pressure of veins swelling. Wait a minute. My skin. It’s bare. His hands are bare. He’s touching me, and there’s nothing happening. “Logan…” He snaps his hands back when I feel the pull creep up. To my horror, he rethinks his decision and touches me again.

“See?” he hisses, averting the pain. “I’m not afraid of you. You need me. I’m the only one who can give this to you. I’m the only one who isn’t going to run!”

I shove him away, and roll off the slab so that it sits between us. “Don’t be stupid! This isn’t a game! Don’t test yourself. I don’t need you to prove anything, Logan.”

“Let me show you that I’m sorry…” he struggles to speak, knees buckling. “You have to see things from my perspective. One minute, you’re just a kid—my companion. The next, you’re a sex goddess. You can’t expect me to ignore it. But it makes me feel sick! I wanted to believe that it really was you, just using Carol as a disguise. But it’s not, and that’s what makes this so hard.”

Cautiously I move around the large metal island and stoop next to him. “This is why I can’t turn to you. I already decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to put you through that torture. It isn’t fair. Just like it’s not fair for you to demand attention from me.” He looks so weak and innocuous.

“You’re better than him.” Who? Remy?

The depths of Logan’s jealousy hit me like a brick. This isn’t just casual envy. This is deep hatred. Logan wants to own me. Maybe not carnally or romantically, but he wants my soul. My thoughts. My desires. My interests. He wants me to exist only for him. “So are you. But, I will not be your property.”

He turns away from me, his breathing more composed. “You won’t come back.”

What does he mean? There’s only one way to find out. “Logan, touch me.”

“No.”

I lay my hand over his, and he does not contest. His mind rushes into my body. Addiction. Obsession. Hate. Burning. Love. I gasp and fall backwards. The steel door slides open and Storm jogs into the room, out of breath.

She ignores the odd sight before her, and exclaims, “They found Carol! She’s at San Francisco General Hospital.”

The world is upside down. My worst nightmares are popping up all over the place. The Professor sent the team to pick up Carol and bring her back here. Logan won’t speak to me, yet again. The students are whispering about me, yet again. I destroyed the Danger Room. I gave Pete a concussion. Remy is avoiding me. And the cherry on top—I lost my favorite pair of earrings. What have I done in my short life to deserve this? I really don’t care if I’m whining without just cause. I’m being repeatedly screwed over, and it’s not fair! I was always nice to the other kids in school. I went to church every Sunday. I said my prayers and cleaned my room. I honored my father and mother. I didn’t steal, and I haven’t committed adultery…yet. So, why is everything going so badly?

The part that bothers me the most is Logan. I haven’t had a chance to resolve anything with him yet. He’s off with Storm and Scott in San Francisco. What the hell did he mean? He’s addicted to me. He hates me… He hates himself. Or does he hate everybody else and he loves me? How can he love anybody? He’s Logan. Logan doesn’t do love. Hell, I don’t do love. We hardly know each other. I probably completely misunderstood his intentions. I felt wrong. Is there even a wrong way to feel something? Well, maybe for power-absorbing mutants there is. I care about him…I think? I do. I care for him a lot. We have a connection, but it’s been quite lousy ever since… Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something. I told him to piss off, kind of, but I left the door open, too. I don’t know what he wants! I really don’t. I don’t understand him, and I can’t just ask him to explain his logic. Our relationship probably makes perfect sense to him, but I’m left in the dark. I’m having such a hard time finding myself, and it’s like he’s aiming to make things more difficult.

I can’t even talk to him when he gets back, because there will be a big commotion over Carol. Oh God. Carol is coming here. How am I going to face her? Maybe I won’t have to. I heard she’s in a pretty nasty coma. I did that to her. I took away her memories and happiness. I destroyed everything she was. Why does the Professor want her here? I understand his need to help people, but can’t he do the whole long distance thing? Doesn’t he know how hard this is going to be for me? I know I’m being self-centered, but come on. I have been through a lot.

They should be here by now. It’s almost nine.

---

She’s down the hall. In a bed. Unconscious. If I walk to the staircase, I’ll go right past her room. I considered my options—I could climb out my window, swing, hook my legs onto Logan’s balcony, jump onto the trellis, slide down the vines, and break into the kitchen. But, I don’t want to do that every time I get hungry. I feel like I’m sleeping near a cemetery. It’s creepy. I thought Professor Xavier would keep her in the sublevels, but no. He was feeling particularly hospitable and thought: why not a lovely room on the third floor, right next to Rogue? I managed to avoid her arrival. I stayed here on my bed with my door locked, just in case they tried to force me to pay her a visit. But I don’t know how long I can elude an encounter.

11:45. It is entirely too early for bed, for me at least, but everything is dead downstairs. Sunday nights usually are no matter what time it is. I’m so bored. I feel the urge to paint and to cook and, hell, even micromanage my sock drawer—anything to ease this awful restlessness. I have been staring at this magazine page for a half-hour. It’s a stupid love advice column. Maybe I should write to them. “Dear Ramona Romance: There is a loutish, scruffy Canadian man of indeterminate age with whom I have a complicated situation. What is going through his mind? Sincerely, Utterly Muddled Mutant in NYC.” They’d probably tell me to just get over him and set my sights on a guy my own age. Even that’s hard, because the other man in my life is currently hiding from me.

I need to talk to Logan. The only way I’ll be able to move on and get my act together is if I tell him everything that’s on my mind. Hopefully, he’ll give me something in return. I toss the magazine to the floor and grab my purple fuzzy sweater, slipping it on over my green cotton nightgown. Cautiously, I peep into the hallway. I know it’s not like Carol is going to be standing right outside my room, but still, it bugs the hell out of me. I flit across the carpet, pausing at the next room.

Logan opens his door before I can even knock; he’s dressed in workout clothes—sweats and a t-shirt. He looks like he’s about to go for a run. “Oh…” Wait, he’s going running right now? Then again, does anything he chooses to do make sense?

“You need something?” I swear, one minute he’s tender and fragile; the next, he’s a complete asshole. Maybe I shouldn’t make such a snappy judgment, though. The mission he had today was stressful. He’s probably feeling considerably strained.

“I just wanted to talk to you.” I figure I should be honest. “You know, clear the air. But, you’ve got plans, so I’m going to go back to my room now. ‘Night.”

“Wait.” He grabs the nappy fabric of my cardigan. “I’m listening.”

Uh…is that my cue? He focuses his weight on his left foot and braces himself with the doorframe. He wants me to spill my guts in the hallway? “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t answer me. He strolls into his room, assuming that I’ll follow. Stepping into his lair, I nudge the door and it shuts with a soft click. It’s so quiet in here. I hear the tick of his clock and the singing crickets in the bushes outside. “Slow down, there. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

What? Oh, he’s being witty. “You know what? Don’t. I hate it when you do that, Logan. You spoil every earnest moment with your stupid sarcasm. I hate a lot of the things you do, come to think of it.”

“Kid-…” he turns in my direction, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, but I cut him off.

“You said you were listening, so you’re gonna listen to me! Sit down, shut up, and let me talk.” He leans against the maple wood desk and tosses me a look of astonishment. “And stop calling me ‘kid’. We’ve slept together, Logan, remember?” Wow, it felt really good to say that. “Okay, I’m just going to give it to you straight. I hate that you confuse me. I hate that you make me feel like a crazy person. I hate that you expect so much of me when I’m struggling so hard to understand everything right now. I hate that you have the mood swings of a hormonal teenager. I hate the way you look at me. I hate that you think it’s okay to treat me with such carelessness. I hate that you expect me to forgive you all the time. And I hate that you’re trying to control me.”

He rises to his full height, and he looks royally pissed off. I feel my nerve scurrying away like a spooked horse. “Hormonal teenager? Look who’s talking!”

He did not just say that to me. Okay, Marie. Just take a deep breath and try not to tackle him to the floor. “You owe me an apology, Logan. Truthfully, you owe me a very long and very detailed explanation for your…your…capriciousness.” Okay, that one must belong to Carol because I have no clue what that word means. I was never much for spelling bees.

“That’s a big word.”

What the hell is his problem? “Is that, like, your defense mechanism or something? Acting like a gigantic prick? Grow up, Logan. Stop avoiding this. Just tell me what the hell you want from me! Give me something to work with here, because you’re killing me!”

“Stop yelling. The walls are thin—I don’t want everyone knowin’ my business.” This man is going to give me a heart attack. He knows how to push every one of my buttons.

“It’s our business, Logan. You and me. Us. And you know what? This business sucks! I quit! I do not like feeling so dependent all the time. I have my own issues to sort out, and I’m not going to let you be my problem anymore. I walked out once, and I swear to God I’ll do it again.” It seems that angry threats are the only way to infiltrate his walls. I push on even further, fighting fire with fire. “And you know what’s the clincher? You’re such a pathetically proud egomaniac that you won’t even try to stop me. You’ll sacrifice anything just so you don’t have to confront your weaknesses.”

His eyes narrow and it sends a chill down my spine. “You done? Did that little speech make you feel like a big girl?” My insides feel like a complex knot. I can’t back down, though. “You think you’re so ready to delve into this shit, but you’re not.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you fucked me! After all, I’m just a hormonal teenager, right?” This is going to get very ugly.

“You came to me,” he shrugs. He shrugs, like this is casual.

“You should’ve said no! Then none of this would have ever happened.” I regret everything I am saying, but I can’t stop. This is my fault, too. “Like a decent, respectable man, you should’ve enforced the boundary. Now, everything is fucked up and it’s all up to me to fix it!”

“Nobody ever said I was respectable,” he sneers. “Don’t blame this on me. I warned you.”

“What? That you’d marked your territory? No, Logan, you scared the hell outta me. I thought it would end up being a secret—just a memory. Something I’d think about one day when I’m at the altar getting married; something that’d make me blush and laugh; a story to tell my friends or my daughter. But you turned it into the worst mistake of my life.” My voice is quaking with passion and fury.

He leaves me hanging and walks out to his small terrace. What do I do? Am I supposed to go after him? No. I always go after him. For once, I want him to come after me. So why are my feet moving toward him? Why am I reaching out for his shoulder? He hooks his thumbs into his pockets and severely inhales the sweet night air. “I can’t tell you want you want to hear, Marie.”

Marie. My name awakens butterflies in my abdomen. “You don’t know what I want to hear.”

“You want remorse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for robbing you of everythin’ that made you clean. You’re a cynic because of me. I took your innocence, confidence, happiness…you name it. And believe me, I wish I could give it all back.” Wow, I didn’t see that coming. “The big fucking irony is that I’m draining the life from you.”

What am I supposed to say? I think this is as candid as Logan is ever going to be with me, and I’m dumbstruck. There are a million things I want to tell him, but I can’t remember any of them. “Logan, I just…I want to understand.”

“You won’t. Nobody can.”

I step around in front of him and meet his eyes. “Try me?”

He’s fidgeting, like someone who feels pressured by time. He kneads the stubble on his chin and dodges my gaze. “No, Marie.”

“Logan, please!” The desperation in my tone is foreign to me. I’ve been reduced to begging. I take hold of a patch of his soft jersey shirt and wind it between my fingers, a feeble attempt to manipulate him. “I’m a River Rat…I don’t take kindly to bein’ told no.”

“What do you want?” he sighs with fatigue. “You should know already. You felt me, earlier.”

“But that just confused me even more.” I’m really being aggressive here, and I can only hope that it doesn’t chase him away.

“What’s so hard for you to comprehend?” he retorts, wrenching himself from my command. “Every minute you spend here, I’m dying. Every minute you spent away, I was dying. I can’t get you out of my fucking head. My hands? They itch and they burn—not from my claws, but because I want to fucking touch you all the time. But I can’t! I try to restrain myself, but I’m failin’ miserably. I’m hurting you, and you’re scared shitless of me, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I want you. I crave you. I can’t sleep because you’ll be there in my mind; I can’t stay awake because you’re still there. I look at you, and I feel guilt and loathing and addiction and rage and jealousy and lust and repulsion. I want to show you that you’re mine—you belong to me. That nobody else can ever have you, and no one will ever make you feel the way I do. But I can’t let any of that happen because I couldn’t live with you hating me.” He’s panting like he just ran a marathon.

“Logan…” I reach out to caress the pain from his face, but he retreats abruptly. The primordial instinct kicks in, and he flees. The dark sky illuminates with lightning, and ear-splitting thunder cracks in reply. I feel like I’m in an episode of the Looney Tunes. Vicious raindrops assault my hair and skin. If I look up, there’s probably a single gray cloud parked over my head. The wet wind is slapping me across the cheek. I hurry inside Logan’s room, shivering. My legs glisten with dew, and my thick brown locks stick to my neck. I slam his French doors and roughly draw the curtains. Screw April. Screw the showers. Screw life.