I’ve lost myself, and there’s no turning back.
Exactly four years ago, when I had just turned the age of sixteen, I met Logan in Laughlin City, Canada. Don’t ask me how I remembered the date, it was almost a deja vu feeling when I happened to glance at the calendar, and the next thought that came to mind was, ‘This was the day’. This was the day, all those years ago, that I met Logan, that I saved him, and that he saved me. From the very beginning, from the moment I laid eyes on him, muscles flexed dangerously, roaring as he struck his opponent down, knocking him against the cage, I loved him. It’s unexplainable, but it happened. Now, I almost wished I had never stepped foot in there, but at the same time, I know I would’ve regretted the rest of my life if I hadn't.
I’ve loved him for four years. At first, everyone thought it was just a crush, that I was merely adoring him because he had saved me on the road, and had brought me here to Xavier’s School. Everyone thought my feelings for him would pass with time, especially since he’d left again; they were wrong. To start with, it hadn’t been a crush. I’d loved him, and felt connected with him, ever since he’d looked at me in that bar, suddenly vulnerable at losing control, exposing his claws to the public. But, only I had seen that one moment of panic in him, and I’d followed him, felt safe with him, understood him. Logan is... my everything.
So, yea. It had killed me when I saw him gaze at Jean with affection, his hazel eyes burning with need and lust for her, seeing her as a woman; that was the way I wanted him to look at me, but he never did. His pet name for me was ‘kid’, and still remains to this day, even though I’m now twenty. His expression and regard for me has never changed, never softened, never shifted into something more at the mere mention of Marie, or at the sight of me walking in the room. And, even though Jean and Scott have been engaged now for five years, he still clings to her, still wants her, still gazes at her with passion and lust.
I tried to deal with it at first, convince myself that with time, Logan’s feelings for Jean would pass, and then Jean and Scott would get married, and suddenly I would have a chance. But, Jean and Scott are still, for some reason, waiting before they make the final commitment, and Logan is still pining over her. Over the years, a sour bitterness began to fill me, despite my attempts to squash it. I didn’t want to hate Jean because Logan loved her, didn’t want to turn from Logan because he still saw me as a ‘kid’, but it happened. Every time he came back over long periods, the first person he would ask for would be Jean, and then his damn eyes would light up whenever she walked into the room. I’d only give him a brief hug, and then be brushed aside with a ‘See you later, kid.’
It tore me up inside. I felt broken and ugly and repugnant. Something would pierce my stomach angrily, spilling a dark, burning rage within me, and then I’d started to hate. Hate everything. I hated Jean, for not marrying Scott, for encouraging Logan in his pursuit, for not seeing or caring what it did to me. I hated Scott, for not standing up for himself, for not telling Logan to get the fuck away from his financee. And, I even began to hate Logan, for not seeing me, for always calling me ‘kid’, for not loving me, for not realizing that I was dying inside. I tried to make it go away by telling myself they weren’t hurting me on purpose; I knew how the hate was destroying me, and I wanted it to stop, wanted to stop drinking to my death. But, it didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard I tried.. And, it ended up taking over.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Digging through my dresser drawers, a loud commotion floated up to my room.. Shouts of surprised laughter wafted to my ears, making me feel even more alienated. I hated it when they did that; laughing so fucking loud everyone in the damn mansion could hear them. I hadn’t smiled for months, and hadn’t laughed for longer than that. Tuning the noises out of my head, my black gloves fell limply over my arms, wanting to be worn again. Picking up the gloves tentatively, a feeling of relief washed over me as the realization struck me again: I could touch. I’d worked for years trying to repress my mutation, and finally I’d succeeded, without help from anyone else.
Tossing the gloves aside, my hands froze in their search as the only name I couldn’t tune out was shouted. “Logan!”
A warm thrill of excitement rushed through me, and I shut my eyes, quickly reprimanding myself. It was pathetic that I still loved him, still cared about him even though he hardly remembered I existed.
Heart pounding in my ears, I strained my ears, struck with a sudden apprehension. “Long time no see,” someone down there shouted, laughing. A chill coursed through my fingers, and I could feel the color drain from my face. I couldn’t see Logan; there was no way in hell I could come face to face with him now. I’d given up, given in to the hatred. And, for the first time ever, I had absolutely no desire to see him, to see him gaze at Jean with his hazel eyes, to see him look over my head at her, to see him ruffle my hair with a careless, ‘Hey, kid.’
Narrowing my eyes, I pushed the drawer shut with a forced slam, and glanced idly in the mirror. My eyes were clouded, cold, dark, shadowed; my mouth was drawn into a thin, straight line; my hair framed my face, partially hiding the right side of my face and falling freely over my shoulders. There was no trace of the girl I had been four years ago.
Moving quickly and stealthily in a practiced form, I leaned over my bed and grabbed the copy of the keys to the jet black motorcycle, and clutched them firmly in my fist. Opening my door softly, and closing it behind me, another chorus of laughter rang from downstairs. A stab of curiosity bit at me, and I froze in the hallway, pacing slowly toward the banister and inclining my head over.
The top of Logan’s hair met my vision, and he was surrounded by Jean’s red hair, Scott’s brown head, and Ororo’s white hair. All of them stood around, talking quietly and filling Logan in on what he’d missed. I couldn’t help myself; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Logan. His face wasn’t turned in my direction, by my eyes drew to his head like magnets, and no matter what I did I couldn’t tear them away. I still loved him; it was a dark, bitter love, but love, nonetheless.
My heart thudded in my chest, and I tried to keep in a sharp gasp as I heard the words, “Where’s Rogue?” slip from his mouth.
Jean’s head turned slightly, and she shrugged. “Around here somewhere.” Then, leaning closer to Logan, she whispered something in his ear, causing him to chuckle lightly. Scott folded his arms and stared hard at the oblivious two.
Retreating from the banister, I felt a cold rage burn inside of me. He didn’t care about me. He was only asking where I was because he noticed I wasn’t fawning over him. He didn’t give a shit about me, only his male ego..
Digging my nails sharply into my palm, I turned on my heel and sprinted down the hallway, taking the back exit of the mansion. I had to get away from here; from him.
“Rough night?”
Growling low in my throat, I turned to face the slightly fuzzy image of a man I’d never seen before.
“Why?” I asked slowly, licking my lips. “Do you plan to make it better?”
A slow smirk spread across the man’s face as he realized I was willing; and, sliding his hands over my now touchable arms, drew me to him and whispered hoarsely, “Come on.” Without a word, I followed him out of the door of the bar, ignoring the despondent feeling resting in the pit of my stomach. Someone wanted me, for tonight at least. That was enough.
Dammit. It was much later than usual, and now it would be almost impossible to get back to my room without anyone noticing.
Stopping a few feet from the gate of the mansion, I killed the engine of the motorcycle and shielded my eyes from the sun. That morning, I’d woken up in the arms of a man I’d never met, but he was more attractive than most of the others. Shit. The guy had even cooked me eggs, which was weird in itself, and then, about twenty minutes after ten, shut the door in my face. Just like the others, I had no expectations of ever seeing his face again.
Gripping the handlebars of the bike, I began to guide it up the driveway to the mansion. Some kids were already outside, talking, playing basketball, and whatnot. Many shot me inquisitive glances, and others just ignored me. Not feeling up for a confrontation, I only shielded my face with my hair, caring only to go up to my room.
“Rogue!”
Rolling my eyes, I heard gravel crunch behind me under Scott’s shoes. “Where the hell have you been?” What he really meant was, ‘Where the hell have you been with my bike?’. I tossed my head in disdain, bringing the bike to front of the garage and lifting the door.
“Rogue!” he shouted, grabbing my ungloved arm.
I quickly shot around, glaring at him and tugging my arm out of his grip. “What?” I said in a low tone, on the verge of growling.
Shifting a bit under my glare, Scott raised his head to me, as if deciding not to back down this time. “Where have you been?” he asked again.
“Out,” I replied curtly, turning my back on him. Leading the car into its usual parking position in the garage, I drew the kickstand out with my foot, and stuffed the keys into my pocket.
“Where?” he asked again, stepping in front of me.
Dammit! Why couldn’t the bastard just leave me alone? Didn’t he realize that none of this was his business, that his place was, not standing in front of me, blocking my way, but following Jean around, making sure she stayed faithful to him. “Go away, Scott,” I said briskly, brushing past him..
“I’m putting a lock on the wheel,” he retorted, crossing his arms.
‘Bastard’, I thought to myself. Then, spinning around to face him, I suddenly felt ready for a verbal battle. “That’s not the only thing you should put a lock on,” I replied icily.
Frowning slightly, Scott inclined his head forward. “What are you talking about?”
I almost felt bad for him. He always fell for the bait, and he should be smart enough to know by now not to keep a conversation going with me. “Jean’s door. And, Logan’s, for that matter. You can’t keep watch every night, listening for the sound of a door opening, and hoping it’s not followed by a bed creaking.”
Scott’s face paled at that, and his lips parted in horror. A stab of guilt made its way into my stomach. Why did he make it so goddamn easy?
“Hey, Rogue.”
All the color drained from my face as I heard thick boots stride across the ground. Logan. No. I won’t turn around and look into his eyes. I won’t reply, I won’t run to him, and circle my arms around in waist. I won’t be hurt again. If anyone was going to hurt today, it will be him.
Staring quietly at Scott, I folded my arms over my leather jacket and sighed. “If you’re going to put a lock on the bike, put a lock on it,” I said quietly, but I knew Logan could hear me, “but you can’t stop me.”
Then, turning halfway on my heel so that Logan faced my side, I walked through the door connecting the garage and the mansion together. I didn’t stop walking until I got to my room, and even as I entered it, I realized it was the last place I wanted to be. Screaming silently in frustration, my fingers tangled through my hair, pulling strands of it hard. What I wanted, more than anything, was to be free of myself. To not be here, in this room, with Logan within a mile of me. It hurt. It hurt so bad, my insides twisted so painfully, I want to die. I wanted to open the window and jump out, if it meant it would stop hurting. If it meant I wouldn’t ever have to see Logan’s face again, knowing he didn’t give a shit about me, knowing I was nothing to everyone.
Crouching on the floor and stretching my arm under the bed, a cool metal brushed against my fingertips. With a slight tug, it gave way, and the foldable ladder came out with a promise. Opening my window, and thankful it was at the back of the mansion, I hooked the metal clasps on the window sill, and threw the rope steps out the window. Without further thought, I slowly made my way down the rungs, not looking up or down until I reached the firm terrace.
“Logan...”
Glancing up, he saw Jean standing in the doorway, a sad smile on her face.
“Um,” shifting in his chair, Logan shrugged and tried to mask over his despondent face. “Hey, Jean.”
Stepping closer to him, Jean dug her fingers through her pocket, and lifted out clinking metal; his dog tags. Snarling suddenly at her, the thought that she’d stolen them from Marie struck his mind. “Why do you have those?” he asked, his tone threatening as he reached out his hands and snatched them from Jean’s fingers.
Taken aback, Jean’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead. “Rogue gave them to me,” she said, her voice rising in defense.
“Why?” Logan suddenly felt very tired.
Shrugging and taking a seat by him, Jean bit her lip. “It was a while ago.. She didn’t really tell me why, just said they’d be safer with me.” Then, Logan felt her long, slender fingers snake over to his arm, and squeeze it gently. Shrugging out of her grasp, Logan scowled at her, pressing his fingers to the metal. Pain filled her face, but she refrained from commenting.
“Why is she...” Logan paused, running his fingers distressedly through his hair. “Why is she so...” He couldn’t seem to word properly what he’d witnessed today. Marie had avoided him all of yesterday, and everyone, thanks to his frustrated roars, had become aware she wasn’t even in the mansion. That morning, he’d heard Scott yelling in the garage, and low and behold, Marie had been there, returning Scooter’s bike. And, then he’d heard what she’d said to Scott, about Jean creeping into his room at night. That wasn’t his Marie; she would have never said anything like that. Unable to keep silent any longer, Logan had spoken to her. Not a flinch, not a nod, nothing to indicate she’d even heard him. She’d just turned on her heel and left without looking at him. Seeing her back turned toward him, her form stepping lightly up the stairs to the mansion, had ripped apart his insides. In a world where he’d had no hope, Marie had given him new life. Now, she had turned her back on him, and he felt plunged into darkness again.
Jean’s eyes darkened, and she folded her hands tightly in her lap, focusing her gaze on them. “These past few months, Rogue has been...secluding herself from everyone. She won’t talk to any of us, and” Jean sighed, flexing her fingers in agitation. “she’s like a different person now.”
Logan sat in the chair quietly, a sharp feeling of remorse stabbing him in the stomach. Marie was a different person... a person that hated him. What had made her separate herself, and to avoid everyone at the mansion, including him? More importantly, how could he fix it?
Feeling his shoulders slump heavily, the world suddenly seemed blacker, Jean’s face gazing at him uglier, and the tags in his fingers turned to ash.
The night air froze her fingertips, and Rogue stretched her fingers, reclaiming a faint sense of warmth. Glancing briefly up at her window, she realized in anger that her ladder was gone, and her window shut. Dammit. No one in that mansion could leave her alone.
Running softly to the front of the mansion, she opened the door gently, wincing at the slightest creak. After closing it behind her, she listened briefly for the sound of midnight lurkers. Nothing.
Tip-toeing softly up the stairs, and pausing again to listen to the still night, she made her way down the hall, toward her door. An arm snatched out at her in the darkness, a fierce warmth spreading through her arm as a strong, callused hand grasped it.
“Rogue,” Logan said quietly, his voice an indescribable tone.
Heart beating loudly in her ears, Rogue tried to keep from throwing her arms around his neck, and drawing him close to her, inhaling the wonderful scent of cigar smoke and.. Logan.
“Logan,” she whispered, not tearing her arm away. “What are you doing?”
Logan came out from the shadows and stood in front of her, gazing at her intently with his hazel eyes. “Waiting for you,” he replied quietly, brushing a lock of her hair away from her forehead.
Seeing his gloved hand, Rogue shifted her weight to her other foot, and, breaking her arm from Logan’s grip, crossed them over her chest. “You don’t need those, Logan,” she spat bitterly, gesturing toward the gloves.
Wincing, Logan lowered his hands and tugged the leather gloves off, finally remembering Jean having mentioned Rogue’s new control over her mutation.
“Rogue,” he said gently, his voice hoarse. “What’s wrong?”
Eyes flashing momentarily, Rogue took another step back from him, trying desperately to freeze her rapidly melting heart. He didn’t deserve for her to forgive him so soon; he didn’t deserve to have her fall into his arms, and apologize.
“Why do you care?” she asked icily, avoiding his eyes.
Pain struck Logan’s face, and his eyes closed momentarily. “Of course I care about you, Marie.”
Shrugging it off with her shoulders, Rogue turned on her heel, suddenly exhausted. “Go away, Logan. It’s late and I’m tired.” Opening the door to her room, she walked into darkness and shut the door behind her, purposely not turning on the light. Breathing lightly, she leaned against the doorway, and listened for Logan’s footsteps padding down the hall until they faded and were followed by a door shutting.
“You don’t have to be alone.”
Trying hard to open her eyes, Rogue glanced up at a young man, maybe in his twenties, with light blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and a scar above his eyebrow.
“What?” she slurred, lifting her head from the bar counter.
The man’s eyes shifted to the shot of vodka barely brushing her fingertips. “I need you for something,” he said simply, settling himself on the stool next to her.
Snarling at him, Rogue faced the counter again, thoroughly pissed off. She was sick of all these men coming up to her and throwing her stupid fucking pick up lines. “Go find yourself a whore,” she replied bitterly, lifting the small glass to her lips.
Sighing heavily, as a patient schoolteacher would with a student refusing help, he took the glass from her lips and set it back on the counter. “I only need you, Rogue,” he continued, pausing as she lifted her head dumbly at him. Knowing he had at least some of her attention, he continued, “I need you to do something for me.”
Raising her eyebrow at him, Rogue sat a little straighter on the stool and leaned forward. “What?” She would never admit it, but she was interested. This was the first guy that hadn’t waltzed up to her demanding sex. If he ended up to be full of shit, she planned to laugh in his face and tell him so.
“See this woman?” Pushing a small square picture over to her on the counter, he pointed to the face of a red headed woman smoking a cigarette in what seemed to be a very shady place.
“Yes...” Rogue trailed off, suddenly annoyed at the redheaded. Couldn’t she ever get away from reality? In the photograph there was woman that looked like Jean, reminding her afresh of all the heartache she had in her life.
“I want you to kill her.”
For some odd reason, Rogue didn’t look surprised, she only brought the picture closer to her face, suddenly excited. “Why?” she asked slowly.
Leaning forward in his chair, and rubbing his thumb gently over his chin, the man replied, “For reasons of my own. But, if you kill her, I’ll reward you.”
Rogue snorted. “With what?”
Now rubbing his hands together conspiratorially, his gaze softened at Rogue’s mystified expression. “An escape,” he replied, lifting a finger to brush away her white streaks. “An escape from the place you are now. I know how much being there is hurting you. I want to help you. I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”
She didn’t ask how he knew, only pressed her cheek against his finger, letting tears fall silently. It felt good, knowing someone cared about her, even a stranger. He knew she needed to escape, he understood that she was dying inside. Finally, someone who understood. “How?” she whispered, swallowing.
Fingers now trailing her chin, he replied, “There’s an apartment in New York. You can live there, and I’ll pay your board, rent, bills, anything you need until you’re able to support yourself. But, if you decide to work for me permanently, you’ll never have to worry about money ever again.”
Rogue closed her eyes for a second, briefly considering. To be away from Logan and Jean, to not have her heart break at seeing them together would be.... a beautiful release. Already, she knew parting from Logan would be hard, but it would be quick, and the further she was away from him, the easier it would be to heal her broken heart. If she kept seeing them day after day, she’d die, and she knew it. More than anything, she wanted to be saved, at any price.
“I’ll do it.”
Tears slipped from her eyes, burning her cheeks harshly. Rogue choked back a sob, trying to stay silent. Nothing could make her forget; nothing.
The running water from the faucet drowned out her incessant sobs, and Rogue tried desperately to scrub the dried blood from the crevices of her palm, screaming at the effort.
Nothing could make her forget; nothing.
Crimson red blood flashed across her eyes, bringing her back to the scene at the hotel room, the machete clutched firmly in her gloved hands as it dove through the air. James, that had been the blonde’s name, had wanted her to use a knife, not her powers. Her powers would leave an easy trail; there was only one mutant known that could suck the life out of another.
Suddenly, she was back in the dark hotel room, knife tucked between her teeth, slinking around the shadowed corners, and stopping once she heard the front door open and close softly. The redhead had come home, and turned on the television. Rogue, craning her neck over the corner, had seen her, not watching t.v., but counting large rolls of bills. Heart pounding loudly in her chest, she had lunged out at the woman, knife flailing above her head. Too surprised to react, the woman had merely frozen, a scream locked in her throat as the knife sank through her neck, blood spilling from it like a pool.
Running her hands under the hot water until the flesh turned pink, Rogue slowly turned the faucet off and wiped her hands absentmindedly on a towel.
Nothing could make her forget; nothing.
The dark red liquid had spilled over her hands, covering them with warm blood. But, she couldn’t stop there. James had wanted proof, and so Rogue had carved away at the woman’s neck, until the last bit of tissue gave way, and the red head fell neatly into her two open palms. At the time, she’d been too numb, too shocked, too insensate to recognize the reality of what was happening, of what she’d been doing. Then, she’d stuff the head into a bag and left the hotel room via the window.
Opening the door to the bathroom, Rogue swayed from side to side as she tried to make it to her bed. Stumbling in the dark, she finally fell into the soft, warm sheets. Burrowing her head into the pillow, Rogue screamed.
Nothing could make her forget; nothing.
She’d met James in the alley, her hands trembling as she’d given him the bag. The paralysis wearing off, she became hysterical, shaking uncontrollably, wringing her hair out, screaming at the sight of blood on her hands. James had held her, telling her it would get easier, to not worry. The woman had been nobody, and no one would miss her. He’d only used her as a guinea pig Rogue could practice on. He had told her she’d never get caught. But, that hadn’t been on her mind. The blood still stained her hands, still smell like death, like murder, like... evil. Promising to contact her with details on her new apartment, James had left her in the alley. Rogue hadn’t even thought about the apartment.
“I’m going to her,” Logan growled, pushing past Jean.
“Logan.” Charles and Jean spoke at the same time, their voices warning. “She’s in a confused state right now. If you see her, it will only agitate her more,” Charles continued, his voice softening at the expression of anguish on the usually stoic man’s face.
“This is just a tough time for girls,” Jean said quietly, touching his arm lightly. “It happens to all of us at different stages. You, her best friend, might seem to be her greatest enemy right now. Just - let her figure this out on her own.” Snatching his arm away from her touch, Logan snarled at her, narrowing his eyes. “She hasn’t come out of her room in three days, dammit! She probably hasn’t even eaten in longer.”
“Logan...” Jean sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. “This isn’t the first time this has happened. Rogue- she goes through these stages.. It’ll pass with time. It’s nothing to worry yourself over.”
“Fuck you!” Logan screamed, glaring in hatred at her. “This has happened before and you’ve never done anything about it? Never tried to help her?” His claws shot out with a piercing *sing*, and all of Logan’s frustration and anger came to the surface. “I thought you were here to help people!” Shooting a heated glare at Xavier, who looked away, Logan continued, “I can’t believe I left her here with you. You just don’t give a shit, do you? Fuck you all,” he growled, turning on his boot and barging his way out of Xavier’s office.
Dammit! Why the hell hadn’t they been taking care of her? They would just let her not eat or come out of her room for days? What the hell was that?! ‘That’s it’, Logan thought, his mouth in a grim line as he marched down the hall toward Marie’s room, ‘I’m taking her away from this place.’
Not bothering to lift her head from her pillow, Rogue knew it was Logan standing in her doorway, breathing heavily like a bull. A pang of fear delved through her stomach at the thought that he must have found out, and then another of love and pain and anguish. Too many damn feelings. But, they would go away soon.
Having not used her vocal chords in days, Rogue only lifted her head slightly and gazed at Logan with red, strained eyes.
“What happened to you, Marie?” he asked finally, settling down beside her on the bed, a softened gaze turned in her direction.
“Logan,” Rogue croaked, licking her lips. “I’m not Marie anymore,” she whispered. “I haven’t been for years now.”
Pulling her to him, and relieved she didn’t pull away, Logan cradled her head into his arms, whispering to her quietly. “You’re always Marie to me, even if those bastards don’t see it.” His fingers tightened on her head protectively, then they relaxed and began stroking her hair. Rogue leaned against him, tears falling from her eyes again, streaming down her cheeks and soaking Logan’s shirt.
“I’m so sorry, Logan,” she sobbed, bringing her arms around his shoulders.
“No, I’m sorry,” he stated firmly, remorse showing clearly in his voice. “I should have never left you alone with these people. I should have taken you with me, and now I’m going to.”
To his surprise, Rogue only sobbed harder, her chest rising and falling uncontrollably in short, jagged breaths. “Logan,” she cried, tightening her grip on him. “Oh, Logan, I-” she stopped, rising her sticky, tear stained face from his shirt and gazing into his eyes. “I love you,” she breathed.
An indescribable tug pulled at his heart, and Logan rocked her against him, kissing her hair. “I love you too, Marie.” He did. He meant it. He loved her, not as a kid, not as a sister, but as a woman. Logan almost laughed in her hair, his heart suddenly feeling elated. He loved Marie, and now he could spend the rest of his life with her, showing her gradually just how deeply he loved her. He’d have to be gentle, he would have to always be gentle with Marie. Now, he could have her without feeling perverse, or guilty because she was too damn young. He’d come back, hoping she would allow him to push their friendship further, to become more than her friend. And, finally, he had that chance.
“Marie, I really love you,” he said quietly, the words not coming easily. Logan had never had much - if any- practice saying those words. And, Marie was the only person he could say them to.
Gripping his shoulders tightly, Rogue leaned her head against his chest, not daring to believe. “What about Jean?” she asked, her voice very tight..
Logan snorted, his hands caressing her hair, her face, her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, everywhere. “Only you,” he murmured into her hair. “I was only waiting, I didn’t want... you were too young. Now, I can-” he trailed off as Rogue lifted her face from his chest, her chocolate brown eyes gazing at him in wonder.
“No,” she said quietly, tracing his lips with her fingertips. “No!”
Frowning, Logan leaned back and gazed at her face. Sweat dotted her eyebrows, and suddenly her skin became a pasty white pallor. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head flopped onto her shoulder.
“Marie!” he shouted, shaking her.
Rogue’s head snapped back up, her eyes opened again, but now Logan could smell something he hadn’t before. “Marie,” he gasped, his voice raspy, his pulse hammering in his neck. “God, Marie, what-?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning in to him. “I-I’m not the same person. I’ve done.. I’ve killed... I’m dying, Logan.”
Squeezing her shoulders tight, Logan’s eyes darted around the room, a small black vial lying on the desk below the window. The smell of it was sharp and bitter; poison.
“No, Marie!” he screamed, shaking her as her head fell back onto her shoulder. “No, goddammit!” Pressing his hands to his face, he realized in absolute horror she couldn’t -wouldn’t- absorb him. His insides writhed, and it felt as if an icy liquid had been poured through his veins. Marie was dying.
“I’m so sorry, Logan,” Marie whispered, her eyes closing. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I-” her lips stilled, a faint blue tint rising in them.
Logan screamed at the top of his lungs, clinging to her, pressing his head to her rapidly cooling flesh. “No! No, Marie! God, don’t leave me now. Don’t leave me now, baby. Please don’t leave me here without you. No, no! I love you!” He shook her harder, fingers tangled through her hair, but she gave no response. “No! Marie! No, don’t go! I love you! I love you! Don’t- Don’t-!!” Collapsing into sobs, Logan pressed his face into her mane of hair, and let his tears flow freely, the ache in his heart too painful to bear. Marie was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. No matter where he went, no matter where he searched, he’d never find her. Marie was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Away from him. Gone.
Pacing downstairs in the hallway, Jean dug absentmindedly in her nails, waiting for Logan to come back from Rogue’s room. She knew it was hopeless; Rogue never spoke to anyone.
“Umm,” someone in the open hallway of the mansion coughed, the warm rays of the sun blocked by a shadow. “Excuse me?”
Jean turned around frowning, but a smile quickly replaced it as she gazed at the handsome blue-eyed blonde standing in front of her. “Hello,” she purred, striding next to him. “Can I help you?”
Blue eyes shifted around the mansion, searching. Using his acute hearing mutation, his sound range extended toward the upper rooms, down the hall, and into a particular bedroom. Fierce howling met his ears, and the corner of his mouth tugged at his face. “No,” he said, backing out of the doorway.. “Never mind.”
Thrusting his fists deep into his pockets, James glanced around the yard of the mansion in dull interest, wondering if the girl called Rogue had ever played outside, had ever been happy. Maybe, if he had come sooner, she would have been happy - with him. But, as usual, he was always too late.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my first *completed* fanfiction for X-Men. Yes, I know this one is particularly dark, and maybe a little confusing (beg pardon for the loose ending), but it’s what came out. Blame the goth/techno music I’m currently into right now. Or you can blame me. Whichever one is fine. Oh, and by the way - please give me feedback! Let me know how I’m doing, please! ** Oh, and yes, I do know that I switched from first person Rogue POV to third person, but please bear with me.