"Lock the door," she mumbles while tearing at my shirt.
I stumble as I try to navigate us through the darkness. There's a work bench at the other side of the storeroom. It'll do for what we need. What it's always been about. Fucking. That, and nothing more. No affectionate feelings or gestures or soothing words. There's no room for love, only regret and lust. What are her regrets? Being here? I don't know. Maybe I do and maybe I don't care. What would be the point anyway? She's tied to another man. It's her choice to let him share her bed.
I don't really need to turn on the lights to know what she looks like. She won't let me anyway, and who am I to argue? It's not like we're an item. She's married. Too young to be married. Too young to be doing this. Too young for a lot of things. I know that and still, I let it happen again. And again. Like today and yesterday and the day before that. Like last year, and the year I left Laughlin with her. No one knew. It had to be that way. No one questioned why I did what I did, not even Jean.
Jean probably knew, but never said a word. She even let me in her bed and I went to her - willingly - but wanting someone else. Something else. It was so easy at first and I could pretend it was real, that she was more than just a beautiful, caring friend. I could live the lie and try never to look at her again. Somehow it became harder the more I tried - everytime I was with her my hands were touching Marie.
Jean couldn't fill that empty space, no matter how much she wanted to or loved me. A lot of women have claimed that over the years, but never her. They offer their bodies in exchange for love. I don't do love or relationships. I can't. Love makes you weak and unfocused. It makes you want to forgive and ask for a second chance. There are no second chances, not in this world. If you let someone in, all that will come of it in the end is agony. You either kill, or get left behind. Solitude is what she is to me. The tighter the grip, the faster she slips. It's always been like that. I hurt her, I save her, I hurt her again.
We don't talk much. She's never made any attempt to either, which kinda makes you wonder how we ended up here in the first place. I don't ask her any questions. I don't even demand she do this, should she change her mind. This is something I'd never tell her though. What good would it do? I'd never ask for something that's not gonna happen, and even if I did - there are too many obstacles. Too many problems to deal with; and not just her husband and her mother, old lovers and new admirers. Yeah ... why waste time and energy?
When she comes she's smiling. I can feel it against my chest as she does it. I run my fingers through the dark strands of her hair until we're both sated. But that satisfied feeling always turns into something bitter as she walks out the door. It makes me want to question why she's doing this if it only makes her miserable. That moment, those few seconds it takes to walk away again feeds the monster. It thrives on self-scorn, on what I feel during that time-span when she's no longer in my arms, when she walks out that door and opens another. Before we're right back where we are now. Behind a locked door. In the dark. I could go after her. I could grab her by the arm and ask her if it's because of who I am. I could touch her and tell her to stay and I could make sure she'd never go back to him. I could tell her she makes the bad dreams go away. I could do all those things, but I don't.
I just stand there and watch her leave. Until next time.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
a million thanx and *mwahs* to my beta & personal cheering squad skybluerae (title credit goes to her aswell). Mistakes left belong to me. My first rogan fic in a very, VERY long time (do I need to say how much he dislikes having to share the cage space with Victor? *g*)