The phone ringing pulls me out from my slumber. It would be so fucking easy just to let it ring. One of these nights I will let it ring. I will. But not tonight.
“Yeah?”
“Logan?”
“Where are you?”
“I… At the bus station.”
“Okay. Sit tight. I’ll come and get you.”
“Logan…”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Clothes on. No need to shave or shower. Funny thing, it seems like she trusts me more like this. Little scruffy and worn. Keys… Better take the truck. She’ll probably have at least one bag with her. She usually has.
“Wolverine?”
“Fuck off, Cindy. A friend is coming over.”
“But…”
“I left you some money on the table. I want you gone by the time I’ll be back.”
“You’re an asshole!”
“Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know already…”
Something crashes against the door when I close it behind my back. That better not be the vase one of the Xavier’s kids made for me at the pottery class. Ugly as hell, dark green and crooked, but I kind of liked the brat that gave it to me. And my cell phone starts to ring.
“Logan?”
“What do you want, Storm?”
“Nothing. I was just checking up. Jean woke me up…”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m already on my way. She called me from the bus station.”
“Would you consider bringing her back here?”
“I’ll talk to her. But what happens is up to her.”
“Of course…”
“I got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Fine. Oh, Jean wanted to know if you were coming tomorrow?”
“Of course I will.”
There’s a line at the Starbucks, but little wrestling and I’m standing in front of the cash register. Half zombified teenager, face freckled with pimples and pupils like pinpricks from too many choco mocha’s stares at me, chewing on to something that may, or may not be a gum. Jesus Christ. Night of the undead cows.
“Two espressos. One chocolate chip cookie.”
“To go?”
“To go.”
The bus station is just around the corner. Easier to walk there than to try jostle through with the truck. I can already see her, sitting hunched over her bag on a bench outside. Shit. One of these nights she’s going to get herself killed. Or raped. Or eaten. Or all of them, not necessarily in that order. She doesn’t even flinch when I plunk my carcass next to her. Takes the espresso and the cookie and starts to eat. Stench of blood and semen, strong enough to make me gag hangs over her.
“ER or my place?”
“Your place.”
“My truck’s just around the corner.”
I stand up and start walking. I can hear her scooting up. Limping after me. That bag looked heavy, but there’s no use to try and take it from her. Once tried and she nearly clawed my eyes off.
“What was it this time?”
“Same old shit.”
“Watch your language.”
“Like you’re the one to talk…”
Urge to turn the truck to Xavier’s passes when she curls on the seat, hands around her legs, her jaw resting on her knees and the hood slides off from her face. She looks about twelve years old. Fuck. One of these days I will gut the bastard she’s bunking with. With, or without her consent.
“Ororo called.”
“I’m not going in there.”
“Just thought you should know. You’re always welcome to my place. But shouldn’t you at least think about…”
“Fuck you. I’m not going back there. Not as long as she’s there.”
“Okay. But think about it.”
The apartment is silent. Phonebook lies on the floor to where Cindy threw it earlier. Ugly, green vase is still standing on the windowsill. Good. The place needs a bit straightening out, but it can wait.
“Go and take a shower. I make some coffee and sandwiches.”
“No cheese in mine.”
“No cheese. Fucking go already. You reek like shit.”
“Ha-ha. Is it okay if I take a bath?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’m no doctor.”
Without the constant scent of blood reminding about the rape this would probably look and feel perfectly normal evening. Sitting in the kitchen with her, sipping coffee and munching sandwiches. Fridge whirrs in the background, clock is ticking.
“I still think you should at least consider going back to Xavier’s.”
“Yeah. Right. So I can feel like a grade A freak again?”
“You’re not a freak.”
“Your vote doesn’t count. And I already told you, as long as mom’s there, I’m not going back.”
“You rather let Jack rape you and have me fishing you out when it gets too much?”
“Fuck you.”
“Real mature… You know, one of these days he’ll knock you up. What are you going to do when that happens?”
“I…”
“Because I refuse to believe that you’re so stupid that you’d give a baby for him to play with.”
“Logan!”
“I’d prefer dad.”
“Oh, and all of a sudden you want to be my father? Tough luck. That ship sailed years ago.”
“Whatever. The way I see it, you don’t really have any options. I’m taking you to Xavier’s tomorrow. I was going to visit your mom anyway.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can’t? What are you going to do? Call to Jack and ask him to pick you up?”
Shit. That was low, even from me. But at least it shut her up.
“Eat up. There’s a blanket and some pillows in the closet. You can sleep on the couch.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Something that has been boiling for quite some time. Contains dark themes.