It didn’t even surprise her when the blood ran out. It was kind of seductive, beckoning to her. The pain faded quickly aggravating her. That was the whole point behind it. The fucking psychologists that said this was done to overpower the emotional pain were idiots. They had no idea why it was done. They sat in their cozy little offices with their perfect little lives fucking their perfect little secretaries and made money off of ignorant theories like that. She wasn’t naive enough to think that a few cuts would make her forget the pain. She wasn’t trying to overcome the emotional hurt she felt, she was trying to add to it. This was her punishment, her atonement. Each cut symbolized a mistake she had made, a fuck up she had ignored until it came back to bite her in the ass. The first cut was simply a test, an experiment to see if the pain was enough. It wasn’t, but it was probably her best bet. She’d just have to remember to press harder. There was no way the knife could be as sharp as his claws, but if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him slicing at her arm.
For thinking he had loved her.
Slice.
For thinking he was over Jean.
Slice.
For being untouchable.
Slice.
Undesirable.
Slice.
Stupid.
Slice.
Naive.
Slice.
For acting like the kid Jean said she was.
Slice.
She stared hypnotized by the blood running down her arm. If he actually cared, he would be here. The Logan she knew would have smelled the blood and came running. The Logan she knew wouldn’t be fucking another man’s wife in the closet. Tears welled up at this and she realized that maybe she didn’t know Logan. Maybe she was wrong about him being this great, wonderful person. Maybe he wasn’t.
The untouched canvas of her other arm cried out for the crimson warmth.
Untouched. Ha. The pictures played silently in her mind. Tormenting her still, more painful than the cuts.
His hand grasping her red hair.
Slice.
His thigh spreading her legs.
Slice.
Her wedding ring sparkling in the light, as his claws pried at her buttons.
Slice.
The memories of her own actions came forward. Demanding more cuts, more retribution.
Her own clumsy attempts at seduction. All scarves and nerves.
Slice.
For giving her innocence so easily.
Slice.
For knowing she’d do it again.
Slice.
The knife slipped out of her blood covered hands, landing on top of the gloves that mocked her. She was too weak to reach for it again and really, what was the point? She could go on and on about how she fucked up. How she should have known...should have stopped wanting him. But really, there was no point, because it was done. She fucked up and he fucked Jean. It’s the way it was.
And as darkness surrounded her, she could have sworn she heard him enter the room. Sworn she heard his harsh whisper as his gloved hands grabbed her face. Always gloved, always playing the part of the devoted lover.
And as she drifted away, she could have sworn she whispered, “Was she worth it?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I took liberty with this. Jean and Scott are married. Logan and Rogue are together. Rogue still untouchable.