Gifts are wanted, are they not? Gifts are things, whether material or intangible, that people want. Curses are things no one wants, but they are especially unwanted by those who possess them. Discovering and learning about the gifts and curses I, and those I love, possess has become a passion of sorts for me.
My name is Rogue, but a few people call me Marie. I am seventy-four years old. I know what you're thinking. No, I'm not telepathic, but you get used to the _expression of surprise after a while. You see, I was born seventy-four years ago, but I stopped aging like a normal human being when I was around thirty. My skin is a gift. It allows me to absorb the gifts of others, and in doing so change myself. Not my personality, at least not for long, and not the things that make me an individual, but they change me physically.
If I had to guess my psychological age I would say it's pushing two hundred. My skin is a curse. I am unable to touch those around me without taking what is theirs. No one has that right.
Once upon a time, however, things changed. Logan came into my life and life, as I knew it, would never be the same. We were the best of friends. I grew out of my adolescent crush, and he grew out of his brotherly affection. We never outgrew our protectiveness of one another. While for years we remained platonic best friends, capable of spending great lengths of time with the other, we always found ourselves defending what we had to those we loved.
As a lover it is hard to understand why and how the one you love is capable of loving someone else so completely. Bobby was too young to understand. Remy was unwilling to understand. Countless arguments were suffered in an attempt to make others see what Logan and I had. In the end, I suppose Remy had a point. While I could willingly give him my body, he could never have my heart, mind, and soul. Those belonged to Logan. Everyone knew it. Especially Logan and I.
Logan never made a pretense to any of the women he was with throughout most of my twenties. They could be his lover. They could enjoy all the physical attributes Logan was blessed with, and they did so. What they knew without a shadow of a doubt was that they were always second. A very distant second. It's hard, as a beautiful woman, to stay long with a man who will walk away from you when another woman smiles at him or walks into the room.
Logan and I are gifts to one another. Shelters from a world that does not want us. I need him. He needs me. That's why when I reached the ripe old age of twenty-seven we decided to make sure we would stay together as long as we possibly could. You see, I was aging and Logan was not. I was still young, and having experienced a few traumatic experiences in previous years, I was very strong. Many would say I was unstoppable given my super strength and ability to fly. However, time was my enemy. Logan's enemy, actually.
Logan's inability to age is his gift and his curse. Blessed with long life. Cursed with the inability to stop those around you from aging. We're not sure how old Logan is, really. He could be hundreds of years old. I don't think he cares. Actually, I know he doesn't care how old he is. He only cares about how old I am and will continue to stay. My age isn't a factor or being youthful and beautiful. It's all about being there for Logan. Without me Logan wouldn't last long. How long could you live without your heart and soul? How long would you want to? That's why we did what we did. Behind closed doors. Away from prying eyes.
My skin is a gift. Logan's healing is a gift. Logan gives me what is his, and I give him the sanity of knowing that I will be here as long as he is.
The process began slowly. Absorption that, at first, could only last seconds, but over time stretched to minutes. The time it took to go from seconds to minutes is irrelevant, but for sake of document I would say a year. By the time I was twenty-eight I didn't bruise anymore. When twenty-nine rolled around I could heal nearly as quickly as Logan could, and I didn't need him to touch me after I was badly wounded. My body had acquired the ability to mend its own wounds, and it had been three years since I had suffered from so much as a sniffle.
Thirty arrived, and with it came what we hoped would happen. Longevity. I could hold on to Logan as long as I wanted. The strange thing was, that even though the pull wasn't enough to knock him out or affect him in any obvious way, I was still absorbing what I needed to work like Logan works. I'm convinced our bodies simply became accustomed to the absorption, and as a result gave up working against one another and simply gave and took what was needed. We could feel that slight pull. We reveled in it.
I'm sure you're wondering how it was we kept this from others for any length of time. It's a very good question. At first no one found anything peculiar. Logan and I spent an abundance of our time together anyway, so the fact that we locked ourselves in his room wasn't scandalous. Everyone understood we would rather spend time together than with others.
After a year, when it was obvious we were no longer 'just friends,' residents of the mansion started asking questions. 'So what's going on with you and Logan?' 'Is it serious?' I think that was the most ridiculous question I have yet to hear in my entire life. Is it serious. As though it wasn't always serious. The only difference between 'just friends' and how we were then was now all of me belonged to Logan. Heart, body, and soul. I made that clear to all who asked and eventually people got used to how things had become.
Then Jean started to notice the physical changes. Doctors are picky that way. Why didn't I get sick anymore? How was I able to fight so much without so much as a scratch? Avoidance only works for so long. Eventually Logan and I sat her down and explained what we were doing. She wasn't pleased. It could be dangerous, she said. We told her we didn't care. It's hard to make someone so terribly logical understand that you don't simply need food, oxygen, and water to make it through life. Eventually she came to accept what we were doing.
The one person we never had to explain things to was the Professor. He had been inside both our heads and knew the score.
So now Logan's curse is also my own. Watching my friends age and pass away. Logan's gift became my own. I know I'll always be with him and him with me.
My curse has become Logan's gift. I lay in his arms at night and we share things no one else can know.
We are gifts to one another. Together there are no curses.
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