He had beer, he had cigars, and there was a good game in TV. Scott hadn’t been at his back lately; Jean had been a pleasure for his eyes. Professor and Ororo had been planning something that involved him and the Danger Room. Life was good. Then there was a knock on the door, and things took a sudden turn for the worse. Marie, bawling her pretty eyes out, stumbled in when he opened the door and burrowed her face against his chest. In a matter of minutes his shirt was soaked through with her tears. Something told him this would be a good time to turn off the TV.
“Hush. What’s the matter, little one?” He tried to coax her to speaking instead of crying. She just clung to his shirt tighter and sobbed harder. He backed them on to his bed and cradled her next to him, rubbing small circles on her back with his strong fingers. This was going to be a long night. He reached for his beer, took a sip, put it back on to the table and took a cigar from the ashtray beside it, taking a long drag from it. He lay there, holding her and smoking the cigar until she started to calm down and relax.
Runny nose, red and swollen eyes, messed up hair. Not a pretty sight. But she still was the cutest little thing he had ever laid his eyes on.
“Don’t have a Kleenex. This will have to do,” he murmured, shrugged off his flannel shirt and wiped her face with it, discarding it to the floor afterwards.
“So… Ready to talk?” He asked. She hiccupped and sniffed a bit, then nodded.
“Want to tell me what happened?” He asked.
“They’re mean.” He sighed.
“Other kids giving you a hard time?” He really wasn’t equipped to deal with the drama that she called everyday life, but now he was forced to make an effort. She usually sought him out when she needed a shoulder to lean on.
“They talk about you.” Her words made him tense.
“Talk about me?” He asked. They really were mean. He had heard few of the rumors circling around the mansion, and they were not pretty stuff.
“They call you names. And they make up stuff about you. About us.” He couldn’t resist the urge to growl. She fished a tattered piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it for him to see.
“Have you told the Professor about this?” He asked, staring at the picture with disbelieving eyes. There were so many things wrong in it that he couldn’t even start to pinpoint every messed up detail. In the picture they were both naked, Marie kneeling in front of him, Lady Liberty’s crown on her head. He was stuffing something that looked like the torch from the same statue up to her ass while plundering her with his personal weapon to an other orifice. He couldn’t believe that a talented artist had squandered his or her time and effort to draw that kind of crap.
“I haven’t told to anybody. That is just so wrong, and ugly and… I’m going to be sick!” Her eyes widened almost comically, but there was no comedy involved when she barged in to his bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet bowl, puking her guts out.
He left the picture on to his nightstand and walked in after her. He crouched next to her and spun her long hair around his fist to keep it out of her face.
“Maybe you shouldn’t come to me so often?” He tried to offer a solution to the situation. She misunderstood him and started to cry again. His T-shirt got smeared with generous dose of snot and puke. He grimaced, trying to remember if he had any clean shirts left.
“You don’t like me anymore!” She wailed, and he really didn’t know what to do. Except to tell her the truth.
“I have never liked you. I have loved you. And I still do. I don’t want you to stay away, but if they are teasing you because of me, wouldn’t it be the wisest move?” Now she cried even harder.
“Kid, I really don’t know what to do. Help me out a little? Give me a hint?” She didn’t. She just cried.
After she was calm enough to return to her own room he sat on his bed and stared at the picture. He had had a good life in here. He had made one, cherished connection to humanity. He got up and started packing. Dirty clothes to bottom of his battered knapsack, cleaner ones on top of them. Few knick-knacks and mementoes to side pockets. Shaving kit and soap. Most priced possession however went to breast pocket of his worn jacket. Long, white scarf, still carrying scent of vanilla and peppermint.
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