My cheeks are flushed from sleep, and my mascara is slightly smudged under my eyes. I must admit, though, I look pretty good in the morning. I don’t smell very good though, and that’s why I’m running water for a shower.
I examine my body in the mirror. I swear my nose is crooked and one of my ears hangs lower. There are pale white lines along the tops of my breasts. Battle scars from growing into a woman. I wonder if he noticed them. Whatever, I’ve got a nice rack. Even the girls say so. Well, they think it. I snort at my ego. I’m not pretty and I’m not “hot” and I’ve got a disproportionate body, but I’m not worried about it. It’s my skin that keeps the boys away. Not anymore, though.
I slip out of my nightgown and step into the scalding hot water. I ponder turning the right hand knob to cool it down, but the burning sensation on my skin reminds me of last night.
Last night. This morning. I was in his bed. I don’t know where my courage had come from. I’m no prude, but I don’t make a habit of offering myself to brooding men with a violent streak. I mean, I know Logan. We’re friends. He takes care of me. But I know my place, and I’m not Jean. I’ll never be as beautiful as she was. I’m too young for him. And, frankly, sometimes he scares me.
A long time ago I had a dream of running off with him, just the two of us. We were going to be fugitives from humans and mutants, and we were going to live happily ever after. But I was seventeen, then. I got Bobby, so I got over Logan.
But Bobby’s a confused jerk, and I made a mistake. I sacrificed myself for him, as much as I want to deny it, and he rejected me for some 12-year-old looking brat. Whatever. I wouldn’t say I got even, really, but I know how much Bobby would hate it if he found out Logan got to me before him. I smirk as I reach for the soap. Besides, it’s not that bad being able to touch.
I don’t belong here, now, though. Maybe that’s why Bobby wanted out. But, c’mon, it’s not like I could just change my mutation so that he could still have me, but I wouldn’t kill him when he tried to kiss me. Why am I even thinking about him? Everything’s back to the way it was, and I’m stuck looking out for myself again. I have to leave, and I know it.
At least I kind of got what I wanted. I left my bed last night knowing good and well that I wouldn’t be returning. Logan’s an emotional wreck right now, and so am I. Too bad I couldn’t stab my boyfriend to solve all of his problems. Wait, that was awful! Why am I even thinking that? Jean was a nice, caring, genuine person. With legs that practically screamed “Fuck me.”
I shake my head. I hate when that happens. It’s Logan. Sometimes he slips out. Once, during Physics, I was frustrated because I was tired and I couldn’t grasp what the hell Professor Summers was talking about, so I accidentally called him “four eyes.” And then, when I came to my senses and turned beet red, I tried to apologize, but I ended up calling him “high beam” and “laser tag.” I thought he was going to blast my head off, but luckily I was saved by the bell.
I’ve even wondered what Professor Storm would look like wearing nothing but a smile on top of the control panels in the X-jet. I laugh quietly and turn off the water. I reach around the curtain to grab a towel, and hop out of the shower.
I feel weird. I feel like I’m empty, but there’s a lot of pressure against my skin from the inside out. I also feel sore. I comb the tangles from my hair, and water creeps down my skin, reminding me of the sweat on Logan’s forehead. I’m not going to lie. It didn’t feel good. I tried so hard to feel anything but blinding pain, but I’m basically the Virgin Queen and Logan’s…uh…gifted, so good luck with that. Besides, I’m the one who initiated everything, so I wasn’t about to tell that man to stop.
I kissed him. It was the most unattractive situation ever, though, because I had salty tears and slobber all over my face from crying. But when I looked at him I was reminded of that time on the train. I remembered when he was my hero, my knight in shining adamantium armor.
I could tell he was uncomfortable enough from my vulnerability and the sudden fact that I could touch people. And I made it worse by attacking his lips. I pretended to be completely at ease, but inside, my heart was pounding because I could feel his lack of desire. I tore myself away and didn’t meet his eyes. I was embarrassed and all that bravado and adrenaline was reduced to a feeling of sickness in my stomach. What the hell was I thinking?
Then, by some fucked up logic, I thought it would be a good idea to crawl on top of him and bury my face against his chest. I acted like a drunken college girl—so confused and in love with everyone and ready to cuddle and on the verge of throwing up. He probably thought I’d broken into Xavier’s liquor cabinet. Then, he gave me the sign that I wasn’t acting like a maniac. He slipped his hand under my nightshirt and it came to rest on the small of my back. Logan had made it known before I got the cure that he wasn’t my father, which somehow makes what we did okay, I guess. And I’m 18, so it’s not exactly illegal.
I smile shyly when I think of his rough fingertips. They were a nice contrast to the delicate parts of my body. He made sure he got to every single one. I led slowly and he followed, until his impatience became very clear.
Neither of us said anything the entire time, but it wasn’t impersonal. I know he enjoyed it. I think? He groaned a little… but we couldn’t exactly scream in ecstasy. The walls of this mansion are thin, literally and figuratively. I rake my hair with my fingers and pull it into a crappy, bumpy ponytail.
I wonder what he was thinking about. I know it wasn’t me. I’m not a stupid little girl and I know that he’s a grown man. I’m just a kid to him and he doesn’t want me. I knew that when I let him have me. Besides, I used him just the same as he used me. He needed sex; I needed attention. I’m very proud of myself. Before I left his room, I let him know that I don’t expect anything.
He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want me.
Oh, god. I don’t feel so confident anymore. I think about what I would think of myself if I were an outsider. Wow, it’s pretty messed up. This chick had a crush on an old man who saved her life once or twice, then threw herself into the arms of the first boy who accepted her, then she got dumped by that boy because he’s horny and an idiot, and so she goes back to the old man and loses her virginity to him…less than 12 hours after she gets dumped by the boyfriend.
It’s not that I’m not happy with my situation. I can’t help but feel naïve, though. Maybe I’ve made another mistake. Maybe I picked the wrong bed to climb into. Psh, like I’d feel any better if I’d had sex with Scott. Well, maybe. Then, it would’ve been random and completely okay because we had no history. Logan and I don’t have history, but he knows how much I idolized him.
Oh god. What if he thinks I’m some kind of fan club now? What if he gets off on that? What if that’s why he let me act the way I did? He was flattered! What an asshole! Wait, why am I mad at him? I’m the one who caused this problem. But he still could have denied me. But then I would’ve wondered why nobody wants me and cried even more. I need to eat, because when I get hungry I lose brain cells. And when I lose brain cells, I think way too much. Go figure.
I could handle this one of two ways. I could avoid him, but that wouldn’t really work because then he’d know that I’m not really as cool about this as I thought I was. Or, I could act normal, but still avoid the situation.
I take a deep breath and finish my morning face routine with a little moisturizer. I feel sad and trapped, and this sucks. I’m not as grown up as I thought.
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