Ever since I arrived at Xavier’s doorstep, my life has been full of misconceptions. And a part of me finds this extremely annoying. I mean, come on, you’d think that of all people, mutants should know you can never judge someone by outward appearances alone. But they did. Judge me that is. The moment I walked through those ostentatiously carved wooden doors, everyone thought they had me pegged: a sweet Southern teenager scarred by and scared of the mutation that had been thrust upon her, hopelessly besotted with her knight-in-adamantium-armor.

Well, they’d gotten the scarred Southern teenager part right, but the rest? Utter bullshit. It gets so bad sometimes – the pitying looks, the indulgent smiles – that I’m tempted to release a school-wide bulletin disproving all the presumptions my well-meaning mentors have of me.

Misconception number one: The reason I wear layers of clothing is because I’m scared shitless of hurting others with my deadly mutation. Wrong. I’m not scared of my mutation or of hurting others with it. I might have been at first, when I’d just discovered what I was and damn near killed David in doing so, but a couple of months hitchhiking across continent taught me a few things. Chief among them quick reflexes to avoid accidental touching and the ability to successfully circumvent large crowds. And steering clear of skin-to-skin contact at Xavier’s where everyone knows just how dangerous my mutation can be? A cakewalk compared to avoiding the grabby hands of oblivious and inebriated truckers.

Nope. The real reason I wear so much? Because everyone else is scared shitless of my mutation. And to be quite honest, I’d rather deal with always being a bit on the hot side than the worried glances and five-foot berth that comes with wearing normal clothes.

Misconception number two: The reason I high-tailed it out of Meridian is because my parents kicked me to the curb.

This one I actually find pretty amusing. Mostly because it couldn’t be farther from the truth and, considering where I’m from, it’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. We Southerners may have our faults (not that you’d get us to admit to them), but family loyalty isn’t one of them. So when David’s parents demanded I leave town or they’d reveal to everyone just what a freak the D’Ancanto girl was, Momma and Daddy were ready to take on the world in my defense.

But I knew their unconditional love and bravery wouldn’t be enough to save them from the judgmental eyes and inevitable attacks that came with harboring a mutant with such a dangerous power. And that’s what prompted me to start my road trip a little sooner than expected. I love my parents far too much to let their lives be ruined on account of me.

Misconception number three: I’ve been head-over-heels for Logan since the moment I saw him kicking ass and taking names in that dilapidated fighting bar back in Laughlin. Yeah. Right.

I would like to meet the girl who walks into a shady bar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, sees a beast of a man beating the living crap out of guys twice his side with absolutely no remorse, and decides right then and there that this is the man she wants to be with for the rest of her life. I’d like to meet her so I could slap some sense into her because that is just stupid.

There were no butterflies in my stomach, no lust-induced sweaty palms when I first laid eyes on Logan. In fact, when he sat a couple barstools away from me later that night, I nearly crapped my pants I was so scared. Because a man like that had to be violent and cruel and a whole host of other things that my Momma had warned me about.

It wasn’t until he had both the bartender and his fallen challenger at the end of those adamantium blades that my opinion of him changed. It was the look he shot me right before he released his attackers and stormed out into the bitter cold. It was a look I understood better than he probably realized at the time.

He didn’t want the violence. He didn’t love the fight like I thought he did. He just wanted to be left alone. But God or destiny or whatever had intervened and made him a freak. Just like me.

That’s what made me hop in the back of that beat up trailer. Not his attractive features (which I didn’t even really start to admire until much later) or the fact that he was a fellow mutant. It was the pain in his eyes. The yearning for a peace he could never have. It hit me like a fist in the gut because damn did I totally get what that felt like.

But even then, I didn’t love him. I identified with him. I felt a strange sort of bond with him. But I didn’t love him. How could I? Aside from his name and an inkling that he’d been in the army at one point in time, I knew nothing about him. You can’t love someone until you know them. And I didn’t really know Logan until he nearly killed me.

I’d like to say that when I reached out to touch him, his claws rammed in my chest and his eyes horrified at what he’d done, it was with good intentions and because I knew it’s what he’d want me to do. But that would be a lie. Because as the life slipped from my body, all I could think of was how much I wanted to live and if he had to die to ensure that, well than it was his own damn fault for almost killing me in the first place.

I hadn’t counted on the surge of emotions and knowledge that rushed through me as quickly as his powers did.

I’d expected his fear of me to be at the forefront of it all. But it wasn’t. It was barely a blip on his emotional radar, overpowered by far by the hatred he felt for himself and the anguish at causing me pain. I didn’t understand it at first, why this man would be so distraught by the loss of a girl he barely knew.

Until the Wolverine whispered something Logan himself hadn’t even consciously recognized yet.

Mate.

It was that realization and not the frightened stares of students that sent me careening from his room.

I was up all night, trying to sort everything out. And the more I learned about Logan, the more I couldn’t help but agree with the Wolverine’s assessment. Everything about this man endeared him to me. And knowing that Logan was either oblivious to or subconsciously suppressing what we were meant to be nearly broke my heart. So I did the only thing I could think of and threw myself at the all-too-willing Bobby Drake in a vain attempt to drown my newfound emotions in a sea of teenage lust.

Needless to say, it didn’t work.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. I thought it’d be years before Logan finally realized what I really am to him. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my entire life.

It’s been about an hour since our incredibly reckless kiss and he’s just now starting to drift back into consciousness. I know I should be more worried about what this will mean for us (God knows no one’s going to approve of the seventeen year old getting with the man who’s probably older than the Professor), but I can’t get past the feeling of elation that comes with knowing the wait is over.

We’re curled together on his bed, my back pressed so tightly against his solid chest that I can feel the steady beating of his heart. One hand lazily traces circles on my covered hip while the other is entwined with one of my own. We haven’t spoken yet, but just lying here like this with him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, Logan’s the one to break the silence. “So what’s the plan?”

I can’t help but smile. Any other girl would see that as a cop out, but I know Logan well enough to understand what he’s really saying. Shifting in his arms, I turn to face him so he can see the absolute surety in my eyes. “We’re the plan.”

He doesn’t say anything for a good long while. Just stares at me with what I know to be a mixture of hesitance and determination.

“It’d be easier if we kept this quiet. The others, they’re not gonna like it.”

He’s giving me an out. Letting me know that, if I ask him to, he’ll keep this a secret, even though he’d hate it. Logan’s always been a man of action. But he knows that the others mean something to me and that being with him puts everything at risk. For both of us. It’s a gamble and my luck has never been that good.

Even knowing all that’s at stake, my answer is unwavering. “Screw ‘em.”

The way his hazel eyes light up catches my breath. “I’d rather screw you.”

The laugh that bubbles out of me is pure and unrestrained. “Good to know. ‘Cause I don’t share well.”

“Me neither.”

There’s no amusement in his voice. And I don’t need the Logan in my head muttering in agreement to know what he means. Pressing a lightening quick kiss to his scruffy chin, I detangle myself from his arms and move to roll off the bed. A strong hand at my wrist halts all movement, however, and I look back at him to see an uneasy expression on his face.

“Marie?”

I cover his hand with my own and bring it up to rest on my chest. “You have my heart, Logan. I think it’s time I gave Bobby back his.”

Realization dawns in his eyes and a slow smile creeps across his face, causing my heart to flutter erratically. Logan doesn’t smile often – usually it’s more of a smirk or a coy grin – but when he does… damn. For the life of me, I’ll never understand how Jean was able to resist him because right now, with him smiling up at me like that, there’s not a thing I could deny him.

I’ve still got Logan’s powers running through me, so as soon as his gaze darkens and the hand I have still pressed against my heart starts to skim my breast, I know its because he can smell the desire pouring off me in waves. Every inch of my body is burning with the need to lie back down beside him and give into the heated promise in his stare.

But I can’t – won’t – do that. Not so long as I’m still technically with someone else. If I were a good, sweet girl, my hesitation would come out of consideration for Bobby’s feelings. But I’m not. And the only man I’m thinking about is Logan, how I don’t want any bit of us to be sullied by something as dirty as adultery.

It’s that alone that forces me to extract myself from his grasp and mutter some nonsensical excuse before fleeing from the room, Logan’s laughter following me the whole way.

As I stride purposefully towards Bobby’s room and the argument that will undoubtedly ensue, feeling oddly at ease, I can’t help but wonder if this is what is meant by the calm before the storm.