I know all kindsa things 'bout Marie. Little things. Big things. Even the little things that have turned out to be more important than the biggest things. I never really thought I'd want that - knowin' that kinda stuff 'bout another person. It's kinda surprisin', really. I actually like knowin' that stuff 'bout her. Who'd of thought it?
Everyone else here, they don't know her. Not really. Not even a little bit. They think they do and she lets 'em have a little, but not too much. They know she likes the color green and that her favorite ice cream flavor is Godiva's Vanilla Carmel Pecan. Stuff like that. They don't know the real her, though. Not like I do.
I know the little stuff nobody else will ever know. I know she can't fall asleep unless her closet door is closed. That she loves to pile every damn blanket she owns on the bed - not just to keep her warm at night but 'cause she likes sleepin' under the weight of it. I know she always buys a red toothbrush even though her favorite color is green. Hell, I even know why her favorite color is green but I swore I'd never tell and I won't.
I know silly things. She likes to splash in rain puddles and quack like a freakin' duck just to get me to crack a smile. She likes old black and white movies and popcorn with real butter. I know she steals condoms from the med lab 'cause she claims they make better water bombs than balloons. Heh. She's right on that account. She's got shitty aim, but then again when ya steal as many as she does, she's got numbers on her side. She'll get ya eventually. Trust me on that one. I'd know.
I know she hates orange juice but likes oranges. I know she has a major weakness for Godiva truffles, 'specially the amaretto ones. I snagged one from her once. Not the most manly thing I've ever done, but I just had to taste the thing that made Marie's face look like that. Now I know why they cost so damn much. Hell if I'd admit that, though. Even to her. A man's gotta have some secrets. Heh.
I know everyday stuff too, like she sleeps on her left side. She sings - badly - in the shower. That girl couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it. It's kinda cute, you know, when she's on the other side of a closed door. Lord love her, but enhanced hearin' and Marie's singin' ain't always the best combination, 'specially when it's comin' from my shower at the butt-crack of dawn.
She likes opera length gloves best, but prefers the feel of suede. Smart girl. There ain't anythin' like the feel of fine leather… and leather on Marie is always a good thing. Always. Heh. And I know she likes thongs not regular panties, although I try not to think about that too much… or about her bein' naked in my shower. There's only so much a man can take, after all.
She can cook like nobody's business but pretends not to be able to 'cause it reminds her too much of her mama and how things usedta be back home. She cooks for me though, sometimes when everyone is off doin' somethin' else. I don't know if she does it as much for me as for just wantin' to feel normal for a little while. There's somethin' real nice, intimate 'bout havin' her make somethin' just for me and I like sharin' private moments with her. Even just the small ones. Maybe especially those.
Like I said, I know the small stuff and the big stuff too. The good and the bad. I know she dreams of bein' a painter. I know what she wanted to name her kids. I know where she wants her ashes scattered. I know she works at the youth shelter downtown and she uses mosta her money buyin' those kids extra food or smokes or whatever else they might need to get 'em through the night. She'd know, too. She was one of 'em once. I know hard things too. I know why she left Mississippi. The real reason. And I know some bad, bad shit happened to her on the road before we wound up together.
I even know the little things that are really big things. I know she's afraid of bees and wasps. Now, I've heard other people say that, but Marie, she means it. We're talkin' beyond scared. We're talkin' shakin', blood drainin' from her face, throwin' up kinda scared. She's even come and gotten me up in the middle of the night to come to her room and kill one of 'em for her so she could sleep.
At first I just kinda went with it. I mean, she's Marie. It's my job to look out for her. After a while I kinda figured her fear was a little over the top so I pushed her 'bout it a little. I probably shouldn't have, but I figured she couldn't just go through life losin' her shit every time she heard a bee buzzin'. My mistake.
Anyway, one day I decided to just stand there with her 'till she killed it herself. Took three hours. Three of the longest hours I've ever spent, but she did it. I was real proud of her too. She thanked me. She goddamn thanked me and then she fell apart and between the sobbin' and the throwin' up the whole story came out.
That boy she'd kissed back home wanted to get her back for what she did to him. What she did to him. Christ. Like she had any control over what happened that day in her bedroom. Well, it turns out he and two of his friends caught her one afternoon a few weeks after he'd gotten out of the hospital. He and his buddies wore gloves so she couldn't hurt 'em and they beat her, held her down, stripped off her clothes and dumped a jar of wasps on her. They'd kept them in the fridge so they were too cold to fly away but not too cold to sting and they'd chosen wasps not bees 'cause they can sting more than once before they die.
I don't know if it's pure sadism or teenage fascination with bugs that made them pick that particular form of payback, but those little fuckers held her while those wasps stung the shit outta her, and then watched them die as her skin sucked the life outta them. God, and people think mutants are the ones less than human. They were even laughin' at her the whole fuckin' time while she screamed herself hoarse. She's lucky she didn't die. Hell, I'm lucky she didn't die.
I'll tell ya, when she was done talkin' 'bout it, she wasn't the only one who was feelin' sick. How could anyone do that to her? How can anyone look at her and not see that she's precious? That they shoulda been protectin' her, not hurtin' her. What really gets me is that the worst part for her, worse than gettin' beat or stripped naked or stung all over was that she knows they planned it. They planned it.
It wasn't somethin' they just did on the spur of the moment or 'cause he saw her and just snapped. It was deliberate and that's what hurts her the most. She says she could have understood it if it had been somethin' that had happened in a moment of anger. Understood it - not forgiven it. But that they planned it - saw her walkin' around and talked to her face all the time they'd been dreamin' it up - that's what gets to her. It might 'get to her' but it pretty much fuckin' kills me.
Course, she told her parents what happened and those goddamn cowards didn't do anythin'. Not a fuckin' thing. They didn't want to stir up any more trouble they said. Said it was hard enough for them with her bein' what she was. What she was. Like she was some kinda thing. Her father even went as far as to say she deserved it for what she'd done to that boy. An eye for an eye. Asshole. I'd like to take his fuckin' eye. I'd wanted to do a lot worse when she first told me. Hell, I still do.
Marie left them that night and she never looked back. My girl's got a lotta pride and more guts than most men I know. Even now, knowin' what was waitin' for her out on that road, she still says leavin' was the right decision. I agree with her, although even I don't know all of the shit that happened to her out there on the road. Some days I think she'll tell me when she's good 'n ready and some days I think maybe I just don't wanna know. But I do know in my heart that she woulda died there if she stayed. She does too. That's why she left.
See, me and her, we got this bond. We can talk. Really talk. Sometimes we don't even need words. She just ain't ready to share that stuff with everyone else here. Maybe she never will be. I just don't know. I do know that bein' here is good. For both of us not just her. Even though they try, it's still mostly me and her. The others don't really know her. Not like I do. They think I'm here killin' time 'till a little girl grows up. God, if they only knew. But it ain't my place to tell 'em and I wouldn't even if it was. She ain't a kid. She hasn't been one for a long time. A long damn time.
Mosta these kids here, even the runaways, ain't had it as bad as her. They had friends. They knew a little about the world when they took off. They had street smarts or knew someone who did to keep 'em out of trouble 'least until they made their way here or 'till Chuck found 'em. Marie was too innocent. Too sheltered. Too pretty. I ain't stupid and I ain't blind. I been around too long to hide from the truth. I know what happens to little girls who look like her on the streets - 'specially when they got a body and a mouth like hers.
When you're as young as her, as naïve, with no money and no friends and no street smarts, the world can be a pretty shitty place. How they can still think she's a kid is beyond me. For Christ's sake, she's got me in her head and even with all of the shit that's happened to me and that I've done over the years, I ain't the worst one in her head. Magneto ain't either.
Think about that one.
Those nightmares that wake her up at night, those are all hers. We told 'em they were mine 'cause from time to time she does have one of mine. She has woken up screamin' 'cause she dreamed 'bout bein' in the lab. God, that just kills me every time. But she doesn't wake up screamin' from hers. Not once. Do you have any idea how scared you gotta be to not scream? Sometimes she can't even talk. I find her throwin' up or shakin' or worse - glassy eyed and so unnaturally still that I can tell she's gone somewhere else to escape her own memory.
I know 'cause I do the same thing. Nights like that I just gather her up and hold her real close. Tell her that as long as I'm still breathin', she's got someone lookin' out for her. Tell her how much I love her and how proud I am of her for makin' it through all of that shit. That she's strong. Beautiful. Lovable.
The world can be an ugly place for people like us. I told her as much that afternoon on the train. 'People like us'. I wasn't referrin' to bein' a mutant and she knows it. The honest truth is that people are basically selfish. Cruel. There ain't any happily ever after. There ain't any fairytale endings. Real life - 'specially life on the road - is gritty. Hard. One of two things happens; ya get busy livin' or ya get busy dyin'. It ain't always an easy choice. Sometimes choosin' to live means you gotta survive some pretty bad shit. You do what it takes to survive. You fight. You bleed. You sell your youth. You sell your body. You sell your soul.
Hope springs eternal.
Hope is the best and worst thing when you're alone on the streets. Without it… well, dyin' starts lookin' pretty good. Believe me. I've been there. And with it… well, what the hell do you think drives those girls to turn that next trick? It sure as hell ain't 'cause they like it.
Nope, life ain't a fairytale. I ain't a prince and Marie - she ain't a princess. Well, not to anyone except me, maybe. I wasn't there when she needed me. Hell, I didn't even know her then. I didn't rescue her… at least not from anyone before Magneto. See, there's no white horse. No happily ever after. No ridin' off into the sunset.
Marie - she hasn't told me all of it. Maybe she never will, but I know that when we are finally ready to be together, I won't be her first. Oh, they never touched her skin to skin, but if I can think of ways around that, so can they. What happened to her - that was abuse, not sex. And someday, when we're both ready, we'll get to know what it's like to be touched like that with love instead of hate and fear or because we paid someone to do it.
See, the waitin', it ain't just about her. It's about me, too. You think I could just go through all of the shit I went through and come out ok? Just 'cause I don't have any scars to show for it on the outside doesn't mean I don't have 'em on the inside. I'm lucky I'm sane. Hell, the world is lucky I'm sane. By all rights I should be sittin' in some padded room somewhere doped to the gills, rockin' back and forth like the dumb damaged animal I usedta be. I know what I'm capable of. And I know how strong the instinct to survive is. Humans are lucky I didn't go the other way, didn't let the animal swallow the man. The things I could do would make Sabretooth look tame by comparison.
Most people think the healin' is a gift. A fuckin' gift. I wonder what they'd think if they saw me screamin', yeah, screamin' for death while I gagged on a cloud of steam made from my own blood as they poured that molten metal inta me. There was no mighty Wolverine then. No superhero. Just a man prayin' for an end to the agony.
Smart fuckers too. They did the claws last. I guess they knew if they did 'em first, I'd have found a way to end it while my mind was still intact. At the end, there wasn't much of the man left. Just a mindless snarlin' animal who wanted nothing more than to escape the pain any way he could.
I was that beast, that animal, a long time. It was years, years before I remembered that I was a man. Funny what comes back to ya. For years I couldn't even remember my own goddamn name, but I could remember the taste of the beer I liked and I could recognize the scent of the shavin' cream I usedta use if I smelled it on someone else. But I could only remember bits and pieces of my life before. I don't drink tea like a white man, but I don't know how I know that. I remember ownin' a nice car. Somethin' small and very fast. I think it was black. I remember havin' a quilt that was mostly red. I can't remember who gave it to me but I remember it was warm and soft and I always felt real good, real safe sleepin' under it.
It came back real slow in bits and pieces. Not the memories from before - those never came back - but rememberin' how to be a man. That men cooked their food. Wore clothes. Talked in words. Over time, I remembered more and more but still not enough to be… right. For a long time I was afraid of people. Yeah, afraid. And I was afraid of bein' touched. It was real confusin', 'specially in the beginnin'. Animal-me only knew touch was bad. It hurt. But Man-me had some fleetin' memory that touch, 'specially a woman's touch, could bring comfort… and pleasure.
Even though I was more animal than man, I knew enough to know nobody would willingly touch me the way I was back then, so I found someone and paid 'em to do it. Thinkin' back on it, I can't say how or why I remembered that - that I could pay for sex, for touch. I guess it says a lot about the kinda man I was before they got a hold of me.
It was a mistake. Animal-me was still too strong and Man-me was still too scared to be touched. Animal-me sorta took control at first. He still does when there's stuff Man-me can't deal with. He made sure he was the one doin' the touchin' not her. A small distinction but an important one. He wasn't gonna let anyone else be in control. He took her hard from behind like an animal. I don't know why that would surprise me. I was an animal back then. He didn't hurt her or nothin', but he wasn't anywhere close to gentle.
Man-me didn't like it. He wanted to be comforted. Held. Loved. Animal-me knew he wasn't strong enough yet for that. He was still too afraid of bein' touched. Animal-me couldn't fight the instinct to mate and sorta overrode Man-me's fear of bein' touched but Man-me got the last laugh. He couldn't let go. Couldn't come. Couldn't let himself be vulnerable even if it was only for a few seconds. Self-preservation is a strong thing. Not even the instinct to mate comes before the inborn instinct to survive.
It made me mad. So, I went harder. Didn't accomplish nothin' but makin' us both sore. I ain't real proud 'bout what happened after that. She finally figured out that I couldn't get the job done, couldn't finish, and she started laughin' at me. So I hit her. Not hard, but enough to shut her up. That was the first and last time I hit a woman - the blue bitch not withstandin'. Anyway, she grabbed her shit and left and I finished alone just like always.
You know, if it wasn't so sad, it'd almost be funny. I had this real strong sex drive and this animalistic urge to mate but a body that didn't like to be touched and just couldn't seem to let go unless I was alone. Man-me is in control these days, so the mindless urge is controllable, but I still don't like bein' touched. How fucked up is that? In my more contemplative moments, I wonder if the Big Guy upstairs is tryin' to tell me somethin'.
I bet it surprises some people that I can still believe in God after all of the shit that I been through. Maybe I wouldn't if it wasn't for Marie. Only God coulda made someone like her. Made it so we'd meet and made it so that she could still give and receive love even after all the shit she's been through.
Neither of us in is a real big hurry for the sex part. I'd be lyin' if I said I don't feel the desire to make love to her but we got time and I learned long ago that rushin' somethin' some parts of me ain't ready for is only gonna end badly. We both want to, but neither of us is ready just yet. So for now, we let 'em think I'm waitin' for her to grow up.
Truth be told, I think I'm more nervous than her. It's been nearly ten years since that first time and I still can't let go with a woman. Oh, there've been women since that first one. Probably not as many as you might think, though. Over the years I've learned to enjoy a woman's touch and I've been close to lettin' go a couple of times but I still can't let myself come, let myself be that vulnerable - not even with someone I know I can easily best in a fight if I had to. It ain't right or fair, but I learned long ago life ain't particularly fair.
Marie knows.
She has known since she touched me that night I stabbed her. That's why she was so surprised to see me on the train and even more surprised when I put my arm around her. She knew how hard that was for me - and what it meant.
Trust. We had trust.
It was too much at first, 'specially after what happened in the torch. That was the first time I held someone like that and the first time I cried for someone, 'cause my heart hurt for them. Man-me just wasn't ready to deal with that just yet so Animal-me kinda took over and got us the hell outta Dodge before I lost my shit entirely. Man-me spoke up enough to give her the tags, though, and thank God for it.
Lookin' back, we both needed that time. I've been back at the school a couple of years now. Me and Marie, well, I think it's almost time for us. We've been workin' toward it for a while now. Growin' closer. Learnin' 'bout each other. Healin'.
She slept over last night. She does most nights these days, but last night was special. We were just layin' together, holdin' each other close. We do that a lot now. That was hard for us both in the beginnin', but slowly it got less scary and more comfortable. I miss holdin' her now on the rare nights she doesn't sleep in my bed. It was a long, long time before that layin' together was anythin' more than two damaged people tryin' to make it through the night. It's still mostly just us holdin' each other and bein' close, but we're slowly startin' to touch each other differently than we used to. Sexually.
Last night was one of those nights. She was touchin' me some, real soft, real gentle, through my sweats. Nothin' hot-n-heavy. She wasn't tryin' to get me off and I wasn't tryin' to come. It was just real slow and real sweet. She's always real tender, real lovin' with me. I was thinkin' she smelled good, like vanilla and warm woman and a little like my scent 'cause I'd been touchin' her some too. Her voice was real soft and low and she was tellin' me how much she loved me, loved layin' with me, just feelin' me breathe and hearin' my heart beat when all of a sudden it just happened.
My body got tight and I panted her name as I came in my pants like some green kid. The truth is, it might have been like some kid, but I'd never felt like more of a man. I'd also never felt that close to another human being as I did in that moment. Animal-me and Man-me were as shocked as Marie and then we were fuckin' ecstatic for half a minute before the magnitude of what happened sunk in. And God, did it. I guess I had kinda gotten used to the idea of never bein' able to share that part of myself with anyone again. She just held me real tight and never said a single word. She didn't have to.
That was the first and only time I ever cried for me.
See, the things I know, they all ain't bad. I know she'd love me even if last night hadn't happened. I know that the act of comin' with a woman doesn't make me more of a man… but trustin' her enough to let myself be vulnerable with her sure as hell does. I ain't the brightest man around but I'm smart enough to know real healin' when I feel it and real love when I've found it.
For me, it's knowin' the only woman I want on her knees in fronta me or on her back under me, is the same woman I want walkin' at my side, fightin' at my back and standin' behind me to hold me up when I can't do it alone.
See, it ain't about fairytales and men on white horses marryin' virgin princesses. Sometimes it's just about two broken people learnin' to trust again.