Logan shot upright in the bed, feathers flying, panting hard. It took him a minute to gain enough focus of his surroundings to realize where he was. The mansion. His body stung in parts where sweat dripped into freshly healing wounds, the down sticking in various places amongst the blood. He swung his massive legs around the side of the fourposter and went to wipe the sweat from a deeply furrowed brow, only to be met with a dangerously clawed hand. He sighed and retracted them with a distinct *SKINKT*
“Holy shit…” he swallowed down the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and licked his salty lips, pressing firmly between his tightly shut eyes with the heel of a large paw of a hand, trying desperately to push the memories away.
It was the same dream every night, since… He still couldn’t bring himself to think the words. Much less speak them aloud when he was met with worried glances from across the room or half hearted attempts at getting him to talk about... that day. About her...
He’d been alive for a long time. Lately, he’d been thinking maybe too long... He'd seen a hell of a lot of things, but nothing like what Marie had done for them. For him.
Logan closed the distance from himself and the floor to ceiling window in one long stride, his massive body a menacing shining silhouette in the moonlight, and pushed aside the sheer part of Xavier’s fancy drapes that were drifting softly in the breeze from the air conditioning. The cool air against his naked, sweat slick and bloodied body sent a chill down his spine and made his hair stand on end. Outside, across the well manicured lawn, was a piece of marble. No freshly overturned dirt there. There had been nothing left to bury.
The funeral had been yesterday. He’d only stayed long enough to, what? Say goodbye? Get closure? She would haunt him forever. The memory of her last words ringing in his head for the rest of his excruciatingly long life. But without her here there was no real reason for him to stay. After all, he’d failed in his promise. To take care of her. Logan grabbed the bottle of bourbon on the table and took a deep burning pull, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched.
He slammed his fist against the glass, spidering the saddest view he’d ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. Unruly head hung low, Logan whispered into the dark, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...”
But all those he spoke to were dead.