What I wouldn’t give for a big burly bodyguard right now. One of those muscled giants you see surrounding celebrities. Bigger the better. Preferably with a gun. Very big gun. But no. I’m not a celebrity; I’m only under aged, runaway mutant sitting in a dingy bar. Directly in front of me sits big fat trucker smelling beer and hitting on me. I try to ignore him, but it’s pretty hard when I have to peel off his sweaty paws from me every two minutes. I think I’m going to be sick if he leans any closer. Only reason I put up his behavior is because I need a ride. Yes. I’m that desperate. He’s only one here who’s going to right direction. Although, if he keeps drinking like that for rest of the evening, I doubt he’s going anywhere but his motel room.
Oh. Uh. What is this? My ride is walking towards a cage. Yeah, this is a place for cage fighters. It looks like my ride is going to fight. Well, I hope that other guy doesn’t beat him too hard. My ride talks to other fighter and points towards me. Other fighter, man with funny pointy hair glances me and shakes his head. My ride whispers something to him. He looks like he’s thinking hard, and then he nods. My ride leers widely and pats his bare back. Man with funny pointy hair is dressed only in worn and sinfully tight jeans. Maybe I should move closer to the cage. Just to make sure my ride stays in one piece. Wouldn’t want to get stuck to this hellhole any longer than it’s necessary. And maybe drool for man with funny pointy hair. Even though his hair is funny, rest of him is gorgeous. Tight muscles. Little sweaty. Nice ass. And close your mouth girl before your tongue falls off. Wipe that drool from your chin before somebody catches you. Not going to drool. Nope.
Ouch. That had got to hurt. My ride just kneed funny hair to kidneys. Funny hair fell to floor. My ride kicks him. My ride is not a nice man. Funny hair stays down and my ride turns his back to him, flailing his hands to air. Suddenly funny hair jumps up. He taps my ride to shoulder. My ride turns and funny hair punches him to jaw. Hard. Really hard. My ride falls. It looks like he’s not going to get up any time soon. Small man with microphone climbs to cage and lifts funny hair’s hand to air.
“King of the cage! Ladies and gentlemen! I’ll give you Wolverine!” Announcer shouts. Wolverine. Weird name. Isn’t that some sort of animal? Like weasel? Two men enter the cage. Other takes hold of my ride’s legs and other from his hands and drag him out. Great. There goes my chance to leave this place tonight. I have money, but not enough for a night in motel. Maybe I should go and talk to that Wolverine. After all, he took my ride out of commission. Or maybe not. He doesn’t look like he wants company.
I sit to a barstool and order a cup of tea from the bartender. He looks me kind of funny, but gives me a cup of hot water and a teabag that looks like it was around when Jesus walked on the earth. Well, beggars can’t be choosers…
“Drink it fast, missy. I’m about to close this place,” he warns me when funny hair walks in and orders a beer. He has a large wad of cash and he starts to count them. Guess it pays when you’re ready to take the beating. He looks me thoughtfully and looks like he’s going to say something, but turns to his beer instead and takes a big gulp from it. Pockets his money and then we just sit there. Suddenly I notice there’s no one else left. We're the last customers. Funny hair turns to me again.
“That guy you were with. We made a deal.” He says. Oh, no.
“You come with me if I win.” Oh, no. This is so not happening. I take a sip from my tea and try not to choke on it when he suddenly continues.
“I’m not in to that kind of deals. What do you say if we make a new deal instead?” He asks. Bartender watches us with amused expression.
“What kind of deal?” I try to sound nonchalant, like this was something I dealt with daily basis.
“Outside. I don’t like audience,” he says and stands up. I collect hastily my belongings and follow his retreating back, away from relative safety of the bar to a darkened parking lot.
Funny hair leans his back to a beat up camper van and lights a cigar. I stand beside him and try to look brave even though my fingers and toes are slowly freezing and I have a distinct feeling I’m not going to like the deal he’s going to offer.
“You’re going to north?” Funny hair asks. I nod. My mouth is too dry to talk.
“I’ll give you a ride at least to next town. Maybe further.” I think about it for a while.
“Wha… What about my part of the deal?” I manage to stutter. Now funny hair starts to look uncomfortable. He shuffles his feet, clears his throat several times and then mutters something so fast I don’t understand a word he’s saying.
“Could you rephrase that?” I ask. He throws away his cigar and looks me directly to eyes. Wow. He has beautiful eyes.
“Sleep with me.” Whoa, buddy boy! Just what the hell is Mr. Wolverine, king of the cage, Mr. Funny hair thinking?
“There was that kind of women in there few hours ago. I’m not one of them,” I tell him.
“No sex. Just sleep. Please?” And now he looks a little desperate. What’s wrong with him? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would gladly jump to sack with him. I don’t see a reason why he should try to trick little girls to his bed. Oh, what the hell! If it really is just sleep, fine. I could use it myself. If he tries anything else, I can always flip on my mutation and drop him.
“You got yourself a deal,” I say and funny hair sighs.
My mutation. My curse and my gift. Very reason why my parents threw me out eight months ago when I manifested. I can kill with a touch of my bare skin. I’m like some sort of energy vampire. My skin drains life force from other living beings. Thank god I learned to switch it off few months ago. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great defensive weapon when some jerk tries to cop a feel, but after every touch I get to deal with new different personality for few days. And I have a feeling if I actually killed somebody that person would stay in my head permanently. So, I’m very glad about that control thing.
We climb in to camper. Funny hair turns engine on. I take a glimpse of sleeping area. Uh-huh. Hopefully he’s not planning to sleep in there. Place’s a mess.
“There’s a motel about ten minutes from here. I have a room.” Like he read my mind.
“What should I call you? Is Wolverine your real name?” I ask.
“As real as my other name. Call me Logan. What about you?” Funny hair asks.
“Rogue,” I answer and try to rub some feeling to my frozen digits.
“What kind of name is that?” Funny hair asks.
“As good as Wolverine. Look, maybe I should tell you something,” I start. Better get this over with so there will be no unpleasant surprises later.
“I’m a mutant. I have a lethal skin. Try anything and I turn it on.”
“Fair enough. You can control it?” He asks like were talking about something trivial, like weather.
“Yes.” Usually after I tell I’m a mutant, car stops and driver throws me out.
“Since were confessing things…” Funny hair says and takes his other hand off from the steering wheel.
“I’m a mutant, too.” Metallic zinging noise and three long metal blades shoot out from between his knuckles. Holy hell! That has got to hurt! I reach my hand and try to touch them, but he pulls them back in. Skin between his knuckles heals instantly.
“Does it hurt?” I ask. He looks a bit surprised.
“Every time,” he says. Suddenly my skin doesn’t feel so big issue. I feel bad for him.
“What kind of mutation is that?” I ask. I have never heard of mutation that would make artificial implants.
“I heal and I have enhanced senses. Claws are ‘gift’ from government,” he says and something in his voice tells me he doesn’t appreciate that gift very much.
“So… Is the deal still on?” Logan asks when he parks camper to in front of motel.
“Of course. Right now I need shower and warm bed more than anything in this world,” I tell him truthfully. It has been several days from my last chance of bathing. I hope there’s Laundromat. My clothes are beyond ripe.
“You hungry?” Logan asks when we enter to his room. As a matter of fact, I’m starving, but how much I can rely on his hospitality? My stomach growls before I can answer, and Logan smiles.
“Guess that’s a yes. There’s a diner across the street. I’ll go get us some burgers. You can take a shower while I’m gone. Leave your clothes outside bathroom, I think I saw a Laundromat outside.” I can only stare at him in awe. If he’s not going to make a move at me, maybe I should jump on him. He’s too good to be true.
“I’ll wait outside while you undress. Just leave your clothes on the bed,” he says and leaves.
Nice. Hot water. I dig a bottle of my favorite body wash and shampoo from my backpack. After a moments hesitation I take out my razor. No sex, but there’s no reason to scare poor Logan with my hairy legs and armpits. I dig deeper and get a hold of plastic bag and pull it out. In there’s my most prized possessions. Long nightgown and bathrobe made from silk. For special occasions. And take your mind out from the gutter! Special occasions as I feel great, I have roof over my head and I’m clean and warm. In hung them to a hook on the door. After I’m done in here, steam should have smoothed wrinkles and warmed them nicely. I like the color of them. Wine red patterns on black. Almost all other my clothes are green. I like green, too. And now shower. I am in heaven. Water is just perfect temperature. I could move in here. But I believe Logan would like hot water, too. Better hurry so I don’t use all of it. Maybe I should use conditioner to my hair. It’s long and gets tangled easily.
Logan takes awfully long getting those burgers. Shouldn’t he be back already? I sit on the bed brushing my hair. TV’s on, but there’s nothing interesting. I flip channel to channel. Weather. News. Cartoons. Some violent movie. Hockey. Hockey. Hockey. Gah. I turn it of and brush my hair some more. I’m going to be bald soon if I don’t stop. There’s a knock on the door.
“Rogue? You decent?” Logan asks from the other side. Decent? Man asks me to sleep with him and is worried about my modesty?
“Come in!” I shout. Logan opens the door. He’s carrying my clothes and a big brown paper bag.
“I didn’t know if you had other clothes, so I waited until these were dry,” he tells me and gives me my clothes. He washed even my jacket.
“You mind if I sleep in this?” I ask and gesture towards my nightgown. He stares at it and flinches a bit, but waves his hand.
“No. Sleep how you like. Here’s food. Don’t eat everything. I’ll go to shower.” After the bathroom door closes I open the bag. Don’t eat everything? Do I look like I could eat four king size burgers and a ton of fries? Hope not. Not very flattering. But those burgers look delicious. And there’s coke with them. Six cans. Jay! Party on! Some people drink alcohol. Some like Pepsi. My poison is Coke.
I have eaten and I’m brushing my hair again when Logan emerges from the bathroom. Eep! He’s dressed only to a tiny towel! There’s no way I can keep a straight face if he’s going to stay that way. Apparently food is more important to him than state of his clothing. Or the lack of it. He sits next to me and looks in the bag.
“One burger? You seriously stay alive eating so little?” Ok. I ate only one burger. But I finished half of the fries and downed three cans of coke.
“I’m little. So I eat little.”
“Right. When’s the last time you ate decently?” Logan asks attacking to burger he’s chosen.
“I eat. Just not that much.” He munches his burger.
“Is your skin off?” He asks suddenly. I concentrate for a few seconds.
“Now it is. Why?” Dumb question. Dumb idea to switch it off. He grabs my arm. His hand closes around my bicep and he squeezes gently.
“I shouldn’t be able to do this. You should eat more,” he tells me and lets go. Is he some kind of nutrition expert? I know I don’t eat enough. I’m hungry all the time. But amount of money I have doesn’t allow me to eat so much and so often as I would like.
“What ever,” I grumble.
“Didn’t mean to offend you. I’m guessing you’re a runaway?” So fucking what? Wasn’t it supposed to be a slumber party, and after that a ride to next town? I don’t need him nosing in my business.
“Where exactly are you headed?” Logan asks.
“Alberta,” I tell him. He nods and finishes the last burger.
“What’s in Alberta?” He asks and stretches on the bed.
“Snow.” That’s honestly stupidest answer. And it’s the only one I have. When I left home, I just decided I wanted to see the snow.
“Snow,” Logan ponders. I nod. I don’t know what else to do. Logan laughs a bit. Then he stands up.
“I’ll go and put on some clothes. Open the bed,” he says and disappears to bathroom again. And now I’m having second thoughts.
There’s only one bed. Granted, it’s large, but not large enough to my taste. In order to keep my mutation off I have to be conscious. In order for me to be conscious I have to stay awake. I take bedspread and put it to a comfortable looking couch. I can sleep on there. I take the other pillow, too. I hope one pillow is enough for Logan. I curl on the couch.
It’s slightly disconcerting, and little scary to wake up next to someone, when you have fallen asleep alone. Especially when that someone isn’t lying next to you, but more like half on top of you, face propped on your chest. Thank God he looks like he’s waking up. What should I do now?
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