The first time I missed my powers... I...

It doesn't matter. He isn't coming back. It was never me that he loved.

My story has no hero. No happy ending. Just… what I remember.

If lay it all out there, if I’m finally honest with myself... maybe I can figure out how I got here.

How I fell so far, and so hard, and how it was basically the same damn thing.

I can't cry. How can you cry over something you always knew to be true? The grief... I can hide it. Behind a smile. That's biting back a scream, with all my might. Anger grants me that little bit of strength. But it’s fragile. And fragile things can be broken. Like me.

These... are my pieces.

I don’t know if you can ever be put back together again after something like that.

But I do know, I’ll never be the same.

My first mistake.

Comfort. Ease. Reliability. Ignorance.

Bobby.

I froze.

“Don’t look so surprised. Where was the first place that you went, Rogue? After you got rid of your powers? Or should I say, Marie? Because I’m willing to bet that it wasn’t my bed.” His laugh was cold, cruel. And it stung. “That’s what I thought.”

So I slapped him. For seeing into the black abyss swirling around where all my insides used to be. Where I stood on the precipice, teetering on the verge of the vast, seemingly endless emptiness and fear I felt, threatening to fall into nothing as if it wasn’t already too late. The meaning of which I had found before I’d come here.

And he knew.

Logan was gone.

And it was all… for nothing.

Falling hurt, and something inside me snapped.

But it wasn’t me that hit the ground.

I guess that means girl’s night’s canceled.

It wasn’t her fault, really.

She probably could’ve saved herself from the impact had she seen it coming.

How did she not see that coming?

Truth is, it surprised me too.

Being thrust into the darkness.

My darkness.

Touch: To feel.

I’d forgotten. I was used to feeling. But only on the inside. Always the outsider looking in. The Rogue…

I’d forgotten what emotion felt like when it was triggered by another person’s skin. On mine. I’d spent so much time starving for it, imagining, craving, that I’d forgotten that it could hurt.

Mistake number two.

The second time I regretted the cure.

There’s no cure for this…

He'd had such a sweet smile…

College wasn’t really for me, anyway.

The last thing Logan had ever expected to happen, had just happened.

Unless you counted…

He hadn’t felt happy in awhile. The Japanese girl had just been a band-aid. A bridge. A reminder of who he was.

Or at least of who he’d been.

And no sooner had he gotten off of that plane, and felt his heart swell in his chest, had it plummeted. Right back, straight into his gut.

The world was ending, unless he saved the day.

Saved the girl.

Or Erik would finish what he’d started.

Charles didn’t say it, but he knew by the look in Lencher’s eyes…

Shit.

He should’ve stayed in Japan.

New Orleans.

Of all of the rat infested shitholes Rogue had to go and hole up in, she’d picked his least favorite.

The street smelled like piss and dirty diapers. And vomit. Not to mention the level of eeriness. The place reeked of it. The air was thick with it, like the steam rolling off of the pavement in waves, mingling with his cigar smoke.

Nothing but smoke and mirrors…

It made the hair along Logan’s spine bristle, curling around the collar at his neck, damp with sweat, chafing against the leather, his denim jeans sticking to his thick steely thighs, knuckles aching.

His instincts warned him to keep his claws drawn at all times, his heightened senses rioting within him, just beneath the surface. But broad daylight wasn’t the time for a show. So he kept the beast in it’s cage, locked away. For now.

That came later…

When darkness fell.

And boy, was Logan in for a show…

Ahh, the Vieux Carre. There was no other place in the world quite like this one, a grand old lady who’s seen better days. The perfect place to disappear in the crowds that wander down in the cobblestone streets, carrying containers filled with big ass beers and boozy green concoctions. She felt a certain sadness settle in her chest as the sun sank lower and the sky painted crimson, haloing the historic buildings in fire as the class of people below began to change.

There was an innocence that the day held that called to a deep dark part of her, in the recesses of her soul, reminding her of a time long past. Of a girl she once knew... The lack of light just reminded her that only a darkness remained now. Fireflies took the place of stars and heat lightning patch worked the sky. The breeze ruffling the gauzy curtains to the wrought iron balcony sent shivers down her spine as the bluesy harmony and cacophony of jazz bands began to play amongst the steady clip clop of the carriages. As she tilted her head to take in the last of the rays, a tiny glow cheered her, flashing as it met her eyes.

The antique silver plated hand held mirror laying on her vanity shone, a small baggy filled with white powder lay on top. A beacon in the night. Calling to the darkness within her… Promising a way out. The light at the end of the tunnel.

She sat on her velvet tufted stool, her slender hands unconsciously twisting in her lap. She became more uncomfortable by the minute as her anxiety grew and the darkness crept ever nearer, casting shadows, dancing with the crystal teardrops dripping from the chandelier. She couldn’t accept this dull ache of foreboding. Who was the girl staring back at her? She no longer knew. Or cared to.

She flattened her palms against the hem of her almost too short leather skirt as they began to sweat, eyes fluttering shut, and a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped from her lips before hesitantly, she reached out. She dropped her hand as if she’d been burned, releasing a choked, desperate laugh. She pressed her trembling hand over her face convulsively. Swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, she looked up, covering her mouth to keep from crying out as tears stung her eyes.

What reason did she have to stop?

…to hell with it.

Everything took on a clean brightness and a rush of pink stained her cheeks, feeling the blood coursing through her veins like an awakened river as she inhaled in sharp quick bursts. The tense lines in her face relaxed. Rogue bit her lip to stifle her cry of delight. For a long moment she felt as if she were floating, as she hastily swiped the evidence away.

Her breast tingled against the silky fabric of her cami as she pulled it over her head, flicking the long hair cascading down her back out from where it was held captive by her blouse.

With a giddy sense of pleasure she let her happiness show as a smile parted her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. They twinkled for another reason entirely.

This girl she recognized.

She slid on her boots and checked her lipstick one more time before descending the downward spiral of her loft’s stairs.

It was just another day in paradise.

Through the setting sun Logan caught a glimpse of the slow moving Mississippi River and heard the horns from the ferry taking people back and forth across the wide expanse of muddy water over the low rumble of his engine. He paused to consider the piece of paper crumpled in his hand. It was a place the locals hang out, off the beaten path and far from the gild of downtown. An institution, a dive located in a sketchy neighborhood known for its shootings. Not too far from there, in a local’s only neighborhood known as the Bywater.

Perfect.

As he pulled up in front of the bar he saw the place hadn’t changed, not even the sign out front advertising ladies in barely flickering neon, resembling more of a bug zapper than an invitation. Even in the now black night he can see it’s still just as fucking run down, with peeling paint, and gutters falling down. Logan said a silent prayer as he walked in, rolling his shoulders, fists clenched and hoped like hell he had something to drive when he left. As his eyes scanned the room they slowly adjusted to the dim light, lit only by sparse red bulbs and a dangle of recycled Christmas lights. You could hardly see the patron sitting next to you. It was a dark cocoon of solitude that set it apart from the obnoxious bustling tourist bars that lined the French Quarter.

There she was. Belly to the bar, downing the drink that made the place famous. The Possum Drop. All the Schlitz Beer with Jager Bombs you could drink for customers who sat at the bar sans clothing. Which she was slowly and seductively discarding piece by piece, laying them across the bar as payment for each shot, coyly asking the enraptured bartender how much she owed him now.

Logan straddled the stool next to her when she hiked up her mini skirt and slid her lacey panties down the creamy expanse of her thighs, rubbing them together like a cat in heat, never breaking eye contact with the bartender as she did so, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she tilted her head and her platinum streaked hair fell around her shoulders, blessedly shielding her bare chest from view.

“It’s on me.” He growled, slamming a hundred dollar bill on the cracked polyurethane like a gun shot, ready to drag the asshole across the bar and gouge his eyes out after showing him what his definition of laissez le bon temps rouler was. They both jumped, caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of his voice, though the bartender didn’t look inclined to scare easily. Logan doubted there was much the man hadn’t seen in a place like this. Though he was happy to introduce him to some adamantium if he didn’t back the fuck up in about two seconds.

The burly stranger sized him up, weighing his options and flashed a wicked smile at Rogue, his words not registering on her dizzied senses as her panties dropped to the floor and she turned in stunned shock.

Through the roaring din… she breathed one word.

“Logan.”