He woke up. Clock on the bedside table told him it was half past noon. Girl on his arms was burning hot and sweaty. At some point during the night he had managed to wrap all his covers around her. She was sleeping, but it didn’t look all that comfortable or restful. He tried to peel off the quilt from around her. She muttered something in her sleep and dragged it back, curling even tighter under it.
“Marie? Kid? Let go. It’s not good for you,” he whispered.
“But mom… It’s so cold out there…”
“Mom? Come on… Just let go of it before you melt or something,” he grunted pulling the blanket off from her and tossing it to the floor. She whined and curled against him, seeking warmth, her sweaty forehead pressing against his bare chest.
“Oh, shit!”
He didn’t have the time to move before the pull started. Sickening feeling of everything flowing out of him. Blood, marrow, life, strength, everything being torn off through his ribcage, and he was unable to move, unable to breathe or scream. And like a leech she was pressing even closer to him, burrowing against him and nestling her whole face against the bare skin above his heart. Heart that had kept beating surprisingly steadily through every ordeal before and now started skipping beats and slowing down.
He was going to die. This fucking slip of a girl was going to be the death of him. He tried to struggle, to stop the flow, move away from her, but he could only stare at her. His vision started to blur. Inky blackness creeping from the edges, covering everything but her, nestled against him, peaceful, contended smile on her face. Then, suddenly her eyes fluttered open. For a moment she just laid there, confused expression on her face.
“Oh, my God!” She was touching him. She could feel him inside of her, struggling and spewing curses, kicking and scratching, trying to break free. She scrambled off from the bed, falling to the floor on her back, gagging and gasping for air. It was too much. Too much. She had been so comfortable, held on too long, fooled by her dream and his warmth.
“Let go! Let go of me! Let go! Don’t touch! Get the hell away from me!” She wasn’t sure of who was shouting. Was it he? Or he inside of her? Or was it her? Or was anybody or was she just imagining those desperate pleas that slowly started to turn from begging to threats against her life and soul if she didn’t let go immediately. Something cold and sharp sliced through her skin and muscle, parting them and crushing the bone underneath. She was tearing apart, piece by piece.
“I’ll go down, you go down…” He spat bitterly. He wasn’t going to let some fucking bitch get the better of him. He still couldn’t move, but every passing moment he spent wallowing in his anger and rage seemed to help some. She was screaming somewhere on the floor. Screams were getting weaker. Her hold from him was getting weaker. The pull was slowing down, and his heart was quickening. He could breathe again. He released his claws and they came out in a hot gush of eager blood, rushing forward and locking on to their places. Her screaming intensified, and he could hear his own voice joining to the choir. His hands hurt. He rolled on his stomach and crawled, pulling himself forward with his elbows, keeping his bleeding hands up in the air, claws still out.
Heavy weight landed on top of her. Logan. Bleeding. Panting and grimacing.
“Stop it before I fucking tear your guts out…” Stop what? She wasn’t doing anything but hurting. He was raging inside of her, tearing and maiming, mutilating her mind piece by piece.
“Don’t hurt me… Please, don’t hurt me anymore…”
“I’ll stop as soon as you let go,” Logan whispered through gritted teeth, his clawed hands descending to her throat and ribcage.
“I’m… I’m not doing anything… Don’t hurt me anymore…”
Her pleading eyes made him hesitate for a moment. She wasn’t touching him skin on skin anymore. As soon as doubt set in to him, her cries and pain inside of him lessened. Pull and resulting sickening feeling of tearing and falling apart became less intense. As soon as his rage picked up and thoughts of finishing her off floated to the front of his mind she started to scream and cry in earnest and pain engulfed him again.
He used the remaining shreds of strength and willpower to push away from her and crawled to the opposite corner of the room, closing his eyes and trying to put reigns over his rage. Moments ticked by. Turmoil in his mind and body started to settle down. Girl, Marie, laid on the floor, whimpering and shivering. He couldn’t smell the stench of sickness in her anymore. His mutation had wiped off the flu. And judging from the evidence it wasn’t the only thing that had happened. He could see her face, pale and ashen, lips moving but no words were coming out from her. Yet he could hear her inside of his head as clearly as if she was speaking to him. Continuous litany of pleas of not to hurt her, she was sorry, she hadn’t done it on purpose, she wouldn’t do it again, he didn’t have to hurt her anymore. He tried to stop the whispers, but it was impossible. That small persistent voice made him feel ashamed of what had happened. Of what he had nearly done. She hadn’t intended to hurt him, yet he had lashed out on her with everything he got. No bleeding wounds were visible, but somehow he could feel the gaping tears inside of her, and mirror image of those inside of him.
He was sorry and ashamed. Those feelings covered the earlier blind rage of his in her mind like a quilt. Invisible blades that had just seconds ago shredded her to ribbons melted away, retreated from her ravaged being. Voice that had been earlier shouting and cursing her spoke now hesitantly. There were no actual words, just a strong feeling of confusion, hurt and shame. She opened her eyes. She could see him, slumped against the wall, hands limp on his sides. Impossible looking metal blades, same blades that had torn in to her earlier protruding from his knuckles, blood pooling slowly around his palms on the floor. As she watched they retracted slowly, sliding inside of his hands. Wounds they left started to close. She licked her dry lips.
“I’m sorry…” She whispered.
“I’m sorry, too… Are you… Are you alright?” Logan asked. Whispers in her head had been inquiring the same thing from the moment he had crawled away from her.
“Are you alright?” She asked realizing that the claws she had seen had been real, not her imagination. They had cut through his hands.
“I will be… What the hell happened?” Logan asked, clenching his fists and shaking his head.
“I think… I think I held on too long… Something like this happened once before. But he… He was an ordinary human. He didn’t have your mutation. He died…”
“I can hear you. Inside my head. Stop being so fucking sorry and get out!” Logan barked. She tried to get up but her body refused to cooperate.
“I can’t… I’m too tired…”
“From my head! Stop talking! Shit, I can’t hear my own thoughts!”
“I’m in your… Head?”
It didn’t work that way. She got them in her head. They got to enjoy nice and comfortable coma for few weeks if they were lucky.
“You’re in my head and you’re so goddamned sorry and I can’t take it anymore! Stop!” She flinched and grasped her temple. Cold metal flashed briefly through her mind. A warning. She could feel him struggling, trying to push her out from where she did not belong. She didn’t know how to retreat and she started to slip. She would fall soon if he didn’t stop. Fall to deep and dark pit.
“Stop! Stop! I’m trying!” She gasped. Pressure diminished.
“I’m trying! But I don’t know how! This… I don’t know what happened!” His claws flashed out again, re-opening the wounds from his hands. She could feel those same claws inside of her, poised above her, threatening to sink in.
“You’re inside of me as well! Put them away, it hurts!”
He retracted his claws as soon as he felt their coldness scraping inside of his own skull. Sickening screech of metal on bone.
“I think we’d better go to see Xavier. This can’t be good…” He muttered, scrambling up to his feet. World tilted and swayed as if he was drunk and he had to brace his hands against the wall to stop himself falling. Marie wasn’t faring any better. If possible, she was even more shaken than him. And still apologizing inside of his head, over and over again. His knuckles were itching. He hated when people started apologizing. What was done was done.
“Would you shut up already?” He huffed walking to her and picking her up.
“I don’t know how to stop it,” she whispered.
“Think of something else than what just happened.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything. You’re making me feel like I’m a fucking asshole and I don’t like it!”
He really felt bad about what had happened. He inside of her head was apologizing as well. Well, not in words. But when she focused and managed to pin him down, he was sitting in a dark corner, hands folded to his lap, insecure and scared expression on his face.
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