I can see her, feel her body move beneath mine as waves of bliss run through her veins. She is here with me and I'm speechless as her brown eyes open wide while her soft lips whisper my name almost inaudibly.
Then my world tumbles down and everything else fades away except for the feel of her inner heaven tightening suddenly around me. I'm helpless, fighting to breathe fighting the urge to get further inside. But I can't. I can't do that to her too. I'm already too far gone beyond any line and I can't add pain to her right now.
But she's so here, so real that I can't seem to get any control over my feelings.
But it's not about me, I must remember that it's not about me.
With a slight twist of my hips, I bring myself to the other side where she still seems to be seeing a million stars and I think I can see them too. I try hard not to collapse on top of her and roll us over on our side so as not to crush her. She tilts her head to the side and hides her face into my chest and I think I can smell the tears she's trying to fight as she buries her face near my heart.
What's wrong? I thought it was alright, I felt what we're doing was okay but apparently not. I try to soothe her by lightly stroking her back, up and down but it doesn't seem to help because the smell of her tears is even stronger and I finally feel wet, warm trails slowly cooling on my skin.
I need to say something, tell her anything to let her know it's okay, bring her back to this moment, back to me. But all I can think of saying is "I'm sorry".
She pulls away a little and puts her small hand over the spot where my heart starts to pound searching its way to hers.
Her voice is soft and barely audible when she says
"No Logan, don't be. It's just... I'm just a little overwhelmed is all...Don't be sorry, because I wanted this. I want you, all of you."
All of me, she says.
The early morning sun reminds us that it is time for her to go back to her room. That's our agreement: she has to go back to her room before the sun completely rises. As painful as it can be to watch her leave, I tell myself that it would be even more painful if someone saw her sneaking about like a thief in the night. I don't like the turn things are taking or the way I feel when I think that what we share could be seen as something 'disgusting' in the eyes of some self-righteous people. I wanted to take her with me, go away from this place so that we could fully live whatever it is that's between us. But she never wants to. She says that it's the best place we could have found and I know deep down that she's right.
I watch her very carefully, registering every single curve of her body, the way it seems to glow in the dim light of this room and I can't help but think that as beautiful as she already is, something in her always seems to be in the process of being, as if she was somewhat unfinished still, like a beautiful painting that still needed a final touch to make it a masterpiece.
It's a sick feeling you know, to tell yourself that you're the one stealing something so essential to the very person you love with all you are. When you know that she will never be the same, that she will be marked forever because of you. There's no such desperate feeling. And then I remember that she's only seventeen.
She leaves the room a sad little smile on her face and I know that she's hurt and that I'm the one doing the hurting.
Now that she's gone the room feels cold and empty. Without the sound of her heart beat, the sound of her soft breathing and the melody of her whispers as she sinuously moved beneath me, lost to this world. I'm still lying on my side trying hard to let myself feel what happened moments ago. I never thought that I'd admit even to myself that I miss her.
These thoughts aren't doing me any good, but sleep will. I should probably try that instead.
******
I've counted the seconds that kept me away from the moment when I could finally see her again. That's how deep into it I am. A quick shower and I am on my way to the small kitchen on the first floor, where Marie and I usually have our breakfast, together, preferably.
There she is, waiting for me it seems, standing by the counter a glass of milk sitting in front of her and a heart-breaking smile across her face.
My Marie.
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He looks at me like he's never seen me before and could totally get used to that. He looks so handsome, though. He truly does. I try hard to prevent that stupid grin from stretching across my face but my lips seem to have a will of their own and I feel them curve in a way I have never experienced before.
He's trimmed his sideburns a bit; it's the first time I see him without the overgrown muttonchops, and he's just stunning.
He looks so much younger and I just can't seem to take my eyes off his face. He looks timeless, ageless like that, but he has this quality about his face, something noble, distinguished. From the shape of his nose and the set of his eyes, the turn of his lips and that strong, high brow... It all makes me think of those old portraits in museums, those of British or French lords in full regalia, posing on a warhorse or something. He could easily have been one of those. He was born more than a hundred and fifty years ago and he still looks like he's in his early thirties. Who knows what Logan was before?
I should probably stop thinking about this, it won't get me anywhere. Logan is Logan and that's all there is to it.
A resounding "Good morning Rogue!" startles me out of my daydream and I mentally curse at whoever broke my reverie. And bad point for me, it's Miss Munro. I didn't even recognize her voice, gosh! It seems I can't access my borrowed powers and in this case, enhanced hearing, when I start daydreaming about a certain man clad in trade mark tight jeans, white tank top and flannel shirt, although the Professor taught me how to control my skin and how to summon any power I have in stock whenever I need it. Well it just seems I'm just helpless when thoughts of Logan invade my mind, and that happens quite a lot lately; I just cannot seem to focus on anything.
" Morning Miss Munro" I reply as naturally as I can manage given the other person present in the room, trying hard to hide the blush caused by brand new scene displays before my mental eyes. Images of Logan and I to be more precise. Of last night if you want to be specific.
She looks at me suspiciously and I can even see a raised eyebrow as she slowly turns to greet Logan.
I blush even harder seeing as the weather goddess seems to be in on something and I instantly try to find something to do with my hands. God, I'm such a girl!
She looks at me once more and then at Logan and takes whatever she's come to get and disappears from the kitchen, a significant smile on her lips. Could it be any more awkward? Was I so obvious? Somebody kill ma now...
Now it's Logan's turn to stare at me with an identical smile as he walks up to the fridge. He had remained silent as he observed my weird lapse in social behavior. Suddenly his gaze is too heavy to bear and I lower my eyes automatically.
Last night. Was it for real? His whispered encouragements during those countless hours, his kisses, everything he told me, everything I'd been dreaming of since we hooked up in Canada. But now what? The last thing he said is that he was sorry. Sorry for what? Sorry for giving me what I really wanted? Sorry because he could never give me more than what we shared last night? Oh no, please God, no. If that's what he's thinking, I don't if I'll ever be able to face him again.
I look up, knowing that he's not facing me now. I watch him scan the loaded shelves for something to eat, something a Wolverine could make his breakfast with and that surely does not include caffeine or toasts. The wolverine is an unmistakable meat eater and beer drinker even early in the morning. I look at his back as he leans casually an elbow on the fridge door, his forehead pressing lightly into the crook of his elbow. I know he can sense what I'm feeling but he doesn't turn around or try to talk. He just stands there, eyes darting about in the white light of the fridge.
I lower my eyes again to the glass of milk on the counter and gulp it down in an effort to wash away all of my present doubts.
I need to break the silence because the situation is driving me nuts. C'mon Rogue, think of something, anything, just speak, okay?
I gather my strengths and force a casual behavior.
"Did you manage to get some sleep?" Yeah, good see? Now keep it up babe.
"..."
Alright, no answer. No need to panic. No. Panic.
"I haven't told you yet, but thanks for last night. It was... you know...just thanks."
His back is still turned but he finally speaks. His words are just a whisper but he knows I can hear them clearly anyway.
"What happened... it shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."
Oh dear God in Heaven, no, not that. Just don't give me that! It was supposed to be a light, nice little conversation after a wonderful night. He's supposed to tell me how he's missed me, supposed to hug me, kiss me even. So why is it turning into the Morning of Doom?
"What do you mean?" I say, trying to buy some time trying to figure out what this is happening right now.
"I mean it...it was a mistake and I'm sorry about that kid."
What? Did he just call me 'kid'? NO, I cannot believe this is happening. This is un-fucking-believable!
"A mistake, huh?"
No answer. I suddenly feel a fury I never ever felt before. It's just burning me up with the need to hurt something...or someone. I can't stop myself.
"So what? Too much of a coward to turn around and say this to my face? You just woke up and remembered something, that you don't do kids after all? Or is it the fact that it was actually me, and now that you've had a taste, you decided..."
He cuts me off almost immediately, though.
"Don't do this Marie, please don't. You know it's not it... You don't understand."
Now he's facing me and I can see the hurt, plain in his eyes, and I just *know* I've hurt him. My voice was steady, mean and resentful and I didn't expect to spit my worries out at him like that.
"You're wrong if you think that..." He doesn't finish and just stands here, exhaustion and frustration written all over his face as he leans his hands down on the counter across from me, messy hair block out his face.
I can see his eyes, though, and they seem heavy, haunted. But I can't seem to stop, this hurts too damn much. I can't fight it. If it has to end, I'd rather it end right here and now.
"Do what? What the fuck is it that you don't want me to do, Logan? You just sleep with me and then you dump me on my ass the morning after? And now what, you're looking for compassion? My God, I should have known... That's why you said you were sorry last night? But what exactly are you sorry for, uh? Tell me Logan! Tell me!"
__________________________________________________________
She’s there right before me and I can’t help the feeling of self-loathing pressing against my lungs. How can I explain that I can’t do this to her, not when she’s so young, still so vulnerable?
She's in love with a man she thinks I am, but know too damn well that I’ll never be. I can’t let her fool herself about what the deal is if she wants to be with me.
I Plead, beg for understanding hoping she will offer this to me, but all I feel in her is the pain I didn’t want her to feel. I can see tears in her eyes but her voice is strangely harsh. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m hurting as she is; but I have no choice. If we keep going down that path all she’ll get is pain and disappointment. Have I already gone too far? I desperately try to reverse time.
She walks to me in an attempt at reading me better I guess, see if she can smell a lie on me and I brace myself for whatever she needs to throw at me, even if it hurts. I know I owe her an explanation, but the words can’t seem to come to me right now. The only I can think of are “I’m sorry” and I’m afraid it won’t be enough, not for Marie.
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Story Notes:
Time…is just a figure. There’s no meaning in the word ‘time’, not for someone like Logan. I’m sure somewhere deep down inside of me that that’s what he meant in the kitchen when he talked about us making a mistake.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey guys, this is my first obra, so be kind! Chapter 2 up in no time but I still don't know how many chapters will come out of this plot. I just have to stay awake late enough at night to have it all knit up in my mind. So what does a sleepless night mean when I can give you some more Logan/Marie stories?
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Reviews are my reason for living.