Time heals everything, right? Isn't that what people say?
It's been over two years since I left the Mansion. That should be plenty of time. Sometimes two years can stretch thin and seem to last forever. Others it can be gone within the blink of an eye. My two years were definitely the former, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
The sun goes in behind a cloud and I’m grateful for the long black cardigan I wrap around me. My house is small, but comfortable. It's not too far from the sea, and when I'm lying still at night, I can just about hear the rhythmic sound of the waves as they crawl up over the sands and shush back down again.
I got a letter. Almost a year and a half ago, now. From Scott. I'm not sure why he felt the need to write. Maybe he just had to share what he was feeling with someone who would understand. Jean called off the engagement. No one was surprised. Not really. Not even Scott.
She moved in with Logan a week later. She was expecting his child.
I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel about that at first. Angry? Hurt? I stared at the letter, at Scott's neat handwriting, for hours. Just trying understand my emotions.
The strange thing was that mostly I was just relieved. The thing I had been dreading for years had finally happened. In a funny way, now that it was tangible, I could deal with it far better than I ever could before. There would be no more false hope. No more wishing for something to be more than it was.
Maybe the whole thing was just a part of growing up. Isn't that what people call it when your heart breaks and you simply have to put one foot in front of the other to get through the day? When you wonder how something that's not actually physical can hurt so much? Until one day you realise that carrying on, in itself, helps. And people get over this sort of thing everyday. Other people, yes. Not you. But if other people can, surely you can try?
Or something like that.
As for what I did? Where I went? I took some time to think. I visited New Orleans. Then decided that wasn't far enough. Thailand. New Zealand. Took a flight to Peru. Climbed Machu Picchu.
Then I called the Professor with the beginnings of an idea.
A safe house, far smaller than the Mansion. With the Professor's funds and contacts, I built it. Now I help with mutant rehabilitation. Those that were test subjects, the young ones, I help them prepare for the real world again. I help them rebuild their life, and through that, I rebuild mine. It's given me purpose. Focus. Direction. All those things I was missing.
And out of all the people I lived and worked with at the Mansion, it was Scott who kept in touch.
He came to help me set the project up, initially. Visiting every couple of weeks or so. He was a calm head, good at organising the details. He told me that was why the Professor had sent him. We both knew it wasn't true, but I understood what he was going through well enough to pretend to believe him. He just wanted to get away from the Mansion as much as I did. No one could blame him.
Those were strange days, to start with. Neither of us very talkative. Vast amounts of work to achieve together. The awkwardness of having the man who had been, for all intents and purposes, my teacher, coming to stay so that he did not fall apart, yes that was very strange. Both of us concentrating so hard on not thinking about the obvious link between us.
But months passed, the safe house grew up around us, and I got used to it. Got used to him. Began to feel proud of what we could achieve. And somewhere along the line I no longer felt awkward. I smiled at the occasional joke he'd tell. Started to enjoy his phone calls. Started to look forward to his visits.
Last week, while doing something as mundane as fixing a blown bulb, he asked if he could visit more often. Maybe even... stay.
I've been thinking about it all day.
I think I might say yes.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's the final part. And it hasn't taken me two weeks to post - whoop! Well given that it's only 700 or so words - that's probably reasonable!
I think this is me angst-ed out for a while though. I'm not writing/reading anything that does not contain a moustached Logan bench pressing in a mankini to some 80s power music. I need some humour!
I think this is me angst-ed out for a while though. I'm not writing/reading anything that does not contain a moustached Logan bench pressing in a mankini to some 80s power music. I need some humour!