2: On delicate wings
Where to start? Back to that fantasy, her hormones yowled, but Marie resisted. This was her first and last chance to know him, to see herself the way he did, and know – really know – what he thought. Of her. Of them. (Of Jean, her bitterest self whispered, refusing to be silenced, even here. Especially here.) Fantasy was nice – that fantasy made her feel all sorts of nice - but it was merely a distraction. She wanted something more solid. Something real.
From the beginning, then.
Time to go. Tide's turning in here. Fuckin' reeks of fear. Get the cash, bottle of Jack, get out. Huh. Tiny little thing hiding under a big green jacket. Way young. Too young to be in here. Those big brown eyes pack a punch though, darlin. And those lips.
Cocksucking lips. Wonder how they'd feel … nah, fucking pervert. She's a kid.
Still, bet they'd …
A fucking kid.
Huh. Brave fucking kid, though. Good on you, girl.
*
Brave? Try foolhardy. Fucking stupid, kid – could'a froze to death back here. Or worse – not the type of guy ya hitch a ride with, kid. Didn't your Daddy teach ya anything?
Leave ya here for the next truck. Not that there's a lot of trucks. Not that any of the truckers are safe either. Don't look in the mirror, see her standing there. Don't! Fuck. I'm fucked. Big brown eyes and she's fucking scared, standing there, just waitin'. I am such a fucking fucked fucker.
She's climbin' up and she smells really grateful and shit. Don't look at her. Don't think about her pretty eyes and pretty cocksucking lips and how grateful a girl that looks like that could be. Wonder how old she is? Sixteen's legal, ain't it? Bastard!
Oh, now girl, don't you be sassing me. Try and look young, and innocent instead. Stop puttin' those thoughts into my head. Jesus, that accent. Makes me hard just listening to her talk. Fuck.
Gotta get a grip here. Kid must be cold … I'll just lean over and …
“I ain't gonna hurt you, kid!”
Huh. She's worried about her skin. Worried about hurting me! Least of your worries, kid, let me tell you. Can think of at least five ways to get you off without killing myself. Much.
And I heal, darlin'. I heal.
*
“Every damn time”.
Hurts like a motherfucker. But that's a good thing – reminds me to try and keep it inside, ya know. Not to be the animal. Or whatever it was they wanted me to be.
Just a man. Not much of a man – can't keep my fricken mind out of the gutter – but I can do right by you. Leave you somewhere safe. Stop thinkin' about your untouchable skin.
Stop thinkin' about sheets. Thin enough, I could taste you through 'em. The way you smell – bet you taste good, girl. Wonder what innocence tastes like? Wonder if she even knows what it could be like …
Be like? Be like? Ain't gonna be like nothing, asshole. Not with this girl. She's not for you. She's not a hard fuck against the wall, or a blowjob in the back room. She's slow and sweet and takin' your time and makin her come over and over before you even get your zipper down.
Stop thinkin' about makin her come. Doesn't matter what she smells like when she looks at you. That age, she don't know what she wants. That age, you got no business wantin' her back.
*
It was unprecendented. She hadn't even known it was possible – not that she'd thought to explore the idea with the Professor, exactly. Sure, she'd appreciated the rug under her bare feet, the fire warming her hands as she'd inspected it, but the sheets, and Logan's pillow – she'd thought that'd been more memory than actual sensation. Wishful thinking.
But when the wanting suddenly became writhing and the writhing became long, low shudders that rolled through her and left her panting, she realised something. What happened deep inside her mind found its equivalent in the real world.
As real as it gets, he'd said. And suddenly, she was cold, and regretful, even as her sated limbs began to flush with the heat from the fire.
Because Logan might have wanted her, but he had fought it. Hadn't wanted this. And she had taken it anyway.
Marie stared blindly at her clock, miserable in her too-cold bed and too-soft sheets. 10:15pm. In 12 hours, she would leave here, and be rid of this burden, this knowing too much and feeling too much and wanting too much.
She begged for sleep to come.
*
… long red hair and long sleek body and here was a woman he could touch, was allowed to touch no matter what the boyfriend said. She was grown up and beautiful and why couldn't he stop wanting the kid? Her little boyfriend had seen it, musta been obvious he wanted to drag her away and mark her until everyone knew she belonged to him, only to him …
… take it, take it, take it, live, live, thankyouGodshe's alive, alive, take it all …
… Stryker knows everything I have to get through to him but Marie – she's calling me needs me. Gotta go. Running and running and into the car with the two little pricks and Marie. Marie in black silk. Marie in short black silk and turn towards me just a little more sweetheart so I can see right down the front of that and beautiful little rosepink nipples, and fuck you saw me seeing them and now they're hard and I can't take my fucking eyes off you right now, wanna throw you back against the seat and eat you alive darlin' ...
… fuck, it's Mystique, shoulda known Jeannie wasn't up for more than a kiss. Gut the bitch, Jean's face ain't gonna stop me, Ro now, huh, fuck, no, not Marie, not her, could have her, like this, so easy to pretend it's really her under me and jesus part of me thinks so, part of me is fooled, don't laugh bitch, nothing funny about this, they can't know, they can't know ...
*
Whirr. 2.34am. The numerals seemed to be taunting her, their green glow making a mockery of her sleeplessness. Marie heaved a sigh and crossed to her bookcase, succumbing to the inevitable.
Mama's favourite book had been a collection of myths from around the world, and they had worked their way through those from Australia, and Bolivia, and Cuba … all the way to Greece, just before she'd left home. She'd been pulling the teenager card, insisting she was too old to read stories with her mother, but really, she'd loved them too. And on the nights when she felt too far from home, too much the motherless child, she turned to her own copy of Myths and Legends from Around the World.
She found Pandora on page 134. Once, it had terrified her, this story.
Pandora, they said, was the first woman. The bearer of wondrous gifts from the Gods, she was a joyous, happy, marvellous creature. She was forbidden nothing … except to open the box. At first, she was able to igore it – she had gifts aplenty, and playthings to occupy her time. But not knowing, never knowing, began to torment her. So she opened the box she had been forbidden to touch, and out of it flew all the evils in the world.
Temptation. Greed. Selfishness. Lust.
She slammed the box closed, but it was too late. Evil was abroad, and only one last thing remained trapped inside.
Hope.
There was the predicament, though. Pandora hadn't dared to open her box again, and risk unleashing more sins on the world.
But Rogue was desperately afraid that somewhere, inside Logan's box, hope was beating itself to death on delicate wings. Trying to escape.
*
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