ab•sin•thi•an

adj:

1.  Of, relating to, or suggestive of wormwood or absinthe, a green, bitter, toxic liqueur made with wormwood oil and anise; bitter, harsh

2.  Of bitterness, sorrow

 

"After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world."  - Oscar Wilde

...

 

Mama used to say that being bitter was like taking a poison and waiting for the other person to die.  How ironic; Bobby's dead...but for some reason I can't stop myself from sucking down that poison.  I'm angry and sad, though who I'm more angry and sad for, Bobby or myself, I'm not sure.  Most of all I'm just bitter.  What kind of a person does that make me?

The past hour, I've done nothing but sift through Bobby's memories as we fly to our destiny in Tibet.  It's not fun finding out how little someone cared for you by looking at yourself through their eyes.  But maybe I'm being unfair in my assessment.  Bobby did care for me, in his own way; apparently, sparing me from the truth and then abandoning me was his own twisted way of saying 'I care'.

"Hey, that's not fair.  I cared!"  Bobby protests weakly.  "I just...I cared for Kitty, too."

"Shut up!" I hiss out loud by accident, interrupting the tense silence of the cabin.  The Professor's head moves slightly, but he says nothing; I wonder if he is listening to my thoughts, sensing the turmoil in my head.  Magneto eyes me with a questioning glance.  I clear my throat and look away.

Bobby wants to defend himself, but instead retreats to a corner of my mind to hide as I pick apart his memories yet again.  There's no hiding from me in here.  I see everything.

We've found a small group of mutants who have an encampment at an abandoned lodge on Blue Mountain, about 15 miles northwest of Westchester. They're letting us stay, but only because we both have useful mutations.  Kitty can get them into secured areas for provisions and intel; I keep the food from spoiling since there is no electricity to run the refrigerators.

They've given us our own room at the end of the left hall.  It's actually pretty comfortable, all things considered.  Not much different than our dorm rooms back at the mansion; only now, we can be together.  I think of Rogue and wince.  I know she didn't make it out.  I should ask the group to help me get together a rescue mission...but it's too risky, and I'm afraid to rock the boat.  I tell myself that we'd never make it back out alive anyway; it would only mean more mutant deaths, and what would that accomplish?  What would happen to Kitty if I got killed?  What if she got killed?  I look at Kitty, sleeping next to me, and I'm just insanely grateful that I was with her when the mansion was attacked.  I can't bring myself to regret that; otherwise we wouldn't be here right now, together in each others arms.

I clench my jaw and give Bobby the mental equivalent of a dirty look.  He cringes, but then feels me digging deeper into his memories.

"Rogue, don't do this..."

"Fuck off, Bobby.  It's my head, I can do whatever the hell I want."

"You've already seen everything.  Why keep doing this to yourself?"  He tries to reason with me, but it only makes me angrier.

"Rogue..."

I ignore his half-hearted plea and continue on, poring over each memory.  I don't know why I'm doing this to myself.  Bobby's right, I've already seen everything.  Do I think the truth will change if I look hard enough?

Holding her hand.  Kissing her.  Fucking her.  All while knowing exactly where I was.  It's all there for my painful pleasure, and I get to experience it from Bobby's point of view no less.   I see stolen moments and whispered devotions; promises to each other...but no promises for Rogue.  I slice myself again and again with every memory, stick my heart with every detail.  I can't stop myself.  I must have some kind of sick fascination with the pain.  No scientists or doctors needed this time; I can do my own cutting.

I'd been reduced to an afterthought, not even worth mentioning to those who might have been able to save me.  At least not until I was needed for a specific purpose.  Although, who's to say whether they would have saved me otherwise?

I can't bear to think about the answer to that question.  Instead I direct my bitterness towards Bobby again.

"Did you think of me while you were making your little love nest with her at the mutant camp?" I sneer, already knowing the answer.  He doesn't respond. 

"That could have been me with you all that time, Bobby," I try again, this time with a little less acid. Even more than wanting to hurt him the way he hurt me, I just want to know why.  Why was I so easy to leave behind?  Why was I so easy to forget?

"That could have been me, Bobby.  That should have been me.  Would that have been so terrible?"   Bobby remains silent.

I hate that.  He always did the same thing when we were together; any time we'd have an argument and I wanted to hash things out, he would shut down, shut me out.  Diffuse the fight by letting me rant until I got tired of talking to the wall.  Wait for things to blow over, and then go on as if it never happened.  We didn't argue very often, but when we did, I would have much preferred he fight back than shut down.

Sometimes I think you can't truly know a person until you've seen them under pressure.  Maybe that's why I never saw any of this coming.  You can't really get to the pith of a person until you've ventured outside of that comfortable sweetheart zone and seen how they act when things get rocky.  Seen how far they'll go to win the fight, how quickly and deeply they will try to wound you...found out how much wounding they will withstand and hope they haven't reached their limit, because the alternative would mean giving up, wiping their hands clean of you.  And then, waiting to see if there is anything worth saving...after.  These things are more revealing than all the poetry and flowers in the world could ever be.

Listen to me, rambling on and getting all philosophical and shit, as if I know anything about relationships in my vast experience.  Anyway, Bobby and I never had the chance to test out my theory; you can't technically fight with someone who won't even engage.  It pisses me off.

The more I turn it over in my mind, the more I think maybe you don't need to get hit over the head with some huge event to see a person's true character.  Maybe you just need to open your eyes, and be honest with yourself, and trust your instincts instead of being so pathetically desperate that you are blind to what's happening right in front of you.

I guess I should have seen it coming, right?  Little signs were always there, which I wasn't exactly blind to, but...I didn't want to make mountains out of molehills.  I brushed off my feelings as being paranoid and overly jealous; or worse yet, I blamed myself and my stupid life-sucking skin.  Bobby was such a nice guy; how could I blame him for comforting our friend Kitty after the Professor died?  They were just ice skating, right?  Bobby was such a saint for wanting to be with the untouchable girl; how could anyone blame him for growing tired of gloves and scarves?  Poor Bobby!  Even I secretly felt sorry for him.

And then when I took the cure, I thought all my problems were solved.  Bobby and I could finally touch, kiss, do all the things that couples do.  Too late, only now do I understand that it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

All those little signs were still present; a lingering glance here, a touch of the arm there; the two of them teaming up in the danger room; flirting thinly disguised as playful banter between friends.  Nothing overt, and yet, added up together, all those little signs made up one big neon sign that I just didn't want to see.

I blinded myself to the truth because I didn't want to be alone.  How ironic that I would end up being more alone than I ever imagined.  Maybe deep down I knew that Bobby and I had some problems, but I never, ever saw that coming.

The night the mansion was attacked, Bobby was supposed to come by my room after grading midterms.  I waited, while the minutes, then hours ticked by and he still hadn't shown up.  And now I know why.  He was with her.

Lingering in her room, reluctant to leave the warmth of her arms, while I waited in my room, unwilling to think about why he might be so late.  Eyes burning bright for her, while I blew out all the candles and fell asleep on my bed.  Hand held fast to hers, while my hands blindly felt along a pitch black hallway.  Running to freedom, while the blackness closed in and my captivity began.  Lying in their bed, caressing each other with warm gentle touches, while I laid on a cold metal slab and...and...

Suddenly it's hard to breath.  My eyes are clenched shut, as I struggle to keep from making a sound.  I hold my breath, swallowing a sob.  Don't make a sound.  Don't let them hear you cry.

My chest is tight with the effort of trying to silence the grief and anger raging inside.  I quietly take in another gulp of air.  Not a sound...not a sound...

Then I feel it.  A presence, softly pressing on my mind.  My eyes fly open.

"Stay out of my head, Professor," I growl. 

"Rogue..." He looks at me with kind eyes.  Kind, but still probing, and I'm not letting one more person invade my body or mind.

"I said stay out of my head!" I reach down inside, and dig up my quiet companion, the young girl who once lived down the hall.  She had the ability to shield herself against telepaths.

I throw up the shields, and feel the Professor's presence leave my mind, as a look of surprise crosses his face.  Old, tired eyes of a once-father figure search my face, and I can only bear it for a moment before I stand up and walk to the back of the cabin.

I'm not there any more, I tell myself.  I'm not there any more.  I'm not in that hell hole anymore...but I'm still in hell just the same.  Which is worse, the knowing or the not knowing?  Futile, endless hope, or seeing things for what they were and what they are?  I can't tell any more.  I can't feel anything but grief and anger, and I want to lash out, to smash something.

Bobby's still there, watching me warily from a dark corner of my mind, and suddenly I can't hold back any more.

"You abandoned me, Bobby!  You left me to die!" I shriek internally.  "Do you have any idea what I went through?  What kind of hell I've had to endure?" I'm holding the sides of my head and pacing back and forth in the tiny medbay.  "Years, Bobby!  You knew where I was-- for years!  And you never said a word to anyone."

Bobby remains silent, and God, that just sets me off.  I go for blood.  "You disgust me.  I was never enough for you, was I?  You never had the guts to be honest, never had the guts to choose.  You just kept me waiting in the wings, while you had your little indiscretions with that whore."

"Watch it!  Don't call her a whore!" Oh, finally he speaks.  He's finally saying something, because it's in her defense.

"Why were you even with me, Bobby?  Why were you with me, when you so clearly wanted to be with her?  You just wanted to go with the flow like always, and never make any real choices because that would rock the boat," I spit.  When it came down to it, you were glad that the choice was made for you that night.  And once I was out of sight, I was out of mind, wasn't I?  You're a cheater and a coward!"

"I never cheated on you," Bobby protests.  "Not when we were together.  Kitty and I never slept together until...after."

"Oh, lucky me!" I say, my inner voice dripping with sarcasm.  "My boyfriend waited until after I was imprisoned to fuck another woman."  I shake my head in disbelief.  "Mentally cheating is just as bad as physically cheating, Bobby.  Maybe worse."

"Hey, don't act like I'm the bad guy and you're so innocent in all this!" Bobby retorts.  What?  What??  Did he just say that to me?

"You think I don't know about your feelings for Logan?"

"Logan?"  For a moment, I am stunned into silence. 

"You really want me to be honest with you, Rogue?  I'll give you honesty.  You didn't really want to be with me, either, did you?  You just settled for me.  Logan was the one you really wanted--I knew it, he knew it; hell, everybody in the whole mansion knew it."

I let out a huff of air.  That was a slap to the face. 

"If you really want to point the finger at someone for why we didn't work out, maybe you should look in the mirror, Rogue.  If you want someone to blame for all of this, maybe it should be Logan."

"Blame Logan?" I say incredulously.  "He wasn't the one who left me for dead the night the mansion was attacked.  He wasn't even there!"

"Yeah, my point exactly.  He wasn't there.  And you want to know why he wasn't there?  Because he loved Jean, not you."

"Shut up!"

"After she died, there was nothing to stay for, so he left."

"Shut up, shut up!" I hiss out loud, covering my ears and backing into the corner.

"Did he ever come looking for you after all hell broke loose?  Did he ever try to rescue you?  No.  You want to know where he was?  On the other side of the world, screwing some Japanese chick so that he could forget about Jean."

"Shut up," I moan, sliding down the wall to the floor.  "Just stop." 

I can't bear to hear another word.  My hands are clamped over my ears and I'm rocking back and forth, trying to shut out Bobby's voice.

God, it hurts, it hurts.  He's right, I know, and that's the worst part.  But still it hurts so bad to hear it said out loud.  The truth of everything; it was always there, hidden in plain view; I just didn't have the guts to acknowledge it.  I feel the hot prick of shame and curse my weakness.  Foolish girl, thinking that Logan would ever come back for me someday.  (I'll be back for this.)  Stupid girl, clinging to a poor substitute for the man I secretly loved.  (I don't want you to go...)  Cowardly girl, living in denial, afraid to see things for what they really were.  (Look in the mirror, Rogue.)  Pathetic girl, alone as always.  (Nothing to stay for.)

Bobby's right; I am nothing to stay for.  And I have nothing to stay for.

...

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