DIARY
Author's note: This is a prequel to a fanfic I'm currently writing. It's very short and, I hope, sweet. Thanks for the reviews all of you have given to my earlier fanfics. I'm like a new bird testing its wings here, so your reviews, bad or good is highly welcome.
3 January
Dear diary,
Seems like we need a bit intro here. Me, Jubilee. You, diary. And you'll spend the rest of your life as my Mother Confessor here every night.
I hate to brag, but I have to. If not the facts will be lost. Logan gave me this as a belated Christmas present. I think he knows who gave him the sketchbook. Rogue told me his nose is sharper than a bloodhound's. Maybe he could smell me on the sketchbook. (I wonder how do I smell to him.)
I am surprised to discover that myself, diary. Someone as bitter as he can have such a great knowledge in beauty. Maybe when you spend half of your life drenched in bitterness and anger then you start to appreciate beauty. And the portrait of Rogue he did? It was wonderful. I bet to execute such a beautiful piece you must love the subject.
{Jealousy alert! Jealousy alert!}
No way! I'm not jealous! He did a great job on the drawing, and I am simply stating cold hard facts. I tried drawing once but they all ended up in a recycle bin. I hate to see trees being cut down only because I tried to do something I'm bad at. No more drawing for me.
Remy gave me a pair of roller blades for Christmas. Not the time to be roller-blading, though. Outside is still snowing. Professor said it could be the worst winter ever. So far, nothing's seemed to be out of my liking. The weather suits me just fine. I like snow, anyway.
Peter (or Piotr, whichever you like) surprised everyone one morning by playing a very sentimental melody on the violin Kitty gave her for Christmas. Here's another anomaly: Pete's a big guy whose looks may fool even the streetwise. He's even taller than Remy and massively muscled. I wonder whether all Russians look like him…
Back to the real world. Pete's a big guy with an even bigger heart. You cannot imagine him playing the violin, but he did. And with great flair, too. It's a wonder he didn't go to a certain orchestra and stay there instead of becoming an X-Men. But I don't want him to… =)
Rogue's a great friend. Though she can't touch anyone, even Remy, she can still give the occasional slap or strike - if she had her gloves on. And Ms Munroe's a great teacher. So are Ms Jean Grey and Professor. Scott Summers, however, is a wee hard to describe. He's reserved, cool and collected. That visor made him look more robotic and less human. But I see him crumble to bits whenever Jean's around. And when Logan's around, it is Jean turn to crumble to bits.
These adults play foolish games with themselves. Why can't Jean just marry off to Logan? Why can't Scott let her go? Oh, they may think us teenagers know nothing of this, but we do. Oh do we know. A lot.
Adults are stupid. That's the quote for tonight, diary. Good night!
7 February
Dear diary,
It's hard to exercise whenever I see guys stripping their shirts off. It's even harder if one of them is your partner. All the 5 senses come into play and that all can be a potent, exhilarating brew. Sometimes the whole thing simply spells trouble.
My partner in the gym today was Logan. I didn't know why he became one of Mr Cassidy's helper. Maybe he hated to see everyone on the move while he doesn't.
When my classmates had picked themselves partners, I was the one without one. Mr Cassidy asked Logan to help me and he did. We had to warm up first, so when the rest did some light running, Logan taught me a new technique.
"Put one leg up a bit to the front."
I did and maybe I rose it too high: he pushed my leg down a bit. The rough surface of his fingers came into contact only a few seconds - I wore knee-high bikers' shorts - but the shock was immediate and lasted quite a while. I cleared my throat once and tried to focus to his voice, which proved all the worse.
"All right, now flex'em down."
"Huh?"
"Flex'em down."
"Flex what down?"
"Damn girl! What's gotten into you? Became a retard in a second there?"
I stammered out that I wasn't listening.
"Now you better listen or I'll make you go down and give me fifty!! Got it?"
"Yes."
I carefully listened to his voice and obediently followed his orders. By the time PE ended, I ran to the changing room and sat there, willing my breath to slowly recover its normal rate. It wasn't my physical limitations that were put into exercise today, it was my mind control.
Gosh, Jubilee, whatever you were thinking of? Logan's probably scores and scores older than you; you're just a teenager!
I don't want that to happen again. I need to grab anybody next time Mr Cassidy wanted us to do pair exercises.
Exercise is fatal when there's an older (and attractive) man around. That's quote for tonight.
8 February
Dear diary,
Kurt is an Austrian. He speaks the same language as Peter, though, and when they meet, they chatter endlessly. Now they are talking about God knows what in front of me. Peter laughs, and Kurt looks at him solemnly.
I'm always fascinated by the diversity of language spoken here. Rogue's Southern drawl, Remy's Cajun slang, Scott's perfect Americanised English, Hank's butler-like words, Ororo's accented English… it's like the whole world under one roof. Yet everyone here sits side by side peacefully.
If only the whole world takes the same from us here. But we're mutants.
(Later)
I was listening to a radio broadcast of an opera with Hank tonight when Logan walked in and asked what the hell was screaming inside the box. Hank told him patiently that it was on opera entitled Madama Butterfly. Quickly he went over with the summary: boy meets girl, boy marries girl, girl has baby but boy has to go, then boy returns with a new wife and asks for the baby; girl gets broken-hearted and executes hara-kiri.
We thought he had gone when he walked out of the library. The opera was almost at the ending where Madama Butterfly supposedly kills herself. Hank said 'this is it' and I listened well. True, although I didn't understand one bit of the diva's words, I could feel the emotions: the pain was there, the sadness was there, the broken-hearted feelings were there. When the curtain dropped on her husband came running and calling out her name, I didn't realise I was crying.
A loud crash outside of the library made me and Hank turn around. I though I saw a glimpse of a medium-height man and pointy head. Hank looked at me and said, "I think I just enlightened two person tonight."
What was Logan doing outside the library? Maybe he has interest in opera but too shy to let anyone know about it. It's funny, though if he really had an affinity to operas. It's just not him. Logan and opera just don't mix.
I still feel a bit awkward whenever I pass by Logan. Something inside me go melting at the sight of him, and when he's close, my insides quickly evaporated and condensed over and over again. It's a force strong enough to make my throat dry and me stammering whenever he talked to me.
No. I don't want to think it is what I think it is. This is crazy. Absolutely, positively crazy. No, no, no, a hundred times no. It's stupid, crazy.
This is insane. I can't be falling in love with the most impossible person in the whole wide world! Give me all the Scott Summerses of the world to love, but not one Logan!
This is unthinkable. Impossible!
I don't want to think about it. That's quote of the day.
11 February
Dear diary,
I heard the word platonic relationship today in Jean's class and I asked her what that meant. To which she sheepishly had replied:
"It's where two sexually different people can be in love yet a love that doesn't place sex as a pre-requisite. Simply put, there is love in this relationship, but merely a friendly one. Nothing sexual, perhaps a bit sensual, but no more than that."
I wonder whether the blush she was wearing all the while she explained this meant she had something more than platonic with Logan.
"Jeez, that's so boring," I had heard Warren exclaimed from behind.
"So, did Monica and the President have a platonic relationship?" Bobby had asked, which made the class erupt in laughter and Jean blush even more.
Now I ponder, diary, as I write, am I capable of only loving Logan as a friend. That's not too hard, if you think about it. Being a friend has the advantages from being lovers. Sometimes.
Wise men say, the things we want the most are right in front of us. I know what I want. I want Logan to acknowledge my existence. I want, in fact, everyone to do so. I'm tired of being a cute, guileless teenager. I want to get dirty. I want to get down and bash some head. I want to get mean.
Can I make it? Will I do it? What would I give to let everyone, especially Logan, to acknowledge me, my presence?
Gosh, these decision making's making me tired. No wonder adults get stress easily. I hate to be an adult. So much responsibilities at one time. You can't expect anyone to settle all those in one quick zap. I can't even think straight right now. All I can think of is Logan. Before, I always shy away from even saying his name inside my head, fearing I'd go catatonic that instant.
Now, he brings peace to my mind. I don't know how can someone whose exterior so bitter and loathsome can bring peace to my mind, he just does. People who don't know him much will certainly think of him as a bitter, retreating man. Well, yeah, he is sort of like that. But not always. At times he can be charming in his own way.
When I asked Rogue what he was like when she was with him for months, she said he was the perfect gentleman. No tux or ties, but Logan's own version of gentlemanly conduct. Quiet at most times, it was only at rare occasions that they suddenly would lapse into talking, then from there it will go on until dawn.
I envy Rogue. She was fortunate to know him for a short time and gained his trust and respect. Logan's not an easy man to gain anything from. You need to earn it from him. I don't know actually how will I gain trust and respect from him. It better be not the hard way.
Trust and respect is gained, not forced from. That's my quote for tonight.
THE END