AUTHOR: Kari Jo
SUMMARY: When the glasses shatter, what's next?
RATING: PG [Very Slight Violence]
CATEGORY: S/J, S/?, Jean POV, Angst
ARCHIVE: Lists, People Like Us, others just ask
FEEDBACK: Please! holly@members.limitless.org
THANKS: To everyone who encourages me that my writing does not stink!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't hate Jean, really. This started out as a R/L/J triangle, but I didn't like it that way. So now it's not. And I really don't know who 'she' is, so you can use your imaginations. Sorry about that, but I couldn't decide. There may be a sequel sometime in the future, but it won't be soon.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, Marvel, Fox, and Bryan Singer do. The evil plot bunny is all mine, though.
The thing about rose-colored glasses is you get used to them. You get used to the way everything
looks pink and red, the way flaws seem to disappear. And finally, you get so used to them, you don't
even notice them anymore. Everything you see is normal and perfect.
Then they shatter. They shatter into a million pieces, each one red like blood. The world turns an
awful shade of green; green for envy, green for hate, green for the lie I have been living ever since
the emerald sky fell down on me.
I had it so good. I had the man I wanted; the man I loved. And he loved me. We were so happy
together, so happy, I stopped seeing. I stopped seeing the way she looked at him, the way her body
swayed more seductively when he was around. I stopped seeing the way he started looking at her.
If I could just go back for one day, and tell myself, 'Look, you idiot! Look at who he's looking at!
It's not you anymore!' I might have been able to salvage what was left of my world. But the past is
the past. I am the past. She is the future.
The day the glasses shattered was a Thursday. I remember, because Thursday was our day. I would pack
a lunch, and we would go riding together. We never forgot and we were never late. I waited for an
hour before going to look for him. My heart pounded in my chest when I came closer to her room. I
prayed, oh, I prayed it wasn't him moaning like that. I opened the door slowly, and there they were,
bodies intertwined.
I screamed. Everyone came running as I slammed the door and continued screaming hysterically. I
refused to believe, until Charles pulled me aside and told me I was the only one who didn't know. He
was going to tell me today on our ride. My hands shook. My body went cold, and my eyes hardened. I
looked at the man I respected as a father, and told him to go to hell.
I didn't cry. The world was too many shades of green. The clear sky was an unhealthy teal hue. The
veins in my skin looked like someone had drawn them on with a deep green marker. My own face looked
pale and sickly, and my eyes were almost the color I'd always wanted them to be.
Even my hair, my beautiful red hair that he had loved so much, had turned green. The shards of the
rose-colored glasses I'd been wearing for so long shredded my feet as I stood before the mirror. They
cut my hands as I reached for the brush to comb out my discolored hair. I stared at my reflection,
disgusted. I was disgusted that I hadn't seen it; disgusted that I was the only one who was blind.
I sat on my bed with my knees pulled to my chest until dawn. I watched the sun rise, hoping that it
would be back to normal by now. I finally cried when I saw the sun heralded by streaks of green and
teal instead of scarlet, orange, and yellow. I let my tears flow, streaking my face, dripping onto my
hands.
I smashed the window with my bare fist, and listened to the broken glasses tinkle merrily as it
shattered on the cement sidewalk. I pulled my hand into my body, and saw the blood, deep crimson
blood, flow around my fingertips. I laughed hysterically, and picked up a shard of glass to let out
more of the precious red liquid. Finally, something looked right. The fluid was not tinged with
green, it shone red, as red as his quartz glasses, as red as the imaginary ones I'd worn for so long.
The pain shot belatedly through my hand. This hurt too much. I had to learn to live without the
glasses, to make adjustments. Eventually, everything would be back to normal. I would find a way to
go on. Life was not over. I could live without the glasses. Somehow, I would make it.
Because, somehow, I would find a way to live when all my reasons to stay alive lie shattered on the
floor.
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