Title: Relapse

Fandom: X-men

Pairing: Obviously…

Genre: Angst/Romance

Rating: Sex mentioned, but no smut. PG-13 at most

Summary: Kitty has an addiction. Written as one of Sniperct's requests. 

They say with any addiction, the hardest part is avoiding relapse. It's what does in every junkie who fails to quit.

I need to quit. I need to quit a lot of things. I need to quit chewing the skin around my fingernails. I need to quit smoking on the back porch when I wake up late at night and Piotr is asleep. I need to quit buying DVD sci-fi sets off of the internet. Seriously. The last two seasons of SG-1 weren't even that good. I need to quit watching those god-awful links that Logan sends me when he thinks he's funny. I don't think I even knew that two people could get into those positions, and I've been in a lot of positions. I especially need to quit re-watching those.

But most importantly, I need to quit answering when he calls.

I need to quit talking to him while I sit on that wicker love seat on the back porch, smoking the aforementioned cigarettes. I need to quit laughing when he asks me what I'm wearing, and I absolutely need to quit responding.

I need to quit agreeing with him when he says how much fun we used to have together. I need to quit telling him that I worry sometimes that Piotr will never see me as an equal. I need to quit telling him when Piotr and I fight and what we fight about. Particularly when it's him.

I need to quit telling him when I find other girls phone numbers scattered about his stuff and he tells me that they're models or art critics and that nothing is going on. I need to quit telling Pete that I wonder if sometimes Poitr has gone a little too far to secure a show or to sell a painting.

I need to quit talking to him like he never ripped my heart out, and I need to remember why I was able to walk all over his. I need to quit romanticizing what was clearly my inability to handle an adult relationship.

I desperately need to quit thinking about what it felt like. How his hands felt running through my hair. I need to quit hearing his voice in my ear, hoarse as he whispered in my ear. I need to quit feeling his hands running over my body, and quit feeling what it was like to be beneath him, astride him, beside him. I need to quit remembering how it felt to wake and comfort him in the middle of the night, when he couldn't stop shaking, and he could barely light his cigarettes, and I could tell that all he needed was to be near me and be instantly assured that all of his personal demons were too far away to hurt him. I need to quit wondering who is comforting him now.

I need to quit wondering where he is on the nights he doesn't call. I need to quit wanting to pull the wings off of that Tinkerbell reject that he's supposedly married to now.

I need to quit wanting to tell him "I love you" before I hang up the phone.

I need to quit so badly.

But, most of all, I need to quit hoping I never do.