What you're about to read isn't a happy story, by any means. The story of love and loss and hardship. I hate this story. It's my story.
What day is it? Is it night or day? Is it summer or winter? I even lost track of what year it is. All I know to do anymore is to smoke to calm the nerves and to drink away the painful memories that kill me each day. I don't know how I've made it this far, though how far I've made it, I'm not sure. Every day is harder than the next. I used to cry myself to sleep but now I've lost the will to do anything but drink or smoke. Sometimes I wake up in a panic, thinking it was only a nightmare, before coming to my senses. The only reason I'm still alive is because she didn't want me to die on her account. It was a selfish decision she made me take.
You're still here, might as well get on with the story, eh?
It all started years and years ago...When I met the most beautiful woman in the world. It took me years to finally get her to welcome me in, but thats how she was. Fiery little spitefire, she was. We'd bicker, then-eventually-when she had finally calmed down, she would love me with everything she had. And I'd do the same for her. Though it took years for either of us to admit it, we both knew how the other felt. When I finally proposed to her, she said yes, and I was the happiest I've ever been.
Looking back on that, I should've savored those moments.
We got married not long after. The ceremony was beautiful, but not as beautiful as her. My Rogue. I'll never forget her vow.
"My heart is fragile, and it's been broken so much, I've became cold. But then I met you and you taught me to love. Though I was nervous at first, I soon learned your feelings for me were true. I promise to love you and care for you always, as I hope you do for me, as well. I know I'm a pain sometimes, but I'm happy that you can accept all my faults without any problems and still love me like this."
The girl could be really deep when it came from her heart. That was something that surprised everyone but me. I already knew that all along.
No time to remember that, now is there? As I was saying, we got married and even Logan, her adoptive father, had even gave her away.
A year went by, quickly. Time flies when you're in love. The days, we would go out and enjoy ourselves. The nights, we'd cuddle up in our bed and she'd sometimes tell me a story. She loved reading. She once told me that when a person experiences love to the full degree, then there was nothing that could seperate them. Not even the clutches of death.
I wish I believed that. To tell you the truth, I haven't believed in anything for a long, long, time. And I don't think I will ever again.
A year, was it? That's what I said. A year passed, and she got pregnant. Everyone was so happy for us. I was the most excited. I was excited about finally having a family of my own and raising a child. But we didn't know of the down-sides of her pregnancy.
Rogue was a mutant, like me. She'd touch you and you'd go into a coma. She couldn't control it. Well, not fully. She could, if she really concentraited. Her mutation never harmed the baby, but it harmed her.
Due to the extra stress on her body of labor and the pain, and the stress from concentraiting on her powers, her body to got really weak. She got sick and there wasn't a thing the doctors could do to cure her. She died not long after. It devestated me. She was all I had. She was all I'd ever known. I haven't seen the kid since Rogue died.
Since then, I've...fallen into many addictions. Smoking, drinking, gambling. I quit the X-Men. I go bar-hopping every day. But there is only one thing I haven't done yet. I haven't chased women, like I used to, before her. I still love her. Even in death, I love Rogue. Every woman falls in comparison to my Rogue.
I never should have met her. I should've done my job back when I worked with Magneto and not have started talking to her. I shouldn't ever taken her on that trip to Louisianna. I should have just gone by myself. Then I wouldn't have ever suffered this much. She wouldn't've died the way she did. She'd have found someone else.
We never should have met.
...
Remy LeBeau sat in the bar seat the furthest away from everybody, clutching his bottle of Jack Daniels. He took another gulp. Drowning his sorrows with the alcohol.
He sighed deeply and looked at the ring on his left hand that he still wore. He could feel his eyebrows furrow as he slowly got up. He left a tip on the bar counter and left the pub.
The weather outside matched Remy's neverending mood-Cold and bitter. The snow was piled up on the roads this day, so he had to walk home.
"Cajun!" He heard the gruff, familar tone being called to him, and he grumbled to himself.
Remy turned around slowly and looked Logan. The man hadn't changed at all, though that wasn't a shock, really. The Canadian was practically immortal.
"What do you want, Logan?" Remy practically barked at the older man. Though, he had consumed severel beers, Remy had grown a large tolerence for them after a while.
"Just wanted to say hi, see how you were doin'." Logan said.
"Your concern for my well being is just so flattering, Logan." Remy spat.
"Well, I'm not the only one concerned, kid. The whole mansion wants to know how you've been. And I do mean everyone." Logan said.
"What do you mean by 'everyone'?"
Logan gave Remy a hard look before Remy relized what he meant.
"Oh, I see. Well, you can tell them all that I'm no different than when I had left."
Logan gave him sad look, "Kid, I know you miss her. We all do. She was my daughter, adopted given, but still part of the only family I had."
"What are you getting at, Old Man? I haven't got all day." Remy snapped at him.
"I'm saying it's about time you move on. You can't just live the rest of your life in misery like this. You've got to let go. I'm not saying forget about her, but you can't let her death do this to you. She wouldn't like what you've become, and you know it."
"You don't know anything!" Remy snapped at him.
"Kid, calm down." Logan said forcefully.
"Stop calling me that! I'm not a kid anymore!" Remy snarled.
Logan sighed, the cold air causing his breath to turn visible and white. "Cajun, if you treat your friends like crap when they're trying to help, you won't have any left."
"Maybe I don't want any."
"I can not believe what you've become. What you've become truely disgusts me, y'know that. You're not half the man you used to be. You're just cold and bitter. Even after 7 years, all you've become is pathetic."
"Seven years, huh? Time sure does fly by." Remy said, with a samll laugh to himself.
"I guess it is true what they say. Misery does love company." Logan said, crossing his arms.
"What's that supposed to imply?" Remy challenged.
Logan huffed, "It implies that I think you've become one hell of a bastard who needs a good beatin'."
"Is that a challenge? I haven't had a good fight in a long time." Remy grinned.
"I won't fight you unless I have to." Logan said. "I'm going home. You're welcome to come tomorrow, for Christmas, if you want."
"Christmas?"
"Yeah, you've really lost track of time, haven't you? Well, it's your choice to come. Everyone is really wanting to see you. Storm, Jean, Kitty, even Scott."
"Scott hated me." Remy laughed out.
Logan laughed too, "He's just a stick in the mud. He treats everyone like that. I'm off, see you around. Or tomorrow."
"I'll think about it. No promises."
"Didn't expect any." With that Logan started his walk back to the mansion.
Remy watched him leave before exiting himself to his own home. He unlocked the door and trudged his way in. Dishs piled up in the sink and clothes and trash were scattered everywhere. It was an utter pigsty. The flies were everywhere and the paint chipped on the wall. He didn't bother to turn on the light, no need really.
Despite the giant mess, nothing had really changed since his wife had died. The pictures were still in the same place as they once were. The vase where the flowers once were, though now wiltered and grey. The walls were the same color, only chipped and dusty. The same furniture, only now covered in stains. There was still the nursery, that they had made. He sold the crib and all other baby items in the room to make money for the bills, because he kept getting fired at every job he got. But though it was musty, there was still some of it left. The dresser, the paintings, and the books. There was more, but Remy couldn't remember, he rarely entered that room.
Remy opened up the bedroom door and looked at the king size bed, before callapsing on it. He tucked himself under the covers and grabbed Rogue's old pillow and sniffed it. It still smelled like her. Jasmine and cotton candy, was the scent. The smell drifted him off into a deep, dreamless slumber.