The Nature of Fear
By J. Lynn (j.lynn@email.com
Standard J. Lynn Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Marvel does. And trust me, after dropping Gambit in the Artic they can keep Rogue.
I'm afraid.
Afraid to be touched.
I know you wouldn't think so. Hell, even I don't think so half the time.
But every once in a while something happens to remind me that I don't long for human hands touch me and arms to hold me as much as I like to think.
The Professor thinks I fear touch because of all the bad things I associate it with. Things like Cody, Ms. Marvel, and even the occasional flashback from folks like the security guards from McCarthy's treatment center... Rawlins an' Hatch...
An that's part of it. Touchin people scares the heck out'a me. To not be able to think your own thoughts because your lost in all the thoughts an' memories of another person... it's something that's so frighteningly, horrifyingly, savagely, awe-inspiringly, wonderfully beautiful. To experience another person that fully, to know everything about them, good and bad, it makes you feel so... alive. You rejoice in the good, and the bad. The evil even becomes beautiful, because you aren't the only one who is experiencing it. It leaves you shaking and horribly alone when it fades.
It's better than sex... or at least from what I know of it.
That's what frightens me about touching people while my powers work. It'd be so easy... to hold on for a little longer... or better yet to drop one person and turn to grab another, and another, and another. Becoming a mind-vampire, a soul eater, an emotion leach, is so seductively tempting...
But, you think, what about when the powers go off?
That's when I'm terrified.
It's when whichever super-villain of the month comes up with a way to turn off our powers that I feel so absolutely, completely and totally, shivering-so-hard-you-can't-speak, covers-over-your-head, frozen-in-your-seat freaked out.
But then training kicks in.
And if anyone has training for dealing with that then it's me.
You see until that happens, until my powers short out or get knocked out, I don't have to remember. I can block everything out to the point that I'm saying 'Georgia where?'
But what happens first thing when the powers go? Someone grabs my arm and pulls me off to the side. It doesn't matter if they're planning on bashin' me on the head or asking if I'm ok, it still manages to remind me of all the things I've spent the last fifteen years forgetting.
You see, there are some things that are ingrained in you. Some of them you make yourself, some make you, an' some things some person took and twisted simply because they felt like it. And it's the twisted parts that a person will shy away from, the kind of thing they like to try to forget they have in them.
And sometimes some of us do.
But only for a little while.
All bad things come back to haunt you.
It's the unfair side of karma.
See when I feel someone's rough, callused hand touchin me, without the layer of memories and personality to distract me, Georgia comes back to haunt me.
Georgia. The peach state. Home of football, good ol' boys, fried chicken an' gravy, gentle ladies with soft hands and soothing voices. The place where my parents lived, and the place where I met Uncle Robby.
My daddy was a good man, not very affectionate, but one who was honorable and did his best to help the people around him. Now when I was eight or nine Uncle Robby came to live with us. Daddy's older brother had always been his idol, in his eyes Robby could do no wrong. Which is the only reason Daddy never noticed that Uncle Robby always wanted me to stay home from school and help him sort through his collections, or for just the two of us to go camping or fishing when it was to cold for anyone else to be out.
At least that's what I like to think.
I remember begging daddy to ask Uncle Robby to leave a couple of months after he moved in. I told him I didn't like him touching me like he did. Daddy laughed it off, saying that Uncle Robby just liked hug and play with little kids more than most people, I'd just have to give him a chance.
When I was nearly twelve I figured I was grown up enough to run away and take care of myself. I was a smart kid, I had no intention of getting knocked up by staying in the house any longer. I'd been planning my escape for the last couple of years an I had scraped enough money up to keep me in food and to get me to Tennessee an' my old Sunday school teacher. If I could find a few people who'd be willing to pick up a girl an' her backpack.
So I started out late one August night. I figured I wouldn't be missed till the next evening if I was lucky, since I'd gotten in a habit of getting outside before everyone was up and staying gone all day during the summer.
I got a ride from one of the farmers for a few hours, then a Baptist preacher took me as far as his next meetin, where a few of the ladies gave me some roasted apples an' fried chicken for lunch. I skipped out during the preachin an cut through the woods for a couple miles till I hit the highway again.
It was there, on the side of I-25, wearin my favorite green shirt an a pair of cut off overalls that I met my real ticket out of my old life.
I was trudgin' along and trying to make some time before I caught my next ride when an ol' rusted clunker of a car pulled over to pick me up. I'd turned down a couple of rides with some people who made me nervous, and I never felt so nervous as when I looked into Miss Irene's eyes for the first time. It was like she was seeing right through me, off into my past an my future and not stopping with just me either.
And then a woman sat up an elbowed her, "Stop scarin the poor child Irene." She looked at me and I hadn't felt so safe in my life as when I saw her eyes. "Well, are ya commin or not?" She asked with a smile.
I got in.
I never did make it to Tennessee. But my old Sunday school teacher would have sent me back anyway most likely so I've never been able to regret it that much.
After a while I stopped flinching when people touched me. It became something I longed for but couldn't bring my self to reach out for.
Whenever she saw that look in my eye Raven would reach out an run her hand down my face, never quite touching for a few minutes, then pull me into a gentle hug. "You never let people hurt you Sugah," she'd tell me. "Push that hurt back till they can't see you bleed or they'll make you bleed some more." Then she'd look into my eyes an say "But if'n the bleedin ever starts to ooze out anyhow you come here till it slows down fer a bit. Don't you worry, I'll keep the mean'uns away till you can handle again."
She's the only person who could ever touch me without makin me think of Georgia.
It could have been cause I knew she'd do her best to keep the mean'uns away.
It could have been cause while she could push Rogue hard she'd always take care of little Marie.
It could have been because I knew that she would never not see somethin bad that was goin on.
It could have been that no mater how bad the arguments got she was always gentle when she came close. She always silently asked permission before she touched me. And when she touched me it was soft and gentle like fresh picked cotton.
It could have been because when I looked in her eyes I saw a love that spoke to me of home. I could see little girls laughing, having tea parties, and dancing in the twilight. I could see all the things she wanted to give me, all the things that I could let myself feel with her.
With her I was safe.
And I wasn't afraid.
End
By J. Lynn (j.lynn@email.com
Standard J. Lynn Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Marvel does. And trust me, after dropping Gambit in the Artic they can keep Rogue.
I'm afraid.
Afraid to be touched.
I know you wouldn't think so. Hell, even I don't think so half the time.
But every once in a while something happens to remind me that I don't long for human hands touch me and arms to hold me as much as I like to think.
The Professor thinks I fear touch because of all the bad things I associate it with. Things like Cody, Ms. Marvel, and even the occasional flashback from folks like the security guards from McCarthy's treatment center... Rawlins an' Hatch...
An that's part of it. Touchin people scares the heck out'a me. To not be able to think your own thoughts because your lost in all the thoughts an' memories of another person... it's something that's so frighteningly, horrifyingly, savagely, awe-inspiringly, wonderfully beautiful. To experience another person that fully, to know everything about them, good and bad, it makes you feel so... alive. You rejoice in the good, and the bad. The evil even becomes beautiful, because you aren't the only one who is experiencing it. It leaves you shaking and horribly alone when it fades.
It's better than sex... or at least from what I know of it.
That's what frightens me about touching people while my powers work. It'd be so easy... to hold on for a little longer... or better yet to drop one person and turn to grab another, and another, and another. Becoming a mind-vampire, a soul eater, an emotion leach, is so seductively tempting...
But, you think, what about when the powers go off?
That's when I'm terrified.
It's when whichever super-villain of the month comes up with a way to turn off our powers that I feel so absolutely, completely and totally, shivering-so-hard-you-can't-speak, covers-over-your-head, frozen-in-your-seat freaked out.
But then training kicks in.
And if anyone has training for dealing with that then it's me.
You see until that happens, until my powers short out or get knocked out, I don't have to remember. I can block everything out to the point that I'm saying 'Georgia where?'
But what happens first thing when the powers go? Someone grabs my arm and pulls me off to the side. It doesn't matter if they're planning on bashin' me on the head or asking if I'm ok, it still manages to remind me of all the things I've spent the last fifteen years forgetting.
You see, there are some things that are ingrained in you. Some of them you make yourself, some make you, an' some things some person took and twisted simply because they felt like it. And it's the twisted parts that a person will shy away from, the kind of thing they like to try to forget they have in them.
And sometimes some of us do.
But only for a little while.
All bad things come back to haunt you.
It's the unfair side of karma.
See when I feel someone's rough, callused hand touchin me, without the layer of memories and personality to distract me, Georgia comes back to haunt me.
Georgia. The peach state. Home of football, good ol' boys, fried chicken an' gravy, gentle ladies with soft hands and soothing voices. The place where my parents lived, and the place where I met Uncle Robby.
My daddy was a good man, not very affectionate, but one who was honorable and did his best to help the people around him. Now when I was eight or nine Uncle Robby came to live with us. Daddy's older brother had always been his idol, in his eyes Robby could do no wrong. Which is the only reason Daddy never noticed that Uncle Robby always wanted me to stay home from school and help him sort through his collections, or for just the two of us to go camping or fishing when it was to cold for anyone else to be out.
At least that's what I like to think.
I remember begging daddy to ask Uncle Robby to leave a couple of months after he moved in. I told him I didn't like him touching me like he did. Daddy laughed it off, saying that Uncle Robby just liked hug and play with little kids more than most people, I'd just have to give him a chance.
When I was nearly twelve I figured I was grown up enough to run away and take care of myself. I was a smart kid, I had no intention of getting knocked up by staying in the house any longer. I'd been planning my escape for the last couple of years an I had scraped enough money up to keep me in food and to get me to Tennessee an' my old Sunday school teacher. If I could find a few people who'd be willing to pick up a girl an' her backpack.
So I started out late one August night. I figured I wouldn't be missed till the next evening if I was lucky, since I'd gotten in a habit of getting outside before everyone was up and staying gone all day during the summer.
I got a ride from one of the farmers for a few hours, then a Baptist preacher took me as far as his next meetin, where a few of the ladies gave me some roasted apples an' fried chicken for lunch. I skipped out during the preachin an cut through the woods for a couple miles till I hit the highway again.
It was there, on the side of I-25, wearin my favorite green shirt an a pair of cut off overalls that I met my real ticket out of my old life.
I was trudgin' along and trying to make some time before I caught my next ride when an ol' rusted clunker of a car pulled over to pick me up. I'd turned down a couple of rides with some people who made me nervous, and I never felt so nervous as when I looked into Miss Irene's eyes for the first time. It was like she was seeing right through me, off into my past an my future and not stopping with just me either.
And then a woman sat up an elbowed her, "Stop scarin the poor child Irene." She looked at me and I hadn't felt so safe in my life as when I saw her eyes. "Well, are ya commin or not?" She asked with a smile.
I got in.
I never did make it to Tennessee. But my old Sunday school teacher would have sent me back anyway most likely so I've never been able to regret it that much.
After a while I stopped flinching when people touched me. It became something I longed for but couldn't bring my self to reach out for.
Whenever she saw that look in my eye Raven would reach out an run her hand down my face, never quite touching for a few minutes, then pull me into a gentle hug. "You never let people hurt you Sugah," she'd tell me. "Push that hurt back till they can't see you bleed or they'll make you bleed some more." Then she'd look into my eyes an say "But if'n the bleedin ever starts to ooze out anyhow you come here till it slows down fer a bit. Don't you worry, I'll keep the mean'uns away till you can handle again."
She's the only person who could ever touch me without makin me think of Georgia.
It could have been cause I knew she'd do her best to keep the mean'uns away.
It could have been cause while she could push Rogue hard she'd always take care of little Marie.
It could have been because I knew that she would never not see somethin bad that was goin on.
It could have been that no mater how bad the arguments got she was always gentle when she came close. She always silently asked permission before she touched me. And when she touched me it was soft and gentle like fresh picked cotton.
It could have been because when I looked in her eyes I saw a love that spoke to me of home. I could see little girls laughing, having tea parties, and dancing in the twilight. I could see all the things she wanted to give me, all the things that I could let myself feel with her.
With her I was safe.
And I wasn't afraid.
End