Disclaimer: I own the story. The characters aren't
mine. Sue and I'll have my mafia buddies break your legs. Oh and I used
Likin Park's By Myself in here too, I like them so my mafia buddies will
only break you lawyer's legs.
A/N: Ok! Let's start by saying that I did it! I gave
Evan Daniels a.k.a Spike real depth! This is the second in my Different
Shades series. (More soon!) I have a warning, a minor slash warning, but
nothing more than telling feelings in towards a member of the same sex.
This is angst, and pretty damn sad. I also hinted at my next few stories.
Oh and you should really go read my Jean Grey one, True Confessions of
a Freak because that's the first one in this series. I just got sick of
people saying what a crappy charter he was, well the show's one is but
mine ain't! PLEASE REVIEW! Now on with the story…
A Spike Story: Irony And Laughter
Evan walked towards the living room but, Scott's voice
reached him first Did he just say my name?
"…Oh yea you know, all happy, perfect childhood, great
athlete, totally immature, but he's ok I guess…"Evan
leaned closer to hear more of what was being said by Scott. I can't
believe he thinks of me like that! If he only knew…
"…Yea he's cool, sometimes, but really he's
just annoying. I mean Kurt's cool, only a couple times he's really gotten
to me, but Evan, I don't think he was never not bugging me…"
The rest of the conversation was lost to Evan; only
one thought was on his mind, If they only knew… So the mutant, code
named Spike, went to his room to write. He got there, turned his stereo
on Linkin Park full blast and lied down on his bed, pulled out his notebook
and pen, to write. To write of the past, of the present and of how he built
this false shield so no one knows the true him. On the cover of his notebook
he wrote
Stuff I Had To Write Today
Then he opened the book and began writing everything
that needs to be said down.
Star
athlete, perfect childhood, immature, happy.
What a bunch of bull! They really don't know me, hell not even Auntie O
knows me, well not the real me. Auntie O thinks she knows all about me,
I only met her once before she came to recruit me. My mom and dad never
talked to her, Mom thinks she's too arrogant with her so called 'Goddess'
attitude, my dad was never fond of her, thought she was too trusting and
naïve. She's not even my real aunt! Some sort of distant third cousin
stuff. I really don't care. But I do think she tends to be naïve,
she sees what's on the outside and accepts that. Never pushes to see if
everything is really ok, just accepts what you say. Honestly, I think she
knows that there are other things going on but she just doesn't want to
deal with it. But that's a whole different story.
Let's break what
Scott said down bit by bit. Shall we?
First
he said 'Star Athlete'. HA! I was forced to play. My dad wanted me to be
the best. My parents never accepted anything less than perfection. I practiced
all day, while my friends were just hanging out during the summer; I had
camps, where all we did was practice, they were no fun and very exhausting.
Then if I wasn't at one of the six or seven camps I had to attend to 'keep
in shape' I was doing some other heavy labor job around the house. Lets
just say that this left little or no time to relax. That's probably why
I also seem so 'immature'. I'm just doing things I never had time to do
before. But back to athletics. I've been training and practicing since
I was eight. Basketball in the winter, track in the fall, and baseball
in the summer and spring. All that and I had to pull a straight A average.
When I was in the sixth grade, I brought home a B on my report card. My
mom was disappointed my dad was furious. He is a firm believer in 'Second
place is the first loser' so getting a B was close to not being able to
practice.
Not
being able to practice meant either two things: 1. I had to be dieing cause
being sick was no excuse or 2. If I wasn't dieing I would be if he found
out I skipped practice.He was some
sports hero back in his day. An injury kept him from playing in the NBA.
He decided to play out his dreams in me. But I don't really complain though,
it happens to lots of kids, I think. That's why when Scott, Jean and Auntie
O came to take me away, he looked so disappointed. He just couldn't believe
that the perfect son might just have a fault in him. I'll never forget
the look on his face. He looked at me with genuine sorrow. Not sorrow for
me, oh no, but for himself. He lost his way to do everything he never could.
He couldn't care less if I might just have a very hard life because I was
born different, oh no, it was his lost chance. I never wanted to be a 'Star
athlete' that was never my choice to make. Never. I've had just about everything
someone thought was good for me shoved down my throat. That's why I ran
when I first met Jean and Scott. I was fed up with getting ideals, thoughts,
opinions, all being forced fed to me and having to accept them.
The
next thing Scott said was 'perfect childhood'. Well I already explained
part of that above, but more comes from what would happen when I wasn't
on the field. My parents fought, a lot.Most
of the fights started at dinner. Over some of the simplest things too.
Most of my childhood is just memories of bitter arguments. When I was really
little, my dad was always busy, never had time for mom and I. That's what
they fought over the most. I guess he was still upset about not being able
to have any more kids. My mom had a miscarriage when I was two and had
to have a hysterectomy and so without her reproductive system you can't
really have anymore kids can ya? I think it might have been better if I
had, had some siblings, so maybe so much of my dad's attention wouldn't
have fallen on me. But hey life's a bitch right? When I was eight, he changed
jobs and suddenly had extra time to spend with me. Thus he turned me into
a 'Star athlete'. Now instead of fighting about too much work it was fighting
about everything in between. Literally, I once remember a fight that went
down to them just calling each other names, starting with bickering over
the kind of salt you use when boiling water to make pasta. Constant yelling
and screaming became a part of life; I just kind of stayed out of the way,
probably why I'm not a good people person. But they are so good at showing
their best sides to non-family members. It's where I get my habit of making
a mask that shows me as a normal teenager. We could pose as the perfect
family, but really we were falling apart.
Immature
was the next on my topic list. Yes I admit it I am. I can't help it, I
just am. I was denied all those things that Kurt and Scott take for advantage.
It's also part of my mask. But whatever, I do what I do and if you don't
like it tough. That's not my problem. I guess it's just easier to let myself
fall apart and to laugh about it than cry. I'm a guy, I'm Spike I can't
cry! So I laugh when Kurt jokes around about, well he pokes fun at just
about everything I do, I don't tell about how much it hurts or how much
I want to beat the fur off of him. I'm honestly afraid that one day, I'm
going to put a spike through his heart. Scott's cool though, I mean despite
the fact that he doesn't know a thing about me, I know he's trying to do
what's right when sometimes I think he'd rather be hanging out with Lance
and the boys. He was an orphan too and I think he could relate better to
them than he could to any of us. But now I'm way off topic.
The
worst is he thinks I'm happy. Happy.
I don't remember ever using
that word to describe how I feel. How can I be happy when I'm dieing on
the inside? I've had to hide everything from the world. Especially my feelings.I
mean what would I say? Hi, Pietro! I know we've sort of been
enemies but I'm really in love with you. Or
the other person I really care for: Hey Kitty, I know that
you are in love with Kurt but I really care about you and hey, I don't
have blue fur! Oh yea sure like that's
going to work. I'm a black, bi-sexual, mutant. I don't think you get a
smaller minority. Anyway, Pietro's straight, I think, I don't really know,
and Kitty is in love with Kurt. Let see, other reasons I might be unhappy,
hmmm… lets see, oh maybe the fact that no one takes me seriously, no one
knows I'm bi, oh and of coarse there's that fascination I have with cutting
myself. I cut myself with my own spikes, ironic isn't it? I mean I'm supposed
to use those protect myself but I like to cut myself with them instead.
Oh the irony in it all. I always thought it was weird that when they come
out they don't cut my skin. But if I turn my arm just right, they slice
it up. I tend to do that in the danger room and then slowly walk to the
first-aid area. Just watching the blood flow down my arm and feeling the
pain, it's the only way I know that it's my body. After all everything
else it does I don't want it to. They think I'm careless and don't know
how to use my 'gift'. Sure. Maybe I should tell someone this. Wait, why
should I do that? I don't need or want anyone's pity. I'll just keep doing
what I'm doing and I'll be fine, I hope.
As he was getting
off his bed, the first few cords of 'By Myself' by Linkin Park floated
to his ears. He popped a very sharp spike out and looked it over as if
he was deciding the most important decision in his life. He let the music
take him away, to see if he could find this 'hope' he wrote about. He didn't
think he could.
What do I do to ignore them
behind me?
Do I follow my instincts blindly?
Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?
Do I sit here and try to stand it?
Or do I try to catch them red handed?
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,
Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?
Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin
I make the right moves but I'm lost within
I put on my daily façade but then
I just end up getting hurt again
By myself
I ask why, but in my mind
I find I can't rely on myself
chorus:
I can't hold on
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin
It's all too much to take in
I can't hold on
To anything watching everything spin
With thoughts of failure sinking in
If I
Turn my back I'm defenseless
And to go blindly seems senseless
If I hide my pride and let it all go on then they'll
Take from me 'till everything is gone
If I let them go I'll be outdone
But if I try to catch them I'll be outrun
If I'm killed by the questions like a cancer
Then I'll be buried in the silence of the answer
By myself
I ask why, but in my mind
I find I can't rely on myself
I can't hold on
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin
It's all too much to take in
I can't hold on
To anything watching everything spin
With thoughts of failure sinking in
How do you think I've lost so much
I'm so afraid I'm out of touch
How do you expect I will know what to do
When all I know Is what you tell me to
Don't you know
I can't tell you how to make it go
No matter what I do, how hard I try
I can't seem to convince myself why
I'm stuck on the outside
I can't hold on
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin
It's all too much to take in
I can't hold on
To anything watching everything spin
With thoughts of failure sinking in
And
Evan laughed, not the cheery laughter that others heard in the past but
a laughter far more cynical. His cold sarcastic laughter continued as he
dragged the spike down the length of his forearm, feeling a sense of peace.
He knew that he never could trust some and get fooled by phoniness, or
trust none and live in loneliness; this is why it was his favorite song.
As the blood poured from his arm and he slumped to the ground, he knew
that he had made his own choice and somewhere deep within his soul, he
knew that it was right. He vaguely heard someone come in to try and help
him, but it was too late, too much blood had been lost already. Even as
his wounds were being tended too, he still laughed, he laughed at the irony
of his life, at the world in general. His 'spike story' the one with the
x-men, started the same way it will end, with a sharp bone dagger. And
if you were to talk to Scott, Jean, Kitty, Rogue, or Kurt and ask them
about how they felt when they found their fellow teammate after he had
nearly sliced through his arm, they would tell you that the blood and the
exposed bone never phased them, but the laughter, oh the insane laughter
of a man that had lost his mind many years ago, would haunt them forever.
The
End
for now…
By:
Dawn Of
Black Skies
A.K.A
Laura Night
