My name is Rebecca Darkholme, but I go by just, Becca. And this is my history…
I was born and raised by a blue skinned, red haired woman that went by the name of, "Mystique". I never knew her real name, only given the last. She was a ruthless woman, never caring for my safety or health. Many nights she left me alone with no food, locked in a dark room of the house. I guess in her mind she was toughening me up, preparing me for a dark future. In reality it made me hate her more.
At the age of twelve, she abandoned me. I was left alone to wander the streets of New York City by myself: defenseless and vulnerable. I did well for awhile, surviving by staying away from the park at night and sifting through the garbage for food, sleeping in the entrance ways of stores, the lobby of opened apartment buildings, or sneaking in with a crowd at a homeless shelter. I survived that way for about two years, till the worst thing that could happen, did.
I remember it like a bad dream, which it still haunts me. I was fourteen at the time. Like always that night, I was in the back alley behind a restaurant standing on a box going through the trash. I was careless and suffering from a bad cold. So , I didn't realize I was being cornered till I was grabbed by my ankle and pulled off the box onto the ground.
I was raped… I was beaten… I was left for dead.
I also remember the rain. The pouring rain as it hit my skin, it felt like thousands of needles prickling my skin. My body wouldn't move, even though I was willing it to. My chest hurt with every breath I took. Looking back now I think my ribs had punctured one or both of my lungs. I slipped into the encroaching darkness, unconscious.
Waking up in a strange place, my body filled with panic. I tried to sit up but moaned in pain from the sudden movement. Frantically I looked around the room, surrounded by three metal walls and one of complete glass with a sliding door. Slowly I reached to my chest and felt wires attached to little sticky pads above my heart and on my sides. I looked at my left wrist and saw an IV line sticking out; I guessed it was either fluids or pain medicine. I heard the steady beep of the machines that attached to the wires, signaling I was alive.
Panic subsided and desperation and fear had taken over. At that point a gentle, older, male voice filled my head in a low whisper it said "You're safe." Hearing those words all those bad emotions faded from my being and my body relaxed and tears fell. I had cried myself to sleep.
That's how I ended up at the Institute, where my life basically has begun.