Title: Suffocate
Author: Tempest
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable from the movie X-Men. They are owned by Stan Lee, Marvel, Fox, et al. I'm just borrowing them very briefly to write a few drabbles.
Author's Notes: Drabbles, the chicken soup for a writer's soul. Still working on my other fics (with updates coming soon), but I had to take a break to clear my mind for a moment. What better way to do that than by writing a set of drabbles? I may do a sequel to this in Scott's POV if anyone is interested. Hell, I may just do it anyway.
What was she doing? Why was she here? Ororo thought her marriage was one of convenience. Though, she wasn't sure who it was convenient for exactly. It surely wasn't convenient for her.
Scott and Jean had introduced them to each other. She'd been smitten, infinitely stupid. He hadn't seemed as taken by her. She knew now she'd been a ploy, an attempt to cover up for an affair.
Logan couldn't still want Jean after all; he had a wife. No, Logan had an excuse, a ruse. She knew she should leave, but she still believed she loved him – the bastard.
x
He made love to her as if he wished she were someone else. He did wish she was someone else, but she hadn't known whom for a while. She wouldn't have suspect that somebody was Jean.
There were those lingering looks when they invited Jean and Scott over for dinner and the photos from the private investigator she'd hired. She'd confronted Jean with her findings first.
Losing her best friend was painful. This was once the woman she'd shared everything with, even her fears about Logan's infidelity, and Jean smiled in her face innocently.
She still hadn't confronted Logan.
x
They didn't talk during dinner. She always cooked his favorite things, but he didn't even so much as utter a "thank you" her way. Not that those things were expected between husband and wife. She felt more like his maid than his wife.
She didn't ask him for much, and he didn't give her much. When she did ask for things, he usually gave in to her request with little fuss as long as she kept the fridge stocked with beer and didn't bother him while basketball was on.
They cohabitated in one house but led separate lives. Some days she hated it. Some days she was grateful for the silence.
x
Work was how she escaped the monotony of her life with Logan. Her job filled a small longing in her. She enjoyed teaching the children, even when they showed little interest in history. She loved her job.
She also looked forward to seeing Victor. Victor Creed was the physical education teacher at Xavier's School for the Gifted. Most of the children were afraid of him. In fact, she'd been intimidated by him at first.
Victor never let her forget she was still beautiful. She needed those types of positive affirmations in her life. Logan never told her she was beautiful.
x
She rubbed her temples between her fingers. What was she doing? Why was she here? What was she doing? Why was she here? Her headache pounded that tune in her head mercilessly. She tried to go over her history notes, but she couldn't concentrate.
"You okay?" Victor asked. His bulk was blocking her door.
I'm suffocating. "I just have a headache," she replied.
"You're cryin'," he said.
"Oh," she said, wiping away a tear, looking at the wet bead on her finger. "I wasn't aware."
She had never cried during any of those headaches before. Tears were strange to her.
x
Logan forgot her birthday, again. He never would have forgotten Jean's birthday, she thought.
He left her a note, said something about being out of town for a few days. He hadn't even wished her a happy birthday at the end of his note. It was straight to the point, perfunctory, like so many aspects of their relationship. She was just an afterthought.
She crumpled the note in her hand. What was she doing? Why was she here? Her pride wouldn't let her cry. Her pride wouldn't let her scream or curse his name. Her pride was why she endured.
x
He was easy to find. His number was listed. She dialed his number slowly. Her fingers trembled slightly. This meant the end of something. She wasn't exactly sure what, though.
"Yeah?" the gruff male voice on the other end said after the third ring.
She paused for a moment. Hang up, she said to herself.
Hello," she said softly.
"Who's this?" he demanded.
"It's Ororo," she answered.
She felt like a desperate housewife, a woman who was in desperate need of some kind of affection from anyone. She just needed someone to talk to. But why Victor? Why not Victor?
x
She'd never been drunk before, but she was drunk now. She'd always regarded drunken people with a little disdain. Responsible adults did not get drunk instead of facing their problems.
There was a sort of dizzying freedom in the bottle, though. The feeling in her head left little room to think about Logan, Jean, and the fact they were probably holed in some hotel room together.
What was she doing? Why was she here? Victor placed his hand over her half-empty bottled, and she snatched it away from him brazenly. Intoxication made her brave, fearless. "My husband is fucking my ex-best friend," she said. "Happy birthday to me!"
x
Victor dropped her off at her house. She invited him inside. She wanted to feel the thrill Logan felt every time he saw Jean. She scraped her nails across Victor's clothed thigh, suggestively. She could feel his attraction, but he pushed her away from him.
"'Ro, I wanna do right by you," was all he said before helping her out the car.
He carried her into her house, laying her on her couch. Even in her drunken state, she thought she was actually flattered. Maybe even a little enamored. She didn't have time to ponder it as she fell into her first drunken sleep.
x
She was still nursing a hangover when Logan came home from his "trip". She swore off alcohol forever. He didn't ask her what was wrong, and she was glad. She knew everything would have coming out. Nothing happened, but she had wanted it to happen.
More than anything, she was afraid he wouldn't care. She was afraid if she poured her heart out to him, he would only shrug in that nonchalant way he had about him.
He moved around their bedroom, silently putting away his things. What was she doing? Why was she here? She was tired of hurting.
x
They lay together in bed. It's almost as if she's sleeping with a stranger. But then again, he was a stranger to her in so many ways. She didn't know him, had never known him.
She knew he'd been with Jean earlier. She smelled Jean's expensive perfume all over him. He hadn't even bothered to shower before returning home, flaunting his affair in her face. What was she doing? Why was she here?
"Why can't you face me?" she asked him.
His muscles stiffened beneath her fingers when she touched his back.
"Just go to sleep, 'Ro," he said indifferently.
x
What was she doing? Why was she here?
She swatted a white lock from her eyes with a water-withered hand, impatiently. Simple. She was at home, washing dishes. She was there because that was where she belonged.
What was she doing?
She continued to scrub the plate furiously.
Why was she here?
Her heart beat heavily in her chest, as she lifted the plate from the suds, her thoughts a tumult of emotions and regrets. Epiphany. The plate fell from her hands, shattering as it hit the floor. She gathered a few things quickly, opting to leave most of it behind.
She was free.