Single chapter about Marie's change to Rogue.
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Sitting on her bed, Marie was staring up at the ceiling, her arms neatly folded on her stomach, and visibly having nothing better to do than waste her time thinking about something that she could never change. As always, her shoulder length gloves were covering her hands, she was wearing a long sleeved red shirt and a pair of blue jeans, making sure she was covering as much skin she could, to avoid being touched in an act of imprudence by another student. It had already happened a couple of times, and she hadn't really appreciated the looks the other mutants of the mansion had given her. They had only been accidents. First, it had been with Logan when she had tried to wake him up from his nightmare, then when Bobby had tried to kiss her once. After that it was when Jubilee had fell and had brought her down with her, she hadn't been able to avoid her skin making contact with her friend, and later on that same week she had touched John and had made a part of the garden burn down.
Now everyone feared her, as always. She was so sick of it. She made gigantic efforts to not touch them, yet accidents happened, and they blamed her. It was so unfair.
She played with the tip of her glove, staring at the lamp above her bed.
Everyone was downstairs, in the common room, watching a movie, as they always did on Sundays. This time it was a romance comedy, but she absolutely wasn't in the mood of watching it . . . and certainly not with the others.
She swung her legs to the side of the bed and closed her eyes, trying to stop them from burning because of the light she had just stared at for the past ten minutes. She sighed and reopened them, jumping to the floor and making a few steps around in her dorm room, her arms crossed in front of her as she grieved over her own situation.
The professor kept saying that mutations were gifts, but he was obliged not to say it in front of her. Her mutation was only a curse. She kept asking herself why she had to have that mutation, and not a different one, a gift, like most of the others. Of course, she could tell her 'gift' was to absorb memories, thoughts, energy and power if the touched one was a mutant, but she couldn't control it, so it was a curse.
She made a few steps again, looking at the floor, and her eye caught the shadow she was projecting on the nearby wall. She walked to it, an inexpressive look on her face, and she stayed still a few seconds, looking at the dark silhouette that she was making. Looking down at her hand, a curious glint appeared in her eyes as she pulled lightly on the tips, to pull off one of her gloves. She let it fall to the floor as she stared at her beautifully pale hand. As always, her skin and nails were totally clean given that they spent their time under gloves nearly twenty-four seven. They were soft, yet she would never be able to prove it to anyone . . . not even Bobby.
She brushed her shadow with the tip of her fingers but she still felt tears of resentment form in her eyes as she formed a tight fist, her nails digging deep in her deadly skin. A while later, when she reopened her hand, four marks indicated the spots from where crimson blood appeared, leaking in her palm, and sliding down her wrists to fall in small droplets on the beige carpet beneath her. Looking back at her wounds, it was only there she noticed how deep her nails had gone, and pain was the first thing she felt. It still took her a long moment before doing anything, as she just stared at the blood, in a daze in front of the crimson liquid leaking from her lethal self.
She walked to her room's bathroom, quickly turned on the light and placed her uncovered hand in the sink, to let the cool water flow on it to ease the pain and stop the blood gush that had now stained the carpet all the way to the bathroom and her sleeve.
She cursed interiorly, shaking off her other glove to use her hand to clean the wound she had inflicted herself. She watched as the pink blood drained down and the water became clear again, showing that the bleeding had stopped. She unconsciously looked up at the mirror, but her eyes froze in front of her image. Her brown hair tied into a ponytail, her two white streaks were neatly placed behind her ears. Her green eyes, so innocent, didn't tell that she had seen much for her age, but something did. Now she could see it clearly.
She looked too preoccupied by the problems of others . . . she only preoccupied herself by others: making sure she was well covered for them not to touch her, making sure to walk were they didn't, making sure that accidents wouldn't happen. She already had enough problems of her own, and she still took the time of taking some of their on her shoulders. It wasn't fair.
She frowned. Why should she do that? She was so sick of it. She needed to leave it all behind . . . leave it with who she had been in the past . . . Marie. It wasn't who she was anymore. Marie had been human, she had been loved, she had had friends, parents, but all of that had changed. She wasn't that friendly lovable person she was, because of what nature had done to her. She was Rogue. She was a mutant.
Slamming her fist on the side of the sink, she threw away the glove she had been about to put on again. She grabbed the back of her turtleneck and pulled it off of her.
'What's the point of wearing other people's worries?' she thought savagely, running back inside her room, more precisely to her closet.
She pushed aside a pile of pants and thick shirts and finally pulled out a red tank top and smiled at herself in the mirror, back in the bathroom.
"They are the ones to make sure they don't touch me," she said, keeping her head high as she admiring herself.
But she still wanted to do more. Walking back to her closet, she dug deep between piles of thick sweatshirts, to pull out a skirt. Pulling off her pants, she slipped it on.
'It's summer," she reminded herself. 'No more hiding."
She threw her socks and shoes to a corner to replace them by a pair of white sandals. Running back to the bathroom, she picked up her glove, and walked back to the room to get the other one. She still needed to protect herself, if not the others.
Looking back into the mirror, she smiled triumphantly. She had definitely left Marie behind. She was Rogue.
Opening the door to the hallway, she stepped out and walked, passing open doors through which other residents were staying. Some of them even picked their heads out of the doorframes to see if what they had seen was true.
Rogue walked down the stair, to the common room, and as she entered, many turned to look at her pass, their mouths open, wondering if she had gone mad.
Logan and Bobby, sitting the closest from where she was standing, both tried to mutter something.
"Marie . . . wha-" the both tried to say, but she cut them off.
"My name's Rogue," she said.
She walked out, her head up high.
She was Rogue . . . forever. Now it was just time to see if the others would be able to deal with it . . .
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Please review!
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Sitting on her bed, Marie was staring up at the ceiling, her arms neatly folded on her stomach, and visibly having nothing better to do than waste her time thinking about something that she could never change. As always, her shoulder length gloves were covering her hands, she was wearing a long sleeved red shirt and a pair of blue jeans, making sure she was covering as much skin she could, to avoid being touched in an act of imprudence by another student. It had already happened a couple of times, and she hadn't really appreciated the looks the other mutants of the mansion had given her. They had only been accidents. First, it had been with Logan when she had tried to wake him up from his nightmare, then when Bobby had tried to kiss her once. After that it was when Jubilee had fell and had brought her down with her, she hadn't been able to avoid her skin making contact with her friend, and later on that same week she had touched John and had made a part of the garden burn down.
Now everyone feared her, as always. She was so sick of it. She made gigantic efforts to not touch them, yet accidents happened, and they blamed her. It was so unfair.
She played with the tip of her glove, staring at the lamp above her bed.
Everyone was downstairs, in the common room, watching a movie, as they always did on Sundays. This time it was a romance comedy, but she absolutely wasn't in the mood of watching it . . . and certainly not with the others.
She swung her legs to the side of the bed and closed her eyes, trying to stop them from burning because of the light she had just stared at for the past ten minutes. She sighed and reopened them, jumping to the floor and making a few steps around in her dorm room, her arms crossed in front of her as she grieved over her own situation.
The professor kept saying that mutations were gifts, but he was obliged not to say it in front of her. Her mutation was only a curse. She kept asking herself why she had to have that mutation, and not a different one, a gift, like most of the others. Of course, she could tell her 'gift' was to absorb memories, thoughts, energy and power if the touched one was a mutant, but she couldn't control it, so it was a curse.
She made a few steps again, looking at the floor, and her eye caught the shadow she was projecting on the nearby wall. She walked to it, an inexpressive look on her face, and she stayed still a few seconds, looking at the dark silhouette that she was making. Looking down at her hand, a curious glint appeared in her eyes as she pulled lightly on the tips, to pull off one of her gloves. She let it fall to the floor as she stared at her beautifully pale hand. As always, her skin and nails were totally clean given that they spent their time under gloves nearly twenty-four seven. They were soft, yet she would never be able to prove it to anyone . . . not even Bobby.
She brushed her shadow with the tip of her fingers but she still felt tears of resentment form in her eyes as she formed a tight fist, her nails digging deep in her deadly skin. A while later, when she reopened her hand, four marks indicated the spots from where crimson blood appeared, leaking in her palm, and sliding down her wrists to fall in small droplets on the beige carpet beneath her. Looking back at her wounds, it was only there she noticed how deep her nails had gone, and pain was the first thing she felt. It still took her a long moment before doing anything, as she just stared at the blood, in a daze in front of the crimson liquid leaking from her lethal self.
She walked to her room's bathroom, quickly turned on the light and placed her uncovered hand in the sink, to let the cool water flow on it to ease the pain and stop the blood gush that had now stained the carpet all the way to the bathroom and her sleeve.
She cursed interiorly, shaking off her other glove to use her hand to clean the wound she had inflicted herself. She watched as the pink blood drained down and the water became clear again, showing that the bleeding had stopped. She unconsciously looked up at the mirror, but her eyes froze in front of her image. Her brown hair tied into a ponytail, her two white streaks were neatly placed behind her ears. Her green eyes, so innocent, didn't tell that she had seen much for her age, but something did. Now she could see it clearly.
She looked too preoccupied by the problems of others . . . she only preoccupied herself by others: making sure she was well covered for them not to touch her, making sure to walk were they didn't, making sure that accidents wouldn't happen. She already had enough problems of her own, and she still took the time of taking some of their on her shoulders. It wasn't fair.
She frowned. Why should she do that? She was so sick of it. She needed to leave it all behind . . . leave it with who she had been in the past . . . Marie. It wasn't who she was anymore. Marie had been human, she had been loved, she had had friends, parents, but all of that had changed. She wasn't that friendly lovable person she was, because of what nature had done to her. She was Rogue. She was a mutant.
Slamming her fist on the side of the sink, she threw away the glove she had been about to put on again. She grabbed the back of her turtleneck and pulled it off of her.
'What's the point of wearing other people's worries?' she thought savagely, running back inside her room, more precisely to her closet.
She pushed aside a pile of pants and thick shirts and finally pulled out a red tank top and smiled at herself in the mirror, back in the bathroom.
"They are the ones to make sure they don't touch me," she said, keeping her head high as she admiring herself.
But she still wanted to do more. Walking back to her closet, she dug deep between piles of thick sweatshirts, to pull out a skirt. Pulling off her pants, she slipped it on.
'It's summer," she reminded herself. 'No more hiding."
She threw her socks and shoes to a corner to replace them by a pair of white sandals. Running back to the bathroom, she picked up her glove, and walked back to the room to get the other one. She still needed to protect herself, if not the others.
Looking back into the mirror, she smiled triumphantly. She had definitely left Marie behind. She was Rogue.
Opening the door to the hallway, she stepped out and walked, passing open doors through which other residents were staying. Some of them even picked their heads out of the doorframes to see if what they had seen was true.
Rogue walked down the stair, to the common room, and as she entered, many turned to look at her pass, their mouths open, wondering if she had gone mad.
Logan and Bobby, sitting the closest from where she was standing, both tried to mutter something.
"Marie . . . wha-" the both tried to say, but she cut them off.
"My name's Rogue," she said.
She walked out, her head up high.
She was Rogue . . . forever. Now it was just time to see if the others would be able to deal with it . . .
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Please review!