My name is Raven Darkholme. I am 76 years old, but I look like I'm in my late 30's. I used to be a mutant.
I bit back a sob as I re-read the last sentence. Everything I knew for the past several decades had been erased when I took that 'cure' shot for Erik. I didn't know what would have happened, just that I didn't want him to get hit. I'd thought it was a regular gun that soldier was holding.
I tried, sometimes. I tried to completely relax and shift into my natural blue form, but my skin stayed smooth and pale. No matter how long I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes stayed dark grey. I missed my short red hair, my bright yellow eyes, my scaly blue skin… everything about me that Erik made me love. I missed being a mutant.
At present, I stared at the three sentences I'd written in my little notebook. It was full of things I felt like just telling people, but I knew they would look at me like I was crazy. I never showed the notebook to anyone, and I kept it with me at all times. I think some small part of me wished I never had a reason to have it. That's a lie—a huge part of me wishes that.
Why couldn't I have just pulled Erik out of the way? He would have understood if we'd been knocked to the floor, and someone could have taken out the soldier with the cure gun. Then I wouldn't be feeling the heartbreak I was feeling now.
Rubbing away the stray tears that started rolling down my cheeks, I closed my notebook and shoved it into my purse. The park wasn't doing me any good to calm my mood, and the old men playing chess in the distance only reminded me of lost love. It only reminded me of the look of near horror on Erik's face as he left me in the truck.
I walked almost aimlessly, not bothering to hail a cab. I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to go for Raven Darkholme.