Nobody's fault
If you ask him about the best days he had spent in his life, he wouldn't answer.
He'd shrug it off; bury it down in the deepest, darkest place in his mind.
He would hate to even answer to himself; he would be reluctant to confess it to himself.
He hates what has become of him,
He hates what has become of her.
He doesn't want to put the blame of her being that monstrous, that blood thirsty, that sadistic on himself.
He doesn't want to put the blame of him being that cowardice, that withdrawn, that abominable on her.
So he ditches it on the circumstances, that age long notion of wrong place, wrong time.
He knows they could never co-exist; they were antagonists, opposite ends of the spectrum, he knows that they did the right thing, that going their separate ways was the best option, and he tells himself he has no hand in their ending that way.
He is young, he is stubborn, weak and more of a coward, so he pretends it never happened in the first place, that they had never been.
This is how he deals with it.
Now he is older, wiser, so he loosens up and think of possibilities and the what ifs, what would have happened had they not been mutants, had they been 2 normal high school students?
What would have happened, had he fought for her?
When he sees her in captivity, malice and hatred snickering like poisonous snakes from her eyes, pointed bickering dripping from her mouth, he doesn't blame himself for what she had become, he doesn't lament he didn't fight for her, even when she made the wrong choice.
Yet when he contemplates it alone, when he rips off the pretences, when the memory of the girl with the innocent smile, twinkling untainted eyes and snarky attitude keeps bouncing off in his head, keeps haunting him, he knows he had made the wrong choice as well, one that involved weakness and surrender.
The days keep passing by,
He keeps on living,
The days are all so similar, so quiet.
He is old now, so old and ailing.
He comes across her, old as well, wrinkled, ordinary with no mutant powers.
Their eyes meet for a split second, at first she doesn't know what to do.
then something flashes in those eyes of her (memories he recognises), something that renders them dark again, soulless again before they fill up with disdain and intolerance.
She ignores him, pretends she didn't see him and walks away.
It doesn't hurt him, he saw it coming.
He sits down on the bench, people scrutinising his blue form,
He tries to think of bitter days, that didn't involve her, he fails miserably.
He tries to think of better days, that didn't involve her, he fails miserably.
Now if you ask him about the best days he had ever lived,
unhesistantly he would say the ones with her.