not mine (characters anyway). don't sue please. appreciated. much.
she looked at the razor in her right hand. noticed the whiteness of her fingers. the softness of the skin at her wrist. traced the blueness just under the surface. cringed.
the tears that had hovered until now at the back of her throat, welled up in her eyes. blurred her hands, her bare feet, the bathroom floor.
she sat on the toilet, lid down, trying to control the emotions that raged. breathing in and out, in time with the images that flashed through her head, the voices that ran around in it, the things she felt, the things she thought she felt, but couldn't be sure.
there were just too many.
she brushed at her eyes quickly, inhaling deep. she still held the razor. gingerly. unsure.
i don't want to do this.
i can't do this.
yes you can. you've thought about it a hundred times. all it'll take is about two seconds.
i can't. really i can't.
no, you can't. think of the team, rogue. they need you.
they need you? to what? strip them all of their powers? kill everyone? need you my ass.
they'll be devastated.
they'll be relieved.
they won't. not dr.grey, not mr. summers, not ms. ororo, not the professor. not logan.
you don't really believe that though, do you?
they feel sorry. you're looking to be pitied your whole life?
i'll just run away then. i'll leave. this doesn't have to happen.
run where?
you still won't be able to touch anyone. no one. ever.
so please tell me, cause i'm *dying* to know. what. the. fuck's. the. point.
just end it. end it.
please.
let there be peace.
let there not be this.
she was crying openly now. weeping. her insides collapsing into themselves as she tried desperately to find herself in all the mess. great shuddering sobs escaped. her small body shook with the force of it.
STOP CRYING. WHY IS IT THAT ALL YOU EVER FUCKING DO IS CRY?
and suddenly she was inhaling great gulps of air to stop it. to, for once in her life, not be poor marie. the heaving subsided. tears still ran down her cheeks, splashing onto her thighs, weaving dark slate patterns across the light gray of her trackpants.
the razor trembled in her fingers. she saw the light glint off it briefly, before it was imbedded in her wrist, pulling open the flesh like folds of cloth, spilling crimson in its wake.
the blood was the first indication that something was wrong. marie stared at it, disbelieving.
ohmigod.
the blade slipped from her fingers, clinking to the tiles at her feet. she watched it. just watched it for a while, leak out. then it began to hurt. pain shooting up her arm, and her left hand trying desperately to stem the flow.
oh god. oh god.
shit, you actually did it.
well this was the fuckin idea, why are we so worried all of a sudden?
calm down. people do this all the time.
but marie was up, grabbing a towel, pressing it to her arm. she shoved it under the tap, towel and all. scrambled to get the towel out of the way, watched more of herself run down the drain. watered down.
logan. i need logan.
oh fuck. here we go. running to logan.
she wavered at that, but the blood running onto the counter pushed her out the door and down the hall. panic rose like bile. she forced herself to not run to his room.
quietly. softly. or they'll all know. they'll all find out.
she stifled the sobs, moved across the hard wood. her bare feet stuck sometimes, because of the heat. her hair too, to her face, her neck. tears fell to the ground and she hoped fervently no one would find them before she realized they'd be dried and gone long before anyone woke up.
she held her arm and the towel to her stomach. slowed again because she suddenly thought that the blood wouldn't disappear like water. the walls began to drip into eachother. she felt the nausea and the panic grew.
finally she was at his door.
"logan" she whispered.
she tried to knock, but found her fear of being found out only let her slide her knuckles across the wood.
she turned the knob and stepped inside. moved to the bed where he already sat up for her.
"marie, what is it?"
she collapsed at the sound of his voice. deep, gruff. concerned. she slid to the floor and trembled.
"marie?"
logan turned on the light next to him, not understanding what he was seeing in the dark. and she was sitting on the ground, at the foot of his bed, crying. the sadness coming off her, the despair.
he threw himself out of bed, crouched to the floor beside her, let calloused hands find her hair. stroked.
"darlin'..."
and then he smelled the blood. it hadn't registered before. the metallic, spicy scent. but this close, it was unmistakable.
"i'm sorry" she was whispering. over and over.
and he took the towel, drew it away from the arm it covered, and was shattered by what he saw.
"holy shit."
she started slipping then. leaving consciousness behind, because it just hurt too much from every angle.
"marie," he demanded, "don't you fucking dare. marie.."
the panic in his voice crashed into her. she reached for him. comforting, she let her hand move to his face.
and he grabbed it. pulled it down to his lips and held it to him, willing the angry red that marred her silk skin to disappear. he wouldn't take his eyes off it. the draw began, soft, coaxing and then painful. like being pulled through thickening concrete. but he wouldn't look away.
marie realized what was happening. felt him come into her again. his presence, familiar now. but she didn't want this. she tried to pull back her hand. his grip was like a vise.
the pain in her arm subsided, lessened.. vanished. and his hand relaxed. she fell back, scrambling away from him, desperate not to hurt him any more than she had.
logan slumped against the leg of his bed. sweat soaked the collar of his tshirt, the ends of his short brown hair.
marie was crying again. tears falling as she looked at her arm, all traces of that desperation gone. smooth, unmarked. she would never be that, she thought. never unmarked. never not scarred.
she looked over at logan, breathed with him in the dim light. counting 50 of them before she could move back to him and struggle to get him back onto his bed.
finally she covered him and turned off the lamp. drained, she climbed into an armchair. sat in it, and listened to him breathe in the dark. waiting for morning.
she looked at the razor in her right hand. noticed the whiteness of her fingers. the softness of the skin at her wrist. traced the blueness just under the surface. cringed.
the tears that had hovered until now at the back of her throat, welled up in her eyes. blurred her hands, her bare feet, the bathroom floor.
she sat on the toilet, lid down, trying to control the emotions that raged. breathing in and out, in time with the images that flashed through her head, the voices that ran around in it, the things she felt, the things she thought she felt, but couldn't be sure.
there were just too many.
she brushed at her eyes quickly, inhaling deep. she still held the razor. gingerly. unsure.
i don't want to do this.
i can't do this.
yes you can. you've thought about it a hundred times. all it'll take is about two seconds.
i can't. really i can't.
no, you can't. think of the team, rogue. they need you.
they need you? to what? strip them all of their powers? kill everyone? need you my ass.
they'll be devastated.
they'll be relieved.
they won't. not dr.grey, not mr. summers, not ms. ororo, not the professor. not logan.
you don't really believe that though, do you?
they feel sorry. you're looking to be pitied your whole life?
i'll just run away then. i'll leave. this doesn't have to happen.
run where?
you still won't be able to touch anyone. no one. ever.
so please tell me, cause i'm *dying* to know. what. the. fuck's. the. point.
just end it. end it.
please.
let there be peace.
let there not be this.
she was crying openly now. weeping. her insides collapsing into themselves as she tried desperately to find herself in all the mess. great shuddering sobs escaped. her small body shook with the force of it.
STOP CRYING. WHY IS IT THAT ALL YOU EVER FUCKING DO IS CRY?
and suddenly she was inhaling great gulps of air to stop it. to, for once in her life, not be poor marie. the heaving subsided. tears still ran down her cheeks, splashing onto her thighs, weaving dark slate patterns across the light gray of her trackpants.
the razor trembled in her fingers. she saw the light glint off it briefly, before it was imbedded in her wrist, pulling open the flesh like folds of cloth, spilling crimson in its wake.
the blood was the first indication that something was wrong. marie stared at it, disbelieving.
ohmigod.
the blade slipped from her fingers, clinking to the tiles at her feet. she watched it. just watched it for a while, leak out. then it began to hurt. pain shooting up her arm, and her left hand trying desperately to stem the flow.
oh god. oh god.
shit, you actually did it.
well this was the fuckin idea, why are we so worried all of a sudden?
calm down. people do this all the time.
but marie was up, grabbing a towel, pressing it to her arm. she shoved it under the tap, towel and all. scrambled to get the towel out of the way, watched more of herself run down the drain. watered down.
logan. i need logan.
oh fuck. here we go. running to logan.
she wavered at that, but the blood running onto the counter pushed her out the door and down the hall. panic rose like bile. she forced herself to not run to his room.
quietly. softly. or they'll all know. they'll all find out.
she stifled the sobs, moved across the hard wood. her bare feet stuck sometimes, because of the heat. her hair too, to her face, her neck. tears fell to the ground and she hoped fervently no one would find them before she realized they'd be dried and gone long before anyone woke up.
she held her arm and the towel to her stomach. slowed again because she suddenly thought that the blood wouldn't disappear like water. the walls began to drip into eachother. she felt the nausea and the panic grew.
finally she was at his door.
"logan" she whispered.
she tried to knock, but found her fear of being found out only let her slide her knuckles across the wood.
she turned the knob and stepped inside. moved to the bed where he already sat up for her.
"marie, what is it?"
she collapsed at the sound of his voice. deep, gruff. concerned. she slid to the floor and trembled.
"marie?"
logan turned on the light next to him, not understanding what he was seeing in the dark. and she was sitting on the ground, at the foot of his bed, crying. the sadness coming off her, the despair.
he threw himself out of bed, crouched to the floor beside her, let calloused hands find her hair. stroked.
"darlin'..."
and then he smelled the blood. it hadn't registered before. the metallic, spicy scent. but this close, it was unmistakable.
"i'm sorry" she was whispering. over and over.
and he took the towel, drew it away from the arm it covered, and was shattered by what he saw.
"holy shit."
she started slipping then. leaving consciousness behind, because it just hurt too much from every angle.
"marie," he demanded, "don't you fucking dare. marie.."
the panic in his voice crashed into her. she reached for him. comforting, she let her hand move to his face.
and he grabbed it. pulled it down to his lips and held it to him, willing the angry red that marred her silk skin to disappear. he wouldn't take his eyes off it. the draw began, soft, coaxing and then painful. like being pulled through thickening concrete. but he wouldn't look away.
marie realized what was happening. felt him come into her again. his presence, familiar now. but she didn't want this. she tried to pull back her hand. his grip was like a vise.
the pain in her arm subsided, lessened.. vanished. and his hand relaxed. she fell back, scrambling away from him, desperate not to hurt him any more than she had.
logan slumped against the leg of his bed. sweat soaked the collar of his tshirt, the ends of his short brown hair.
marie was crying again. tears falling as she looked at her arm, all traces of that desperation gone. smooth, unmarked. she would never be that, she thought. never unmarked. never not scarred.
she looked over at logan, breathed with him in the dim light. counting 50 of them before she could move back to him and struggle to get him back onto his bed.
finally she covered him and turned off the lamp. drained, she climbed into an armchair. sat in it, and listened to him breathe in the dark. waiting for morning.