Emotional Vampire

"Don't mess with Scott and Jean's marriage," Henry had said to me a while back. "It's unrefined, and Jean will kill you."

But what the furry darling doesn't understand is, Jean can't do anything to me. This isn't a physical battle or a psychic one. I would never play the game if it were so; the odds would be against me, and I hate to lose. This is an emotional arena. Jean isn't my enemy. Like Scott, and like so many others, she is my victim.

Let's imagine for a moment that Jean found out about Scott and me. She could handle the situation calmly, or give in to that short temper she's hidden so well. If she did the latter, she could destroy me, tear my body in half, torment my mind and take me to unexplored realms of pain and unending nightmares. But for all of her life, she'll remember what I had taken away from her. She'll remember that Scott had wanted me enough to risk everything he had with her, to sacrifice everything they'd been through. That knowledge will always be with her. Even if she learns to rise above the pain of his betrayal, she'll be reminded of it every time she looks at him.

And I'd win. Whatever happens, whatever Jean does, I'd still win. She can hurt me, body and mind, but her pain will always be more profound because she can feel it. As for me --- nothing can touch me. I made sure of that long ago, when I locked my heart off from the world and all its hurts.

Darling, the Grinch has nothing on me.

An initiate of the Hellfire Club once asked me why I played with people's lives and ruined them. The answer came easily enough: because I can. She should have known that. It's a pity she failed her rites in that respect and had to be terminated; she was a good telepath. She might have made a good apprentice but for her appalling lack of vision.

Now I've come to the Xavier Institute. Though it's filled mostly with tiresome little people scurrying about as though the balance of the cosmos depended on their daily routine, I've found within the inner circle of the X-Men a potential source of amusement: Scott and Jean's marriage. I can never understand what possesses a woman to commit herself to one man for the rest of her life. Men, I can appreciate. The majority of men are simpering idiots who need security and seek out their mothers under the guise of seeking female companionship. But women, I've always believed, should be stronger than that. They ought to be wholly independent of men.

Unfortunately, most women are fools as well. Is it any wonder then that all marriages are troublesome and doomed to failure? Jean and Scott's marriage, I immediately perceived, was no different. They were estranged and in fact nearing the breaking point. But they loved each other, and because they loved each other, destroying their affection and turning it into deep and bitter hate seemed to make my task all the more delicious.

I must admit, however, that I was a little disappointed at how easy it was. All I had to do was tease Scott and reveal to him parts of my admittedly sordid past (the drinking, the drugs, the power games), and he came to me. He shunned the company of older and dearer friends and asked for my advice.

I suppose I ought to feel sorry for him, for the wreck he's going to be when I'm through with him. Still, he's not stupid, whatever else he is. He knows what he's doing. He knows it's a mistake, but he'll go along with it because he wants to.

I'd feel sorry for Jean, too, but she was the one who left her husband behind, neglecting him for work. After all, fair game is fair game.

I leaned back on my study chair and took a sip of martini, closing my eyes as I sought Scott's mind. It wasn't difficult. He was only a few floors above me. He sensed my presence in his mind and said,

"Emma?"

"Yes, Scott," I said. "Ready for tonight's session?"