"The Rest of the World is Noise"
The sound of a truck tearing right through the road, and the brief scan of headlights through the shutters, sliding across the wall and her face. She shivered, drew her knees closer to her chest. It wasn't cold in the room, but she felt cold. As if she was made of ice, but she was... not. Bobby's thoughts.
She looked at the familiar sight of the anonymous, roadside motel bedside, the white telephone and the tacky lamp. The drawer with a barely-touched Bible in it.
Movement behind her. Movement around her.
Rogue didn't even have to lift her head up to see what it was. She knew. Scott, turning around and draping one arm over her, as if he wanted to protect her. Rogue shivered to his touch, to the warmth of it. His palm slid against the thin layer of clothing separating their skin, until it rested very near her heart and he relaxed further.
He was silent. She could feel his warm breath, gently sliding across the side of her neck.
The knot in her chest. Moving.
She laid there, in the dark, and didn't move. In her silence, she heard the ambient noise of the world around her. The hum of the mini-fridge. The crickets buzzing outside. That slight noise, reverberating near the lowest points of the hearing threshold, the noise of the road. Asphalt, gravel, tires and tired hours. She hard his breath, felt his chest expand and contract, listened to her own breathing, to the sound of her echoes, her constant companions adding their tune to it.
Pulse in her ears. His heart against her back, beating slower to her ever-hastening rhythm.
Her sigh, echoing.
A moment where she considered the possibility that there might not be a world outside of this room. Nobody else, nothing else. Just him, and her. She could pretend that the world had ended while they had slept, and they were all there ever was now.
All there ever would be.
The echoes protested, told her it was impossible. Told her that they were there, and their sources, their voices were there. That alone shook her back to the reality of the rest of the world.
The knot in her chest, moving downwards.
His presence, the bare truth of him, more than the rest of the world, as if he were more real, somehow. As if he mattered more than the world out there.
His breath against her skin. His arm across her. His presence.
Rogue couldn't deny that it was starting to become extremely unbearable. All he was doing was what he probably had done to Jean during their nights together. A reflex, an instinctual need for intimacy, brought on more by the fact that there was only one bed than his need for her.
But her need for him... just lying there, she was ready to leap right out of her skin. She tried to keep herself calm, concentrated on the noise of the world, trying to keep stray thoughts of hers from silencing the echoes and finding their way to her conscious mind. She hated her own thoughts, her own feelings, her own... yes. No. No.
The need. Real, urgent, absolute, screaming at her.
Like a child that wanted something, and wanted it right fucking now, goddamn it.
She tried to quench it, to silence it, but it wouldn't be silenced. It would be heard, must be heard. It just must. She couldn't keep it at bay for long.
Wanted to turn around, wanted to face him, kiss him, touch him, feel his skin slide against hers. Wanted his warmth, his anger, his movement, his sway, his breath... wanted everything, wanted him, and wanted him right fucking now, goddamn it. Wanted all of it, needed all of it.
Rogue bit into her finger.
She hated herself. Hated herself for wanting this, for wanting this so damn much in such a time. Everything that had happened, everything that probably would keep on happening, and all she could think about, all she could actually see in her mind was this needing.
She released her finger. Teeth marks on it, but little pain and little help.
Her hatred for herself could only balance so much. The need was there, it was real, it was burning everything around it and feeding on her entire being.
She wanted to scream.
Rogue slipped out of Scott's arm, abandoning his warmth. With her every move, with every inch she placed between herself and what she so desperately wanted in that moment, her skin crawled. She already knew the lay of the room well enough to find her way in the dark. She tip-toed her way to the bathroom, and gently closed the door behind her.
Heard the lock echoing in the small space.
She didn't need a whole lot.
She quickly stripped herself of her second skin. She didn't need it. She needed something, anything, anything on her skin but cloth. She needed to touch something, someone, someone sleeping in the next room, someone... anyone...
When she was fully naked, she went into the shower cubicle and sat down. The cold feeling of marble against her skin almost made her jump, the welcome sensation rushed through her.
She ran a hand through her hair.
The needing, knotting up inside her. Pressing so hard, she could scream. She stuck two fingers into her mouth, to keep herself from doing that. Her body shivered at the basic sensation. The remaining fingers clawed at her cheek. She shivered.
Her own touch, her own body, her own skin on her own skin.
She needed it. Wanted it. Right fucking now, goddamn it.
But this wasn't enough, she needed somebody else, someone... anyone... anyone... anyone... anyone... anyone...
Please... please...
Rogue bit into the fingers in her mouth to keep herself from screaming out.
The knot. Unraveling.
Rogue regained her senses as she sat there, shivering, shaking, her fingers aching from being bit into, her hair a mess and every single muscle in her body slowly relaxing. She slid down and lay on her back, facing the cracked, peeling ceiling with unseeing, clouded eyes.
She moved when her body started to need something softer than whatever the cubicle floor was made out of. She rose up. Turned on the cold water, decided it was too cold and warmed it up some.
She cleaned up and then, stepped out of the shower, with no means of drying herself but the small hand-towel by the faucet. Deciding that it was better than nothing, she reached for it.
Something moved, and she looked up to face herself in the mirror.
It was a strange sight. She almost didn't recognize the stranger there. Disheveled hair, brown, except for the white streaks. Tangled up,wet. Tired face, skin pale as a ghost. Black circles around dead, blank, green eyes, scratch marks on her cheek, left by fingernails, fresh and red. Full lips.
Rogue looked at the reflection. The afterthought of the needing rose, shaking her.
Glass under her palm. Rogue sighed, the needing turning into an ache.
She hated the thing she saw in the mirror. Despised her with more passion than she could ever spare. Hated her round shoulders and muscular arms, hated her thoughts, hated her constant needing, constant wanting, constant fucking greed that drove her to the corner, every time, every single time... hated her.
Loved her. Adored this beauty, absolutely worshipped the thought of her. The idea of the Rogue, the concept of herself, she loved beyond all measure.
She looked at the whore in the mirror.
Fucking gorgeous, priceless.
Rogue leaned in towards the despicable goddess.
Cold glass sliding against her lips.
Rogue returned to the bed broken. She laid down, next to Scott, who stirred by the movement and turned his back to her. She scooted closer, ashamed, yet relaxed. She reached out and draped one arm over him. He relaxed to her touch, moved a little closer. Her hand found his chest, and closed into a fist, taking a handful of his t-shirt.
She clenched her teeth, but couldn't keep herself from sobbing.
She cried, holding onto him.
Scott woke up to that, and found her clutching at his heart, sobbing into his back. He turned around, and without a word, embraced her. She drew away, tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her.
She turned around, turned her back to him, still crying, sobbing. Letting everything run out of her, wishing for so much more.
He held her, close to his heart. Like he needed her more than she needed him, and told her that it was alright.
Scott held Rogue until exhaustion slowly drove her to sleep. She relaxed in his arms, and when her breath started to come in steady intervals, he relaxed also. Didn't let go, didn't draw back. He was perfectly comfortable being there, away from everything.
He thought that maybe, this room they were in was all that there was now. That maybe, the world had ended while they had slept, and now, they were all that there ever was.
He slowly drifted to sleep, joining her. His last thought was of Jean and how he used to hold her like this.
Just like this...
They slept in the dark, undisturbed by the sounds coming from the world outside. They didn't share words, speak, or do anything else. Their silence took them gently and let them rest.
In their silence, the rest of the world was noise.