Feeling Filthy.

Remy can say without a stutter that he has changed now that free time has caught up with him, he has become more absorbed within his emotions and somewhat weaker mentally, though when trying to explain why he has only now began to consider what he is doing and how it affects him, not even a breath lingers out of his mouth.

Paris was beautiful, but his eyes were stained grey, he wallowed in self pity wherever he walked and would try to shear water from his eyes without public attraction. Remy was afraid; if these emotions were to take him over what would he do? He can't just waltz back into anywhere and say 'I need help' these days, he feels like this is meant to be but has come too soon.

LeBeau stared out of his apartment window watching people pass by the pattern of the pavement and roads, all giddy and filled with joy as the sun absorbed their sadness and bestowed upon them a bright and beautiful day, he felt jealous but understanding of the reason why he shouldn't be able to enjoy it, why he shouldn't be able to enjoy anything right now. Remy has lost count on how many people he has endangered wrongly and put in a tight spot that is slowly closing in on them, he has lost count of the innocent bodies that would fall at his feet whenever he tried to help, he had lost interest in the people out for him and instead, focused on the people that will always be beside him, haunting his life.

Night came quickly, again he struggled to sleep. The skin of his body; it didn't feel like his own, it felt like a monster had slung it's grimy blood stained scales over his pure, tanned skin and snuggled into his soul for a comfortable cold blooded nap. He would claw at his hands and rake at his torso, pick at his own neck and mark his body with red lines made by his own nails, that was when he got up and decided to get what he always did; pills. He didn't know what the pills were, he was sure that he grabbed a random selection every time he did this but didn't care, they all seemed to dull out the pain and that's all he needed; to feel like he was in his own skin, that this was his body and not the body of a beast.

A large gulp was heard with a few sniffs as LeBeau leaned over the bathroom sink, watching black tears drip from his magenta eyes, he would be fascinated and feel the liquid falling from his eyes, whispering to himself 'I'm filthy, my tears are filthy'. A razor had dragged itself across his wrist to observe his blood, as usual it was dark and murky 'I'm filthy, my blood is filthy'. Then, he would look up again and look at his now pale skin, the marks and spots across his face and torso stood out like his sore thumbs on a black canvas 'even my skin is filthy'.

He couldn't stop feeling like this every night since he had become in touch with the more emotional side of himself, he couldn't overcome feeling so filthy, no matter how many showers he took, no matter what type of soaps he used, no matter what he ate and drank and saw; he would feel completely filthy.

Rogue had showed up to his doorstep the day after, wanting to discuss how life seemed to be going with him, even she was oblivious to his feelings and just regarded that he was feeling a bit bluer than he would on other days. It was only when she vouched to stay the night did she find out how he felt. And even then it seemed too late.

There lay a collection of little white and yellow pellets on the bathroom carpet, a few sharp tools next to the sink and a still Remy sat on the toilet seat, whose last words were sprawled across the wall in his own dark blood:

'I'm filthy'

I don't actually know why I wrote this.