Disclaimer: I do not own X men or Romy.
Dedication: To LithiumAddict as part of her Christmas gift. Only four more to go.
Prompt: Comic!Romy: This may never start/ We could fall apart/ And I could be your memory.
Author's Note: The following takes place after the "Blood of Apocalypse" arc, and deals with Rogue's thoughts over Remy's betrayel.
The night is cold. The room is too big. You lie there in your little twin bed and stare across the room at the bed lying parallel to your own. The bed that still hasn't been made yet. It's in the exact same state that he left it in, that morning, when he walked out the door without saying goodbye to you. It's been two weeks since then, and you still can't bring yourself to touch those treacherous sheets. They are poison. They will suffocate you if you touch them. It is the same with the photos. Just looking at them is enough to bring attention to the stabbing pain in your heart. The way it slowly beats, just keeping you alive while it continues to bleed. You've had to take down all the pictures in your room and throw them into the nightstand drawer before locking it up, and hiding the key. You've already forgotten where you put it. If you want to look at those photos again, you're going to have to search long and hard for that little key. But that is how it should be. You should only be allowed to see those little moments in time if you truly desire to, not just because you wish to pity yourself some more.
Your eyes are red and scratchy from crying too many nights over him. You lack energy. Everywhere you turn you are reminded of him. You smell his scent in the room that you two shared. Your heart aches with missing him. You are going crazy. You are dying. You are just plain tired.
The Heart is a treacherous thing. You know this. You've always known it. It has always been all or nothing with you. You could never partially love or hate anything. You always had to go all the way, no matter what the cost. And it has been a heavy price to pay. There is no love left in your heart for your mother. Instead, the love that you once bestowed upon her, you now place upon your brother, Scott, Logan, Emma, Bobby, and several others. Your love is a heavy burden to bear, but they accept it because they love you, and can't stand to see you hurting this way. They don't know how to heal you, but knowing that you aren't alone is enough. You don't know how you feel about him though. It's the first time that you've really been unsure of your feelings towards him. You loved him; you know you did. You still love him. But it hurts so much. He's taken a butcher's knife and jabbed it as hard as he could into your ribs, before twisting it several times. You love him, but there is only so much pain that a person can take. And you are tired, so tired of the pain. If you don't try to staunch the wound, you know that you will die. He will have the last laugh, and you will be dead. You are tired, so tired. And you don't want to die. You are scared to die. You've been sacred ever since you were a little girl, and you are still scared now. You don't want to die because of this, but you are going to, if you can't heal your bleeding heart. You've been fighting to live ever since you were a child. You've bit and scratched your way through many an obstacle to survive. You first pointed a gun at someone when you were about ten years of age. You've faced death ever since then, almost everyday, and you've always survived. And just like that, you are forced to see what you have become.
Where is that girl who refused to let anyone stop her from living? Where is that wild child with spring in her eyes? Where did she go? And why did she leave this broken shell behind?
You are a survivor first and foremost. Whatever else you are, you are a thing that refuses to die. You will not be beaten back by such pathetic emotions. You will not die for him. You are better than that. You are Rogue. A thing that refuses to die, no matter how deep the knife was plunged. And so, you force your heart to heal, by bandaging it in ice. If your heart is frozen, it cannot bleed.
Something within you fights the healing process. You grit your teeth and refuse to listen to that part of you that desperately tries to cling on to the man that left you behind once more. There will be no more pitiful thoughts to waste upon him. Put another layer of Artic ice over that infernal organ. Make it so hard that nothing can ever get through again.
"I wish I had never met you."
Listen. Can you hear it? That is the sound of heartbreak. There is no picking up the pieces this time. There is no putting them back together. There is no glue strong enough to hold it together. So cover the pieces with a blanket and stuff it into the dark corner of the attic and purge it from your memory. There is no happiness in remembering. There is only wasted time. Now, go forth into the world, and wait to die. There is no point of living in this world if there is no love to be had. Look. You have become a thing of ice and harsh winds. There will be no thawing this time. Forget him and start again. You may not be able to find happiness again, but at least you can never be hurt again. Yes. You can't be hurt and you can't live. Your heart will never be broken again.
You get up and approach his bed. Your hand reaches out for his sheets, but pauses just as you're close enough to touch. There is no going back from this point. Another layer of ice comes over your heart, and all hesitation flees. You reach forward and grab the sheets, and rip them, with a jerk, off the bed. You strip the bed and toss all of the dirty sheets into the laundry basket. Tomorrow, you will make sure that not a trace of him remains in your room (not "our room", never again will it be "our room", it is only "your room" now). You fling open the window and welcome the cold air that drifts into the room, carrying his scent out the window. You have become a thing of ice. An Ice Queen. A creature of winter.
There will be no thaw this time. Spring has passed. It will not come again.