WARNING: Contains descriptions of domestic violence and abuse and adult situations (not really graphic for the most part, but there nonetheless).
Hi all! Okay, so one Saturday morning, this little plotline invaded my brain and I wound up spending roughly twelve hours writing this fic. I'm not sure if it's any good, but it's the most I've written in one sitting and I thought the idea was interesting enough to entertain anyway. I've already got an idea for part 2 bouncing around in my skull pan and had originally intended for it to be the end of this story, but this seemed like a natural stopping point. And I hope Rogue doesn't seem too OOC. I hope I got the point across that she's in a vulnerable spot in her life and that the no BS Rogue is still under there . At the same time, I hope she's not too much like snivelling, movie Rogue. (cuz she really bugs me)
So here's the premise: Evo-verse, AU (definitely). What if Rogue didn't join the X-Men after finding out that Mystique deceived her? She runs away and meets Augustus, (Pulse from the comics) a mutant who can turn off her powers and give her something she never thought she'd experience again: human touch. But what happens when it's not all she wanted it to be?
NOTE: I couldn't find what Augustus' last name was (his profile isn't even on the Marvel site, and the Marvel Wikia just has his first name listed) so I made one up.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Marvel comics. I gain nothing (besides personal entertainment) from this story. The title of this part of the story is borrowed from the song The Fine Art of Falling Apart by the Matthew Good Band. This story doesn't really have much to do with the content of the song; the title just seemed to fit.
Please feel free to leave comments and criticisms. If I've created something lame, go ahead and call me on it. If you like it, kind words will make me feel warm and fuzzy. If you have any suggestions or if I've committed a grammatical faux pas please let me know.
Please enjoy!
Deconstruct to Reconstruct: The Fine Art of Falling Apart
I should win an Oscar, she thought. Too bad there wasn't a category for faking pleasure during sex. She would moan and squirm when his touches, kisses and movements demanded it of her. Her face would contort in, what he interpreted as, blissful agony, and she would open her eyes just long enough to give him a practiced, sultry stare before tossing her head back and allowing (read: forcing) a gasp to escape her mouth. She knew his patterns like the back of her hand. She knew when he was close to finishing. His hands would plant themselves on her hips with a bruising grip and his pace would gradually quicken. This was her cue to arch her back, clench her muscles and cry out. Failure to do so might bust his ego, possibly resulting in a busted lip for her.
Sometimes, when she was in the proverbial "shit house" with him beforehand, she'd even call his name in that thankful, yet desperate, tone that he loved to hear when he fucked her - but not tonight. Tonight he'd have to settle for "Oh God!" followed by an exhausted collapse back onto the mattress. Soon after, his body would stiffen; he would grunt, laboriously thrust another one or two more times and then crumple on top of her. Sometimes he would shower her with kisses and whisper "I love you" and other such sentiments when he felt he needed forgiveness from her, but not tonight. Tonight he'd roll over and promptly fall asleep.
Fairly confident that he wasn't going to wake any time soon, she rose from her bed and made her way through the mess of discarded clothing to the bathroom. She flicked on the light switch and quickly shut the door so as not to disturb him. It was relatively early in the evening – just passed six – but he always napped after they finished coupling and would be grumpy if she woke him while she got ready for work. It was easier if she left while he slept anyway, and better still if he'd still be asleep when she returned. She stopped as she passed the mirror. Shadows lingered under dull, green eyes and her face was a little thinner and a little paler than it should have been. When had she begun to feel so old? She had given him four years of her life, and it felt as though he'd taken forty.
Her eyes travelled to the now yellowing handprint on her upper arm. Although she could not see them right now, she imagined the marks on her back were probably a similar colour by now. He was angry a few days ago and she had done something to set him off. She couldn't remember it now, but whatever it was resulted in the two of them fighting. At one point she expressed that she didn't need to put up with his shit and she could do better than him. He grabbed her arm and shook her for a bit before tossing her into the decorative shelving that had once been on one of the walls of the living room. Then, in movements not unlike a predatory animal, he leaned in close to her face and proceeded to put her in her place: "Yeah? Like who? Name one person on this god-forsaken planet that would be willing to be with someone they can't touch," he spat. "I am the best you'll ever have because I'm the only one who can touch you. If anything, I could go out and find better and you'll be left to rot. You're lucky that I love you enough to see past your ungratefulness, otherwise you would have been alone a long time ago."
It stung just as much this time as it did when it first happened. "You're right, I'm sorry," she would whisper as tears spilled from her eyes. The first time they had a fight like this one she was genuinely afraid that he would leave her and felt ashamed at being so selfish. In fact, she was more than willing to let him have anything he wanted from her. Soon, she was surrendering her paycheques to him. They were deposited into a joint account, but he refused to allow her use the money from it. (If she tried, he guaranteed that she'd regret it.)The only reason her name was on the account was to make it easier to process her cheques. Any tips she made were also handed over after each shift. He convinced her that if she ever needed anything he would get it for her and that it's just easier when one person looks after the money. And she agreed to every bit of it because in the end, who would want someone that can't be touched? He was the hero that rescued her from a lifetime of solitude. More and more though, after what seemed like (and likely was) hundreds of fights that ended in tears and bruises, she really wondered how much he had actually rescued her and if having someone that could touch her was really worth enduing all that was wrong with their relationship.
Resuming on her path to the bathtub, she drew the plastic shower curtain to the side and rose one foot after the other to rest them onto its cold, porcelain floor. She bent down to turn on the water and adjusted the temperature to her liking before pulling up the knob on the tap to redirect the water to the shower head above her. Her knees straightened as she rose to meet the hot spray and she raked her fingers through her hair, pausing for a moment to allow the beads of water to pelt her face. She turned her back to the stream and reached for her body wash. She paused for a moment to glare at her outstretched hand, or more specifically, the thin, gold band on her finger. A humourless chuckle escaped her lips as she thought about how the condition of the ring resembled her marriage. It was dull and scratched, and if she took it off, she would see that the perfect, circular shape it was once in was now bent and compressed around her finger. Bent, scratched and dull – the story of her life.
They had met when she was seventeen. Her powers had only recently manifested and she was living at the Brotherhood boarding house. One accidental touch told her that Mystique and Irene had been the ones to deceive her to keep the X-Men from getting to her first. Feeling hurt and used, she ran away. By hitching rides, she made it as far as Michigan before she met Augustus "Gus" Richter. He noticed her outside a little cafe as she tried to use the heat from her coffee to warm herself up. Her appearance was rough to say the least: her clothes were ripped and stained in some places, bits of stringy hair spilled out of the opening of her drawn hood. One look at her face told him that she hadn't seen a real bed or completely filled her belly in a long time. He bought her a sandwich, introduced himself, and, as they say, the rest is history. In the beginning, he was a sweet, doting boyfriend, and she felt like she was living a fairy tale. After about a year, traces of the real Augustus Richter began to surface. It was about that time that he suggested they elope. Like any young, impulsive girl with no grown-up guidance, she eagerly agreed and became Anna Marie Richter.
After finishing with her shower she stepped out and proceeded to dry her hair. The door provided enough of a sound barrier that the hum of the blow dryer would not wake her sleeping husband. At this point though, she doubted that anything would wake him. She used to wonder why he was always so tired after sex. Eventually it occurred to her that the combination of natural exertion and having to use his powers to turn hers off must be taxing. She pulled her hair back into a tight pony-tail, letting the shorter, white pieces in the front fall around her face. She applied a light layer of concealer and powder to camouflage the signs of wear on her face and stained her lips with a deep, dark red lipstick, finishing it all off with a quick swipe of mascara.
Body still devoid of clothing, she stepped out of the bathroom, into the dimly lit bedroom and toward her dresser. She pulled on a long-sleeved, green shirt with a snug fit and plunging neckline, followed by a simple, fitted, black pair of pants. Taking the black, leather gloves off the dresser, she pulled them on her hands, over her ring. She'd learned in three years as a diner waitress and the last eight months as a bar waitress that although most male customers don't actively try to get into your pants, most give higher tips if they think they have a chance. Pulling on her shoes, she turned to leave the apartment. She took one last look at the sleeping man in the bed. He lay on his front, the side of his head smashed up into the pillow. His short, blond hair was mussed and his body was still exposed. She carefully pulled the blankets up from around his feet and covered him up before gathering up her purse, keys and jacket and walking out the door.
She fastened the last two buttons on her coat as she stepped out into the brisk air. The bar was only about a ten minute walk from the apartment, which was much better than the thirty minute bus ride to the diner she used to work at. The pay was also better, and the atmosphere of the place fit her style of dress a little more than the diner did. There wasn't a real uniform she had to wear. The only requirement was that she had to look reasonable put together. So, no short skirts, or skimpy tops that would make her gloves look completely out of place. Besides, a low cut top and a flirty smile sometimes got her a little further with some of the customers than her mini-skirt wearing co-workers. The regulars loved her southern charm and sharp wit and she quickly became a favourite, which was good for her, financially speaking.
"Marie! Sweetheart!" she heard Lou, one of the aforementioned regulars, call out to her. "Wanna tell that good-for-nothing bartender to pick up the pace a little? He's got some thirsty customers waiting." Rodney, said bartender and owner of the bar, might have been insulted if it was anyone but Lou. The old guy loved to instigate good natured banter with the staff, so Rodney just continued to fill his other orders.
"Sorry shugah," she slightly exaggerated her accent (it was a key part of her charm after all), "my shift ain't started yet. But as soon as Ah clock in, Ah'll be sure to bust his balls for ya." She punctuated her statement with a wink. She heard Lou laugh as she walked through the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Her fingers worked the dial on her locker and pushed up on the lever to release the door. She hung up her coat and her purse and brought out a black half-apron before tying it around her waist. Tucking a notepad and pen into one of the front pockets, she shut her locker and gave the dial another quick spin before making her way out behind the bar.
"Hey Rodney," she greeted.
"Hi Marie," he responded, meeting her at the till. "Hope you're ready to work 'cause it looks like we're going to have another busy night." He counted some small bills and change and marked the amounts on a sheet of paper before handing the money over to her.
"What's different from every other Friday night?" she asked, shoving the money into the front of her apron and signing the sheet.
"Suzie's sick and I couldn't get a hold of anyone to replace her. I'm still trying, but as of right now, it's just you and Darla. If I don't hear from Allison in the next half hour, then maybe I can at least get Jason in to help work the bar so I can help you two out on the floor for a bit."
Marie put a hand on his shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry shugah, we'll make it work."
"I know you will."
She picked up a tray and sauntered out onto the floor, adopting that sassy, southern belle persona that had the customers eating out of her hands. Rodney sighed as he watched her get to work. She was a sweet kid who reminded him of his own daughter. But while his daughter was a couple years older and in college, Marie was twenty-one and married to, in his opinion, an asshole. He'd only met the guy a couple of times, but it was enough to know that he wasn't good for her. It also didn't take a genius to figure out that her "loving" husband was the reason Marie occasionally walked with a slight limp, or tried to hide a wince when someone placed a hand on her back or arms. He'd tried to talk to her about it in a roundabout way before, but she would always just tell him that her situation was different and that he wouldn't understand. Eventually, he settled on keeping an eye on her every night she worked and sent a silent "thank-you" to the man upstairs every time she returned to work.
~oOo~
By the end of her shift, Marie was exhausted. There were a few patrons who needed some extra encouragement to go home, so all of the closing duties got pushed back. She stood in front of her open locker and counted the tip money she'd made tonight. Grinning at the good haul she counted out a few bills and put the rest in her wallet. She reached into the back of the top shelf of her locker and pulled out a zippered pouch. She opened it to reveal a substantial stack of bills. Placing the money she set aside into the pouch, she closed it up, put it back onto the top shelf of her locker, and threw her apron over it. It was risky to keep that much money in her locker, but she really had nowhere else to keep it. About a year ago, Marie began to take a little of the tip money she earned every night and put it away. Just in case, she told herself. In case of what? She either wasn't sure, or she didn't want to admit what it could be.
She waved to Rodney and bid him goodnight as she stepped out into the dark, early morning. When she turned her head to face the direction she was walking in, she was halted by the sight of Gus' car. Her brow knitted as she approached the vehicle. He rolled down the window and Marie's breath hitched at the sight of his face.
"Get in," he bit out.
Obediently, she walked to the passenger side and climbed into the car. He stomped on the gas, causing the tires to squeal, and raced away.
"Where were you?" he ground out.
"What do you mean? I was at work, you saw me leave the building…"
"What I mean is what the fuck were you doing at work so late?"
Seriously? she thought, feeling a little indignant. But fear got a hold on her voice and she stammered out, "It was a busy night and we were down one girl. I couldn't just leave them to …"
"Do I look stupid to you Marie? If that's the case then why was there only two of you leaving the bar?" he cut her off.
"Darla just left five or so minutes before we did. I was just getting my things while Rodney got ready to lock up. Honestly Gus, what do you think was happening?"
"I don't know, you tell me," his voice was pure venom.
"Oh come on!" she was angry now. For a man who constantly reminded her that he was the only one she could touch, he could really be irrationally jealous. "You know that I couldn't even if I wanted to!" The car came to an abrupt stop. She realized that they were home.
"And tell me dear, do you want to?" he forcefully opened the car door and climbed out.
She did the same and slammed the door. "Of course not!"
"Watch your damn tone! I have every right to be angry when it's passed three-thirty and I wake up to find my wife still isn't home."
"Oh, for the love of…" she stomped off to the building entrance and jogged up the stairs to their floor.
He caught up with her when she reached the landing. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To bed! It's been a long night and I do not have the energy to get into it with you right now."
He roughly grabbed her arm, "Well I'm not finished with you. Now tell me the truth about what you were doing."
"What the hell have I done to lose your trust? Huh?" she spat at him. "You wanna know what I was doing? I was mopping the floor, wiping tables, kicking out drunken stragglers... all things that are part of my job!"
"Oh yeah? Well if it's all so innocent like you say, then why didn't you call to say you were going to be late?"
"I didn't want to piss you off by waking you…"
"Stop giving me excuses!" he shouted and roughly shoved her back as he began to stalk toward their suite.
For Marie, it all happened in slow motion. She stepped back to gain her footing only to find there was nowhere for her foot to go. She must have made some kind of noise because Gus turned around and tried to reach her before she fell. Her arms went up over her head in an attempt to protect it. She felt the corner of each step hit various other areas of her body as she went down. Gus' voice was muffled, but she was sure he was calling her name.
~oOo~
When she woke up, she realized that she was in her own bed. Her whole body ached – something she was made very aware of when she tried to move. Immediately, Gus was at her side.
"Marie?" he placed a hand on the side of her head. "Oh thank God," it came out as a hoarse whisper. The red around his eyes told her he'd been crying. "I was so worried… I thought I… I didn't mean to…." He pressed his lips together while regaining his composure. "How do you feel?"
Like hammered shit, thanks to you, was the first response that came to mind, but she thought better of it. "Sore," she said instead.
"Yeah, I bet." His lips quirked up slightly. "You took a nasty spill there. I didn't know what to do… I mean it's not like I could have taken you to the hospital with your powers and all. There's no guarantee that they'd let me be near enough to turn them off."
How convenient for you. She knew what he was saying was true, but the bitter thought pushed its way to the front of her mind. "Yeah, I know," was her vocal response.
"You made me so angry there, that I just kind of lost control. Promise that next time, you'll try to keep your temper so that I can keep mine. I mean, I don't ever want to worry about losing you again." His thumb lightly brushed her cheek and his smile widened slightly.
"I promise," her voice was small. Marie's stomach clenched and she fought with everything inside of her to control her facial expression. Was that some kind of backwards apology? she thought. His voice and his face were filled with genuine concern for her, but Gus had just put the blame on Marie for losing his temper and pushing her (intentionally or not) down the stairs. A small part of her was angry, but a much larger part of her was afraid as she realized that all of his apologies made a point to blame her for his angry outbursts. How did she not see it before? All of her previous injuries were mostly minor. Sure there were times she swore she'd fractured or bruised her ribs, or she'd have a hard time walking for a day or two after landing the wrong way when he pushed her toward a wall or onto the floor, but most of the time…. She stopped herself. What am I thinking! My husband has given me bruised and fractured ribs and it's no big deal? Had she been so blinded by his ability to touch her that she just forgave every action that most would consider completely unforgivable. And if she forgives him now? What's next? The next time he tosses her down the stairs she might not be so lucky. But what will he do if she refuses to forgive him?
"Marie?"
She broke out of her thoughts at the sound of his voice.
"Are you alright? You spaced on me there. I checked your head and I didn't find any bumps, but…"
"No, no honey, I'm fine, really."
He smiled again and brushed his hand over her forehead. "If you're sure. Look, I already called Rodney and told him you weren't feeling well. He asked what was wrong, and I told him you caught some kind of twenty-four hour stomach bug. He said he'd try calling you later to see if you think you'll be up to going to work tomorrow." He rose to his feet. "I'm going to go get some food. Do you want anything?"
"No thanks, I'm not really hungry right now."
"Well, I'll make sure there are some leftovers just in case you're hungry later." He leaned over and lightly pressed his lips against hers. "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered, offering a weak smile. The words somehow felt weird on her tongue now. She waited until she heard the apartment door close and lock before releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. She tried sitting up, much to her body's protest. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she carefully stood up. Once she was confident that her legs would support her, she took a few hesitant steps toward the bathroom. She flicked on the light and reached for the medicine cabinet, taking out a bottle of ibuprofen. She pushed down and twisted the child-proof cap and shook two tablets into her palm. Having replaced the cap on the bottle, she filled a cup with water and swallowed her pills. Her gaze stopped on her reflection, noticing the minor scratch and bruise on her cheekbone. She removed her shirt and examined the new handprint and various other bruises that littered her arms and the right side of her torso. She turned her body and tried to see her back in the mirror. It was also covered in purple splotches. Pulling her shirt back on, she slid her pants down to check the bruising on her legs. She lifted her pants back onto her waist and ran her fingers along her scalp.
What if she hadn't been able to protect her head when she fell? What if she had damaged her spine? She would be dead, or, at the very least, paralyzed. What will happen the next time he gets angry? Every time he hits her, or throws her into a wall she runs the risk serious injury. Why does she forgive him every time? For the kisses and hugs that come when they make-up? For sex that she doesn't even enjoy? For a love she's not sure she feels anymore or perhaps never truly felt?
She looked at her face in the mirror as if really seeing herself for the first time. She deserved a lot more than what Gus was giving her. She didn't have to put up with or bear the brunt of his violent hissy fits. So what if she can't touch right now? He somehow learned to control his power. Who says that she's not capable of control? As long as she stays where she is she'll never find out. Four years ago, she made the mistake of trusting Augustus Richter, and he's been controlling her life ever since. Even the name she goes by was his choice. Growing up, she'd always gone by Anna. When she met Gus and introduced herself as Anna Marie, he began calling her Marie for short. Even when she'd correct him, he'd reply by saying he liked Marie better. Eventually, she just gave in; as she did with everything else he wanted. Well, it was time to put cowardly, insecure Marie to bed, and bring Anna, the girl who wouldn't let the big kids push her around, back to life. She knew what she needed to do.
She moved back into the bedroom. The ibuprofen was working because it was a little less painful to move. Just as she sat back down on her side of the bed, the phone rang. "Hello?"
"Marie!" it was Rodney. "Is everything alright? Gus called to say that you weren't well," he couldn't mask the concern in his voice. He didn't believe Gus for a moment and Anna knew it. Suddenly, she had an idea.
"I'm okay Rodney. I don't know yet if I'll be able to make it to work tomorrow, but will you be around during the day?"
"Yeah, I mean I should be. Why?"
"I might need your help tomorrow, but I'm not sure yet."
The line was quiet for a moment before he answered, "You know I'm always ready to help a friend."
"Thanks Rod, you're a real sweetheart, you know that?"
"No problem, Marie. You just take care of yourself, you hear?"
"I will, don't worry."
~oOo~
"Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?" he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.
"I'll be fine! I'm just a little sore. It's nothing a little over-the-counter pain pill won't fix. Besides, you missed work yesterday to look after me," she urged him.
"Well, okay, but promise you'll call if you need me."
"Deal. Besides, I plan to sleep on and off all day, I don't think I'll need anything."
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "I love you."
"I love you too," she smiled at him and stepped back as he walked through the door. She moved beside the window and waited for his car to drive away. Her body relaxed as his car turned the corner and she dashed for the closet. Digging out a duffel bag, she began to toss some clothing into it before moving to the bathroom and packing her essential toiletries and the bottle of ibuprofen. She opened up her purse and fished out her wallet to see if he'd taken the cash. She grinned when she saw that he forgot to take it. Stuffing her wallet back into her purse, she got dressed and called Rodney.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Rodney, I need you to do me a big favour."
"Uh, sure, anything."
"I need you to go into my locker at work at bring me a pouch from the top shelf. I've been putting away some cash and keeping it there. I need it now."
"No problem," Rodney's voice came back more relaxed and almost relieved. He knew what she was doing, and although he was going to miss having her around, he would rest easier knowing that she's not anywhere near that husband of hers.
Anna gave him the combination and the address of the bank and ended the call. After hanging up with Rodney, she called a cab.
She stood up and was about to grab her things and walk out the door when she stopped to look at the wedding band on her left finger. What she once thought was a symbol of love and commitment between her and Gus, she now saw as only a link in the chain that held her prisoner from her own life. Just the act of sliding the ring off her finger felt so liberating. She held it between her fingers for a moment before setting it down on the hutch, and closing the door on her old life, hopefully forever.
~oOo~
Butterflies filled her stomach as the taxi pulled up to the bank. Rodney wasn't here yet, and for a moment she was worried he wouldn't come. "Keep the meter running," the told the cab driver as she got out of the car and walked into the bank. Gus had refused to allow her to withdraw money from their bank account, and up until this point, the only reason she obeyed was that she was afraid of what he might do to her. However, he did give her the account number so that she could deposit her cheques. It was probably looking a little suspicious to always be depositing cheques for a wife they've never seen, she thought. It wasn't terribly busy in the bank, and Anna was thankful for that. She walked up to the teller and asked for a balance before withdrawing roughly half of the money from the account. Although the thought to drain him dry did cross her mind, she decided it wouldn't be safe to carry too much cash with her. Fifteen hundred dollars, plus whatever she had in her wallet and what Rodney was bringing her would do for now. She thanked the teller and walked out of the bank. She was relieved to find Rodney waiting outside for her.
"So, you doing what I think you're doing?" he asked, handing her the pouch. His eyes stopped briefly on the mark on her cheek before meeting her eyes again.
"Yeah, looks like it," she smiled sadly at him. "Thanks, by the way… for everything."
He waved his hand, "I didn't do anything. I was lucky to have a good employee like you. We're all going to miss you, but I'm glad to see you've finally come to your senses about him."
"Yeah, well, it took me long enough," she said casting her eyes downward, then back up to meet his.
"Better late than never." He smiled at her. "Do you know where you're going?"
She shook her head. "Nope, I'm just gonna go to the airport and take the first available flight to wherever it takes me."
"Just promise to call once in a while, so I know you're okay."
"I promise."
He sighed, "Take care Marie."
"Anna," she said. At his confused expression she explained, "My name's Anna Marie. Before I met Gus, I went by Anna."
Rodney nodded in understanding. "Alright, then… take care Anna."
"You too." She smiled and made her way to the waiting cab.
Rodney stood and watched as it drove away. Good luck kid, he thought. You're long overdue.
~oOo~
Anna leaned her head back on her seat. The ball of nerves and excitement had planted itself in her gut and refused to be tamed. The first plane out with an open spot happened to go to New York City. She found it a little funny that somehow fate would take her back near the place where her whole messed up life started. Well, if I'm going to start over, I might as well do it at the beginning, she thought. She was still feeling anxious though. Partially because she didn't really have much of a plan for what to do when she arrived in New York, and partially because she half expected to find Gus waiting for her when she landed to knock her out and drag her back home. No, she tried to expel the thought from her mind; I'm not going to live my life in fear because of him.
When the pilot's voice announced their arrival, Anna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It may have sounded cliché, but this really was the first day of the rest of her life. All at once, it came to her. The first thing she would do is find a job and a place to live. Once she was established and managed to save some money, she would file for divorce and sever the rest of her ties with Augustus Richter. And maybe, once she was able to save some more money, she would change her last name, just to be rid of him for good. Yes, Marie was definitely gone for good, and Anna, who once earned the nickname "Rogue" for her no-fear attitude was making a comeback.
