"It's OK," Nightcrawler told me. "You can tell me anything."
As if you could understand, I thought. You may be a mutant, but you're not responsible for your parents' deaths.
"Come on," he urged. "It will make you feel better."
"No it won't," I said. "Nothing will."
"Come on. I won't judge."
"Fine. You'll still hate me, but here I go."
It was a sunny July afternoon. I should have been outside, playing with the neighbors' kids, but instead I was being yelled at by my dad.
"You have to be more careful!" he yelled. "Heaven knows what would happen if the Johnsons found out you're a mutant!"
"I don't see the big deal," I said.
"The big deal is they'd call the police and you'd be experimented on!" he screamed, and reached back to hit me.
I instinctively used my power to pull something forward to defend myself – and it went right through him.
"Dad!" I screamed, and ran to his body. Mom walked in, saw the body, and fainted. Seeing the bodies, I screamed and ran, never looking back.
Instead of yelling, Nightcrawler just looked at me curiously. "I think you need to see the Professor," he said. Then he grabbed my arm, and the world melted around us.
