Well, I wasn't thinking about updating... and then my computer got fixed, you guys reviewed, and a certain user named Demon Flame sent me a message about this story. Awww.
There's not much Wade in this chapter, but he'll pop up later with his awesomeness and Rufies fetish. This IS a Romy fic, after all.
Chapter Two
The gusty wind whipped my face and sent my hair flying as I grappled for the handle of the door to the building. With a hard tug, the heavy door opened, and I slipped inside.
I knew from experience that, when there was a sign above the buttons that said 'Out of Order', the elevator was actually working. I tore the paper off the wall and crumpled it up, tossing it into a nearby trash can. I pressed the 'up' button and waited. It was a cheap, rickety elevator; there wasn't even a digital bar above it that showed what level it was currently on.
After a mighty long wait, I grudgingly headed toward the stairs, wondering if the elevator really was broken, for once. Though it moved at slow pace and the bottom part constantly vibrated under the soles of your feet as you waited, it was usually pretty resilient.
The elevator dinged dully just as my foot touched the first stair, and Wade stepped out, humming to himself. He was dressed in his skin-covering uniform and mask once again, though his swords were missing from his back today.
"Hey-lo, Marie!" Wade chirped brightly. "Goin' out for some doughnuts for dinner! The glazed kind, ya know, not the mushy kind with jelly or that weird white stuff in it."
I opened my mouth, but he rambled on without letting me speak.
"Isn't that called Boston Crème or something? I'm not sure if that stuff is cream… it looks a bit like sperm, doesn't it? Boston Sperm doughnuts. I'm sure those would go nicely with coffee, they'd sell real well with the hooker customers…" He walked out before I could reply, still talking to himself, disappearing around the corner in mere seconds. I watched him leave, completely bewildered.
Shaking my head, I peeled off my gloves and folded them, tucking them into my pocket. I hadn't dealt with the children today; I had been sent to the office to lick envelopes and paste stamps. While an envelope flap was in my mouth and glued to my tongue, Miss Grue, the boss lady, informed me that some mothers had been offended by my gloves when they'd arrived to pick up their kids. They'd complained to the office people, asking if I thought their children had contagious diseases or something. Miss Grue told me that she didn't want to cause any trouble or take my regular job away from me, but reminded me that I should be more careful around concerned parents.
Miss Grue was a strict, unmarried elderly woman with a heart of gold beneath her crusty exterior. She knew I was a mutant, and relished in letting me casually brush against her other employees to see if they were planning on slacking off or taking a longer lunch break.
I didn't want to be a narc, but the fact that I wasn't fond of my coworkers made it easier. They were all incredibly lazy and dressed like typical SoHo hipsters: beanies, nondescript glasses with thick frames, 'artist' clothes and purposely messy bed-head hair sticking out from beneath their caps. They made fun of my southern twang and constantly asked me where I'd gotten my hair streaks done—the fancy salon down the street or the dirty and gross shack across the road?
Still thinking about my day, I stepped into the elevator and smashed my thumb against the button for the fourth floor. The single metal door trembled shut, and the tiny box slowly chugged upward at a rhythmical pace.
Ding.
"Chere!" Remy stood there, waiting for me, his arms crossed and his foot tapping out a quiet beat. He grabbed my hand quickly, squeezing my fingers. A spark of energy jolted up my arm; it felt so amazing to touch skin. "Come on, follow me." He winked.
I narrowed my eyes and tried to squirm away. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."
"Aw, please?" He begged. "Just pretend. You're a good actress, aren't you?"
"Actress?" I raised my brows.
"Good! Merci, merci. Thanks for agreeing!" He grabbed my hand again and dragged me to his apartment, kicking the door open easily.
"Remy…" I cautioned, but he shushed me.
"Désolé for the wait, Janice." Remy smiled dazzlingly at the striking double-zero C-cup blonde on his couch. His home was nice, I thought to myself, looking at the portraits and paintings haphazardly tacked onto the walls. Only one piece of artwork was framed, but it wasn't a watercolor or oil painting or even a drawing: just a simple playing card, the queen of hearts, one corner singed and frayed.
Janice blew a kiss to Remy, offering me a polite smile as she distastefully moved her gaze up and down my body in an oh-so-familiar way: she was the popular girl, I was the dork. It was a Disney TV movie in the flesh.
"You're Bella Donna?" She asked scornfully.
I blinked.
"Bella Donna is my estranged wife," Remy whispered out of the corner of his mouth to me. "Crazy bitch. Hates me. Will you pretend to be her?"
Pretend to dislike him? That wouldn't be too hard.
"Yes, I am," I sneered to the supermodel on the sofa. "You must be Remy's latest… companion." I threw in a rich accent just for the fun of it.
"Companion? You mean lover?" Janice smiled coolly and tossed her hair over one shoulder. If I were the real Bella Donna, and not just the girl posing as her, I probably would've bitten her head off.
I mean, who in the world would be so smug about being Remy's lover?
"Lover. Whore. Whatever you want to call it." I smirked.
Janice hissed. I half expected fangs to shoot out from her gums and venom to fly out of her mouth. "Excuse me?"
I mimicked her in French. "Excuse-moi?"
"Now, now, chere," Remy chuckled, patting my shoulder. "Don't be rude." He turned to Janice. "You wanted to see her? Here she is. Visiting straight from New Orleans. Almost got lost in the city today, didn't you, Bella Donna?"
"I did. Dis city is too busy, too loud. N'Awlins is much better dan dis." I hid my grin as Remy flinched, knowing that he didn't appreciate my imitation of his awful accent.
"Yes, yes, of course," Janice said coolly, as if she hadn't bothered to listen to me at all. "Remy, pick me up at seven again. Don't be late." She uncrossed her long, graceful legs and stood up to give him a long kiss. Compared to her, I was a simply an invisible midget, pale and stubby.
"Mmm, oui," Remy said, practically pushing her out the door. "Later."
She kissed him again, flicked her fingers in a 'ta-ta' farewell motion, and left.
He slammed the door shut behind her and shuddered. "Ugh," Remy said to me. "She might be gorgeous, chere, but she's a monster. She wanted me to bring Bella Donna here just to give herself satisfaction for being with me."
"I figured," I said dryly. "Why are you with her?"
"My job," he explained. "She's the one hiring me. I reckon I'll be her boy toy for a few weeks, until the job's done and she loses interest."
"And what job is that?" I asked, curious.
"None of your business." He ran a hand through his hair. "But good work on impersonating Bella Donna. You've never met her, but that was a great performance."
"Merci." I curtsied.
"Now, since you're already in my apartment—"
"Don't even think about it," I cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to suggest.
"Non, not that." Remy grinned. "I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner. I asked Wade, but he said something about Dunkin' Donuts and left."
I glanced down at his fingers, which were still tangled with mine. Human contact felt nice. "Okay," I finally agreed. "Dinner sounds nice. What can you cook?"
"Anything."
I considered it. "How about some ramen?" Asian food was the first thing that came to mind. I'd had it for the first time a few weeks ago, and it was amazing.
He groaned. "Ramen? There's no way I can show off my cooking skills while making ramen."
"It's possible," I insisted. "Impress me with your noodle-making expertise."
Remy dropped my hand. "Alright," he gave in, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll make some."
"Wait."
He looked at me expectantly. "What?"
I stretched my arm out to him. For some reason, he was the only person I could touch, and I needed to get a hold of myself and grasp that concept. "Hold my hand. Please. It felt nice."
He paused, then smiled. "Okay, chere," he said, and took my hand once more. "I can impress you one-handedly."
"I'd love to be a mutant, wouldn't you?" Danica, my coworker, asked me as we poured the little kids apple juice and served them year-old Fig Newtons. "They're so… mysterious. Especially the X-Men and that bad guy, the old magnetic one with the helmet."
"Mmm hmm." I ruffled tiny Jessica's yellow gold hair and smiled at her as she drank her juice like a big girl, using a plastic cup instead of her sippy cup.
Danica tucked a lock behind her ear. Unlike little Jessica's beautiful natural curls, Danica's splotchy dark hair had been straightened and curled and dyed so many times that it looked permanently fried. "Why aren't you listening to me, Marie? Mutants are so cool."
Sometimes, I liked the kids better than the adults.
"Uh, yeah." I sat down next to Danica and watched the kids eat their afternoon snack. I glanced at my watch and waved my hand. "I'm leaving in an hour. Talk away."
"Okay, so, have you heard of the mutant Gambit?" Danica asked excitedly.
I frowned. "Gambit?"
"Yeah, that's his code name."
"Sorry, I've never heard of him." I shrugged and bit into a Fig Newton. It wasn't as repulsive as I'd expected. In fact, it was pretty tasty.
"Really? But he comes from… down south. Like, where you're from. Where there are farmers and everybody's racist and everything."
I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to be upset by her offending assumption. What would be the point? Danica could care less about my feelings; she only talked to me when nobody else was around and she was really bored. "Sure."
"So, yeah, Gambit's hot. He disappeared a few months ago, though." Danica lowered her voice and said furtively, "Maybe he went incognito and developed an alter ego!"
"Um… okay." I tossed her a peculiar look. "Maybe."
Danica nudged my leg with the toe of her Vans-clad foot. "Oh, c'mon, Marie, you should be more enthusiastic than this. Are you, like, homo?"
What does that have anything to do with this?
I sighed, groveling."No, Danica, I am not homosexual."
"Then why don't you like talking about guys with me?" She pulled the hood of her unremarkable black sweatshirt over her head. "You must be, like, a lesbian."
I glanced at my watch again. Fifty torturous minutes to go. "Let's talk about something else."
Danica brightened. "Alright. But don't forget, I'll always be here for you if you ever come out of the closet." She pulled out her purple iPod. "Do you like Vampire Weekend?"
Actually, I did, but I wasn't going to make conversation with her about it.
Squeaky-voiced Tommy trotted up to me with his empty cup. "Can I have more awwple joose, Miss Mah-ree?"
I shook my head and took his cup, putting it into the wastebasket. "No more juice left, Tommy. But you can have another Fig Newton if you like."
He made a face. I frowned, not understanding why the Fig Newtons were so unpopular.
"Marie!" Danica pouted and stomped her foot. She could've easily been mistaken for one of the younger kids. "What kind of music do you listen to?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Music."
"Pop music?" She gasped, as if 'pop' were a curse. "Or… rap music?"
"Well, the stuff on the radio is pretty good."
"Oh, that really narrows it down," Danica said sarcastically. "What station do you listen to?"
I opened my mouth to reply, then quickly shut up when a fierce blast of Chanel No. 5 hit my nostrils. Only one woman wore that particular perfume in the daycare, as popular as the classic scent was, and she made it known to everyone else.
"Danica!" Miss Grue barked. "Stop chatting with Marie!"
Danica, who obviously had whiffed Miss Grue's perfume beforehand, flinched and hastily shoved her iPod into her the pocket of her hoodie. "Sorry, Miss Grue." Miss Grue's first name was Anne, but anyone who was less than half her age was not allowed to call her that, with the exception of shrilly-voiced Suzanne, who was only twenty-five but spoke like a woman who had three children, six grandchildren, and a condo in Florida.
Miss Grue crossed her arms. "Marie," she said to me, "you can leave early today."
I could feel my lips split into a hopeful grin. "Really?"
"Really." She gazed at Danica, as if challenging her to protest. "And Danica, you can handle the children by yourself, can't you?"
"But—"
"Or, of course, I could get Suzanne to work with you. She's such a lovely girl."
Danica's eyes widened and she shook her head wildly. "I don't think that's necessary…"
"Well, now that you mention it, I'm not sure if you can handle the little ones by yourself." She twisted her head around and called out, "Suzanne!"
I smiled, tightening the loose ends of my cardigan into a knot. "Good luck talking to Suzanne about music," I told Danica with a chuckle.
She glared at me. We were both perfectly aware that Suzanne's iPod contained nothing but gospel songs and self-motivation podcasts.
"You're in my bed again." It was a statement, not a question.
"Oui."
"Get out."
"Oh, come on, chere. You're probably very cold on the nights when there's not another person in your bed." He yawned sleepily and pressed his warm forehead to mine.
Oh, that felt nice. My mother—er, Mystique—had done the same thing when I was smaller, a typical maternal movement that I'd never really thought about or truly appreciated while I'd still been able to touch others.
"Remy," I scolded, "stop taking advantage of me." He knew perfectly well that I couldn't resist being touched.
(That came out awfully.)
"I would never do that," he murmured drowsily, his eyes fluttering shut. His arm coiled around my waist and his breath tickled my collarbone.
"Remy," I said again, focusing my gaze on the cracked ceiling, "I've known you for less than a week. Get off of me."
"Aw, s'il te plait, Marie?" His fingers wrapped around my hip. "If you let me stay, I'll show you my mutation."
"What is it?"
"I can charge up the kinetic energy in objects, powering them up, like my cards. And—"
"Get to the point, please." I had a brief, fleeting hope that his mutation had something to do with mine, and it could help me in some way.
"I can make things explode!" He smiled excitedly against my shoulder.
"Oh, that's just fantastic," I said dryly, only slightly hiding my disappointment. "Why did I even let you into my home?"
"You didn't. I picked your lock again."
"Right."
Remy pressed himself against me. "Will you let me stay?"
I sighed. "As long as you don't blow up anything." I paused. "And… you have to stay at least six inches away from me."
He scooted over, then moved back a few inches. "Three."
"Five."
"Four."
"Four and a half."
"Are you going to actually measure it, chere?"
"Yes, with the ruler I keep between my sheets every night." I rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block him out.
The mattress creaked every time he moved.
"Stop moving!" I snapped.
He stopped.
Minutes ticked by, and the sound of his breathing began to drive me crazy. I turned over and cracked open one eye. I'd snatched away all the blankets, so I could see the outline of Remy's body clearly in the darkness. His chest rose and fell with every breath he took.
"What?" He demanded. "Do you want me to stop breathing, too?"
I felt my cheeks burn. "No!"
"Then what do you want, Marie?"
I pushed the covers off my shoulders, then off my torso. "Are you cold?"
"Not particularly."
I kicked the blankets away and into a matted lump at the bottom of my bed. "Me, neither."
He turned his head to glance at me from exactly four and a half inches away. "Okay."
Quiet.
I shivered. "Actually, never mind. I'm freezing my ass off." I sat up, crawled to the foot of the bed, and grabbed the blankets back, laying them on top of us like the batter of a layered cake in process. I made sure to distribute the thickest quilt evenly; my thermostat was broken and would never be fixed. Maybe Remy liked to act like a tough guy, but it was impossible not to be cold in my apartment.
Pause.
"I'm still cold," I muttered. My toes were unnaturally frosty, and the rest of me seemed to be covered in a thin sheet of ice.
This is awkward, I thought. I was in bed with Remy LeBeau from 4-J.
(It was not an euphemism. Lord.)
Remy reached over the four point five inch space that sat like a moat between us and grasped my hand in his. He met my eyes, and his irises glowed red-black in the dark. How did he do that?
My teeth stopped chattering.
He brought his arm around me and closed the remaining inches between us, gripping me a warm embrace that spread heat all through my body.
"Mmm," I said, without thinking.
Remy chuckled. "Because you're cold," he said. "I'm only doing this because you're cold." He seemed to be trying to convince himself with this fact, not just me.
He shut his eyes, and the pretty red lights were gone. I shut my eyes as well.
Remy LeBeau, I thought as I drifted into a peaceful slumber, wasn't as bad as I'd thought.
Toward the end, I choked a bit on the fluff.
Miss Grue is based on my old sixth grade teacher, who inspired me to write more... because before that, all I'd written was a cheesy vampire novella featuring the band My Chemical Romance. (HAHAHAHAHA!)
Danica is based off of every wannabe I've ever met. I'm sure you've met someone like her.
Thank you to Chellerbelle, ithinkimaninja, annacat721, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, Rogueslove22, WingedIcarus, Lauren, My Beautiful Ending, Demon Flame, ncsifan for reviewing. Total ego boost.
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