She looked at old notes she'd written, like a journal, but most were only a line or two long.
December 2
Need to buy presents
February 7
Remy left today
June 24
New record in Danger Room
September 19
He's back
November 17
Another year?
A whole year in single-lined entries. Between them, of course, there were sometimes sketches, or thoughts. But the facts, the history, were so… simple.
Logan had found her outside, like he had so long ago, except this time, she was far worse off. Now she lay in bed, sick from the rain, and worse inside. She hadn't spoken yet. The best they could get from her was a nod.
Kitty and Kurt spent the majority of their time nearby, offering any sort of amusement they could think of. Logan stopped. Jean and Storm checked her health. They all knew who this situation involved, and she loathed their pity. She just liked to sleep. Nightmares invaded her while she slept, but at least she knew those weren't real.
She knew the waking world was where he was, and what he'd done, what his actions were. She knew here that he was real.
Her days, otherwise, were spent between what-if scenarios and self-loathing. She was being stupid, mourning over him like this. They'd always been an on-again-off-again kind of couple. So what if maybe he didn't like it? Maybe he didn't like it this week. Or maybe he wouldn't like it ever again. OK. Big loss, right?
It sounded too phony to her.
What if she went after him? She'd seen what direction he'd gone. And he always seemed to travel to the same locations. She could go, now, while no one watched, and ride out to find him…
Then what?
She turned over, looking at her window. She could go after him, but he was as good as gone. He could disappear like no one she had ever known. He'd broken his promise.
She sat up, slowly. He'd broken his promise to her. Why should she keep her side? A slow, almost cruel smile crept up over her lips. Why should she bother to stay safe and cozy and protected? Why indeed?
She pushed her legs out from under the covers, and dressed. She felt dizzy, though whether from adrenaline by her crazy plan or simply because she was still sick, she couldn't be sure. But she dressed, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail, and sliding her gloves on.
Kitty and Kurt were outside her door, both surprised to see her. She threw a smile to the couple, and walked on, until she saw him.
"Professor." She said, he turned and smiled to her. Always so calm. Always.
"It's good to see you up, Rogue." She nodded.
"I'm goin'." He paused momentarily.
"I know." And he wheeled away. She nodded, adjusting her pack, murmuring a soft thank you, before turning heel and walking outside the door.
The ground was still damp from the rain. She hated it. Hated the slippery feeling of it beneath her boots, hated the way it made the air smells pure, the way it dripped off the tress. She wanted no reminders of that night.
She didn't feel at all guilty as she pulled out Logan's keys and sat on his bike. She didn't feel… anything. It was odd to be so numb, like somebody had put anesthetic on the hole she felt in her. She liked it, and she found that odder still. She revved the bike, letting it growl like a great beast beneath her. The rain began to fall again. Why was it always raining?
She growled softly, speeding away with her hair whipping behind her.
She rode on, into the night, stopping only to fill the tank, and off again. She didn't know where she was going, only that it was opposite the way she had seen him go, and that mattered. She couldn't think of that night, no, she wasn't allowed to even think of him. That would open the gap, and she couldn't afford to curl up while on the road. But never, never could she forget him. The sound of his voice would always go through her head. His eyes, his smile, would forever be burned into her skull. But she couldn't think of those things. They were like a story she wasn't allowed to read, but already had. She could know the facts, just not think.
She took a great gulp of air. Yes, she decided. That was how it must be.
It irked her, she came to realize, that the only reason she was doing any of this, this running, riding, playing charade, was to spite him. She wanted to be the incontrollable teenager; she wanted to be the intolerable old flame. She wanted to be a rebel.
She wanted to be a rogue.
She sped up, the rain long behind her now as she sped through the streets. People were but blurs on her sides, staring at the odd creature that seemed to have melded to metal, a willing sacrifice to the wind, so long as it took away her reason, her sanity, her everything.
So long as it took him away.
Days would pass in this fashion, stopping for gas, maybe to shove some edible food stuffs into her mouth to keep her alive, before sinking back into her throne of metal and leather. She looked a mess, wind-tossed and dirty, but as long as she didn't stop, she didn't much care. She stopped at a hotel about two weeks after she'd begun, sleeping the day through, showering, and changing clothes. She never let herself stop, because stopping meant her obsession would possess her again, would make her crumple like a butterfly with it's wings torn off, flittering in meek circles as it attempts to reach out, fly again, and finally dies.
But she was more than a butterfly, she reminded herself, but she too had lost her wings. For that matter, she mused, she wasn't sure she'd ever had wings to begin with.
She was up again, skipping out on the bill without a second thought, sliding into her seat again. She could lose herself to this, this endless cycle of sleep and wind, with the sound of the engine beneath her. But she knew it had to end, eventually.
But where?
March
April
May
June
July
The hottest time of the year. The sun beat overhead as she shut off the engine. She had no idea where she was, just some city somewhere. She hadn't paid attention to the sign. A hotel sat between a diner and a bookstore. The diner was slow, but comfortably busy. A waitress or two wandered about, offering refills of coffee.
She ordered a coffee, cream and sugar, a piece of pie. She put enough milk in it that the coffee was nearly white, and enough sugar to stun a horse. She gulped it down, devouring the pie as she watched the customers come and go.
"You lost, honey?" She looked up, fork caught between the pie and her mouth. The waitress was looking down at her, a woman on in her years, brown hair with streaks of gray. Mostly gray.
"Been lost since the day ah was born," she murmured and the waitress nodded like she understood.
"You look it. You slept lately?"
"Enough."
"You stayin' here tonight?"
"Thinkin' somethin' like it."
"Then watch your back, is all I'm sayin'. There's some mean folk around who don't like… your folk." Her eyes met with the woman's. The contacts she used were good, but her eyes weren't the hazel-gray they attempted. They were gold like a new ring.
"Our folk." She said softly, standing. "Thanks for the warnin', miss." The woman touched her chunk of white as she pulled on her gloves.
"Watch and blend."
The bell tinkled softly as she left the mutant woman, the woman who looked so natural it was out of place.
She did stay in the hotel that night, with the occasional roar of an engine, drunken laughter, girlish squeals, the occasional scream. She managed to sleep, despite her body's protests, despite wanting to go out and find out what had happened… only discovering the next morning what the entertainment had been.
The waitress had been discovered.
She wore her chunk boldly now, nearly flaunting it before these people, green eyes shouting her challenge.
She almost wanted them to do the same thing to her.
It struck her around then that she was being foolish, stupid to the point of suicidal. She needed this adrenaline, this brush with insanity, to know that she was still alive. It was almost sickening and delightful at the same time. She was well and truly possessed, obsessed with something, someone, intangible, and she was substituting it.
She felt immortal, invincible, free.
She walked around for days, nights, literally looking for trouble. It would take her eleven days to find it. Another drunken group, she mused. How predictable. She waited across the street, letting the light catch on her streak. Over they sauntered, and she ignored their suggestions, waiting and concentrating. It wasn't their words she wanted. What would this bring?
When the boldest of them reached out to touch her, she grabbed his wrist and twisted until she heard the unnatural pop-snap of bone breaking.
She lost herself to the rhythm of her fists and feet against flesh. Taking on three of them was easy when they were like this. Nothing like him.
They were nothing like him. And that's what she had wanted. She wanted to beat him this way.
She lost it, ripping off her gloves to touch bare skin, tearing the memories from their brains. Anger blazed, a hot and hungry beast, wanting to devour them whole just because they weren't him. And she let it. She absorbed their minds, leaving them crumpled and weeping, one even out cold because of her. Disgust rose inside her like bile, leaving a foul taste in her soul. She slid the gloves on again, leaving the miserable creatures behind. The sky was clear, glittering with undeserved stars. She wanted to be one of those stars, away from this, this sickness, this thing that was rising within her, that was beginning to become her. She didn't want to be this person, to live this life. She didn't want to. She wanted to blame him. She wanted it to be his fault. It should've been. He left.
Remy left.
Just thinking of his name was enough to tear the feeble defenses and slash her wound open again. She crumpled, arms tight around her own body as she gasped for air, shaking and filled with searing needles that plunged themselves into the hole.
No, she told herself. She wouldn't plunge into that abyss again, not to that place within her where all meant nothing. Not now, at least.
She ran through the newest batch of memories, finding what she hated, what she pitied, clinging to gruesome acts others had performed, and she finally managed to breathe again, growing strong until she stood, albeit shakily.
She retched in the alley, fumbling her way back to the hotel. She threw her things into her pack, tossing it over her shoulder. She shrugged into her leather.
Queen of Hearts, she mused. Queen of Hearts?
The Queen of Hearts sat on her throne, her creature of speed and that which is lost, and gave herself to the night.
She sat on the motorcycle, revved it, and left.