A/N: I love the reviews you guys leave, thank you so much! I've been trying to write a lot quicker because of the reviews. :)

So much for having a good day. Why can't he just... Hell, I don't even know what I want him to do. Just not that. He traps me in his eyes, that paradise of shadow and flames, and then he starts pulling down all my barriers with those graceful thief's hands. He makes me believe, really believe for a second that it's really that easy, and everything will be roses. But it isn't. And it most likely never will be.

I close my eyes and let the breeze blowing over the roof caress my face and tousle my hair. The breeze used to be the very reason I came up here. Now it's more of a curse that I endure just for the solitude, just to be away from everyone else. Before, I used to let my eyes drift shut and pretend that the sensation on my cheeks, through my hair, at the back of my neck was his fingertips. I used to come up here to pretend that he was soothing me. But now that I've actually felt his hands on my skin, his fingers running through my hair... The breeze is nothing. It brings me no more comfort. It just makes me mad all over again. I fight a frown; fight the tears stinging my eyes. I really wanted to have a good day. That's all I-

My eyes open as I realize something is on the small of my back, and a split second later I'm up. I don't have to run my hand over my back to check for a bug, because it's not. It's a Cajun and he's got that sexy smile on his face. Damnit, he just can't stop, can he? Why can't he see he's tearing me apart? I can feel my hands clench tightly, my knuckles as white as the gloves covering them. Before I can even stop myself, I fly closer to him and push him forcefully, barely managing to get my fists open before they hit his shoulders. I retreat a little to keep myself from either attacking him with my fists or my lips, because I'd hurt him bad either way I went. The only reason I pushed him in the first place was to keep myself from falling into his arms.

"What in tarnation do ya think yer doin'? Don't you have any sense at all? We can't- AAAAH!"

I'm so frustrated, so angry with him for making me want him so bad, that I let out a little scream and fly away, leaving him sitting there with that look on his face again. I think I'm the only one that catches that look in his eyes, that flash of sadness, because it's just for me. I fly up and away, quick as I can to put as much distance between us as possible. This is the only way it can be. I've been working for years to make things different, and everything I've done has failed. Maybe this is what I get for working with Mama... with Mystique. I shouldn't have gone with her, let her talk me into doing all those things. But she was the only one that wanted me... At least, that's what I thought. God, I was so wrong. All she wanted was my powers. She taught me how to utilize them, to get the most out of them, but she never once tried to teach me how to control them. That's what brought me here in the first place, and this hasn't done me much good, either. But here, I feel a little more like I'm helping people.

Shouldn't that balance things out? Maybe there's something else, maybe it's just fate. I don't know any more. The voices in my head start to chatter as my mind wanders, and suddenly I feel like I'm in the war room while all the guys are squabbling over some damn thing and yelling at once. It's a dull roar. Then some of the voices become more distinct and make me hear what they're saying. They mock me, accuse me, remind me of all the things I've done wrong. Some beg me to let them out, to let them go home. Others tell me how horrible I am and that I deserve the hell I've put myself in. There's crying, screaming, muttering, whispering. Their emotions become mine, one right after another, and I think I may be speaking but there's no way to tell now. I'm drowning in that sea of noise and pain that is only in my mind, and there's no one that can help me, not this time. Before I realize it, I'm screaming and flying straight up into the air, flying for the edge of nothing. I make that large expanse of blue above my head my singular focus and try to block it all out, to clear my head, and it's all I see, all I feel.

Blue, cold, empty.

Just before I hit the point that I start to have trouble breathing, the voices melt away and there's silence. At least, the low rumble that I've been regarding as silence for the last few years. I start to float down, back toward the earth. I'm not really sure why I want to go back at this point. The world up here is just about as good as the one below. In both places, I'm all alone. I'm so far away from everyone else. Up here, I can't be tempted and I can't make mistakes. But up here, I have no rest, no distractions. Just me and my voices and all the things I've done. I can't take that. I need the people outside my head. I need my friends, my family. I need Remy. What am I going to do?

I look around to see where I've ended up, and I see water stretching out in all directions, save behind me. I can still see the shore, and I figure Gambit's probably inside by now. He's probably sitting in his window smoking one of his cigarettes, blowing the smoke outside so Hank doesn't get onto him for exposing the rest of us to second hand smoke. Or he's out in the garden with Storm, talking with her while she weeds. He probably bounced back just like normal, and he's joking around with someone, making one of the younger girls blush, playing solitaire or poker. He always picks himself right up, dusts himself off, and tries again. That's why I'm afraid to go back. That's why I want to go back so badly.

What was he even thinking going up on the roof like that? Was he just trying to touch me, or did he want to talk with me? I think he had something in his hand when I knocked him over, it made a sound when he dropped it... I picture him in my head, the quick image of him standing there before I knocked him down, then the tear-blurred sight of him laying on his back on the roof, the plate next to him with my omelet half off the plate. He was bringing me my breakfast.

My heart sinks a little in my chest. I could've really hurt him if I hadn't have held myself back, and all he was trying to do was bring me breakfast. I curl up in a ball, hugging myself in mid air as I shake my head at my own stupid overreaction. He was probably trying to get my attention by poking at me with the fingers his gloves cover. Why he went for my exposed back is a damn mystery to me; he knew better than that. Sometimes he can get away with patting my shoulder, but I never let him touch my bare skin, not with those funky little gloves he wears with his uniform. It'd be too easy to hit me with one of his exposed fingers...

Wait.

Wait a minute. He wasn't in uniform today. He was wearing a t-shirt that really accentuates his well-toned body and a pair of jeans... and that ain't his uniform. He wasn't even wearing his trench coat...

I scour my memory one more time and try to remember his hands. His bare hands. He wasn't wearing any gloves when he touched my back. Is he crazy? He could've... but he didn't. He didn't get hurt. He didn't even look tired. And I got nothing off of him. He touched me, skin on skin, and nothing happened.

I've just made a horrible mistake.

I have to get back to him, to tell him I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't give him a chance. I'm sorry I didn't believe him. Why do I have to be so stubborn? Why do I have to get so caught up in myself?

I fly back to the mansion as quickly as I can, and I head in through my own bedroom window. I straighten out my hair as best as I can and try to think of what I'm gonna say to him. Sorry just isn't enough. So many phrases and words go running through my head, and none of them seem to fit.

'I'm sorry I punch you, throw you, knock you down, and yell at you whenever you get close to me. I'm just afraid of hurting you.' No, that doesn't work even though it's true. He knows that's what it is, but it sounds ridiculous that I hurt him to keep him from getting hurt. He just won't listen to me otherwise... But really, it's my own fault. This whole thing is.

'Sorry I didn't listen to you earlier, you say things like that so often and most of the time you're just talking about wrapping one of us up in silk or latex or something... I didn't think you meant it this time.' That sounds like I'm blaming him instead of apologizing. No matter what I come up with, it's an excuse or passive aggressive. Why can't I do this right?

Finally, after a few minutes of just staring at my dresser and chewing on my lower lip, I decide that I'll just have to wing it and hope that he gets what I mean. I fix my lipstick quickly and step out into the hall. His door is shut tight, but when I get near it, I can smell his cigarettes. I put my ear up to the door and I can hear his cards hitting his desk faintly. Solitaire. I raise my hand and knock at the door softly, just loud enough for him to hear. The door opens a moment later and he peers out at me with eyes I almost don't recognize. That playful spark that gives that soft crimson glow of his eyes a special kind of life isn't there. It's replaced by a look of genuine sadness.

"Gambit ain't really in de mood f' dis game maintenant, cheré. Mebbe you c'n toss 'im out a window later."

He steps back and closes the door gently, almost silently. I never thought that would happen. I should have expected it. Actually, at one time, I wished he would do that. Turn his back on me and leave me. But now that he had, everything felt as though it was breaking. My heart aches harder than it ever has, worse than when we got back from the Savage Lands and he and I were back where we started from. My lungs just aen't working, and I have to sit down, my back up against the wall next to his door. My chest feels so tight, my stomach churns What have I done? Why did I have to push him so far away? Why did I think I wanted him to stop wanting me? How could I have been so stupid?

He's only a few yards away from me right now, but I've never in my life felt so far away from him.