A/N: So I want to thank everyone for their interest so far, there is much more to come. As always thank you for the reviews and please do not be afraid to post more I am more than happy to hear all of your comments and enjoy looking at my email to see that I have reviews.
As far as updating goes, I am hoping to be slightly quicker with the pace but there's no insurance that it will not be awhile. I'll attempt to at least update once a week but my life is pretty hectic at the moment and I have other works in progress on this site and my own little pieces so I am sorry if it takes a while for the story to continue.
WARNING: This chapter is especially graphic in reference to physicality of the unpleasant kind so if you are squeamish in anyone please read with discretion. Otherwise enjoy.
Chapter 4 The Guilt That Eats Away
Stab my back/ Its better when I bleed for you
"Stab My Back"- The All American Rejects
Rogue rushed into the elevator and out of the high end apartment as fast as she could. She was sure there were people staring at her and she knew she could hear the whispers.
"Lebeau's new lay."
"Sure is a pretty one."
"Think she'll stick around?"
Her skin was crawling. She didn't know if she should be angry, furious at him for luring her into such a deceptive and manipulative plot or at herself for allowing something like this to happen. She was supposed to be cautious, clear-headed Rogue, not the kind of girl who just jumped into bed with just any man who gave her half the attention she thought she deserved but that's exactly what had happened last night. She was mentally hitting herself still and then she remembered exactly what she had felt last night and a shiver was immediately sent up her spine and down her arms.
"Damn that Cajun," Rogue cursed under her breath as she hailed a cab and took a seat in the back.
She directed the driver to her destination and spent the rest of the ride pondering her guilt. She should have let him stop her, should have listened when he said not to, but she didn't. She needed last night, because as sad as it was it was the first time she had felt affection in a long time. Sure the affection was heavily masked by desire and lust, but she knew it was there, could sense that much from this morning. That was indeed very dangerous.
She paid the taxi driver and gathered herself as she stood outside the cold, clean building. A chill ran down her body as she stared up at the thick windows and the pristine look of it. She shook her head loose of all thoughts of last night, of the Cajun perfection that made her sweat at just the thought of what he was capable of doing with expert hands and fingers.
"Pull yaself togetha, girl. Can't go in there actin' all crazy over some-" Rogue finished the sentence with a growl, walking up to the building, her purse grasped tightly in her hand.
She walked the halls with experience, passing all the people with upset faces and downtrodden expressions. She gave each a meek smile; she always felt out of place here, she didn't really have to wonder why. She didn't belong, especially after what she had done last night. She took in a deep breath as the regret hit her stomach again. She stood outside of the door, staring at the placard with the name written simply underneath the room number. She knew she shouldn't have come but she had to, it was her fault after all.
Rogue entered the room, her shoulders hunched, tiptoeing in. She could hear the respirators, the steady beep of the heart monitor. She closed her eyes as she stepped forward, not daring to look down at the body inhabiting the bed. Surely it was enough that this person haunted her nightmares, unrelenting in their attack on her mind.
Rogue opened her eyes and stared down at the limp, lifeless body. The tubes running out of the mouth, out of the arms, cords running to and from machines each keeping time with the other in order to keep the body in its lifeless form. At least that's what Rogue thought. She stared down at the woman, her pale blond hair long and dull, her eyes closed. She forced herself to swallow the image, to look on because it was what she deserved, to be haunted.
Rogue took a seat in one of the chairs crossing her legs and hunching over like a child as she gazed. "Hi Carol," she managed out as she began to tear up.
"How've ya been? Oh me, rough night. No, not this time, met a guy. Ah know, Ah know, Ah shouldn't have done it but it was a onetime thing. At least Ah hope it was," Rogue continued her voice gaining strength with each word.
"He's probably at home. At least that's what Ah think. Anyhow, Ah just stopped by don't mean ta disturb ya, Ah have ta be goin' anyways-" Rogue stopped midsentence as a doctor had suddenly walked in, a clipboard in his hands.
Rogue's face turned ashen as she stared at the man with wide eyes. He gave her a meek reassuring smile as he looked from her to the body in the bed.
"Hello Ms. Darkholme, how are you?" he asked simply looking over his charts as he spoke.
"Fine Dr. Yeats, yaself?" Rogue returned as she stood up.
"Good, good. You know there's no need to feel embarrassed about talking to her, a lot of families feel it necessary to keep up hope," the doctor smiled a Rogue once more before going over to one of the machines and adjusting something. Rogue stood awkwardly for a moment not knowing what to do or where to go.
"Well Ah best be goin' Docta, have ta get ta work," Rogue stated lingering in the door.
"Oh Rogue, I wanted to talk to you about how Carol's been doing," the doctor rushed after her before she could make it to the hall. Rogue turned and gave a somewhat frightened but interested expression, quirking her eyebrows in acknowledgement.
"Yes."
"Her vitals haven't changed and seeing as it has been quite a while that she's been in a coma, we are going to ask the next of kin to sign off on her termination," the words bit into her like ice, like the face the doctor was making, a grimace at the chart he held in his hands as he scoured the information. She meant nothing to him. Just another cow for slaughter. Rogue felt her stomach quiver in the worst way.
"She has very strong organs still and we're fearful that if she stays in this condition they could be compromised making her candidacy as an organ donor less than likely," the doctor told Rogue staring into her eyes with an almost pleading expression.
"Ah see," Rogue commented, gripping her purse again.
"I just thought you should know."
"Well thank ya Docta, Ah'll make sure ta say goodbye the next time Ah see her," Rogue gritted out before turning around and making her way down the hall and out towards the street.
Her day had started off so well. No, it hadn't. She had felt guilt, more guilt than ever before with this new information being added. And now she had to go home and face the one person who would make her feel even worse about it all. She should have listened to him. It was her fault. She should have listened.
She found the cabbie, paid her fair, directed him back towards the place she never ever really wanted to return to. She had to go. The thought sent chills down her spine. It was home. And it wasn't hers. She watched as he passed through the smiling streets of New Orleans, the happy faces.
It was funny to think that tragedy had struck so many not but a few years prior and yet here they were, those who had lived through the tragedy, smiling, celebrating. Only in New Orleans. The city gave her hope and stole it from her. No he did that. She would never admit.
The cabbie dropped her off about a mile from her destination. It was her request. She didn't want to show up in a cab. He would know, would be looking for her, at least she hoped he wouldn't. She knew he would.
She made her way down the small lane, lined with nice homes. None were hers. At least he wouldn't allow her to call it hers, no matter how much she pleaded with him.
Ya stole something from me. Ya owe me, ya remember that. His words still echoed in her head, even know, even after what had happened. She knew it had nothing to do with that, but sometimes she wished it did. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to feel so guilty.
She walked down the street, children busily playing in the fragmented light casted down from the trees, giving the place a glow that reminded her of better times. She knew there were no good times to be had, not here, not for her.
Her footsteps made little noise against the stoop as she clambered up slowly. She didn't want to be here. She had nowhere else to go. She had made a promise to herself long ago, long before the Cure. Storm had said it made her vulnerable; weak. She was right, but she was weak and vulnerable before she even took the Cure. She didn't, hadn't changed. Her power didn't take away from the fact that deep down she was still Anna Marie. The weak little girl. She had been deadly and now she was just used up and dead; walking, breathing, but dead.
Rogue opened the door, listening as it creaked under her weight, wincing at the sound. She hoped no one was awake. Hoped her absence had gone unnoticed.
"Rogue that betta be ya!" she heard the voice shriek from somewhere deep within the bowels of the house. Her shoulders immediately flew upward as she gritted her teeth. She had been caught.
She padded lightly through the house, the hallways winding this way and that. It was large, but seemed so cramped, seemed as if she had nowhere to hide, not from her fears, not from her regret, not from her guilt, not from him.
She continued until she found the voice, in the living room. She shivered unconsciously. It was always so cold in this house. Or maybe it was just her. The heat permeated from the outside and she felt sweat beading up on her neck and forehead. Her skin felt like ice beneath her fingertips. Always so cold.
The room was dark, only the light filtering in from the shutters, illuminating the dust swirling made anything visible. She narrowed her eyes, spotting the man, his feet set upon the coffee table, lounged casually in the recliner. The television wasn't on; the beer in his hand was empty, as were the packs that lay in a cluster around him. He was staring into the dark and it gave her goose bumps in the worst way.
Ya owe me your life. Don't ever forget it.
"Where in the hell have ya been?" the man in the recliner stated simply, she couldn't see his face, it was angled away from her but she could hear the despise thick in his words.
"Got caught up at work, ended up havin' ta pull a double shift fo' another waitress," Rogue lied. She hadn't moved. Was too scared to. He wasn't a dangerous man. He was just a boy. She reassured herself that every time she walked into the house. Not hers, not his, the. It was just another part of the torture.
"The hell ya did. Get over here, now!" his voice was authoritative, laced with resentment and she shuddered. He was just a boy. The boy she remembered. Angelic blue eyes and fair blond hair. He wasn't a demon, wasn't the devil, not until now. She mustered up the memories, all she got were tragic ones, were painful ones, were frightening ones.
'Ya did this to me. Now I get to do this to you.' His hands wrapped around her throat. She wished for her powers, wished she could drain him. He'd make sure she would. He'd make sure she was dead before he continued. She was dead long before he killed her; he put the final nail in her coffin.
Rogue sauntered slowly over to the recliner, gazing down at his heaped mass of a body, no longer gangly with youth, no longer emaciated from sickness, just thick and ghastly. He disgusted her. She owed him. She was payment. He was her retribution. She owed him.
She looked into the blue eyes seething with demonic need and fury. Her palms were sweaty. His hair cut close to his ears, making those eyes shine evermore with the hatred she knew she deserved. She took a deep breath; the stubble at his chin didn't suit him, her mind fogged over with memories of the other, the warmth he radiated, his touch and how it made her ache, not the way this ice had but a dull throbbing, not in her flesh but in her heart. She shook her head loose of the memories. The demon eyes she seemed only to encounter wherever she turned. She deserved it. She deserved pain. Which was worse the angelic blue or the demon red?
His grip snaked around her wrists in a cold eerie feeling that made her think of home. Not this one. Not the old one. The one in his arms, the one that would never be home. The warmth she wished for, now followed by the cold intensity of his azure eyes. She flinched; she knew what was to come.
"Ya foolin' around?" It wasn't a question, wasn't a statement. It was a mockery. He knew as well as she did what she was when they met, the first and second time. She flinched.
"Ya bein' a whore at that place, fuckin' all those li'l boys ta get money," his grip hardened and he jerked her forward into his lap. His face inches from hers. Her eyes shut tight. She was shaking, fear coursing through her veins.
She didn't respond. Didn't defend. It would only add fuel to the fire. She wished she could stick up for herself. Yell and kick and scream and tell him that she wasn't a whore. Tell him that she'd found someone who actually wanted her, make him think she'd found better. He'd just laugh. She didn't defend, there was no use. She bit her tongue, literally, couldn't chance talking, couldn't chance getting it worse because she had been stupid. She bit her tongue.
"Ya're mine. Don't eva forget it. Ya're mine. I'll kill ya befo' ya're anyone else's. Ya hear me bitch," his words were stabbing her ears. His teeth mere centimeters from her, threatening their painful assault. He snapped and she cried. He snickered.
"Ya're mah whore. Ya owe me, I own ya. Ya stole away ten years of mah life. I own ya," his fist made contact with her eye again. It stung and bled. She didn't feel it. She was already dead. He had killed her long ago. She wished for the other's demon eyed gaze. It was filled with warmth. She was tired of the cold.
"Ah'm sorry Cody, so sorry," her voice was weak, she got another slap.
"Ya're not sorry. Ya're death. Ya're evil wrapped up in a pretty little body. Now I have control. I own ya. Ya're poison doesn't work anymore. Ya're mine. And I take what I want."
"Ah love ya Cody," her voice was still weak. His eyes twinged with wrath. A knee to the stomach. She coughed. He snickered again. She wondered if he heard her say 'loved'. Wondered if she had even said the past tense version.
"Ya love nothin'. Ya're just a whore. But ya're mine, ya're mah whore," he yanked at the chestnut locks.
"Ya hear meh!" another pull, her face tensed, her teeth bared in pain.
"Ya hear meh, bitch!" another forceful jerk.
"Ya hear meh, ya're mah whore! And I can take ya, can fuck ya whenever I want. Ya hear meh, whore!" his fist made contact with her face yet again. Her lip burst. Blood pooled. She tasted a tinge of iron. She wouldn't cry.
"Ah love ya, Cody," it was the only way she got through the pain. She had loved him. She deluded herself into believing he was still the same boy from the river. The first boy she kissed. The first boy she loved. Loved. Why couldn't she love him? She loved him. Not anymore. Her mantra.
"Ah love ya Cody." They both knew it was a lie. He used it to be volatile, a regular beast, a monster. She used it to get through the pain. They each used it, the lie. It was their life.
"Ya don't know how ta love, ya devil woman," his lips tore a kiss from hers, teeth scraping against plump red flesh. Tasting her blood and becoming sated on it. He needed more.
He tore her clothes off. Angry and straining. She let it come. Closed her eyes as he worked over her. He was cold, ice. His fingers yanked at her flesh, bruises and bites. She was damaged goods, he made sure of that. He pushed her face down into the carpet, bashed it into the wood of the chair. She didn't cry out, didn't flinch. He labored over her, teeth tearing into skin. She gritted hers. He finished and kicked her once in the stomach.
She hoped he smelled him on her. Hoped the heat melted some of the ice. She wanted his demon eyes. She had had enough of the glaciers in his eyes.
"Ya're mine," he walked away. His stench still on her skin. She didn't cry. She had done that before. She was dead now. It was cold in hell. She wanted flames, burning red flames, she needed those demon eyes. She would never admit.