BENEATH THE SURFACE
Part Twenty-One
** Just a quick heads up, there are scenes of a sexual nature, a bit of explicit language, and a little reference to abuse/rape, just so some of you can prepare yourself and hopefully not feel anything triggered. It's hard to write stories like this without having some scenes, I hope no one is too upset. Please don't hate me too much. **
Remy stood at the door of Rogue's bedroom, looking in at her, she was sitting at the dressing table, her head bobbing as she listened to the music on her iPod, white wires dangling from her pale ears. It was Saturday afternoon and she was sitting doing her homework at her desk by the looks of it, pen poised in hand, notebook nearby, book flat on the surface.
He'd been standing there for almost ten minutes now, watching. He'd been up all night thinking about all the things Logan had talked about with him the night before in the Jeep after leaving the Psychiatrist's office. During the night, he'd come to the conclusion it was time to tell Rogue the things he had to tell her, about things that he knew she didn't want to hear but had to, about things going on in his head, about the ghost, about the therapy, about everything.
It was time to stop holding back.
Yet, he'd been standing there for almost ten minutes and couldn't find the words. He remembered it being like this on St. Tropez too...just before – like most things when he drank heavily – things got a little hazy or completely blacked out from his memory. He'd sit there, trying to think of the right way to start the conversation, he'd work hard to try and get onto the topic gently. You simply didn't bluntly drop a bomb on someone with such things, you had to ease into it very carefully like leading someone carefully across a minefield. These things were delicate, whether you were the victim or the person the victim was talking to.
He sighed inwardly, "Rogue?" he managed weakly; he'd spent ten minutes mustering up the strength to say her name, and an almost squeak that caught in the back of his throat was all that came out. He winced and tried again, "Rogue?"
Her music was clearly too loud, for she did not hear him. He contemplated right then that perhaps this was just a sign that now was definitely not the time. She was busy after all, he shouldn't be interrupting her if she was busy studying.
No, y' need t' do this, y' need t' jus'...jus' get it out already. Do it!
Sighing again, he pushed himself forward and moved into the room, he moved behind her and put a hand very gently upon her shoulder; she was startled only a little, yanking the buds from her ears and turning a little to look at him.
"Remy...God...Ah didn't know you were in the room..."
"I ain' been here long," he responded. No, technically he hadn't been...not if he hadn't crossed the threshold until a moment ago.
"What's up?" she asked.
Remy licked his lips, they felt unbelievably dry and he felt so uncharacteristically awkward. Her eyes were soft and pretty as they gazed up at him, and it made everything he wanted to say slide back up into him like a turtle in a shell. "I..." he dropped his eyes to the book she had been reading, "Is that A Tale o' Two Cities?" he asked. It was the book they were reading for English class, they'd been reading it together, or so he thought they were, anyway.
"Yeah..."
"But...we read that t' gether..." he licked his lips again.
"Yeah, Ah know...Ah'm just makin' some notes...sometimes when Ah'm readin' the stuff out Ah don't absorb it as easily...sometimes Ah have to go over a paragraph a few times before Ah get the gist of things..."
"Oh."
"Anyway," Rogue closed the book after placing her bookmark (a piece of folded paper) in to the place she was at, "You wanted somethin'?"
"Yeah...I-" he was interrupted by the sounds of running down the hall. Rahne Sinclair was chasing after Bobby Drake who appeared to be wearing a bra – presumably hers. He stared at the door, they passed by again, Rahne's screaming a string of rather obscene language.
"Did she just say-?" Rogue asked, leaning sideways a little to glance towards the door.
"Yeah...she said it," Remy replied, staring at the door.
"Are you sure?"
"It was definitely cunt," Remy replied.
She turned to him and smirked just a little, "Ah suppose a gentleman like you is hardly likely to mistake that word for anythin' else."
"Suppose not," he agreed, "Rogue...chere..." he managed, "I-"
"If you dinnae give me that back you'll know all aboot it!" shrieked the girl, "A' will make y' wish y' were never born, Bobby Drake!" she promised as she ran past the second time, Bobby skidding up ahead on a sheet of ice.
Remy winced. Jean-Luc used t' say that. And he never fell short o' holdin' that promise, he thought dully.
"Remy?" Rogue tugged his sleeve to catch is attention.
"Yeah, I-"
"Bobby!" shrieked a voice from the hallway, it was Kitty Pryde, "there's ice all over the darn hallway! Someone is going to get hurt!"
He couldn't think with all this racket, his head was starting to hurt as he struggled to focus on talking to Rogue. He couldn't exactly bare his soul to her with so many people around – it wasn't as if he could shut the door without drawing attention to something going on.
"I-" he tried again, only for another interruptions.
"Kids! For the love of—Will you STOP THIS NOISE!" yelled Logan from further down the hall, "Drake! Clean this ice up! I don't care how, but do it! Rahne, you're grounded."
"For?!" gasped Rahne, Remy couldn't even see where she was, her voice echoed loudly.
"For using that language!"
"But it was Bobby's fault!"
Remy dropped his eyes to Rogue, "can we go somewhere?" he asked.
"Somewhere?"
"Private," he said, "alone."
"Ah..." she looked away, "Not right now, Remy..."
"Please," he asked of her desperately.
Rogue drew a deep breath, contemplating, "it's kind of chaotic here today, a lot of stuff going on, you know?"
"I need this now..." he pleaded, he glanced in the mirror on the dressing table, Jean-Luc was standing there right behind him, looking quite pleased with his miserable self.
"Sorry...Ah can't...Ah have..." she looked towards the door, she seemed to wonder if they were being listened in on, "stuff to do..." she finished. "Ah'll catch up with you later, okay? Maybe in the rec room or...somewhere."
He frowned a little, heart sinking with dejection. He shook his head at her but she'd already put her attention back on the book, was opening it up again. He'd been so close...how could she turn him away now?
When he got to the door of his room, he found that Jean-Luc was already inside, waiting for him, looking smug ever still, standing by the window, hand upon the sill. Remy refused to even go in, he turned swiftly and went down in the opposite direction. Downstairs was the best place. Everyone was downstairs today. The rec room would be mobbed at least, he wouldn't be able to think but at least Jean-Luc wouldn't be weighing on him as much.
Just as he had gotten to the bottom of the stairs, he bumped into Tabitha, who had been about to go up.
"Oh...there you are," Tabitha gave a strange laugh.
"Yeah..." Remy looked down at her, he took a step back from her, "what's...up?"
"We were just saying how it's funny we haven't seen you all day is all, it's nearly two pm. You just get up?"
"Yeah," Remy lied, he looked away, sweeping his hair tiredly from his face.
"Could have fooled me," Tabitha poked his cheek playfully, "you look like you haven't slept at all."
He swallowed hard, he felt close to breaking point today, he couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the talk with Logan; if Logan was talking that way, then perhaps things had to be very bad. "I-"
Tabitha's expression suddenly changed; her happy smile dropped to a concerned and serious face, her brow furrowing, "Remy...what's wrong?"
He couldn't hold himself together, it had built and it had built and he was about to explode or break down, he couldn't stand there and let anyone see the weakness. He had to get somewhere else, away from people.
"I...just need some air..." he said, taking off towards the kitchen (which was surprisingly empty for a Saturday) and left from the back door.
Although she had in no way been invited, Tabitha took off in a quick step at his heels. "Remy, wait up," she called.
"I don't need a chaperone..."
"You look dreadful, you even sound bad," Tabitha confessed, "come on...what's going on?"
"What's...what's going on?" he asked, he stopped in his tracks just past the hedge towards the garden; standing there by the rose-bushes, knocking a few petals away from a pale pink rose that was turning brown, was Jean-Luc. "What's going on?!" he asked again, he turned to look at her and he threw his hand towards the hedges, towards Jean-Luc. "That is going on! Night...day...when I sleep, when I eat, when I take a fucking shit, that is going on!"
Tabitha turned to look at the gardens, she struggled to make out what he was seeing but he could tell she saw nothing but bushes and greenery, her expression was blank, her turquoise eyes searched for the reason behind his madness and she found none.
"But y' won' see him...'cause he ain' there. He ain' there t' no one but fuckin' me!" he kicked a decorative stone jardinaire rather hard, and it toppled over, spilling the plant within and the soil. The thing landed upon the grass luckily and didn't seem to be damaged.
Tabitha took a moment, she turned to look at him again, "who?"
"Who?" he asked in disbelief, "Who?!"
She blinked, looking almost fearful.
"Jean-Luc! That's who! My father!" Remy swept his hand through his hair frustratedly, "I've...I've been seein' him for...for maybe a month now..." he breathed, he hadn't realised how strangely breathless this left him, "he died back when I was in Louisiana...he can't be here...but he is..."
The blonde took hold of his arms firmly, "It...can't just be your imagination?"
"It's not," he shook his head, he turned away from her, looking at the gardens, he scratched his neck nervously; the feeling of the bastard watching him left every hair – including his growth – prickling. He itched with fear. "He...he's powerful...gainin' strength every day...the glass jar in the kitchen...y' remember? That were him...and the car alarm on Monday...that was him too...the windscreen gettin' cracked...him...my car accident..."
He hadn't expected her to actually believe him, but he saw it in her eyes. "He's trying to hurt you..." realised Tabitha, turning back towards the gardens. The old bastard had moved on, Remy didn't see him any more. That made him uneasy, as it meant the ghost could be virtually anywhere.
"Y' believe me?" he asked, slightly shaken by the disbelief that someone could.
"Why would you lie?" Tabitha asked pointedly, "You're not the kind of guy who makes up stories, Remy. And you don't have a reason to lie to me, you don't need my sympathy to get laid or get attention."
"Y'...might think...that I'm losin' my mind..." he breathed shakily, he rubbed his head. It was pounding; each worry was pressing on his brain like a miniature weight, he could feel his mind almost beginning to bruise under the strain.
"You're not losing your mind," Tabitha stroked his arm gently, "I believe it, Remy. I saw that jar fly! And the way you act lately...I get it now. It makes sense. If you say you see a ghost...you see a ghost..."
"I'm just...I'm scared..." he crouched down, he felt slightly winded and shaky, very unsteady, he leaned over, staring down at the gravel, "I...I ain' ever admitted t'...t' bein' scared o' anythin' in my life...but him...he...he..."
"I don't blame you for being scared," Tabitha crouched beside him and touched his back gently, "if I were you...I'd be petrified."
For one moment, he wondered if he should tell her about the physical attack in the sub-basement hallway. Just thinking of it again made his breath catch in his throat, his heart skip beats, his body tremble hard.
"Hey, it's okay..." Tabitha stroked his back, "geez, he really did a number on you...didn't he?"
"How am I supposed t' fight this?" he asked in a strangled voice, "How am I supposed t' get rid of him..."
"Maybe you should talk to the Professor..." suggested Tabitha gently. Her suggestion was far more sensible than he expected it to be; he'd almost thought she'd suggest Ghostbusters.
"No..." Remy shook his head, he let his arms rest on his knees, he tried to get his breath, "I don' want him knowin'. I already know what he'd think, I know what everyone would think...except you..." he turned to look at her, "Y' the only one who gets this...y' the only one who gets the fear...and the bad dreams...the havin' t' pretend t' be t' gether while y' fallin' apart inside..." he trembled.
Tabitha hugged him, "I get it, Remy, I do," she promised. "I'll help you however I can, okay? We'll get you through this..."
He remained in her arms a moment, his forehead pressed against her shoulder his fingers gripping onto the back of her t-shirt; just that moment was more comfort than he'd thought he'd find. It was the kind of comfort he had hoped to find with his wife. But she had dismissed him so quickly, hadn't even given him the chance.
And now? Now he'd broken his promise to Rogue...told Tabitha things he'd had no right to tell her first. Rogue should have been the first to know these things, not Tabitha. Remy wasn't even sure how better he could explain it other than Tabitha had been there when he'd been near breaking point and she had simply not.
In his pocket, he felt a soft buzzing against his hip. He pulled away from Tabitha, feeling momentarily awkward about it; not so much in the action itself, but in the concern that she may see it as something more. There was nothing he wanted less than to lead the girl on and hurt her feelings any more than he may have done already.
Tabitha stood slowly, smoothing her t-shirt down; Remy felt her watching him as he stood too and retrieved his phone from his pocket. It was a text message from his wife, he made sure the phone was out of Tabitha's view quickly, hoping that she didn't see it on the front of his screen.
The message read: Go down the staircase from the bluff at 7pm, follow the small stretch of beach for about five minutes and you should find a narrow crack in the cliff face; go in. Don't tell anyone, come alone, bring a flash light and don't get your shoes wet.
Strange instructions, was his first impression, he closed the message immediately on his phone, the less time it was on the phone, the less chance there was that Tabitha could read of it.
"Everything okay?" Tabitha asked curiously, standing looking at him. She wanted him to elaborate on the message.
"Marie..." he replied.
"Marie?" She raised an eyebrow.
"My Marie...my wife."
"Oh," said Tabitha, looking away slightly irritated, "what's she want?"
Remy tried to think of an excuse while he tried not to be angry about the way Tabitha had emphasised the word she. He was sick of making excuses; the truth seemed much easier and less problematic. "To talk to me, I guess."
Tabitha dug her toe absently into the gravel, hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Does, uhm...she know about the ghost?"
"No," Remy replied.
"Are you going to tell her?"
"Yes," Remy decided, "I'm going to tell her everything."
"When?"
"Tonight," he answered.
"You think she'll understand?" Tabitha asked; he understood that she hoped his wife would not, that he'd have to rely on her for his go to for the problem, that it'd buy them some time together, time away from thoughts of his wife.
"She's my wife," Remy decided to say, just to put it across again that he had a wife, and that his feelings about her had not changed. "We married...for better or worse...and she's already had pretty much the worst of me and she understood then. I...don' see what'd be different now."
"Wouldn't that kind of conversation be kind...I don't know, done better in person?" Tabitha folded her arms. Remy almost felt momentarily guilty that he was letting her think that he'd be doing it over the phone.
"I'll take what I can get," he said, avoiding telling her about the fact that it would be in person. "I'm going out tonight...alone. I'll tell her then...I need time away from here...I need to be out o' the earshot of the others."
"Yeah..." Tabitha sighed, "Well...good luck," she said quietly and with that, she left him standing in the garden alone.
Remy left for the rendezvous twenty minutes early, not too long after he'd finished dinner. Rogue had skipped dinner entirely and it wasn't until half way through when Scott had asked where she was that Ororo had reported Rogue had apparently gone out to eat. No one asked questions, and Remy had kept his mouth decidedly shut on the subject.
The staircase leading down the cliff was at the edge of the Xavier Estate, something that Rogue had not specified in her text. He had text her to ask where the staircase was but she hadn't responded. He'd eventually located it at the edge of the estate, the rail hidden behind a rather large cluster of bushes and trees near the edge of the bluff, far beyond the fence. The steps were carved into the rock itself, narrow and slightly steep, almost treacherous if not for the rope and post hand-rail that someone had made some time ago, the weatherworn rope felt slightly hard against his hand on his way down.
The stretch of beach was far more narrow than he had imagined it would be, it headed in only one direction, barely four feet of sand to get across, and the tide coming in and out to kiss it. Eventually, he got so sick of dodging the water that he took his shoes and socks off and carried them along the rest of the journey. It took him a little more time to find the crack in the face of the cliff, because it was not obvious. There were a lot of cracks, and they all looked rather deep in the sunset light. Eventually he found the only one that seemed to go in deep enough to allow passage and he awkwardly sucked in his gut and slipped through sideways, the opening could have done with being carved a little wider.
Why here? He thought strangely as he turned on the flashlight. The tunnel wasn't much wider, and he moved forward, he walked for what felt like five more minutes, listening to the sound of his footsteps, everything sounded so silent down here, except from the odd occasional drip of water; dampness dripping from the roof of the cave, he felt it drop upon his nose.
When he finally got to the end of the dark tunnel, he found himself reaching a massive hall-like space, he looked downwards, seeing Rogue about seven feet below lighting candles with a zippo lighter. He stood for a moment, examining the scene. Candles everywhere, on the sand that had gathered in the cave due to flooding, candles on rocks and in jars, the flickering fast from a slight draft that seemed to be sweeping through the cave. His foot slipped a little upon the sandy rock near the edge of the inclination,and he slipped down, landing five feet down into the sand; it was rather deep sand for the inside of a cave, he thought.
Rogue turned, and gave a strange laugh, "that's some entrance," she admitted.
"Jus' the thing I was goin' for," he picked himself up and tried to play it off, he brushed the sand from himself, "this place..." he looked around, impressed by the candles, the silence, and the solitude of it.
"I found it one day when I was taking a walk when I first moved here. Sometimes I come here when I need time alone, no one ever finds me here, not even Logan...I think the bushes throw him off, I don't think he even knows this exists," Rogue explained.
"Surprised the Professor ain' converted this int' some more sub-basement room," Remy confessed.
"It's not even on his property," Rogue replied, "this belongs to Bayville, I don't know if the Professor even knows this is here."
Remy sat on the edge of a rock, brushing sand from his knees, "Y' come here a lot?"
"I...used to," she shrugged, she put the lighter down, "It's peaceful...you hear nothing down here..."
He stared at the flame of a large jar candle, flickering gently deep in the glass. There was a scent of cherries in the air, deep and sweet; he supposed that was to take away the smell of damp cave.
"So..." he said, eyes relaxing on the flame.
Rogue moved over after picking something up from the rock where the candle she'd lit had been, she came close, "what do you think?"
"Of the cave?"
Rogue chewed her lip, looking at him almost hopefully.
He glanced around at all the candles, the light flickering reflecting on slightly damp walls, in tiny hidden crevices and bumps. The scent of cherries was quite intoxicating. "It's...really nice, f' a cave..."
"Is it romantic?" she asked, she brushed her gloved hand through his hair tenderly, the gesture was strangely soothing, as was the light and the scent of the candle.
"It is," he supposed, although the thought hadn't come into consideration until he'd been asked.
"It's a little cold...Ah was gonna light a fire," Rogue confessed, "But...it'd get smoky in here, and there's no ventilation..."
"Yeah..." he realised.
"It's still nice though..." she said decisively, the fingers of her right hand he hadn't even felt land upon his chest, not until they'd made their way down to his stomach and to his pants. He dropped his eyes to watch her latex gloved-hand as she cupped his groin.
She wants this now? Jesus H. Christ, Marie...y' pick y' moments, he thought, caught between desperation of wanting to say things that he'd only hours ago told Tabitha, and the sudden yearning her attentions left him with. To be fair, sex...it was always the best of stress relievers, even now. Jean-Luc hadn't followed him, the candles, the scent in the air, the sheer blouse she'd worn over nothing more than a lace bra. It didn't take much to distract him from his original intentions.
He resolved to tell her after, when they were in the afterglow moment. It might be easier then, soft moment of bliss holding each other, the stress burned away, the exhaustion settling over him.
When he tried to reach for her, she pushed his advance away, shaking her head; today she was playing boss. It was unusual for her, but he was happy to play along for the sake of making her happy...not to mention the aching her caress left her with.
At first, she merely touched him, first for a little while over his pants, never any hesitation or awkwardness, and then, she unbuttoned his jeans and let him lean back as she stroked him; he noted the immediate difference in her experience. She'd gone from awkwardly fumbling and slightly wincing at the thought of touching him to boldly gripping him, using her thumb to massage the head.
Thoughts of everything went out the window when she got onto her knees. He'd hidden a supply of the cherry condoms in her room behind the mirror on her dresser the day before, then messaged her the location. She hadn't forgotten about it either, she had them with her.
He almost lost his mind before she'd even gotten one on him, anticipation and anxiety pulling him in the direction of orgasm. He resisted, desperate to hold off, the last thing he needed to be here was quick. A wife didn't go to the trouble of lighting candles in a romantic secluded cave for any sexual act to be brief and disappointing.
Remy never usually had a hard time with maintaining focus receiving oral sex, usually it was never a problem. He didn't know what exactly it was, if it was the smell of the cherry candle (had she picked it deliberately to put the thought of those condoms in his mind before she'd even touched him?), was it her new experience, or was it just her confidence? He had to close his eyes, resist the urge to look at her, knowing watching would make the pleasure spill far too quickly.
Everything she did was perfect; too perfect to resist the release for too long. His moans echoed over the cave, bouncing from wall to wall; it was odd how he hadn't realised how ridiculous he sounded during orgasm until he heard his voice bouncing back at him.
If his wife was disappointed about his fast climax, she did not complain, nor did she seem remotely bothered about it. She stroked his thighs gently, looking up at him, her eyes soft and reflecting the candle light. Rogue had never looked so beautiful and so strangely grown up. Gently, he brushed her hair from her cheek, he felt a little giddy from the fumes of the candles and the poor quality of the air in the cave.
"Better now?" she asked tenderly.
"What y' mean better?" He tore the condom off and threw it aside, kicking sand over it whilst putting himself away.
"You...said you needed this..." she said pointedly, she shifted her position on the sand, resting on her hip a little.
I said that? He wondered. When had he said that? He couldn't remember saying it...he was certain he'd said he wanted to talk to her. He moved down to join her on the sandy ground, supposing that he should repay the favour, he gently caressed her thigh, turning to look at her.
"It's not about that," she said softly, catching his hand.
"What's it about then?" he asked, brow furrowing a little curiously.
"You..." she said softly. "Sometimes Ah feel like...Ah don't know," she shook her head, "like you don't...really enjoy it when we screw around."
"I do," he said.
"You never made sounds like that before..." she met his eye.
"Y' never gave me head b' fore..." he pointed out.
She turned her head and started giggling nervously, she put a hand to her mouth and stifled it.
"Y' think that's funny?"
Rogue stifled more giggles, as grown up as she had looked, there was still an immature teenager stuck in there somewhere he realised. He was almost amused by it too, and for a moment, all the problems in the world seemed to spill from his shoulders just as sand he was picking up absently spilled from his open palm. That strange, silly, moment of lightness, of her laughing nervously, finding it almost hysterical that she'd done something like this...it lightened his heart in ways he was sure not much else would have.
"I don' see wha's so funny about a blowjob..." he continued, because for that moment, it was easier to press the moment and the humour in it than it was to take it away by talking about what he'd come to talk about.
Rogue stifled a proper laugh this time, her eyes slightly watering.
"It's a pretty serious thing, y' know...suckin' a husband off..." he tried again.
She burst out laughing, he didn't find it that hilarious and he supposed it was just nerves perhaps, that she'd been putting on too much bravado and it had finally collapsed, but her laughter left his heart feeling many tons lighter.
"Sorry," she managed, "it's just..." she shook her head, she couldn't even finish the sentence.
"I still feel bad, y' know."
"Huh?" she asked, turning to look at him, she wiped a tear of laughter from her face.
"That I can't cherry flip y'."
"Cherry flip?" she repeated blankly.
"Y' never heard that expression?" he asked.
"No...what the fuck is that? Is that some kind of term for havin' sex without a condom?"
"When y' fuck someone f' the first time, y' pop their cherry," he reminded, "y'...cherry flip someone y'..."
"Oh..." her cheeks went a little red.
"Eat them out," he finished.
She winced, "God Ah hate that expression..."
"Y' wouldn' hate the act though..." he danced his fingers up her leg.
"Ah told you, it's all about you," she stopped his hand again.
"Where y' learn t' do those things? Y' jerk me off like a woman who knew what she was doin' even before y' got y' mouth on me..."
"It ain't rocket science," she responded uneasily.
"No...but there's a difference between instinct and technique...and...y' knew a lot of technique f' someone so...so..." he tried to look for the word, "innocent..."
"Ah'm not innocent," she reminded.
"No?" he asked, and just like that, there was a strange suspicion. Where had she learned those things. "So where y' learn it?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Jus' curious..."
"Isn't the fact it was good enough?" she asked, "You enjoyed it."
"I did. It was spectacular, I was real impressed. I'm jus' curious t' why y' was so good is all..."
"What are you suggesting?" she pulled away from him suddenly and stood up, "Are you tryin' to insinuate-?"
"I'm not insinuatin' anythin'," he replied quickly. All the while it suddenly went through his brain, what if she had been with someone else, practising, what if she'd known those things all along and had simply played him for a fool pretending to be the virgin?
"You're tryin' to insinuate that Ah've fooled around! With other people!"
"I never!" he frowned, "I'm jus' curious how a girl goes from knowin' nothin' 'bout sex t' knowin' stuff that dedicated t' the job prostitutes ain' even that good at."
Rogue shook her head at him, eyes flickering with anger, "You are despicable, you know that?"
"I'm just...I don't understand how, Rogue. If there's nothin' shady about it, then y' would admit it...I'm y' husband!"
"Ah looked at fucking porn, okay?!" she spat at him.
It wasn't quite the answer he'd been expecting.
"Ah saw a website on Kurt's computer, Ah remembered the name, Ah loaded it on my phone and Ah watched it...Ah watched about a hundred blow job videos tryin' to pick up tips on how to make you happy! You asshole..." she turned began heading for the slope up to the exit tunnel of the cave.
Fuck, Remy thought at himself angrily. She was pretty much on the money when she'd accused him of being despicable. It wasn't exactly an unlikely scenario that she might look at videos to try and get tips, was it?
Quickly, he pushed himself up and went after her, "chere...stop, I'm sorry..." he caught her wrist.
"Let me go, prick," Rogue spat at him.
He pulled her back, "No...c' mon...I'm jus'...y' surprised me is all..."
"Yeah, that was supposed to be the idea!" she yanked her wrist from his hand, "except as usual you have to turn everything around and make it into a drama!" she pushed his chest hard. "That's all you ever do!"
"Stop it. Y' over reactin'."
"Ah'm over reactin'?" she gasped. "You just accused me—"
"I never accused y'-"
"You accused me of bein' with someone else!" she pushed him harder, he stumbled a little. To try and get the situation under control he took a hold of her wrists and pushed her against the wall of the cave.
"Calm down," he warned. "I'm sorry..." he said quietly, "I'm jus'...not used t' people goin' t' lengths t' impress me...usually my relationships don' last longer than one night in a motel room..." he reminded.
Rogue looked away from him, her breath was shuddering, her eyes reflected the flickering erratic candlelight and it just made her look even angrier. She was beautiful and incredibly sexy like that; the blood pounding through him, pulses of frustration and anger of being caught up in the argument, his blood boiled under his skin with humiliation and stupidity and it all seemed to flow right to where it needed to be at that moment, especially when he looked down to her see-through blouse which he realised she'd worn for him. It was one of the ones he'd bought her, and it was far more sheer than he'd realised, especially without a tank top beneath it.
"Y' sexy when y' mad," he breathed, trying to turn it around, trying to make it okay.
"Don't," she muttered, "it's not funny any more."
"I know it's not..." he leaned near her ear and hotly breathed the words onto the top, he used his knee to nudge her legs apart and he brought his hand up between her legs.
"Don't, you don't get off that easy," she warned him in a little gasp.
"I do wit' you around..." he teased.
"No, Remy," she said angrily.
"Y' gon' let her dictate t' y' when y' can and can't have y' way?"
Remy froze, his face close to Rogue's ear, her head turned from him. He knew the voice, and it was not hers. He had not heard that voice in two months. Not since...
Not since the last time Jean-Luc were alive, he trembled. His mind was almost numb with terror. It had a voice. The ghost...Jean-Luc...now it had a voice. It echoed through the cave, bouncing from wall to wall back at him, finishing in a strange little hiss.
"I brought y' up t' be a man, Remy, and a man take what he want when he want it. You gon' stand there and let her decide?"
Remy closed his eyes tightly. Shut up, he thought.
"You can't just apologise and think a little touchy-feely is going to make it okay," Rogue breathed, oblivious to Jean-Luc and clearly uncomfortable by the pressure of his hand between her legs.
"Don' take her bullshit, her rules! Y' the man! Y' married her didn' y'? Y' think a wife is there t' give orders? A wife is there t' take them! T' serve y'."
Wincing, Remy thought, That's what a wife is t' you, not t' me.
"Take her now!"
It almost seemed like involuntary, the way his hand was moving against her, other hand holding her wrists against the wall hard, he heard her tiny gasp.
"Stop...you don't get to make it all right with...ohhhh..." she tried, and lost herself in a moan.
"Turn her around, Remy, give her it real hard, right deep...right in that tight ass..."
He winced again. No! I tol' her I'd never do that t' her!
"Stop bein' a fuckin' wimp and fuck her! Don' take no for an answer, y' make the rules, not her. What she want don' matter...what you want does," Jean-Luc egged him on.
NO! Remy thought at him desperately, hand still moving, Rogue still gasping. And somehow even without trying, he managed to twist her around against the wall, she moved almost willingly, his arm around her, hand rubbing furiously, her lithe body writhing against it for all it was worth, cheek pressed against the wall. His erection pressed against her backside and for a moment it was un-utterably tempting to take what he wanted, he ground against her, it was hard to be able to help himself, especially when she was moving with him.
"Take her now! Fuck her hard and make it hurt, make her scream...show her who the fuckin' boss here is!"
Remy wasn't sure how he found the strength, one moment he'd felt almost like he was being manipulated, controlled, as if his actions were not his own. And then, the control returned, he pulled away swiftly from her, yelling out "NO!"
Rogue turned around, blinking at him, her mouth gaping wide.
He was shuddering, it felt as if his breath were getting caught somewhere in his stomach and coming out in stages, snagging on fear along the way.
"I...I..." he stammered, "I..."
"Remy...what...?"
"I think y' right..." he managed weakly, he was breathless from the effort of trying to get himself together, "I...I need t' give a better apology than that..."
Confused, she gazed at him, "But...it...was...fine..." she tried. Her words might have been refusing the advance, but certainly her body hadn't. She'd been too receptive and he was all too aware that if he had continued, it would have gone further.
What if he made me do what he tol' me? What if I...Oh god, Remy's head pounded at the thought of hurting her like that, everything in him, arousal and yearning seemed to go cold with numbing fear.
"No..." he said again, he straightened himself, "I'll make it up t' y' the right way...wit'...wit' a real date...y' can say whatever y' want about it, make up bullshit excuses, I don' care...but I'll take y' somewhere special...jus' me and you...and y' can do whatever y' want and have whatever y' want...I'll take y' shoppin' f' diamonds if y' want...or a car...I'll take y' t' Paris...or...Venice, wherever y' like..." he stepped back, the thought of being so close to her right now was chilling him.
"But..." she stared at him, completely dumbfounded by the behaviour.
Remy rubbed his head, it was pounding with all of this, "these...these candles are givin' me a splittin' head, chere...can't think straight in here...I need air...I'm...gon' head out...if we both come back t' gether they gon' suspect, right?"
"Yeah," she nodded, agreeing.
"I...I see y' at home..." he didn't even dare touch her, to stroke her hair or touch her arm gently, "I...I love y'."
He felt Rogue's hesitation, that she knew something was wrong but he couldn't elaborate it. He left through the cave quickly, stupidly forgetting his flash light and having to get through the cave in pitch darkness. By the time he got out, the sun had nearly set, the sky was a deep shade of red. He climbed the staircase, feeling weary and foolish and terrified out of his mind.
Just as he had gotten to the top of the staircase back up to the estate, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he checked it. It was from Rogue. The message read: Remy, are you okay? You didn't even take the flash light? Is everything all right?
He paused, trying to think straight, he had no excuse. He couldn't explain the truth, that he was scared he would take advantage of her, that he would hurt her in the same ways his adoptive father had hurt him. Instead he gave the most ridiculous and humiliating excuse he could.
Sorry, chere...came in my pants...had to move fast before it soaks through and someone sees.
If she doubted the excuse, she did not reply to say so. As he got into the foyer, Jean-Luc was waiting there for him, smirking smugly, leaning against the newel post.
"Fuck you," Remy muttered at the bastard, before passing by him.
"Y' been there, done that, son. Couldn' do it t' her though, coul' y'? Y' know why? 'cause y' weak! Y' always been weak!"
Remy stopped in the middle of the stairs, "I'm not weak!" he hissed.
"Ain' y'?" laughed Jean-Luc. "Barely had it in y' t' walk away from that whore..."
"She's not a whore," Remy protested coldly.
"Ain' she? She been up in that clawed one's bedroom at night, suckin' on him like a popsicle, bent over and lettin' him take her the way a man does while y' sit in y' room like a lil' boy waitin' t' be tucked in at night. Y' bein' played f' a fool, bein' made t' pretend y' someone y' not t' please the bitch while she suit herself...y' nothin' but a pathetic fool...y' always were easy t' manipulate."
"Shut up!" Remy cried at the ghost.
The ghost silenced itself at command, and Remy stood there halfway up the stairs ; he was almost afraid to turn around. When he turned, Jean-Luc was gone. Not only a moment later, and Bobby came from the direction of the kitchen, a large bag of chips in his hand, he was still chewing.
"Did you just yell shut up?" Bobby asked, looking a little perplexed.
"Yeah, I..." Remy, remembering the phone he still had in his hand, raised it, "I...had an argument wit' the insurance people..." he lied quickly. That was plausible, wasn't it? It was likely?
Bobby laughed strangely, "you yell them out?"
"Yeah..." Remy looked down at the phone, he was sure his cheeks were burning with anger, with humiliation of being overheard.
"Was it about your car crash?"
"Yeah," Remy lied, "they don' wan' pay out the insurance even though I had full coverage."
"Serious?"
He kept building the lie, to make it easier, to try and hide his frustration, "they under the impression the car can be fixed...it was totalled...it in a junk yard waitin' t' be turned into soda cans or somethin' – I don't know what happens t' a car once it's wrecked. They said they want me t' pay an excess of four grand f' repairs and they'll pay the rest...so...yeah, I...yelled."
"I don't blame you," said Bobby, "but I mean, it's no huge thing right?"
Remy raised an eyebrow at him.
"Everyone says you're super rich and everything. You bought Tabby those clothes...you took us all out to the movies and stuff. You can probably afford a new car...I mean, you must have a few dollars."
"Yeah, I got a few..." Remy said quietly, he slipped his hand into his pocket, remembering he a twenty dollar bill in his pocket from the day before. "Here's twenty," he held it towards the boy.
Bobby reached out for the twenty, his expression quite unsure, he was suspicious of this. "Forrrrrr...?" he asked.
"F' y' discretion about me losin' it t' a lady on the phone...ain' very gentlemanly, don' want that kind o' thing gettin' around," Remy lied.
"Yeah..." Bobby supposed, looking down at the twenty, "they kind of frown upon rudeness and yelling in this house..."
Remy continued, "y' manage t' keep y' yap shut, I give y' a hundred at the end of the month, but only when I know y' kept y' word. Deal?"
"Deal!" Bobby agreed, a happy mile plastered upon his face as he stuffed the twenty into his pocket.
Remy watched the boy walk off, he sighed quietly and decided against going upstairs, afraid Jean-Luc might be waiting up there for him.
END OF PART TWENTY-ONE
Slightly startling, Jean-Luc finally having a voice. Sure no one expected it to be then, or for Remy to feel controlled by it. Hopefully no one was too offended or upset by it (I nearly cut the scene entirely but just couldn't somehow). Seems like Jean-Luc is getting stronger, doesn't it? Probably disturbingly so.
Thanks to all, as always for the super awesome reviews. I agree, Tabby is a little "stalkerish" at times – she certainly shouldn't be so invested in a boy she knows is in love with and MARRIED to another woman. A few pointed out to me that Tabitha in this story is basically the alternative to Wanda or Rowan from the "Magnetic Attraction" trilogy, and perhaps in some ways she may be, but there's a vast difference between the other two women and Tabitha, and later in the story a few people may find themselves shifting camps on occasion, lol.
I'm sure a few might hate that Remy told Tabitha about the ghost BEFORE he told Rogue, but Rogue did turn him away. Whose fault is it that Remy told Tabitha about it, really? Is it Rogue's fault for turning him away because she didn't ascertain what it was exactly he did want? Is it Tabitha's fault for always being there even when she knows Remy isn't hers? Orrrr is it Remy's fault for not being clear enough on what he needed? Or perhaps it's the ghost's fault for just being there right at that moment. It's hard to know, sometimes, lol.
Anyway, I'm off to do my daily 300 cals on my exercise bike and play a bit of Far Cry 4 while hopefully the rest of you are having more interesting days than I am! Hope you're all having a great Tuesday, and I thank in advance for any reviews or thoughts you may throw out. Next chapter upload should hopefully be the weekend. Have a great week all. :)