Hi Everyone, sorry for the long absence. Having not just writers block but life block! Hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please follow and review :)
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Chapter 2
He wasn't gone as long as before. The leaves had disappeared, blown away and replaced by the first flurries of snow.
My cell rang, and he spoke four gruff words to me.
"You fancy a walk?"
That was all he said. He gave me just enough time to say okay before he hung up. I knew where. The highest natural point of the city. A hill not more than twenty minutes walk away.
Even with his back to me, I knew it was him. Silhouetted against the fading light, leaning back and looking up into the sky. The wind ruffling silently through his hair.
"Been a while, Kid. How're you?"
"Fine."
Kid. It was going to be Kid forever.
We used to come to this place all the time. It's the best view of the sunset over the city. The colours are vivid and violent against the greying haze of the buildings below. Orange and pink, purple bleeding into deep violet and finally black. I know it's caused by pollution, blatant and constant disregard of care. It's like the sky is crying out, slowly dying.
It holds the power to take my breath away every time. I think it goes to show. There is beauty in pain.
I steal a glance over at Logan. It's nice we could just sit like this. It's rare that people can understand the desire to sit in silence, the peace it can bring to your soul. The tranquility.
Silence can be healing. Logan taught me that.
We sat close, our thighs almost touching, legs dangling over the edge of the steep rise. He reached over and pulled me to him, his long arm draped over my neck. And he wasn't afraid I was going to drain the life force from him. Not afraid of the leach I had convinced myself I was. He made me feel wanted. Normal.
"I missed this."
I tried not to smile. The weight of his arm was heavy, comforting. I missed him too.
I wish he missed me in the same way. They say it's a stupid teenage crush, words like 'hero worship' and 'infatuation' are thrown around. They think I don't know what they say about me. They don't understand, they can never understand. Logan could be my only chance. The only one I'd ever let though my barriers.
I can't say I've never thought about it because it would be a lie. His intense gaze washing over me, liking what he sees. Strong hands, touching me. What it would feel like to have the weight of him settled over me. The gentle graze of his lips against mine.
The professor keeps going with my training because he feels sorry for me. He doesn't know that I know. The work he is doing, the control and mind-work can only delay the inevitable. It can't be stopped. Not a force as powerful as this. I won't ever be normal, do normal things. Not unless…
"Logan. Do you ever think about the cure?"
"Sometimes. It wouldn't work though. My body would fight it like an infection. It would be outta my systems before it even registers."
"Don't you think it could be work a shot?"
I felt him shrug beside me. He was basically indestructible, not that it stopped him from trying. Every time they get back from a mission, Logan's suit is basically in tatters. He goes in with abandon, not because of his concern for the cause, but because he didn't care what happened to him. At least he could touch though.
"I…No one understands, Logan. What it's like to live without touch. A hug, a handshake… a kiss."
He pulled back to look at me, his arm dropping away. I felt the cold wind rush up to take its place.
"Is that was this is about? Some boy?"
"No, not exactly. It's more than that. Everyday I watch people get on with their lives, wondering when mine is going to start. Nobody wants to come near me unless I'm covered from head to toe." It was true. I saw the look of panic in their eyes when they saw a the white slither of un-covered skin.
"You don't need to rely on other people for your happiness, kid. What do you think I've been doing my whole life."
"It's different for you. You have some semblance of a normal life. You don't have to worry about people not wanting to be around you. Not wanting to touch you." I knew he was getting plenty of that in and outside the mansion. I pushed the image of Jean away.
"I still have my own problems to deal with." He growled.
"Yeah, I know. At least you can hide the claws."
"You don't get it. Do you know how many nights I lay awake thinking it's going to be like this forever? Never-ending. In a couple of years, everyone I know will be dead. I'll live out my lifetime again and again and again. At least you can see the end."
"I didn't mean…"
"Do you feel like it's something you NEED to feel accepted?"
"I just thought…" I tried to hide my rapidly reddening face.
"Don't. You're perfect the way you are."
He sighed, lit a cigar that was stashed in his jacket pocket. I stared into the distance, not seeing anything but blackness and the indecently twinkling lights of the city below.
"You want to know what's even more fucked up. I wished for death so many times. Just to die like a normal human being. Turns out I'll get my wish in a couple more decades. The metal covering my bones is slowly killing me."
He took one last puff before grinding what was left of his cigar into the ground and stalking off into the night.
…
A couple hours later, after a bath and hot chocolate, I lay in bed thinking about what he said. I was, quote, 'perfect' the way I was. Did he not see the mess that was in front of him. Clearly he did or he wound't have the need to say it. What he thinks I need to hear.
It always left me wondering why he stopped the camper all that time ago. He must have thought there was something in me worth saving, the bedraggled little whelp I was. The wolverine was not one to take pity. He worked in facts.
A quiet knock disturbed my thoughts.
"It's me."
I cringed before opening the door, wishing I chose less babyish sleeping attire than my soft flannel pyjamas. The ones with ducks all over them.
"I just wanted to come.. uh.. say, you know.."
I raised my eyebrows at him. We both have that stubborn streak. An inability to say sorry. I can't remember if I had it before Liberty Island or not.
"I'm needed on a mission. Should be a simple in and out kinda thing. I wanted to let you know. So you don't worry."
I nodded.
"And I didn't want to leave without sorting this thing out."
Ah, there it is.
I looked up into his eyes. Green and still.
Then he stepped in closer, into my room. I was acutely aware of how tall he was, standing over me, legs touching mine. The leather of his suit cold though my pyjamas.
I tried to look away but his eyes have this kind of hypnotic pull that draws me in every time. A multitude of contradictions. Cool heat. Dangerous calm.
He leaned down, wrapping a hand around the back of my head, pressing his lips to my forehead. A few seconds. Not long enough for my skin to start pulling.
"I'll always want you around, Kid."
"Logan? Are you ready to go?" Behind him I see Jean standing in the hall, looking pretty as always. Even though her hair is pulled up in a ponytail and she isn't wearing any make up.
"I'll see you later."
With a shaky exhale, I mange to close the door, sinking back against it in frustration.
I tell myself I'm not going to cry. That it's pathetic to sit here crying over what I can't have. No matter what I tell myself, it's no use. I scrub my face with the back of my hand, wishing I could be less broken. Wishing I could be someone who could be like everyone else.
…
His unwelcome memories bubble up to the surface. Flashes of dark heat, carnal desire. The smell, the taste, the feel of her. Pheromones mixed like the deadliest drug. A habit that can't be kicked.
It's nights like this, when much needed sleep evades me, that my creativity peaks.
Dark swirls spiral out from the centre of the canvas, the dim light only casting enough glow to see in two-tone. I guess Logan would be able to tell all the colours apart like it was daylight. That's one part of his mutation that would come in useful. Unlike mine, which has no upside.
How could he possibly think he understands what it's like not being able to touch. I couldn't even take change from the cashier at the gas station without gloves on.
All the things I wanted, a boyfriend, a husband, someday a family of my own, seemed pretty impossible without being able to touch them.
At least you can see the end.
What the fuck was that about?
I flick on another lamp so I don't have to blindly fumble around the paint box for another brush. The canvas is streaked with dark green, the exact color of the fir trees outside my window. In daylight of course. Right now they are an indistinguishable hulking black mass.
It's almost five am and I've gotten a grand total of zero hours sleep. So maybe I'm worried about him. For the whole team, of course, but specifically Logan.
I know he can take care of himself. I know he can basically heal from anything. It's his stupid head I'm worried about. He'll get the idea he can take on more than anyone else, dive in without back up. What if they manage to capture him? Lock him up somewhere he can't escape from.
Green tinged images fill my vision. Deep tanks filled with cold water. Shackles. Needles. The feeling of the water pressing heavily down on my chest. Desperately grasping for air as the first sharp stab from the needle burrows into my bone.
The end of the paintbrush I didn't realise was in my mouth splinters and I had to go into the bathroom to wash dried-up paint flakes from my mouth.
He'd be fine. And although I know he will be, it's still hard to stop worrying.
I stayed scouted out on my window ledge until the first rays of dawn come seeping over the horizon and the tell-tale creek of the loose floorboard through the wall allows me my first breath in what seems like hours.
I had to check he was okay. Only a peek, then I could relax and maybe finally get some sleep.
He lay on his front, sheet pulled over the bottom half of his naked body. The smooth caramel skin of his back was unmarked. Perfect. Not a scratch on him.
He groaned in his sleep, pulled a hand out from under the pillow. The knuckles were crusted with dried blood.
I crept back towards the door, avoiding the loose floorboard and stepping back over his uniform, which was sprawled over the carpet like he shed it on his way to the bed. He probably did.
"M'rie?"
I spun back around. Did he just mutter his name in his sleep?
He'd rolled over, one eye open, too exhausted to lift his head. I felt my face go hot. The fact I thought he could be dreaming about me is stupid. Or that I hoped? I don't know if that makes me desperately sad or sadly desperate. Is there even a difference?
"Hey. Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just tired." His voice was cracked, raw sounding.
"Can't sleep?"
He shook his head into the pillow, mumbled something indistinguishable.
I went to the bathroom, run a washcloth under the hot tap. Wiped the grime from his hands and under his fingernails. When I was done the washcloth was stained a muddy red.
The ghost of a smile cracked over his lips.
"You're too good to me."
Somehow I knew that already. I watched everyday as he chased after a woman who didn't return his affection. I dealt with his bad moods and cleaned up his messes. I knew he appreciated me. But it wasn't going to be enough forever. I already wanted more.
I stood to leave but his hand bolted out to catch my wrist. Skin on skin.
"Stay with me a while?" He gently pulled me down to the bed, dragging the sheet up between us to create a thin barrier. His arms wrapped themselves around me, his face buried in my hair. And a minute later he was asleep.