Tribulations

Summary: Logan/Marie pairing, (come on, what else is there to write about? :P ) and song fic.

A jaded Marie tries to come to terms with the horrific details of her life. Logan comes out of his shell and tries to be sympathetic and understanding.

Rating: R for dark themes.

Feedback: Please, I thrive on feedback!

Jaina64@yahoo.com

Archive: Don't care as long as you ask first.

Disclaimers: I do not own these characters, so you better not sue.

Please read before continuing: My first Logan/Marie story, "My Marie", was also dark. If you read it, you may find yourself asking "Why are you writing another dark fic?" Simple: The plot for "My Marie" was based on the real events of my life. It helped me deal with some of the pain and I found it to be a great outlet because I had to deal with the issues of incest and rape. Even though my stories may contain the same subject, they are not connected to each other. I am just simply telling my life through the eyes of Marie. I used Tori Amos' song "Cornflake Girl" because I am a big Tori Amos fan and I think this song fits Marie.

I hope you enjoy the story.

--Jessyca

Cornflake Girl -Tori Amos - Album:Under The Pink

Never was a cornflake girl

thought that was a good solution

hangin' with the raisin girls

she's gone to the other side

givin' us a yo heave ho

things are getting kind of gross

and I go at sleepy time

this is not really happening

you bet your life it is

Peel out the watchword

just peel out the watchword

She knows what's goin' on

seems we got a cheaper feel now all the sweeteaze are gone

gone to the other side with my encyclopedia

they musta paid her a nice price

she's puttin' on her string bean love

this is not really happening

you bet your life it is

Rabbit where'd you put the keys girl

and the man with the golden gun

thinks he know so much thinks he knows so much

Rabbit where'd you put the keys girl





Chapter One



Growing up, I had a typical childhood. I had a mother and a father who loved me and I also had an older brother who loved me. My parents tried to raise us the best they could, but somewhere, along the way, my older brother lost his path in life. He was getting high on every drug he could get his filthy hands on and he like to mix it with alcohol. Every night, after a partying, he would come home loaded, with my father waiting for him in the living room. My mother was too heartbroken to confront him, so she laid in bed crying, sobbing and praying to God, asking him to set everything straight.

After fighting with my father, my brother would come upstairs to his room, leaving my father punching holes in the walls downstairs. He wouldn't stay in his room for long. Most of the time, after arguing, my father would sleep on the couch, too exhausted to make the climb of stairs back to my parents room.

This gave my brother the opportunity to succeed with his plans.

Every night, I knew when my brother was coming into my room. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and the stink coming from his unwashed flesh. Being so young and so scared, he knew that I did not know how to handle such situations. I guess he used this to his advantage.

Some nights, I can still feel his cold hand covering my mouth, telling me not to tell anyone or he would hurt Mom and Dad. Being so petrified of what was happening and for what he might do to my parents, I let him assault me. I remember my body shaking from his touch and from fear. As he proceed to push up my nightgown, push the crotch of my underwear aside and insert himself in me, tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to scream! He never would allow me to look at him. Sometimes he would place the pillow over my eyes, other times I would just be too frightened to open my eyes. I should have been use to the pain, it happened almost night after night.

Afterwards, he would just simply leave. I would lay there in shock, my body aching all over.

I was scared to fall asleep because I was fearful that he would return. Eventually I would sleep, curling myself up in the fetal position, trying to shield my body from the cold.

Every week I would change the sheets on my bed so my parents wouldn't discover my secret. Giving the excuse to my Mom that I wanted to show more responsibility that I was growing up, I began to wash my own sheets. She was so proud of me, her little girl trying to be more helpful around the house.

This continued for a couple of years, until he moved far away. He never told anybody where he was going or why he decided to leave, but I was relived all the same.

There was very little contact between him and my parents. I could care less to talk to him or see him. I know you are suppose to love your family, but I hated my brother, as much as you could hate your worst enemy.

As I grew up, I did it the best way I knew how. Trying to figure out why my brother would want to hurt me in the manner he did. Most of the time, I just tried to forget about it. I tried to progress on. I went to school, made friends and lived my life.

I never spoke of it to anyone. To be honest, I always thought I was the only person this had happen to. I just wanted to let the past stay in the past.

When I look back on those events, I wonder to myself why my mutation didn't show up when I was smaller. My guess is that my body had not started to go through puberty. Just every once in a while I wished I was one of those girls who developed early.

Talk about a typical childhood.



To Be Continued