Wow. I've been meaning to post this since I wrote it two months ago. And finally, thanks to some prompting of an unnamed author, here it is. (After one final edit run.) Um... I have no idea what I feel like including here. It's late and I'm tired and the only thing I can think of is a disclaimer.
DISCLAIMER
This is the wonderful disclaimer. I own nothing. I'm broke. And that is all I have to say.
Oh... and the whole rating thing is very hard for me, so if I got the rating of this story wrong.. lemme know and I'll fix it.
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Unfeeling
I was sitting in me and Kitty's room when Jean came in. God I hated her. She could never understand me. She could probe my head forever and never know. She never had to go through what I did. Even in discovering her powers she had it easy. Xavier just showed up at her door and she smoothly transitioned to the Institute. I had to discover them the hard way. My life has always been a struggle for me, in everything I do, while she breezes through life enjoying every moment. Nothing comes with any effort for her. And she could never understand how hard life is for me.
Only sleep comes easily to me. Just empty nothingness. But from the moment I open my eyes each morning, to the instant I drift into sleep, I'm fighting myself and the world. My life is a battlefield. Bloody and cold and heartless. Jean's life is more like sipping hot cocoa in a warm living room by the fire on a snowy day. There's no way she could comprehend the fear and horror each minute brings me. Because even if she can read my thoughts, she can't experience that.
Jean is perfect. Nothing goes wrong for her. Ever. My mind is telling me, 'that's not true' in her mocking voice. But it is. And just by coming in to comfort me about it, she managed to rub it all in my face.
She came up to me and gently put her hand on my shoulder, protected by thin green material, as I sat on my bed, arms clutched about my knees. I shrugged her hand off, uncomfortable with her touch. If I could really touch her, it would be different. But then, if I could do that, I wouldn't be here in the first place. I never wanted to be here. Being with others who are 'like me' is torture. 'Cause they're not. Despite all their suffering, they can have normal lives. They aren't stuck in the middle of society without being able to touch anything. With no effect at all.
Even though I can't read minds, it's like I can hear Jean's thoughts. That's what I get for offering to help her out by touching her and draining some of her power when there was too much for her to handle. I didn't absorb most of her personality, thank God, but I understand her much better than she ever will me. And worst of all from that experience, other than what happened with Scott, I'm the only one of us two who remembers the turmoil Jean's mind was going through. It was worse than any nightmare, even the ones that are memories. It was pure terror. I still remember each detail in perfect clarity.
My disgust must have been obvious on my face when she reacted exactly as I knew she would. Offense. Offended that I didn't want to be touched. I think it surprised her that I didn't want the one thing I couldn't have. She really knew nothing of me. It wasn't that I didn't or don't want touch. I want it more than anything. I just didn't want it from her. She's the last person in the world I want to console me. As I said, she couldn't grasp the world I live in. I'm untouchable. I didn't and still don't care how much it shocked her.
I hated her. I couldn't stand having her there in my room, invading my space like I needed her help. She never knew when to just leave people alone. And that's what I wanted. To be alone. Yes, to huddle in my own misery. Jean just couldn't have that. No such thing as depression for anyone in her life. She had to 'fix' me or something.
There were times I would have cried. But ever since I started living at the Institute, with Jean around, I never did. Never yelled and screamed and released. So I let it build up instead. I was ready to explode. I might have yelled at her when she came in unwelcomed, but I just wanted to be silent and alone. And why shouldn't one who can't ever have contact with anyone, why shouldn't I want to be alone? It's bad enough knowing I can't grasp people, and infinitely worse to be surrounded with them, everywhere. So close I almost could reach out. And only feel them through a pair of gloves. My life's bad enough, I didn't want to deal with that kind of forced solitude right then. The worst things in life aren't so bad when you turn them from required obligation to a choice. A choice can be bearable. Optionless is always less appetizing.
I was a bundle of emotions. And cracking at the seams. I was ready to break down quietly and fade away or explode in my own little Chernobyl. I would have done anything to get her to leave and not return. But everyone else loved perfect Jean. So I sat stiffly as she set herself down next to me on my bed. She was close to me, but we weren't in contact. She was far over the boundary of my personal space, but I wouldn't break in front of her, so I said nothing.
She looked sideways at me and said, 'Rogue, I know something's been bothering you lately-' I cut her off there. "No Jean, Ah'm the happiest Ah've ever been," I told her sarcastically. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, trying in a pathetic attempt to curl up and disappear. Jean looked me full in the face and was met with a shield of pain and loneliness. 'You don't know how I feel,' I thought at her. 'So don't say that-' I didn't finish the thought, because she said it. Thinking she meant it, she said, 'I know how you feel.'
No one knows. So I looked right back, and told her, "Yes. You do. You know that feeling when Ah touch you, and start taking your powers?" She didn't respond, clearly expecting me to tell her how wrong she was. I was a bit surprised myself, and didn't show it. I continued. "That's how it feels to be me Jean. That's the pain Ah feel knowing Ah can't touch anyone without hurting them. Ah-" I stopped myself before my voice cracked. Then, swallowing, whispered, "You know exactly how it feels, and you still don't really know anything." And I know she heard me, but she pretended not to. Obviously didn't have an answer for that, did you Jean?
Jean was looking down at her hands. She bit her lip, and suddenly stated, 'I understand better than you think.' She always thought she understood. I never expected her to prove anything to me. 'You think it's hard being around people you can never touch. Do you know how it feels to know, not just by reasoning, but by actually hearing it, how people think of you? How no one likes you or... or...' her voice broke, even though she didn't cry. She was at least stronger than that.
She didn't prove anything to me. I thought for a second that maybe, just perhaps she knew how it felt. But she was just worried about her perfect image. How people think of her. I know what people think of me, without having to read their minds. She clearly never had that ability.
And she still didn't know how it felt. She never would. Jean, I hated you then and I hate you now. But now you're not a cause for grief. Not anymore. Not in the same way it always was. I won't be bothered by you. At least I'd proved myself wrong in one thing, Jean wasn't perfect. Not that it stopped me from hating her.
I turned to look at Jean, who was now looking away from me, holding herself in a tight hug. "Jean, d'you remember when you lost control?" I asked gently. She shook her head, but she remembered, and she knew exactly what I was talking about. "You remember what happened." It wasn't a question. "What would you have done, if you were in mah place?" It was tenderly asked. I really wanted to know, because even though I had Jean's memories of that day, I wasn't sure about this one thing. I waited. No need to rush her.
Slowly, in a halting voice, she answered. 'I guess the same thing you did.' Her resolve was weak.
I tried to sound flattered. I'd have rather rolled my eyes. "Really Jean? Thank you." She stood up quickly and looked into my eyes. 'No problem.' She wouldn't have. I could see her mouth trying to find words to say so, but she couldn't tell me that to my face. It didn't matter. I knew the answer. Another thing I'd been wrong about. She wouldn't have done the same for me. Not in a million years. Because Jean was unfeeling.
I smiled to myself as she left. I hated her to death. I'm sorry Scott. I'm really sorry. I'm especially sorry because I'm not sorry for her, I'm sorry for you.
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Okay, that was it. Hopefully if you made it through the whole three pages that this story takes up, you liked it. I would appreciate reviews... because I'm insecure (who isn't?). Umm.. I'm still tired. So... as of this moment... Goodnight.
Hmm... one last random thought: I actually like Evo Jean. She's... evil and cool. Go Jean! (Isn't it creepy when you start liking a character like that?)
DISCLAIMER
This is the wonderful disclaimer. I own nothing. I'm broke. And that is all I have to say.
Oh... and the whole rating thing is very hard for me, so if I got the rating of this story wrong.. lemme know and I'll fix it.
* * *
Unfeeling
I was sitting in me and Kitty's room when Jean came in. God I hated her. She could never understand me. She could probe my head forever and never know. She never had to go through what I did. Even in discovering her powers she had it easy. Xavier just showed up at her door and she smoothly transitioned to the Institute. I had to discover them the hard way. My life has always been a struggle for me, in everything I do, while she breezes through life enjoying every moment. Nothing comes with any effort for her. And she could never understand how hard life is for me.
Only sleep comes easily to me. Just empty nothingness. But from the moment I open my eyes each morning, to the instant I drift into sleep, I'm fighting myself and the world. My life is a battlefield. Bloody and cold and heartless. Jean's life is more like sipping hot cocoa in a warm living room by the fire on a snowy day. There's no way she could comprehend the fear and horror each minute brings me. Because even if she can read my thoughts, she can't experience that.
Jean is perfect. Nothing goes wrong for her. Ever. My mind is telling me, 'that's not true' in her mocking voice. But it is. And just by coming in to comfort me about it, she managed to rub it all in my face.
She came up to me and gently put her hand on my shoulder, protected by thin green material, as I sat on my bed, arms clutched about my knees. I shrugged her hand off, uncomfortable with her touch. If I could really touch her, it would be different. But then, if I could do that, I wouldn't be here in the first place. I never wanted to be here. Being with others who are 'like me' is torture. 'Cause they're not. Despite all their suffering, they can have normal lives. They aren't stuck in the middle of society without being able to touch anything. With no effect at all.
Even though I can't read minds, it's like I can hear Jean's thoughts. That's what I get for offering to help her out by touching her and draining some of her power when there was too much for her to handle. I didn't absorb most of her personality, thank God, but I understand her much better than she ever will me. And worst of all from that experience, other than what happened with Scott, I'm the only one of us two who remembers the turmoil Jean's mind was going through. It was worse than any nightmare, even the ones that are memories. It was pure terror. I still remember each detail in perfect clarity.
My disgust must have been obvious on my face when she reacted exactly as I knew she would. Offense. Offended that I didn't want to be touched. I think it surprised her that I didn't want the one thing I couldn't have. She really knew nothing of me. It wasn't that I didn't or don't want touch. I want it more than anything. I just didn't want it from her. She's the last person in the world I want to console me. As I said, she couldn't grasp the world I live in. I'm untouchable. I didn't and still don't care how much it shocked her.
I hated her. I couldn't stand having her there in my room, invading my space like I needed her help. She never knew when to just leave people alone. And that's what I wanted. To be alone. Yes, to huddle in my own misery. Jean just couldn't have that. No such thing as depression for anyone in her life. She had to 'fix' me or something.
There were times I would have cried. But ever since I started living at the Institute, with Jean around, I never did. Never yelled and screamed and released. So I let it build up instead. I was ready to explode. I might have yelled at her when she came in unwelcomed, but I just wanted to be silent and alone. And why shouldn't one who can't ever have contact with anyone, why shouldn't I want to be alone? It's bad enough knowing I can't grasp people, and infinitely worse to be surrounded with them, everywhere. So close I almost could reach out. And only feel them through a pair of gloves. My life's bad enough, I didn't want to deal with that kind of forced solitude right then. The worst things in life aren't so bad when you turn them from required obligation to a choice. A choice can be bearable. Optionless is always less appetizing.
I was a bundle of emotions. And cracking at the seams. I was ready to break down quietly and fade away or explode in my own little Chernobyl. I would have done anything to get her to leave and not return. But everyone else loved perfect Jean. So I sat stiffly as she set herself down next to me on my bed. She was close to me, but we weren't in contact. She was far over the boundary of my personal space, but I wouldn't break in front of her, so I said nothing.
She looked sideways at me and said, 'Rogue, I know something's been bothering you lately-' I cut her off there. "No Jean, Ah'm the happiest Ah've ever been," I told her sarcastically. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, trying in a pathetic attempt to curl up and disappear. Jean looked me full in the face and was met with a shield of pain and loneliness. 'You don't know how I feel,' I thought at her. 'So don't say that-' I didn't finish the thought, because she said it. Thinking she meant it, she said, 'I know how you feel.'
No one knows. So I looked right back, and told her, "Yes. You do. You know that feeling when Ah touch you, and start taking your powers?" She didn't respond, clearly expecting me to tell her how wrong she was. I was a bit surprised myself, and didn't show it. I continued. "That's how it feels to be me Jean. That's the pain Ah feel knowing Ah can't touch anyone without hurting them. Ah-" I stopped myself before my voice cracked. Then, swallowing, whispered, "You know exactly how it feels, and you still don't really know anything." And I know she heard me, but she pretended not to. Obviously didn't have an answer for that, did you Jean?
Jean was looking down at her hands. She bit her lip, and suddenly stated, 'I understand better than you think.' She always thought she understood. I never expected her to prove anything to me. 'You think it's hard being around people you can never touch. Do you know how it feels to know, not just by reasoning, but by actually hearing it, how people think of you? How no one likes you or... or...' her voice broke, even though she didn't cry. She was at least stronger than that.
She didn't prove anything to me. I thought for a second that maybe, just perhaps she knew how it felt. But she was just worried about her perfect image. How people think of her. I know what people think of me, without having to read their minds. She clearly never had that ability.
And she still didn't know how it felt. She never would. Jean, I hated you then and I hate you now. But now you're not a cause for grief. Not anymore. Not in the same way it always was. I won't be bothered by you. At least I'd proved myself wrong in one thing, Jean wasn't perfect. Not that it stopped me from hating her.
I turned to look at Jean, who was now looking away from me, holding herself in a tight hug. "Jean, d'you remember when you lost control?" I asked gently. She shook her head, but she remembered, and she knew exactly what I was talking about. "You remember what happened." It wasn't a question. "What would you have done, if you were in mah place?" It was tenderly asked. I really wanted to know, because even though I had Jean's memories of that day, I wasn't sure about this one thing. I waited. No need to rush her.
Slowly, in a halting voice, she answered. 'I guess the same thing you did.' Her resolve was weak.
I tried to sound flattered. I'd have rather rolled my eyes. "Really Jean? Thank you." She stood up quickly and looked into my eyes. 'No problem.' She wouldn't have. I could see her mouth trying to find words to say so, but she couldn't tell me that to my face. It didn't matter. I knew the answer. Another thing I'd been wrong about. She wouldn't have done the same for me. Not in a million years. Because Jean was unfeeling.
I smiled to myself as she left. I hated her to death. I'm sorry Scott. I'm really sorry. I'm especially sorry because I'm not sorry for her, I'm sorry for you.
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Okay, that was it. Hopefully if you made it through the whole three pages that this story takes up, you liked it. I would appreciate reviews... because I'm insecure (who isn't?). Umm.. I'm still tired. So... as of this moment... Goodnight.
Hmm... one last random thought: I actually like Evo Jean. She's... evil and cool. Go Jean! (Isn't it creepy when you start liking a character like that?)