Counting
He had left a long time ago, a few weeks, a few months. A few months and a few weeks, she don't know how long exactly, because after a while, she got tired of counting. Counting the days, hours, minutes and seconds that she promised herself she wouldn't. Always fumbling with the tag he left behind, the pieces of him in her mind, and the memories of her own about him.
Repeat.
Repeat.
The nightmares whispered to her in the night, about things she knew, didn't know, and didn't want to know. The voices were always unfamiliar, ever changing, never stable and the secrets always haunting, hurting. The provoked her to stand up, be strong, to fight, and to not scream. Instead, she woke up gasping in vain and reaching for hands that were not there.
Always.
Always.
The others were not to be disturbed from their sleep, she made sure of that. She waited until they slept each night before she went to her own slumber. Some nights it was easier, some nights she wanted to curl up and die on the inside, because she knew they only wanted her alive on the outside.
And she would stop, because she would recognize at one point or another that these weren't her thoughts. These weren't her thinkings, and this was not her. Inside her head she could faintly recall Cody, shifting like a shadow in the night, Logon prowling around aggressively marking his territory, and Eric who would look at her with eyes soft and hard at the same time while he promised her safety for everyone she had come to care about but had to die for it.
Small things began to change about her, but no one in the mansion noticed, because they did not know her before. Tiny things that meant nothing as they watched her perform them, yet in the end amassed to change her. For better or for worse was still unclear.
The mansion was lively, the school was bright with laughter, and the days shone with happiness, and she felt alienated. This didn't feel familiar; these weren't the days she had traveled up from the States to Canada hitching rides from stranger to stranger. These weren't the days she had felt fear and loneliness on the road. No these were the days where she bumped shoulders in the hallways with stranger to stranger, but these strangers were worse because they flinched away and stared. These were the days she felt fear and loneliness inside a crowd, excluded from everyone because they were the same, yet she was special.
The scenery outside her window always looked different from the other rooms, the snow collected on the outside sill, like it was an abandoned place. The window was hers, she claimed it one day, and no one had ever wanted to go back to it again. Now she stared out to the white-blanketed world, hand pressed to the frosted plane and wondered alone, if she was going to ever escape.
If she was ever going to be free.
She was like a bird born deformed from birth. Like a penguin, never to know what it was to fly like many of her kind, and the wings she did have, were too twisted up for her to swim. The price of life, paid in suffering.
" Rogue." The voice was soft, hesitant and isolated in the silence.
She turned from the window to look at him, and looked away. " Bobby."
" Yeah," he affirmed unnecessarily and nervously, " How you doing?"
She didn't bother to ask him why he was in one of the girls' rooms. " Fine."
He twisted his hands together, " Lunch has started. The guys wanted me to tell you to come down."
" I'll be down later." She looked out the window again. Snow still fell like time did not matter.
" That what you said yesterday," he told her softly.
She shrugged, but didn't answer him. She had gone down for yesterday's lunch, but only when it had been 4pm and everyone else was gone from the kitchen. Company was something she craved, but unable to adapt to. People and they way they cared for her; she hadn't played by the rules for a long time.
" I'll go down when I'm hungry."
He sat down on one of the beds, staring at her turned back and petite frame curled up to the window. " I'll wait with you."
She wished he wouldn't, he had been showing how much he cared more often – whish was way too much. He shouldn't be attached to her like this; she wouldn't be able to help him. She could only hurt him; she was not made to heal.
" So…waiting for something?" he asked. Wondering, hating the way she always stared out the snow frosted window to look at the horizon, like she was waiting for something that was coming, but would never make it on time.
" No."
Or someone. His hands clutched at the thought. " Logon's been gone for a long time." He watched her for a sign of response, any one, but got none.
" Maybe." She had stopped counting the days.
" Wonder when he'll be back?"
" I don't know." And had started to not care.
" Rogue."
She turned again to her name, looked on as he got up from the bed and slowly reached out his hand towards her. His blue eyes tried to stare into hers. She looked at the outstretched hand and did not remember who had been the last one to offer such a gesture to her. The face and hand in her mind did not look familiar at all.
" Let's go to lunch." The hand reached towards her, and she let herself to pulled up from her seating place.
They walked down the hall towards the dining area with soft, steady strides. The silence was not intolerable and he did not let go of her gloved fingers grasped gently in his. He looked towards the end of the hall, and she gazed forward.
" How long had Logon been gone?"
" Two months." Three weeks, and eighteen hours.
His griped tightened, but she told herself she did not notice. " Really."
" I don't know."
She had stopped counting.
***End***
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