Snow in April: A Wedding Story
By: Ariesque
Genre: Humor/Drama
Ratings: PG to PG-13 whether there is language or not
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men characters and Bayville places Evo focuses on in its show. Everything else belongs to me.
Author's Notes: There's a lot of things I'm not sure about in this story. There are parts where Remy goes into counseling (and rehab) and since I've never been in a place like that, I can only write what I think it's about. And some details of smoking, drinking, gambling. Explaining the title. And never in my life experiencing any of such, I still can only write what I think it's about.
Chapter Eleven: The Problem(s) with Remy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
February 6, 2003 5:22 p.m., in my shared room before dinner
Certain mail came today. Logan got it, as a daily ritual. Take, smell, give. He always knows what each one is about, like last week, he smelled a plain letter and said, quite frankly, "Jean, it's from Visa. Your payments are due."
Yes, Logan, is very good at such.
Today, he handed Jean a letter, and said, "It's from your parents." Then he gave Remy, who was drinking a glass of water (why not wine I ask), a sharp glance and disappeared into the kitchen.
Propping her feet on the coffee table (Xavier hates that), Jean split the seal and hurriedly took out the paper inside. "Honey --" she looked over, motioning Remy to sit next to her, "come here."
He complied like an obedient dog and took a seat next to her, his arm coming over her shoulders affectionately. She wriggled from his position shyly and gave him a hard look. I was watching all this while "reading" Stephen King's 'Carrie' (for the fifteenth time that week) and smiled to myself about how hostile she was with Remy's touch. Pushing the book up against my wrists, I listened for more of the interesting conversation.
"My parents..." Right away Remy's eyes hardened. It was enough to crack up. "...they want to meet you." Almost instantly, Remy jumped up, his arms flying everywhere.
"What-- why? I thought you were gonna keep 'em out o' dis!"
Jean stood up with him, her hands finding his shoulders. "I know. But I guess my sister slipped..."
"Oh, now it's your sister!" Jean's eyes filled with tears. Remy looked at her hurt and his face softened. That killed me.
"Fine." There was a tone of reluctance in his voice and I smiled again at such. Jean's face prepped once more, shining.
"Thank you honey." She pecked him meekly on the cheek and lifted his glass to her lips. Remy stared at her, horrified.
"Uh, I wouldn do thet..." Her face suddenly became distorted, clicking to the taste. She spit the liquid out all over the coffee table without delay.
"What IS that?!" she screamed, giving Remy a face of disbelief.
"Distilled Vodka," Remy said, with an innocent smile. Jean shook her head, incredulously. Taking the drink, she splashed it into his face, and walked past him, leaving the room.
Dripping of impudence and smelling of alcohol, Remy stood like a fool as I got up and said over his shoulder, "A complete waste of Vodka." Then left.
This could get pretty interesting.
February 7, 2003 2:23 p.m., waiting for someone to pick me up
Oh, and it did. I just saw Remy walking out of the double doors, quickly. He has an appointment -- with the rehab counselor! Can it be? Is Jean...making Remy stop drinking??? Is that even possible???
Gossip is abound; the world would like to know.
February 8, 2003 6:23 p.m.
Remy's second session with the rehab counselor. This time he went with Jean because he was being a pain, asking when would the session be over again and again (it takes two hours a day).
Will his rehab be dramatic like Backstreet Boy AJ, or on and off like Logan? Jean wants to keep it secret.
Not doing too well, now is she?
February 9, 2003 3:54 p.m.
Kitty says it's impossible to get Remy to stop. Because Jean didn't even -know- Remy was such a heavy drinker. Two bottles of wine (at the most, mind you all) a day, with all the other essentials (like Bloody Marys, Manhattans, sidecars, etc) and she learns such NOW? It almost kinda makes you wonder why they're even getting married.
4:42 p.m.
Found an leaf of paper lying on Jean's dresser. It was Remy's progress:
Name: Remy LeBeau
Age: will not tell me; twenty maybe
School: Bayville High
Relatives: None known, except for to-be-wife, Ms. Jean Grey
Problems/Addictions: Alcohol
Days in Rehab up-to-date: two
Progress: Very...slow
Comments: He is very impatient, angry, annoyed, perplexed, annoying.
Signed: Professor Goralbe
February 10, 2003, in the limo home
Funny day. Jean said she couldn't make Remy's rehab session and since the doctor/counselor/professor didn't want Remy to attend any sessions without a confidant, she made me go with him.
The trip there was quiet. He looked out the window the whole way; steady, unsure, diverting. I clenched my teeth to keep from smiling ridiculously, because it was mean and I didn't want Remy to think I was evil or making fun of him behind his back.
The wait for the session was long too. The place was called "Clinic" (though I know there should be more to such a title) and there were like ten people already sitting in the waiting room. Remy took a seat next to a table with magazines strewn all over inanely as I sat in the chair next to him. The room was blank and white -- like an insanity ward or something. I smiled at the ceiling like a fool - it was all I could do so I wouldn't laugh out loud. Remy was fiddling with his trench coat buttons when we finally were called in -- at exactly three.
Remy was uncomfortable. He squirmed in his chair in the office of the professor, a plain room, with a green plant growing weakly by a black phone which stayed in front of pictures portraying certain family members. Diplomas hung from the wall behind us - actually all around us. There were masters, degrees, minors, majors -- all in psychiatry. I couldn't believe how such a profession would require so much study. No wonder Remy was uncomfortable in this place - it was a place destined for discomfort.
The professor was a small woman with beady black eyes and gold spectacles that sat at the edge of her nose. She spoke briskly to Remy while jotting down notes, and finally glanced at me sideways, impressively. Then she spoke.
"YOU aren't Ms. Grey," she inquired thoughtfully, studying me a bit.
"No, I'm certainly not," I said, smartly. She kept her eyes on me though, as if I was a statue and she would want to move me with her mind. It was all very awkward and I felt myself go red.
"You don't mind...?" before I could speak, she grabbed my hand, twisted it slightly and let it prop to the table. Then she leaned closer, studying my eyes, nose, features. Jotting more notes, she patted my upper arms, and finally dropped her pencil.
"You write with your right hand," she said, and I looked at her surprised. Nobody's noticed that before. "Your vision is 20/280, your face will soon be distorted from all the makeup you wear, you are well built. Your height is precisely five foot five."
"Six," I corrected, and she gave me a swift look.
"No, I believe you're five."
"No, I grow every three years. I'm five foot six inches, thank you very much." She then put her spectacles down, as if miffed.
"Miss," she said, her voice steady in patience. "I do believe you are five foot five. If not, then..."
"I'm five foot six inches..."
"I've never been wrong..."
"Well, now you are." We looked at each other, discriminating. Then she pushed herself away from her desk, standing up hurriedly.
"Okay, you deny my intellect, then you will see how very wrong you are and very right I am."
Pushing me to the wall, she flattened me, pulled me straight, and took out a tape measurer. Struggling since she was much shorter than me, she told Remy to measure me and see how many inches there were. I didn't see why; this was supposed to be about him anyway. So he obeyed, like he did with most people, and said, "She's five foot six inches, Madam."
"No she isn't!!!" Her voice was shrill; like she was surprised she was found wrong. Looking, she studied the tape measurer. I looked too: six inches.
She was wrong. And she was angry. Suddenly, she was pulling out every tape measurer in all the moment possible: making Remy measure, measure, measure. They all read the same, five foot, six inches, no more no less.
Finally, she grabbed her coat, pulled down all her diplomas and awards, and stomped out the door. It was quite a sight, so when Remy and I climbed back into the limo, he turned to me and said, "What will Jeanie say?"
"She'll scream, then cry, then find another professor." He smiled at my thought and found my hand. Giving it a slight squeeze, he smirked beautifully and said, "Thanks Rogue. Thanks."
Wow. I should really lay off rehab professors more often.
February 11, 2003
Jean wasn't very happy with the news that the professor had quit because of me. She said what could she ever accomplish with me trying to make Remy delusional of being a drunkard. Then I asked her why she wanted to change him in the first place. She sighed, pulling at her scarlet hair with great despair.
"I think it's unhealthy," she said, despicable.
"Doesn't he?" I wondered. She looked at me with depressing green eyes.
"Don't you?" Dejecting question. Only Jean would ask such.
"I wouldn't know- I'm not marrying him," I said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice. She found it quite amusing though.
"Oh," she said, her face twisting into a scary smile. She never gives me that smile - maybe at Scott, but never me. Then she ran off, and I heard from Ororo that she'd seen Jean roaming the aisles of a Sav-on drug store.
Oh. No.
February 12, 2003
Rehab. Nicotine Patches. Gum. A full membership to the Y. All in an effort to stop Remy from doing what he's been doing for quite some time.
Habits die hard. Let's just hope Remy don't die with them.
February 13, 2003
Remy couldn't believe it when Jean showered him with such response. He's locked himself up in his room, and I can hear Jean knocking on his door, trying to lure him out. She keeps shouting she smells cigarette smoke and that he can't keep himself in there forever.
If I know Remy any, he won't let her change him. He can't.
He just can't.
February 14, 2003 3:23 a.m. ~Valentine's Day
He cracked. He opened his door, and let Jean invade him with all her efforts on putting it all on a stop. He's wearing the patch; I overheard them discussing how to wear it and everything. Then they stayed up for another hour, conversing on what he could do in the Y to keep him off his gambling addiction. He wasn't very happy; I heard him snap a couple times before the light turned off and Jean left.
I still can't believe he cracked. He couldn't have.
But he did.
Later, 9:35 p.m.
John came over with roses; fourteen for today. I let him into the living room and popped in the Adam Sandler collection Ritzy, ahem, gave to me. We ordered pizza, made popcorn, and shared a glass of wine.
Ha! Could I have asked for more?
Remy came downstairs once, wearing the patch. His face was disfigured in a genuine frown which he wore with discomfort as he spotted John sitting next to me. On the couch. Eating pizza. Drinking wine.
John was the first to smile at his friend. "Well, if it isn't the charmin' Cajun bloke (man), and not enjoying any more fags (cigarettes) I see? Well, I'm so sorry for you!" he sipped the wine, an imperious look on his flattered face. Remy shot me a chagrined eye which I simply shrugged off. John, seeing such, filled the glass with wine, and I saw Remy's eyes sparkle with desire.
"Care to have a sip, Yobbo*?" It was a surprising question, as John lifted the glass, its crimson color alluring. Remy's eyes widened, then squinted with disgust.
"Putain, I rather kiss a snake," he grunted, and ducked out of the room. John just laughed, and sipped Remy's share. I put down the pizza I was holding, feeling suddenly sick. John looked over and patted my shoulder.
"Something wrong, love?" he asked, comfortingly. I didn't feel comforted, though.
"I was just wondering," I answered, wiping my fingers with napkins. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John smile and turn off the T.V. Still wondering, he downed the rest of the wine and got up.
"Well, my curfew is a couple o' minutes away," he informed me, and I followed him quietly to the door as I pulled my gloves back on my hands. He opened it, and I was suddenly struck with how cold it was -- and still snowing. "I hope we can do this again," he told me, standing by the doorframe. I smiled; he found my hand.
"Soon?" he asked, kissing its glove. I blushed, flustered with his charm.
"Of course." And he was gone, blowing in the midst of falling snow. I watched through the blackness with deteriorating faith, the illusion of love still on my mind. When I finally turned around again, there stood Jean, pulling on her coat with Remy by her side.
"Out so late?" I asked slyly, and she smirked.
"And you so messy?" I blushed, glancing at Remy. He didn't return the gesture, let alone meet my eyes. Picking up John's roses I had left in a vase, I hurried away, and now they stay by my beside.
Kitty wonders - does John love me?
Can I help but feel the same?
February 15, 2003 2:34 a.m.
I woke up to find John's roses' petals strewn all over my table top, the stems still in the vase, which I found in the trash can. Someone has some nerve - pulling them apart and leaving the mess for me to see.
But I'd rather not find out who.
* Yobbo: Australian slang for a person who acts thoughtlessly
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Responses to Reviews:
LinkinPark4ever: Why, thank you! Seriously, I can't help but fluster every time I see that someone has put my stories and/or me on their favorites' lists! I'm also happy that you like this fic - and I'll try to keep it on for as long as I can!
Erica: Yes. Jean has successfully made us annoyed once again. Hey, if I could create some sort of death for her, I'd gladly post it. But you know, Jean just seems to NEVER DIE. Doesn't it seem that way? She's gone for, like, a week on the series and just when you think she'll never show again, she does. *sighs* It just never helps being hopeful…
Pyromaniac: Jean is in all cases capable of being pitied (just as long as she's alive, don't we all need to be?) Glad you liked the last chapter - I for one don't want to center anything around Jean again. But alas, to make to fic interestingly annoying, I must keep her in. I'm being so conclusive today…
IshandaHalf: Again, when it comes to the subject of Jean, I would like to kill her. Or have Rogue kill her. But you know, conspiracies are everywhere, [man] so like, I leave it up to someone else to write her death. And so far, I've seen many a story that can write a good [and preferably funny] death of either Jean and Scott. Now can anyone think I'm anything for Scott or Jean? God help you if you do…
Starlightz6: Yes, well, Rogue's infatuation is still there - trust me on that. This chapter concludes your theory of the "couple" drifting. I as well would like to see Remy dump Jean, but well, you never know… and thank you for wishing me luck on my finals! It was actually pretty easy (except for English Honors. Essays were never really my thing), but now it's over [for now].
Christy S: Obliterate! That's Yu-gi-oh's favorite word! [sorry, my mind is blown from studying] And can you see any of the X-Women fat?! God, great image on the world today..
Samman: Thanks for wishing luck on my finals, too. Brilliant writer? Hmph. I don't think myself as an author of anything great, just as long as people like my writing, I'm happy. But thank you, flattery is always considerable (smiles stupidly). And present tense is VERY difficult to write. I tried several times to do so and it was a mess. But I've read great examples of such, like -Chocolat- but anyway, glad you like this story and I hope it fulfills your prospect with every twist and turn!
RogueandKurt: Of course! Look for some Pitty (hmm...that could just work) Piotr/Kitty next chapter!
Evolutionary Spider: And this chapter goes until Valentine's Day! That's good on my terms, but Rogue's running out of time! If you ask me, if she wants Remy, she better act faster than she's already trying...
Sujakata: Are you serious?! Wow, Jean pregnant...not totally probable unless it's some kind of date rape. But I'm not the one to say..
Goldylokz: Well, when I came across your review, I thought to myself, there is SO much truth to what you've wrote, that's for sure. Anorexia and Bullimia are abhorrent problems for most teenage girls these days. What I was trying to portray in the last chapter was how much concern it draws from so many people that love the person. Even Rogue, who desperately loathes Jean, has even the heart to care whether Jean eats or not, so there must be something in these disorders that makes her (and everyone) distraught. I'm no expert, but it does help when I do learn more about such things. And on that matter, I hope your sister is all right - eating disorders are scary. (and disgusting)
Fuzzy Elf: I'd like to confirm I never saw such an episode (and would like to kill myself for not!). From other writings concerning Remy, I learned that he was a bit vain when it comes to cooking, so I decided to throw in a little of that into the chapter. And also, doesn't it just not draw a nice picture that John is [seen] gay? I mean, you'd also wonder, with who, how... never mind.
By: Ariesque
Genre: Humor/Drama
Ratings: PG to PG-13 whether there is language or not
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men characters and Bayville places Evo focuses on in its show. Everything else belongs to me.
Author's Notes: There's a lot of things I'm not sure about in this story. There are parts where Remy goes into counseling (and rehab) and since I've never been in a place like that, I can only write what I think it's about. And some details of smoking, drinking, gambling. Explaining the title. And never in my life experiencing any of such, I still can only write what I think it's about.
Chapter Eleven: The Problem(s) with Remy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
February 6, 2003 5:22 p.m., in my shared room before dinner
Certain mail came today. Logan got it, as a daily ritual. Take, smell, give. He always knows what each one is about, like last week, he smelled a plain letter and said, quite frankly, "Jean, it's from Visa. Your payments are due."
Yes, Logan, is very good at such.
Today, he handed Jean a letter, and said, "It's from your parents." Then he gave Remy, who was drinking a glass of water (why not wine I ask), a sharp glance and disappeared into the kitchen.
Propping her feet on the coffee table (Xavier hates that), Jean split the seal and hurriedly took out the paper inside. "Honey --" she looked over, motioning Remy to sit next to her, "come here."
He complied like an obedient dog and took a seat next to her, his arm coming over her shoulders affectionately. She wriggled from his position shyly and gave him a hard look. I was watching all this while "reading" Stephen King's 'Carrie' (for the fifteenth time that week) and smiled to myself about how hostile she was with Remy's touch. Pushing the book up against my wrists, I listened for more of the interesting conversation.
"My parents..." Right away Remy's eyes hardened. It was enough to crack up. "...they want to meet you." Almost instantly, Remy jumped up, his arms flying everywhere.
"What-- why? I thought you were gonna keep 'em out o' dis!"
Jean stood up with him, her hands finding his shoulders. "I know. But I guess my sister slipped..."
"Oh, now it's your sister!" Jean's eyes filled with tears. Remy looked at her hurt and his face softened. That killed me.
"Fine." There was a tone of reluctance in his voice and I smiled again at such. Jean's face prepped once more, shining.
"Thank you honey." She pecked him meekly on the cheek and lifted his glass to her lips. Remy stared at her, horrified.
"Uh, I wouldn do thet..." Her face suddenly became distorted, clicking to the taste. She spit the liquid out all over the coffee table without delay.
"What IS that?!" she screamed, giving Remy a face of disbelief.
"Distilled Vodka," Remy said, with an innocent smile. Jean shook her head, incredulously. Taking the drink, she splashed it into his face, and walked past him, leaving the room.
Dripping of impudence and smelling of alcohol, Remy stood like a fool as I got up and said over his shoulder, "A complete waste of Vodka." Then left.
This could get pretty interesting.
February 7, 2003 2:23 p.m., waiting for someone to pick me up
Oh, and it did. I just saw Remy walking out of the double doors, quickly. He has an appointment -- with the rehab counselor! Can it be? Is Jean...making Remy stop drinking??? Is that even possible???
Gossip is abound; the world would like to know.
February 8, 2003 6:23 p.m.
Remy's second session with the rehab counselor. This time he went with Jean because he was being a pain, asking when would the session be over again and again (it takes two hours a day).
Will his rehab be dramatic like Backstreet Boy AJ, or on and off like Logan? Jean wants to keep it secret.
Not doing too well, now is she?
February 9, 2003 3:54 p.m.
Kitty says it's impossible to get Remy to stop. Because Jean didn't even -know- Remy was such a heavy drinker. Two bottles of wine (at the most, mind you all) a day, with all the other essentials (like Bloody Marys, Manhattans, sidecars, etc) and she learns such NOW? It almost kinda makes you wonder why they're even getting married.
4:42 p.m.
Found an leaf of paper lying on Jean's dresser. It was Remy's progress:
Name: Remy LeBeau
Age: will not tell me; twenty maybe
School: Bayville High
Relatives: None known, except for to-be-wife, Ms. Jean Grey
Problems/Addictions: Alcohol
Days in Rehab up-to-date: two
Progress: Very...slow
Comments: He is very impatient, angry, annoyed, perplexed, annoying.
Signed: Professor Goralbe
February 10, 2003, in the limo home
Funny day. Jean said she couldn't make Remy's rehab session and since the doctor/counselor/professor didn't want Remy to attend any sessions without a confidant, she made me go with him.
The trip there was quiet. He looked out the window the whole way; steady, unsure, diverting. I clenched my teeth to keep from smiling ridiculously, because it was mean and I didn't want Remy to think I was evil or making fun of him behind his back.
The wait for the session was long too. The place was called "Clinic" (though I know there should be more to such a title) and there were like ten people already sitting in the waiting room. Remy took a seat next to a table with magazines strewn all over inanely as I sat in the chair next to him. The room was blank and white -- like an insanity ward or something. I smiled at the ceiling like a fool - it was all I could do so I wouldn't laugh out loud. Remy was fiddling with his trench coat buttons when we finally were called in -- at exactly three.
Remy was uncomfortable. He squirmed in his chair in the office of the professor, a plain room, with a green plant growing weakly by a black phone which stayed in front of pictures portraying certain family members. Diplomas hung from the wall behind us - actually all around us. There were masters, degrees, minors, majors -- all in psychiatry. I couldn't believe how such a profession would require so much study. No wonder Remy was uncomfortable in this place - it was a place destined for discomfort.
The professor was a small woman with beady black eyes and gold spectacles that sat at the edge of her nose. She spoke briskly to Remy while jotting down notes, and finally glanced at me sideways, impressively. Then she spoke.
"YOU aren't Ms. Grey," she inquired thoughtfully, studying me a bit.
"No, I'm certainly not," I said, smartly. She kept her eyes on me though, as if I was a statue and she would want to move me with her mind. It was all very awkward and I felt myself go red.
"You don't mind...?" before I could speak, she grabbed my hand, twisted it slightly and let it prop to the table. Then she leaned closer, studying my eyes, nose, features. Jotting more notes, she patted my upper arms, and finally dropped her pencil.
"You write with your right hand," she said, and I looked at her surprised. Nobody's noticed that before. "Your vision is 20/280, your face will soon be distorted from all the makeup you wear, you are well built. Your height is precisely five foot five."
"Six," I corrected, and she gave me a swift look.
"No, I believe you're five."
"No, I grow every three years. I'm five foot six inches, thank you very much." She then put her spectacles down, as if miffed.
"Miss," she said, her voice steady in patience. "I do believe you are five foot five. If not, then..."
"I'm five foot six inches..."
"I've never been wrong..."
"Well, now you are." We looked at each other, discriminating. Then she pushed herself away from her desk, standing up hurriedly.
"Okay, you deny my intellect, then you will see how very wrong you are and very right I am."
Pushing me to the wall, she flattened me, pulled me straight, and took out a tape measurer. Struggling since she was much shorter than me, she told Remy to measure me and see how many inches there were. I didn't see why; this was supposed to be about him anyway. So he obeyed, like he did with most people, and said, "She's five foot six inches, Madam."
"No she isn't!!!" Her voice was shrill; like she was surprised she was found wrong. Looking, she studied the tape measurer. I looked too: six inches.
She was wrong. And she was angry. Suddenly, she was pulling out every tape measurer in all the moment possible: making Remy measure, measure, measure. They all read the same, five foot, six inches, no more no less.
Finally, she grabbed her coat, pulled down all her diplomas and awards, and stomped out the door. It was quite a sight, so when Remy and I climbed back into the limo, he turned to me and said, "What will Jeanie say?"
"She'll scream, then cry, then find another professor." He smiled at my thought and found my hand. Giving it a slight squeeze, he smirked beautifully and said, "Thanks Rogue. Thanks."
Wow. I should really lay off rehab professors more often.
February 11, 2003
Jean wasn't very happy with the news that the professor had quit because of me. She said what could she ever accomplish with me trying to make Remy delusional of being a drunkard. Then I asked her why she wanted to change him in the first place. She sighed, pulling at her scarlet hair with great despair.
"I think it's unhealthy," she said, despicable.
"Doesn't he?" I wondered. She looked at me with depressing green eyes.
"Don't you?" Dejecting question. Only Jean would ask such.
"I wouldn't know- I'm not marrying him," I said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice. She found it quite amusing though.
"Oh," she said, her face twisting into a scary smile. She never gives me that smile - maybe at Scott, but never me. Then she ran off, and I heard from Ororo that she'd seen Jean roaming the aisles of a Sav-on drug store.
Oh. No.
February 12, 2003
Rehab. Nicotine Patches. Gum. A full membership to the Y. All in an effort to stop Remy from doing what he's been doing for quite some time.
Habits die hard. Let's just hope Remy don't die with them.
February 13, 2003
Remy couldn't believe it when Jean showered him with such response. He's locked himself up in his room, and I can hear Jean knocking on his door, trying to lure him out. She keeps shouting she smells cigarette smoke and that he can't keep himself in there forever.
If I know Remy any, he won't let her change him. He can't.
He just can't.
February 14, 2003 3:23 a.m. ~Valentine's Day
He cracked. He opened his door, and let Jean invade him with all her efforts on putting it all on a stop. He's wearing the patch; I overheard them discussing how to wear it and everything. Then they stayed up for another hour, conversing on what he could do in the Y to keep him off his gambling addiction. He wasn't very happy; I heard him snap a couple times before the light turned off and Jean left.
I still can't believe he cracked. He couldn't have.
But he did.
Later, 9:35 p.m.
John came over with roses; fourteen for today. I let him into the living room and popped in the Adam Sandler collection Ritzy, ahem, gave to me. We ordered pizza, made popcorn, and shared a glass of wine.
Ha! Could I have asked for more?
Remy came downstairs once, wearing the patch. His face was disfigured in a genuine frown which he wore with discomfort as he spotted John sitting next to me. On the couch. Eating pizza. Drinking wine.
John was the first to smile at his friend. "Well, if it isn't the charmin' Cajun bloke (man), and not enjoying any more fags (cigarettes) I see? Well, I'm so sorry for you!" he sipped the wine, an imperious look on his flattered face. Remy shot me a chagrined eye which I simply shrugged off. John, seeing such, filled the glass with wine, and I saw Remy's eyes sparkle with desire.
"Care to have a sip, Yobbo*?" It was a surprising question, as John lifted the glass, its crimson color alluring. Remy's eyes widened, then squinted with disgust.
"Putain, I rather kiss a snake," he grunted, and ducked out of the room. John just laughed, and sipped Remy's share. I put down the pizza I was holding, feeling suddenly sick. John looked over and patted my shoulder.
"Something wrong, love?" he asked, comfortingly. I didn't feel comforted, though.
"I was just wondering," I answered, wiping my fingers with napkins. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John smile and turn off the T.V. Still wondering, he downed the rest of the wine and got up.
"Well, my curfew is a couple o' minutes away," he informed me, and I followed him quietly to the door as I pulled my gloves back on my hands. He opened it, and I was suddenly struck with how cold it was -- and still snowing. "I hope we can do this again," he told me, standing by the doorframe. I smiled; he found my hand.
"Soon?" he asked, kissing its glove. I blushed, flustered with his charm.
"Of course." And he was gone, blowing in the midst of falling snow. I watched through the blackness with deteriorating faith, the illusion of love still on my mind. When I finally turned around again, there stood Jean, pulling on her coat with Remy by her side.
"Out so late?" I asked slyly, and she smirked.
"And you so messy?" I blushed, glancing at Remy. He didn't return the gesture, let alone meet my eyes. Picking up John's roses I had left in a vase, I hurried away, and now they stay by my beside.
Kitty wonders - does John love me?
Can I help but feel the same?
February 15, 2003 2:34 a.m.
I woke up to find John's roses' petals strewn all over my table top, the stems still in the vase, which I found in the trash can. Someone has some nerve - pulling them apart and leaving the mess for me to see.
But I'd rather not find out who.
* Yobbo: Australian slang for a person who acts thoughtlessly
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Responses to Reviews:
LinkinPark4ever: Why, thank you! Seriously, I can't help but fluster every time I see that someone has put my stories and/or me on their favorites' lists! I'm also happy that you like this fic - and I'll try to keep it on for as long as I can!
Erica: Yes. Jean has successfully made us annoyed once again. Hey, if I could create some sort of death for her, I'd gladly post it. But you know, Jean just seems to NEVER DIE. Doesn't it seem that way? She's gone for, like, a week on the series and just when you think she'll never show again, she does. *sighs* It just never helps being hopeful…
Pyromaniac: Jean is in all cases capable of being pitied (just as long as she's alive, don't we all need to be?) Glad you liked the last chapter - I for one don't want to center anything around Jean again. But alas, to make to fic interestingly annoying, I must keep her in. I'm being so conclusive today…
IshandaHalf: Again, when it comes to the subject of Jean, I would like to kill her. Or have Rogue kill her. But you know, conspiracies are everywhere, [man] so like, I leave it up to someone else to write her death. And so far, I've seen many a story that can write a good [and preferably funny] death of either Jean and Scott. Now can anyone think I'm anything for Scott or Jean? God help you if you do…
Starlightz6: Yes, well, Rogue's infatuation is still there - trust me on that. This chapter concludes your theory of the "couple" drifting. I as well would like to see Remy dump Jean, but well, you never know… and thank you for wishing me luck on my finals! It was actually pretty easy (except for English Honors. Essays were never really my thing), but now it's over [for now].
Christy S: Obliterate! That's Yu-gi-oh's favorite word! [sorry, my mind is blown from studying] And can you see any of the X-Women fat?! God, great image on the world today..
Samman: Thanks for wishing luck on my finals, too. Brilliant writer? Hmph. I don't think myself as an author of anything great, just as long as people like my writing, I'm happy. But thank you, flattery is always considerable (smiles stupidly). And present tense is VERY difficult to write. I tried several times to do so and it was a mess. But I've read great examples of such, like -Chocolat- but anyway, glad you like this story and I hope it fulfills your prospect with every twist and turn!
RogueandKurt: Of course! Look for some Pitty (hmm...that could just work) Piotr/Kitty next chapter!
Evolutionary Spider: And this chapter goes until Valentine's Day! That's good on my terms, but Rogue's running out of time! If you ask me, if she wants Remy, she better act faster than she's already trying...
Sujakata: Are you serious?! Wow, Jean pregnant...not totally probable unless it's some kind of date rape. But I'm not the one to say..
Goldylokz: Well, when I came across your review, I thought to myself, there is SO much truth to what you've wrote, that's for sure. Anorexia and Bullimia are abhorrent problems for most teenage girls these days. What I was trying to portray in the last chapter was how much concern it draws from so many people that love the person. Even Rogue, who desperately loathes Jean, has even the heart to care whether Jean eats or not, so there must be something in these disorders that makes her (and everyone) distraught. I'm no expert, but it does help when I do learn more about such things. And on that matter, I hope your sister is all right - eating disorders are scary. (and disgusting)
Fuzzy Elf: I'd like to confirm I never saw such an episode (and would like to kill myself for not!). From other writings concerning Remy, I learned that he was a bit vain when it comes to cooking, so I decided to throw in a little of that into the chapter. And also, doesn't it just not draw a nice picture that John is [seen] gay? I mean, you'd also wonder, with who, how... never mind.