Slowly I pull myself out of the depth of the darkness also known as sleep.
My hand brushes something soft. I jump causing it to move. It is Logan. He
lifts his head and stares at me. Nervous I look at the clock on the wall,
10:30. I had been asleep for at least seven hours.
"For as much sleep as I've been getting I don't feel much like Sleeping Beauty," I grumble.
"Nor do you look like her," Logan adds.
"That was a joke." I grin. "You don't look like someone who jokes around very often."
"That's because I don't."
My stomach rumbles. A few seconds later Logan's does too. We look at our stomachs then at each other. "Hungry?" I ask.
"Starved." He slowly gets to his feet and stretches his sore muscles. He crosses the room to a desk with a pile of papers on one side and a stack of clothes on the other end. He grabs the clothes and returns plopping them down next to me on the bed. He holds out a robe, "Let's go eat something."
I climb out of the bed and sway a little. I clutch the bed rail until the dizziness subsides, then allow Logan to help me put on the robe. "Whose clothes are these?" I ask.
"The robe belongs to Ororo, Storm. The pjs-" he halts as a fit of giggles over come me. "What's so funny?"
"You saying 'pjs'," I answer trying to regain my composer. "I never thought in a million years I'd hear someone like you say pjs." I begin to laugh even harder.
Logan ignores my fits of hysteric laughter and continues to answer my question, "The sleeping clothes and skirt are from Kitty. Rogue lent you a shirt and ah.undergarments. If you're done laughing, I'll try to make Sleeping Beauty something edible to eat." He holds out his arm in an old world fashion.
Biting my lower lip to keep from laughing more, I link my arm around his. "Could you show me somewhere to take a shower first?"
* * *
After a quick shower and putting on the pajamas Kitty loaned me, I went to the kitchen. Logan gestures for me to sit at the table while he cooks. He was cracking eggs into a large bowl then added cheese and some milk.
"What are you making?" I ask curiously.
"Scrambled eggs the way Rogue taught me," he answered. "It's the only thing I can make that doesn't involve cold cereal, a toaster or microwave." He mixes the eggs, milk and cheese then pours the concoction into a pan.
"Hmm.I don't remember ever having scrambled eggs. It sounds good."
"What do you remember about your life?" he asks pulling a chair out and sitting in it backwards.
"I remember some events with my parents but mostly the day I was taken away from them on my second birthday. There are some images of a black room with only a small television in the corner, a cot-like bed, a small dresser that contained notebooks and very few clothes, bookshelves, and there was a small bathroom off to the side." I pause, sniffing the air. It smells bad. Logan doesn't seem bothered by it so I shrug it off and continue. "There are some things I can only recall when sleeping. Most of the time they're nightmares."
"Tell me about your parents, about the day you were taken from them." He studies my face for a minute taking notice of some look on it. I can only guess I look scared by what he says next. "If you're uncomfortable talking about it you don't have to. Just say the word and you're off the hook."
"No, no. It's okay. I should get use to telling it because everyone is going to want to know, right?"
"Well at least Xavier will but you don't have to tell anybody else."
"So this could just be like a rehearsal so I don't confuse things?" I ask.
"If you want to look at it that way, sure."
"My father looked a lot like you only younger. He was always so strong. He tried to intimidate me while goofing around but it only worked when he was angry which he hardly ever was. Every night when he came home from work, he'd throw me up in the air and catch me. He'd walk into the kitchen and give my mother a kiss. "How's my little destiny and angel?" he would ask my mother and I." I smile at the memory. "My mother had reddish brown hair and eyes like mine. She was quiet and never yelled. One sad or disappointing look from her, I knew I did something wrong and was in trouble. She baked the best cake in the world. She had made my favorite, the kind with chocolate and white mixed together, for my birthday to eat after supper. However we never got to eat it. The men with guns and scary clothes came. They killed my mother when she tried to save me. My dad tried to stop them from taking me away but he couldn't."
"For as much sleep as I've been getting I don't feel much like Sleeping Beauty," I grumble.
"Nor do you look like her," Logan adds.
"That was a joke." I grin. "You don't look like someone who jokes around very often."
"That's because I don't."
My stomach rumbles. A few seconds later Logan's does too. We look at our stomachs then at each other. "Hungry?" I ask.
"Starved." He slowly gets to his feet and stretches his sore muscles. He crosses the room to a desk with a pile of papers on one side and a stack of clothes on the other end. He grabs the clothes and returns plopping them down next to me on the bed. He holds out a robe, "Let's go eat something."
I climb out of the bed and sway a little. I clutch the bed rail until the dizziness subsides, then allow Logan to help me put on the robe. "Whose clothes are these?" I ask.
"The robe belongs to Ororo, Storm. The pjs-" he halts as a fit of giggles over come me. "What's so funny?"
"You saying 'pjs'," I answer trying to regain my composer. "I never thought in a million years I'd hear someone like you say pjs." I begin to laugh even harder.
Logan ignores my fits of hysteric laughter and continues to answer my question, "The sleeping clothes and skirt are from Kitty. Rogue lent you a shirt and ah.undergarments. If you're done laughing, I'll try to make Sleeping Beauty something edible to eat." He holds out his arm in an old world fashion.
Biting my lower lip to keep from laughing more, I link my arm around his. "Could you show me somewhere to take a shower first?"
* * *
After a quick shower and putting on the pajamas Kitty loaned me, I went to the kitchen. Logan gestures for me to sit at the table while he cooks. He was cracking eggs into a large bowl then added cheese and some milk.
"What are you making?" I ask curiously.
"Scrambled eggs the way Rogue taught me," he answered. "It's the only thing I can make that doesn't involve cold cereal, a toaster or microwave." He mixes the eggs, milk and cheese then pours the concoction into a pan.
"Hmm.I don't remember ever having scrambled eggs. It sounds good."
"What do you remember about your life?" he asks pulling a chair out and sitting in it backwards.
"I remember some events with my parents but mostly the day I was taken away from them on my second birthday. There are some images of a black room with only a small television in the corner, a cot-like bed, a small dresser that contained notebooks and very few clothes, bookshelves, and there was a small bathroom off to the side." I pause, sniffing the air. It smells bad. Logan doesn't seem bothered by it so I shrug it off and continue. "There are some things I can only recall when sleeping. Most of the time they're nightmares."
"Tell me about your parents, about the day you were taken from them." He studies my face for a minute taking notice of some look on it. I can only guess I look scared by what he says next. "If you're uncomfortable talking about it you don't have to. Just say the word and you're off the hook."
"No, no. It's okay. I should get use to telling it because everyone is going to want to know, right?"
"Well at least Xavier will but you don't have to tell anybody else."
"So this could just be like a rehearsal so I don't confuse things?" I ask.
"If you want to look at it that way, sure."
"My father looked a lot like you only younger. He was always so strong. He tried to intimidate me while goofing around but it only worked when he was angry which he hardly ever was. Every night when he came home from work, he'd throw me up in the air and catch me. He'd walk into the kitchen and give my mother a kiss. "How's my little destiny and angel?" he would ask my mother and I." I smile at the memory. "My mother had reddish brown hair and eyes like mine. She was quiet and never yelled. One sad or disappointing look from her, I knew I did something wrong and was in trouble. She baked the best cake in the world. She had made my favorite, the kind with chocolate and white mixed together, for my birthday to eat after supper. However we never got to eat it. The men with guns and scary clothes came. They killed my mother when she tried to save me. My dad tried to stop them from taking me away but he couldn't."