Disclaimer: Large on the non-ownyness.
------o(O)o------
Well, as people say, I was buggered. The night was cold as I left the B&B, and despite my newfound talent of changing my face (and other body parts, although I didn't know that then) I couldn't work out how to change myself to keep warm. The only possible way I could think of surviving without the woman I had known to be my loving, doting mother was to find somewhere else to go.
I didn't have any other relatives. My mother – Mystique – had never mentioned any, even when I asked. I had always presumed something had happened to separate her from them, probably me, but now I knew better. I thought about going to the police, but I now knew that my mother was an excellent liar so they'd have me back at her house before I could even object.
I thought about what homeless people did to survive, but every option of theirs seemed blocked from me by my morals and views of society. I knew that there were a couple of mutant 'clubs' and cults but I was unsure about my own safety among people who would quite possibly know of me, if Mystique alerted them. I couldn't decide what to do, but every second grated on my skin, urging me to leave the area. I had no idea what the person my mother had changed in to could or would do, and this was frightening me more than if I knew. Would she follow me? Would she take someone else's form and try to convince me to return? Would she harm me? Or would she just leave and return to her little freak show?
The first day of my 'freedom', I didn't stop. I spent hours looking for a place to stay, a little house or another B&B, but every time someone opened the door they slammed it again. No one loves a runaway, and it was obvious that's what I was. I constantly got told to go back home to my mummy and daddy in patronising tones that caused tears to well up in my tired eyes.
By the time night arrived, sneaking up quickly on me, I was frantic. I had never been without a good bed and I hadn't thought to pack my sleeping bag, so I knew what would happen. I'd become like one of those kids I always avoided in the streets, the ones with scruffy clothes, huddled in small, thin blankets of varying patterns with a little box beside me for spare change. They had always frightened me, looking hopefully up at me with large, deer like eyes, their hair tangled and matted. The adults seemed not to see them. Perhaps the guilt was too overwhelming for them.
I knew there should be a youth shelter of some sort around, but I had never thought to ask, so with a grumblingly hungry belly and a dazed head, I found a small back alley and hid behind one of the bins, trying hard to ignore the horrible stench. I didn't want to be exposed in the streets. I wanted to hide, to hide so that no one could find me.
However, in only an hour or so I was given the fright of my life. I was nearly drifting to sleep after a while of lying wide-eyed, stuck in my thoughts, when I heard a strange noise that dragged me back into consciousness. It wasn't a pleasant noise; it was kind of like an ominous clipping sound of stiletto heels, but irregular. I risked a little glance and saw a drunken woman tottering along, pausing to look confused. She had obviously taken a wrong turning, but before she could turn back, a tall dark haired man blocked the entrance to the alley. I tensed, slowing my breathing to make minimal noise, as he drew a sharp penknife and pounced on her. She tried to scream, but her mouth became smothered in his grimy hands. I moved back against the wall as far as I could go, my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears.
It didn't help. The sounds reverberated around the alley, and tears streamed mercilessly down my cheeks as I realised just what I'd got myself into. I could be that girl; she didn't seem that much older than me. I could be caught unawares at night, held against my will as a man used me then left in the pain and destruction remaining.
I didn't want to be raped. I didn't want to feel that pain. I thought of my body as my own, and even in simple matters like cuddles and linking arms with friends I felt slightly off centre, as if they were invading my personal space. I wasn't a huggy person.
When I was sure the man had left, I stood up from behind my hiding place and carefully approached the weeping lady. She flinched as I knelt next to her – she was huddled on the floor, her arms around her knees and her eyes downcast. She was bleeding on her chest and stomach and there were rough blue bruises on her arms where he had grabbed her.
"Are you alright?" I asked, hating the question the moment it left my lips. "I mean, would you like me to get you some help?"
She shook her head frantically. "No. No, I'm… I'm alright."
"You should get help."
"Why do you care?" she spat. "You just came out from behind that bin, and I didn't see you go there. You were there the whole time; just let it happen without trying to stop him. Why didn't you stop him from… doing that to me?"
I withdrew, straightening up guiltily. I quickly gathered my stuff and rushed away, wondering why I hadn't moved when the horrible act had occurred? I had been frozen in shock, I told myself. If I had moved I would have been killed. He would have done it to me too.
None of these reasons made sense to me, in some weird way, so I blocked it as far from my mind as possible.
For the next three days, I didn't sleep.
------o(O)o-------
I could already feel the nights getting colder. I was sat on a bench near a little river, too disgusted with myself to move, too hungry to speak and too thirsty to think. I was like an empty shell. It wouldn't have been half as bad as it felt if I hadn't got the major epic battle going on inside my emotions.
I had tried looking for food, and had managed to find enough money in my purse to buy a few bottles of water and a sandwich, but now I was completely devoid of cash. I had considered selling something, but all I really had were some clothes and the bracelet my best friend Tara had once given me when we were seven, before she died in a car crash. I was certainly not selling that, even if it had started digging into my skin because it was too small. It probably wasn't worth much anyway. It was just a strand of gold, a strand of silver and a strand of bronze platted into a pretty knot with a pink flower on top. The thought of selling it had occurred to me on more than one separate occasion but I couldn't bear to be parted with it, silly as that sounds.
Lost in my thoughts and hunger, I didn't even notice someone approaching until they were beside me. I turned my head sharply, and saw a young-looking girl with her blonde hair elegantly wrapped into a complicated knot, her green eyes shining through small, square-framed glasses and her slender yet rather curvy body clothed in a simple pair of flattering dark blue jeans and a little grey top. Her facial features were kindly and soft, with a slightly upturned nose and curved lips. From her exposed ears, two silver hoops hung. They were red with the sharp breeze, as were her cheeks - although that could have been blusher.
"You all right?" she asked me, and I was stunned and worried to hear the Americanised accent from her. She frowned in confusion as I pushed myself forcefully to my feet and glared at her with narrowed eyes, suspicious. "Hey, chill," she smiled.
"Get away from me," I hissed, convinced that she was Mystique trying to find me. It was an unreasonable fierceness; what would come of it? I would only be spooked and accuse every person around of being the evil bitch that had created half of me. I quickly softened my tone, but was still in a defensive stance. "Who are you?"
"You're hungry," she stated, not answering my question. A bad sign if ever I saw one, but I wasn't thinking straight; as she had just said, I was hungry. I nodded, and she held out her hand. Each nail was painted immaculately in silver varnish and in the centre of them were tiny white gemstones. They seemed to me to be friendly hands, but I didn't move immediately. She twitched her hand slightly. "Come on. I'll take you and get you some food."
It didn't cross my mind to check the price for such a simple thing.
------o(O)o------
Well, as people say, I was buggered. The night was cold as I left the B&B, and despite my newfound talent of changing my face (and other body parts, although I didn't know that then) I couldn't work out how to change myself to keep warm. The only possible way I could think of surviving without the woman I had known to be my loving, doting mother was to find somewhere else to go.
I didn't have any other relatives. My mother – Mystique – had never mentioned any, even when I asked. I had always presumed something had happened to separate her from them, probably me, but now I knew better. I thought about going to the police, but I now knew that my mother was an excellent liar so they'd have me back at her house before I could even object.
I thought about what homeless people did to survive, but every option of theirs seemed blocked from me by my morals and views of society. I knew that there were a couple of mutant 'clubs' and cults but I was unsure about my own safety among people who would quite possibly know of me, if Mystique alerted them. I couldn't decide what to do, but every second grated on my skin, urging me to leave the area. I had no idea what the person my mother had changed in to could or would do, and this was frightening me more than if I knew. Would she follow me? Would she take someone else's form and try to convince me to return? Would she harm me? Or would she just leave and return to her little freak show?
The first day of my 'freedom', I didn't stop. I spent hours looking for a place to stay, a little house or another B&B, but every time someone opened the door they slammed it again. No one loves a runaway, and it was obvious that's what I was. I constantly got told to go back home to my mummy and daddy in patronising tones that caused tears to well up in my tired eyes.
By the time night arrived, sneaking up quickly on me, I was frantic. I had never been without a good bed and I hadn't thought to pack my sleeping bag, so I knew what would happen. I'd become like one of those kids I always avoided in the streets, the ones with scruffy clothes, huddled in small, thin blankets of varying patterns with a little box beside me for spare change. They had always frightened me, looking hopefully up at me with large, deer like eyes, their hair tangled and matted. The adults seemed not to see them. Perhaps the guilt was too overwhelming for them.
I knew there should be a youth shelter of some sort around, but I had never thought to ask, so with a grumblingly hungry belly and a dazed head, I found a small back alley and hid behind one of the bins, trying hard to ignore the horrible stench. I didn't want to be exposed in the streets. I wanted to hide, to hide so that no one could find me.
However, in only an hour or so I was given the fright of my life. I was nearly drifting to sleep after a while of lying wide-eyed, stuck in my thoughts, when I heard a strange noise that dragged me back into consciousness. It wasn't a pleasant noise; it was kind of like an ominous clipping sound of stiletto heels, but irregular. I risked a little glance and saw a drunken woman tottering along, pausing to look confused. She had obviously taken a wrong turning, but before she could turn back, a tall dark haired man blocked the entrance to the alley. I tensed, slowing my breathing to make minimal noise, as he drew a sharp penknife and pounced on her. She tried to scream, but her mouth became smothered in his grimy hands. I moved back against the wall as far as I could go, my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears.
It didn't help. The sounds reverberated around the alley, and tears streamed mercilessly down my cheeks as I realised just what I'd got myself into. I could be that girl; she didn't seem that much older than me. I could be caught unawares at night, held against my will as a man used me then left in the pain and destruction remaining.
I didn't want to be raped. I didn't want to feel that pain. I thought of my body as my own, and even in simple matters like cuddles and linking arms with friends I felt slightly off centre, as if they were invading my personal space. I wasn't a huggy person.
When I was sure the man had left, I stood up from behind my hiding place and carefully approached the weeping lady. She flinched as I knelt next to her – she was huddled on the floor, her arms around her knees and her eyes downcast. She was bleeding on her chest and stomach and there were rough blue bruises on her arms where he had grabbed her.
"Are you alright?" I asked, hating the question the moment it left my lips. "I mean, would you like me to get you some help?"
She shook her head frantically. "No. No, I'm… I'm alright."
"You should get help."
"Why do you care?" she spat. "You just came out from behind that bin, and I didn't see you go there. You were there the whole time; just let it happen without trying to stop him. Why didn't you stop him from… doing that to me?"
I withdrew, straightening up guiltily. I quickly gathered my stuff and rushed away, wondering why I hadn't moved when the horrible act had occurred? I had been frozen in shock, I told myself. If I had moved I would have been killed. He would have done it to me too.
None of these reasons made sense to me, in some weird way, so I blocked it as far from my mind as possible.
For the next three days, I didn't sleep.
------o(O)o-------
I could already feel the nights getting colder. I was sat on a bench near a little river, too disgusted with myself to move, too hungry to speak and too thirsty to think. I was like an empty shell. It wouldn't have been half as bad as it felt if I hadn't got the major epic battle going on inside my emotions.
I had tried looking for food, and had managed to find enough money in my purse to buy a few bottles of water and a sandwich, but now I was completely devoid of cash. I had considered selling something, but all I really had were some clothes and the bracelet my best friend Tara had once given me when we were seven, before she died in a car crash. I was certainly not selling that, even if it had started digging into my skin because it was too small. It probably wasn't worth much anyway. It was just a strand of gold, a strand of silver and a strand of bronze platted into a pretty knot with a pink flower on top. The thought of selling it had occurred to me on more than one separate occasion but I couldn't bear to be parted with it, silly as that sounds.
Lost in my thoughts and hunger, I didn't even notice someone approaching until they were beside me. I turned my head sharply, and saw a young-looking girl with her blonde hair elegantly wrapped into a complicated knot, her green eyes shining through small, square-framed glasses and her slender yet rather curvy body clothed in a simple pair of flattering dark blue jeans and a little grey top. Her facial features were kindly and soft, with a slightly upturned nose and curved lips. From her exposed ears, two silver hoops hung. They were red with the sharp breeze, as were her cheeks - although that could have been blusher.
"You all right?" she asked me, and I was stunned and worried to hear the Americanised accent from her. She frowned in confusion as I pushed myself forcefully to my feet and glared at her with narrowed eyes, suspicious. "Hey, chill," she smiled.
"Get away from me," I hissed, convinced that she was Mystique trying to find me. It was an unreasonable fierceness; what would come of it? I would only be spooked and accuse every person around of being the evil bitch that had created half of me. I quickly softened my tone, but was still in a defensive stance. "Who are you?"
"You're hungry," she stated, not answering my question. A bad sign if ever I saw one, but I wasn't thinking straight; as she had just said, I was hungry. I nodded, and she held out her hand. Each nail was painted immaculately in silver varnish and in the centre of them were tiny white gemstones. They seemed to me to be friendly hands, but I didn't move immediately. She twitched her hand slightly. "Come on. I'll take you and get you some food."
It didn't cross my mind to check the price for such a simple thing.