Characters: Logan/Jubilee
Bad DreamsI'm a light sleeper. The faintest noise wakes me up.
What woke me this time was a low whimper. Jubilee. I roll over, lookin' at her lyin' in bed beside me. Her eyes are squeezed shut; her lips are slightly parted, and comin' from 'em is the sound that woke me up. Another dream, then.
God, I hate these dreams she has. I wonder if she knows how much it hurts, lyin' here watchin' her struggle through another nightmare. She's so strong during the day, so tough, sassy, brave, an' beautiful. I love her like that. Then she gets inta bed at night, an' she falls apart. Not quite as often these days, since Chuck and Jeannie went inta her head and did…whatever they did ta her mind…but she still has 'em, an' it hurts me just watchin' 'er. She knows when she's gonna have the dreams, too…she's a bit more hesitant 'bout goin' ta bed alone, an' when I let her she does her damn level best ta drink herself inta a stupor 'fore we get home. But it don't chase off the nightmares; she just don't remember 'em in the mornin'.
I hate that scared look she gets in her eyes when she gets inta bed beside me on a night when she's expectin' ta have one o' these nightmares. She's rarely wrong, either. Our lovemakin' on those nights is desperate, more frantic, than it is on those days when she knows she aiun't gonna have 'em. An' it takes her longer ta get ta sleep afterward. Then I wake up in the middle o' the night like this, ta hear her moan.
She's cryin' now, silver tears falling down her pretty face. I reach out gently, ta brush that tear away, but more fall, faster'n I can dry them from her face. I give up. I sit up, cross-legged, on the bed, knowing from too many nights o' doin' this that now ain't the time ta touch her. Fer some reason, touchin' her during the early part o' the dream causes it ta escalate out o' control. I learned that early on, when I made the mistake o' tryin' ta wake her 'fore the dream ended.
It was weeks ago. We were still in separate rooms, but I told her ta come sleep with me if she thought she was goin' ta have the dreams. So she did. When she made that first sound, I tried ta wake her up, touchin' her back gently. Big mistake. She shot off 'cross the bed, away from me, an' hit the floor on her side o' the bed. Hard. Headfirst. She didn't even wake, she didn't get up offa the floor. I don' think she even knew she was on it. She jus' curled up in the corner there like a whipped puppy and cried. I hated seein' her cringe like that. She is my girl, my Jubes. She ain't no one's whipped puppy. I tried again ta wake her, ta get her back inta bed. She screamed out in her sleep, arched like she was in pain, an' began ta talk. Every word hit me like a slap in the face.
"No…Bastion…no, no, please, I'm just a kid…" she'd said. I could hear the pain in her voice. "Please don't…I never did anything to you…why do you hate me?…please leave me alone…" Her voice climbed another octave. "No, don't, not that…please not that…Bastion…please…I'm a virgin…please…"
An' that's another thing that I hate even thinkin' 'bout. Jubilee's first time wasn't with someone she knew. It wasn't with someone she liked. Nah, her first time was on a cold cement floor with someone she couldn't stand, someone who hurt the hell outta her. I'm a naturally possessive person; I hate anyone touchin' what's mine. But I think I could'a borne it if it'd been with some college boy she dated, or some friend.
It wasn't with any of them; it was with someone who hurt her worse than anyone's ever hurt her b'fore. Durin' some'a the more violent nightmares she's had o' being raped and tortured by Bastion, I seen her double over and grab her stomach. I ain't a girl; I dunno what it feels like ta have somethin' enter me that way. But it's got ta be agonizin', the way her face looks. She knows, on some level, that she shouldn't scream; I seen her bite down on 'er knuckles in the middle o' her dreams ta keep the screams that fill her mind from 'scapin' her lips. She always looks embarrassed when she wakes up in the mornin' and there's blood on the sheets 'cause she's broken the skin on her knuckles bitin' 'em. The first time I tried ta talk 'bout it, she brushed me off. She don't wanna talk 'bout it. So I just take her ta the bathroom now an' wash her hands, wrap bandages around the fist she's abused, an' kiss her. I think she understands what I'm tryin' ta say; I don't have ta say it. She knows.
There. The first part o' the dream's over; she's not as tense. This is the time she spent waitin' for someone ta come check up on her in her cell. She's bruised, in pain, and bewildered. Maybe, if I'm lucky, the dream'll go 'way now, stop 'fore it escalates ta the parts I hate.
No such luck. Jubilee suddenly tenses. Her head whips over to her left. Bastion's just walked inta her cell and slapped her. Jubilee's hand goes ta her cheek, even though there ain't nothin' there anymore. Then her head jerks off ta the right. She curls up in a tight ball, moanin'. Then her body flips over, her arms reachin' up over her head ta grab the rails o' the bed. Her knuckles turn white as she grips 'em. She ain't strong enough ta dent 'em, o' course, but it's not fer lack o' tryin'. Her back arches, an' a strangled moan 'scapes her lips. She grimaces, an' then her body arches again. Bastion is whippin' her. She continues on like that fer a long time, archin' in pain, her mouth open in a scream that's somehow all the harder ta watch 'cause it's silent. Her body twists. I'm glad I'm awake. If I wasn't, I'd be cold by now 'cause all the blankets are twisted 'round her legs.
Finally it stops. Now comes the hard part; where Bastion's violatin' her. I hate watchin' this. I turn away, but I seen it too many times. Even if I close my eyes, I can still see it. Jubilee's thighs open, fast, as though they been pulled apart. Then she spasms. I see her stomach muscles ripplin' under the thin shirt she wore ta bed. Her hands ball inta fists, an' she shoves 'em 'tween her knees as she whimpers. Then her hands fly back 'bove her head. She cries out, once, sharply, as the Bastion in her dream enters her body. This is the only sound she permits herself through the whole damn dream. She shakes. Every muscle in her body tenses. Her teeth bite inta her knuckles again, drawin' blood. Then as suddenly as it all started, it stops. She relaxes. Bastion's gone.
She curls up. Now she allows herself ta cry. She's still silent, though her shoulders shake.
I can touch her now. She'll actually welcome it. I untangle the sheet and blanket from 'round her legs, then lie down behind her, pullin' her close ta me. Her shirt's damp with sweat; it soaks the front o' my shirt as I curl up 'gainst her back an' stroke her hair. Tears fall silently from her closed eyes. I hush her, whisperin' her name and mine in her ear, over an' over again. Fer some reason, hearin' my voice say my own name calms her. After 'bout five minutes o' cryin', she stops. Her eyes open, an' the first thing she sees is me. I do that on purpose; if she wakes and don't see me right 'way, she panics. Her breathin' gradually slows down. "Another dream?" she asks weakly. I nod silently.
We get up and head off ta the bathroom. She washes her face while I open the cabinet an' take out what I need. She sits on the counter as I clean her raw, bleedin' knuckles, drawin' her breath in sharply as she feels the sting o' the antiseptic. It's over quickly. I wrap a reusable white bandage over the cuts, an' we go back ta bed. Now, knowin' she's okay, I can go back ta sleep. Jubes never has two o' these dreams in one night.
She's still tucked 'gainst me as I drift off.
* *
I lie awake, pretending to be asleep, until I hear his even breathing. When I'm sure he's asleep, I slip into his mind telepathically and keep him asleep as I slide out of bed. I cross the room to the faded blue easy chair I'd had in my room before, as a teenager. It brings back memories, happier ones than the ones I dream about.
I look at him. He loves me so much. And I love him. I wonder sometimes if he has any idea how much. He's so patient, putting up with my dreams and with the memories locked away inside my head. He's a light sleeper; I know he's sat awake for at least the last half hour, watching over me while I slept.
I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them as my tears fall silently down my cheek. My stomach hurts; I know it's because I was tensing up again, and it's ghost pain from a long time ago. My knuckles throb again, and I look down at the stiff white bandage wrapped around them. The cut on the back of my middle knuckle is still bleeding; there's a tiny red spot in the middle of the white stuff.
Blood. I wince. I hate seeing my blood. Funny. It didn't used to be a problem for me…until Bastion. I had to live in that cell. I couldn't bear the sight and smell of my own blood on the floor. I remember being forced to clean the floor, on my hands and knees, sobbing as Bastion's guards 'encourage' me with various kinds of physical abuse. I remember thinking I was in hell then…and then waking up back here, at home, and wondering for a moment if I'd died and gone to heaven. I didn't know, then, that true heaven was being in Logan's arms. That realization didn't come until later.
He sighs in his sleep, turns over. I look at the smooth, firm muscles under the warm skin, and have to resist the urge to walk over there and touch him. If I do, he'll wake up. He never complains about waking up in the middle of the night for me, for my nightmares. Sometimes I wonder if it bothers him; it must, but he never says anything. I feel bad every time I wake up from a nightmare to find him awake. He needs his sleep.
I feel guilty. I hate hurting him like this. I didn't want him to know what I go through. It was Jean's fault for dragging him into the link with her when she and the Professor did what I asked them to do in my head. I got so upset with her. I didn't want Logan to know what I went through at Bastion's hands. I knew it would hurt him, and he has too much pain of his own to carry mine around, too. Jean tried to tell me he doesn't mind, that it actually makes him feel better to carry some of my burdens for me, but I still feel guilty for dropping some of my burdens on him. And on Jean, and the Professor. They saw what I try so hard not to let anyone know about.
So I don't tell anyone about the pain deep inside me when I have a particularly bad time of month. I don't tell Logan that when it gets cold the place where my ribs were broken twice aches like crazy. I don't tell Hank when my fractured kneecap twinges when it rains. I don't tell Jean about the walls I build around my mind when I'm awake, like the Professor builds walls around the pain in his spine so he doesn't feel it most of the time. I can't tell anyone. I don't want to hurt the people I love by telling them, showing them, what I felt, what I went through; Logan least of all, because he feels terribly guilty about not being there for me when I need him. He blames himself. He says he should have known.
But how could he? I wasn't with the X-Men; I was attending the Massachusetts Academy. We don't have a bond, like Jean has with Scott; he has no way of knowing when I'm in trouble. He took it so hard; he acted like it was all his fault. There's a tiny, selfish part of me that is upset that he wasn't there…but it's not a rational thought, and I know it. So I bury it, along with all my pain, all my anger, all my misery, because I don't want to see it, and I figure no one else wants to see it either. If I bury it inside, maybe someday it will go away, and I'll be free of it all.
Until then, I might as well get some sleep. I climb out of my chair, ease onto the bed beside Logan. We both like firm mattresses; it makes it easier to slide in and out of bed without waking the other. He does wake, though. "Go back to sleep," I tell him, whispering quietly into his ear. "I just got up for a moment." He responds with a grunt, rolling over and catching me in his arms. He nuzzles my neck for a moment, his rough whisker stubble abrading my neck and making me giggle, then goes back to sleep with a smile on his face. I touch his face gently, looking at the strong planes, the angles and lines of his features, slowly smooth out as he slips back into sleep. I smile. I love him.
I drift off to sleep, a smile on my face.