Hey everyone! Sorry it took me a while to update; I've started updating
another story. Anyway, I hope you like this next chapter. Excitement's
picking up! ;-) And to everyone, I'm SO glad you noted how dead I'd be if
Mystique found out about her new nickname. 'Misti' just seemed to fit her
in the eyes of a six-year-old, lol. Too bad Mystique doesn't see that view...
*winces* OUCH! Whatchit, wouldja Misti? I mean, Mystique? That arm IS
attached, ya know...
Pendragon: Hey! So glad you like this story! You're reviews make me so happy! I JUST LOVE YOUR USERNAME! How'd you come up with it? I'm glad you think I portray Mystique so well. She's lots of fun to write! Teehee.
Rogue 151: Hello! Glad you liked the chapter, I tried to make it funny. I'm not sure if the Mystique series goes along in the same universe with the other comics...it just might. But like you said, maybe she didn't really have any reason to think of Rogue. She's never mentioned her in any of the comics I've read, but I haven't seen EVERY issue. I'll definitely tell you if I see different though. X-Treme X-Men is my favorite X-0Men series. ;-) It's awesome! I can't wait for school to be out, can you? Lol.
Demiducky: Howdy! Yes, kids do seem to keep the same enthusiasm, don't they? Lol. All of my little brothers and cousins do. It's pretty funny! (
Tique: Hi! Great to hear form you! Glad you enjoyed the chapter! (
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4
I wake up with the sun in my eyes and my back really sore.
I close my eyes hard and moan, stretching slowly as I sit up in my seat.
My clothes are wrinkled and smell dirty; I guess they should, since I've been wearing them for so long.
I look over to the driver's side and see that Misti is nowhere to be found; the key is still in the ignition as the radio is playing.
I look out the window and see that we're pulled in front of a very old building that looks like it's gonna fall down any second.
The colored, light-up sign on its roof says 'HOTL'.
I squint and see that the 'E' is burned out; it's s'posed to say 'hotel', I guess.
The sky is very, very pale; like it's been frozen from the sun being gone all night.
I guess it must be pretty early in the morning; there are still a few stars above me, although the moon is gone.
I jump as my door suddenly swings open and I fall out; the only reason I don't fall onto the road is because I'm still buckled up.
Surprised and a little afraid, I look up quickly, thinking it might be Them come back to get me.
It's just Misti.
I relax and smile a little, "Hi."
"Hi."
She looks really tired.
Like about to fall over.
"Where are we?"
"Somewhere between nowhere and somewhere."
I frown, "So...is that a place?"
She shakes her head and covers her eyes with her hand, "I...guess. Listen, we only have a room for about three hours, so would you mind hustlin' a bit?"
I really have no clue what that means, but when she reaches over and yanks the keys out of the car and unbuckles me, then starts to walk into the 'hotel', I follow her obediently.
If there was some award for the World's Longest Headache, I'd HAVE to win it.
Why won't it leave me alone?!?
I let out an irritated sigh as I jam our room key into the rusty doorknob, twisting it hard and gasping in pain as the door jams and sprains my wrist.
I nearly curse, but stop myself when I see Meghan standing by me, looking at me expectantly.
"Good grief."
With a low growl, I kick the door open and step into the room, immediately covering my nose as the dank odor of dirty laundry and mildew swamps me.
THIS is a room?
The carpet is stained a nasty shade of green (I think it used to be white, a hundred years ago) and the puke-orange wallpaper is peeling and flaking onto the floor. There is only one lumpy, unkempt bed that has a worn and torn quilt on it and sheets that have obviously seen better days.
I don't even want to look in the bathroom.
Meghan steps past me and looks around.
Her face lights up with a grin, "TV! COOL!"
Count on kids to see the bright side.
"Yea. Cool."
I collapse onto the bed, not even trying to mask the stench of body odor and sweat.
After dragging a pillow towards me, I close my eyes and instantly zonk out.
For a second.
"...Misti? Misti? MISTI!?!?"
"...wha-? Huh? What?"
I open one eye forcefully, exhaustion fogging my brain.
Meghan stands uncertainly at the bedside, biting her lip, "...I...well...can...can I watch TV?"
"Yea...sure...knock yourself out..."
I'm dead asleep again.
Way-too-soon later:
"...Misti? Hey, Misti...? MISTI!"
"Huh? What?"
"I can't reach the switch for the TV."
"...the switch?"
"Uh huh. To turn it on."
Her words are traveling in slow-motion, registering in my brain like melted tar.
Finally, I shove myself up and stumble across the room to the television, flicking it on, "There."
I collapse, passed out.
Guess what?
"Misti?"
I kind of expected it that time, though.
"...what?"
"...there's nothing on."
"...There's always something on. Keep switching channels until you find something."
"I can't. The remote's under your head."
"Goodness...!"
I reach under the pillow, grope around, and fling it at her when I find it.
"...thank you."
I didn't hear. I'm asleep.
I wake myself up this time, maybe because I'm shocked SHE doesn't wake me up.
It's only twenty, thirty minutes later.
I groggily sit up, my body aching and shrieking at me to just lie back down.
I just wanna check on the kid real quick.
She's sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed, watching TV like a good little girl.
"Hey, Kid. Whatcha watchin'?"
"I dunno what it's called. But Misti? I have a question."
I roll over to face her, yawning, "Shoot."
"Why are the man and lady kissing like that? And...why are they sleeping without clothes on?"
I guess that's my wake up call.
Misti really didn't sleep long; after I ask her my question, she turns off the TV really fast and tells me I can't ever watch TV alone again.
She doesn't sound angry; after she says that, she goes into the bathroom and I think I hear her kind of laughing.
When she comes back out, she has different clothes on and has her face washed and her hair brushed and everything; I ask her how she did that without bringing anything into the bathroom, and she looks kind of almost scared.
"I...brushed my hair with my hands. Got the clothes from the bathroom. Some stupid lady left them."
I kind of make a face, "Is that really sanitary?"
She shrugs and then comes over and sits by me.
After a second, she shakes her head, "Kid, you're really a sight."
I guess I am; I haven't had a bath in a long time, and I've had the same clothes for awhile ( like I said); I haven't even brushed my hair in about a week.
I can feel my cheeks burning and I look away from her and pick at my shoes.
"It's no biggie, Kid. We'll just find an actual livable place tonight and get you cleaned up, eh?"
I look up and smile a little bit, "That'd be nice."
Whoever said that 'patience is a virtue' should spend half a day locked in a small, cramped, hot vehicle driving through the middle of nowhere with a bored and carsick six-year-old and no ID or money whatsoever.
Then we'll see how 'virtuous' patience would seem.
Really, I'm doing a pretty good job controlling my temper, considering the stress I'm under.
We've been driving for exactly seven hours, forty-six minutes and twenty- three seconds.
It's been Hell, to say it nicely.
First off, we found out we're low on gas, cash, and entertainment for kids. Then we discovered (the hard way) that Meghan's only slightly extremely carsick. After we (meaning I) attempted to clean up the car, we stopped for lunch at a grungy deli that happened to serve free lunch to police officers (there were at least half a dozen there, and all their radios were squawking the story about 'the evil woman who kidnapped Meghan Carnelle').
We left relatively quickly, me swearing angrily because I hate cops and Meghan on the verge of tears because she was hungry.
About a hundred miles later, we stopped for gas and spent almost the rest of my money on soda and hotdogs (I never thought I'd be surviving on THAT), and got rather unpleasant looks from the cashier when Meghan decided that the can of soda she wanted was the one at the BOTTOM of the stacks of sodas exactly identical to it (we had a little chat about the effects of gravity after she yanked it out and watched the cashier mop up the mess).
Now, finally, we're within two hundred miles of the next 'big city', where I KNOW I can get another fake ID and some cash, Meghan is asleep with a bowl on her lap (she just couldn't hold down that soda), we have a full tank of gas, the car's top is down, and I'm FREE.
I don't have to bite my tongue when I feel the need to scream a 'bad word'.
I don't have to wear 'appropriate' clothes and listen to 'ok' music.
I can stop in the town ahead and grab a beer if I want.
I can smoke, drink, do drugs, and be MYSELF!
...at least, as long as Meghan stays asleep I can.
Can't possibly do any of that while she's conscious.
For some reason, I just can't be myself around her.
It's like she's too...FRAGILE or something.
Like the 'real' me will break her.
I shake my head as the cool wind runs its fingers through my hair; since when do I use words like 'fragile'?
This kid is making me go nuts, and it's only been three days.
I glance over to her sleeping form and carelessly drape my jacket over her; I don't want her to wake up from the wind.
That would suck.
Then I'd have to roll the top back up, turn off the radio, hide my cigarettes, and forget about ANY kind of 'real' drink back in town.
Maybe she'll sleep all night and I'll be able to 'PARTE'?
YEA right.
I'm dead-tired, to tell the truth.
I'm running on pure sugar from that cursed soda, and as soon as it wears off, I'll drop down like a sack of flour.
No, no party for me.
Just a hotel room—a NICE one—and a good bed.
That's all I need right now.
After that, I'll be good as new.
A good night's sleep, shower in the morning, a decent breakfast...
Oh yea.
I'll be back in action, Baby.
Then I'll figure out step two.
But if I have to have another day like this one, I will scream.
"Meg. Hey, Meg. Wake up, Kid. C'mon."
I open my eyes, and it feels like I have rocks in them.
I feel so sick right now.
All day, my stomach's been twisting and bubbling; I've never thrown up so many times.
My head is pounding every time my heart beats; it feels like my brain is swelling up.
I look up at Misti and the world tips over; I feel so dizzy.
I want to cry.
I don't feel good!
I wish I was better.
I hate being sick.
I can't see very well, so I rub my eyes and blink a few times, but when I look back at Misti, it's still blurry.
My whole body feels heavy, like I swallowed a big bag of sand and it all went down to my legs and arms.
I'm really hot, too; I feel all sweaty.
I don't think I can walk.
I really don't want to; I just want to go back to sleep, where it doesn't hurt so much.
"C'mon, Meg. Got us a hotel room. This one's nice, I promise. Let's get up to bed, I'm exhausted."
I want to explain it to her, but I can't.
I just don't think she'd understand.
I don't understand.
Why isn't she getting up?
You'd think she'd be all psyched about a new room.
I mean she was racing all over the last one, and it was a replica of Stinktown, U.S.A; what's wrong with her?
I gaze at her closely, noting her pale, sweaty face and glossed-over eyes; maybe she's a little sicker than I thought.
"Meg...are you alright? Can you hear me?"
Slowly, her eyes focus on me and she nods.
For some reason, that relaxes me, "Ok. Good." I open the car door a little wider and reach in, "C'mon...I'll help you out. You're probably just tired from the trip..."
She stumbles out, disoriented and tired, with me holding her up by her arms.
She stands shakily by me, staring down at the sidewalk and breathing heavily.
After a second, she gazes up at me with her lower lip trembling and lifts her hands up, reaching up for me to pick her up, "Misti...I...can't..."
I watch her for a moment, really (REALLY) not wanting to pick her up.
That signifies something, doesn't it?
Picking her up?
That has to signify something.
However, she just seems way too weak and fatigued to help herself, and it's not like I haven't held little kids before, so I reach down and lift her into my arms; it's then that I realize how hot she feels.
Great. Now I'm worried.
I don't let on, though; I just close the car door, turn and walk into the hotel as casually as I can, even though I can feel anxiety starting to build in my mind.
Pendragon: Hey! So glad you like this story! You're reviews make me so happy! I JUST LOVE YOUR USERNAME! How'd you come up with it? I'm glad you think I portray Mystique so well. She's lots of fun to write! Teehee.
Rogue 151: Hello! Glad you liked the chapter, I tried to make it funny. I'm not sure if the Mystique series goes along in the same universe with the other comics...it just might. But like you said, maybe she didn't really have any reason to think of Rogue. She's never mentioned her in any of the comics I've read, but I haven't seen EVERY issue. I'll definitely tell you if I see different though. X-Treme X-Men is my favorite X-0Men series. ;-) It's awesome! I can't wait for school to be out, can you? Lol.
Demiducky: Howdy! Yes, kids do seem to keep the same enthusiasm, don't they? Lol. All of my little brothers and cousins do. It's pretty funny! (
Tique: Hi! Great to hear form you! Glad you enjoyed the chapter! (
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4
I wake up with the sun in my eyes and my back really sore.
I close my eyes hard and moan, stretching slowly as I sit up in my seat.
My clothes are wrinkled and smell dirty; I guess they should, since I've been wearing them for so long.
I look over to the driver's side and see that Misti is nowhere to be found; the key is still in the ignition as the radio is playing.
I look out the window and see that we're pulled in front of a very old building that looks like it's gonna fall down any second.
The colored, light-up sign on its roof says 'HOTL'.
I squint and see that the 'E' is burned out; it's s'posed to say 'hotel', I guess.
The sky is very, very pale; like it's been frozen from the sun being gone all night.
I guess it must be pretty early in the morning; there are still a few stars above me, although the moon is gone.
I jump as my door suddenly swings open and I fall out; the only reason I don't fall onto the road is because I'm still buckled up.
Surprised and a little afraid, I look up quickly, thinking it might be Them come back to get me.
It's just Misti.
I relax and smile a little, "Hi."
"Hi."
She looks really tired.
Like about to fall over.
"Where are we?"
"Somewhere between nowhere and somewhere."
I frown, "So...is that a place?"
She shakes her head and covers her eyes with her hand, "I...guess. Listen, we only have a room for about three hours, so would you mind hustlin' a bit?"
I really have no clue what that means, but when she reaches over and yanks the keys out of the car and unbuckles me, then starts to walk into the 'hotel', I follow her obediently.
If there was some award for the World's Longest Headache, I'd HAVE to win it.
Why won't it leave me alone?!?
I let out an irritated sigh as I jam our room key into the rusty doorknob, twisting it hard and gasping in pain as the door jams and sprains my wrist.
I nearly curse, but stop myself when I see Meghan standing by me, looking at me expectantly.
"Good grief."
With a low growl, I kick the door open and step into the room, immediately covering my nose as the dank odor of dirty laundry and mildew swamps me.
THIS is a room?
The carpet is stained a nasty shade of green (I think it used to be white, a hundred years ago) and the puke-orange wallpaper is peeling and flaking onto the floor. There is only one lumpy, unkempt bed that has a worn and torn quilt on it and sheets that have obviously seen better days.
I don't even want to look in the bathroom.
Meghan steps past me and looks around.
Her face lights up with a grin, "TV! COOL!"
Count on kids to see the bright side.
"Yea. Cool."
I collapse onto the bed, not even trying to mask the stench of body odor and sweat.
After dragging a pillow towards me, I close my eyes and instantly zonk out.
For a second.
"...Misti? Misti? MISTI!?!?"
"...wha-? Huh? What?"
I open one eye forcefully, exhaustion fogging my brain.
Meghan stands uncertainly at the bedside, biting her lip, "...I...well...can...can I watch TV?"
"Yea...sure...knock yourself out..."
I'm dead asleep again.
Way-too-soon later:
"...Misti? Hey, Misti...? MISTI!"
"Huh? What?"
"I can't reach the switch for the TV."
"...the switch?"
"Uh huh. To turn it on."
Her words are traveling in slow-motion, registering in my brain like melted tar.
Finally, I shove myself up and stumble across the room to the television, flicking it on, "There."
I collapse, passed out.
Guess what?
"Misti?"
I kind of expected it that time, though.
"...what?"
"...there's nothing on."
"...There's always something on. Keep switching channels until you find something."
"I can't. The remote's under your head."
"Goodness...!"
I reach under the pillow, grope around, and fling it at her when I find it.
"...thank you."
I didn't hear. I'm asleep.
I wake myself up this time, maybe because I'm shocked SHE doesn't wake me up.
It's only twenty, thirty minutes later.
I groggily sit up, my body aching and shrieking at me to just lie back down.
I just wanna check on the kid real quick.
She's sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed, watching TV like a good little girl.
"Hey, Kid. Whatcha watchin'?"
"I dunno what it's called. But Misti? I have a question."
I roll over to face her, yawning, "Shoot."
"Why are the man and lady kissing like that? And...why are they sleeping without clothes on?"
I guess that's my wake up call.
Misti really didn't sleep long; after I ask her my question, she turns off the TV really fast and tells me I can't ever watch TV alone again.
She doesn't sound angry; after she says that, she goes into the bathroom and I think I hear her kind of laughing.
When she comes back out, she has different clothes on and has her face washed and her hair brushed and everything; I ask her how she did that without bringing anything into the bathroom, and she looks kind of almost scared.
"I...brushed my hair with my hands. Got the clothes from the bathroom. Some stupid lady left them."
I kind of make a face, "Is that really sanitary?"
She shrugs and then comes over and sits by me.
After a second, she shakes her head, "Kid, you're really a sight."
I guess I am; I haven't had a bath in a long time, and I've had the same clothes for awhile ( like I said); I haven't even brushed my hair in about a week.
I can feel my cheeks burning and I look away from her and pick at my shoes.
"It's no biggie, Kid. We'll just find an actual livable place tonight and get you cleaned up, eh?"
I look up and smile a little bit, "That'd be nice."
Whoever said that 'patience is a virtue' should spend half a day locked in a small, cramped, hot vehicle driving through the middle of nowhere with a bored and carsick six-year-old and no ID or money whatsoever.
Then we'll see how 'virtuous' patience would seem.
Really, I'm doing a pretty good job controlling my temper, considering the stress I'm under.
We've been driving for exactly seven hours, forty-six minutes and twenty- three seconds.
It's been Hell, to say it nicely.
First off, we found out we're low on gas, cash, and entertainment for kids. Then we discovered (the hard way) that Meghan's only slightly extremely carsick. After we (meaning I) attempted to clean up the car, we stopped for lunch at a grungy deli that happened to serve free lunch to police officers (there were at least half a dozen there, and all their radios were squawking the story about 'the evil woman who kidnapped Meghan Carnelle').
We left relatively quickly, me swearing angrily because I hate cops and Meghan on the verge of tears because she was hungry.
About a hundred miles later, we stopped for gas and spent almost the rest of my money on soda and hotdogs (I never thought I'd be surviving on THAT), and got rather unpleasant looks from the cashier when Meghan decided that the can of soda she wanted was the one at the BOTTOM of the stacks of sodas exactly identical to it (we had a little chat about the effects of gravity after she yanked it out and watched the cashier mop up the mess).
Now, finally, we're within two hundred miles of the next 'big city', where I KNOW I can get another fake ID and some cash, Meghan is asleep with a bowl on her lap (she just couldn't hold down that soda), we have a full tank of gas, the car's top is down, and I'm FREE.
I don't have to bite my tongue when I feel the need to scream a 'bad word'.
I don't have to wear 'appropriate' clothes and listen to 'ok' music.
I can stop in the town ahead and grab a beer if I want.
I can smoke, drink, do drugs, and be MYSELF!
...at least, as long as Meghan stays asleep I can.
Can't possibly do any of that while she's conscious.
For some reason, I just can't be myself around her.
It's like she's too...FRAGILE or something.
Like the 'real' me will break her.
I shake my head as the cool wind runs its fingers through my hair; since when do I use words like 'fragile'?
This kid is making me go nuts, and it's only been three days.
I glance over to her sleeping form and carelessly drape my jacket over her; I don't want her to wake up from the wind.
That would suck.
Then I'd have to roll the top back up, turn off the radio, hide my cigarettes, and forget about ANY kind of 'real' drink back in town.
Maybe she'll sleep all night and I'll be able to 'PARTE'?
YEA right.
I'm dead-tired, to tell the truth.
I'm running on pure sugar from that cursed soda, and as soon as it wears off, I'll drop down like a sack of flour.
No, no party for me.
Just a hotel room—a NICE one—and a good bed.
That's all I need right now.
After that, I'll be good as new.
A good night's sleep, shower in the morning, a decent breakfast...
Oh yea.
I'll be back in action, Baby.
Then I'll figure out step two.
But if I have to have another day like this one, I will scream.
"Meg. Hey, Meg. Wake up, Kid. C'mon."
I open my eyes, and it feels like I have rocks in them.
I feel so sick right now.
All day, my stomach's been twisting and bubbling; I've never thrown up so many times.
My head is pounding every time my heart beats; it feels like my brain is swelling up.
I look up at Misti and the world tips over; I feel so dizzy.
I want to cry.
I don't feel good!
I wish I was better.
I hate being sick.
I can't see very well, so I rub my eyes and blink a few times, but when I look back at Misti, it's still blurry.
My whole body feels heavy, like I swallowed a big bag of sand and it all went down to my legs and arms.
I'm really hot, too; I feel all sweaty.
I don't think I can walk.
I really don't want to; I just want to go back to sleep, where it doesn't hurt so much.
"C'mon, Meg. Got us a hotel room. This one's nice, I promise. Let's get up to bed, I'm exhausted."
I want to explain it to her, but I can't.
I just don't think she'd understand.
I don't understand.
Why isn't she getting up?
You'd think she'd be all psyched about a new room.
I mean she was racing all over the last one, and it was a replica of Stinktown, U.S.A; what's wrong with her?
I gaze at her closely, noting her pale, sweaty face and glossed-over eyes; maybe she's a little sicker than I thought.
"Meg...are you alright? Can you hear me?"
Slowly, her eyes focus on me and she nods.
For some reason, that relaxes me, "Ok. Good." I open the car door a little wider and reach in, "C'mon...I'll help you out. You're probably just tired from the trip..."
She stumbles out, disoriented and tired, with me holding her up by her arms.
She stands shakily by me, staring down at the sidewalk and breathing heavily.
After a second, she gazes up at me with her lower lip trembling and lifts her hands up, reaching up for me to pick her up, "Misti...I...can't..."
I watch her for a moment, really (REALLY) not wanting to pick her up.
That signifies something, doesn't it?
Picking her up?
That has to signify something.
However, she just seems way too weak and fatigued to help herself, and it's not like I haven't held little kids before, so I reach down and lift her into my arms; it's then that I realize how hot she feels.
Great. Now I'm worried.
I don't let on, though; I just close the car door, turn and walk into the hotel as casually as I can, even though I can feel anxiety starting to build in my mind.