Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It belongs to Marvel and the WB!.

Pressure

By Kyanne Birley

"Miss, ah, Rogue?"

Rogue looked up from her watercolor. She couldn't say it was very good, but she liked it, and she would of rather liked to keep her concentration on it.

"What"?" She asked the art teacher.

"Can I talk to you in the hall for a moment?"

Rogue slipped out of her seat and followed the woman into the hall. She was in her late forties; wrinkled skin and brown hair, not to mention a mole on her face that the students did their best to try and ignore. The two stepped into the hall and the teacher closed the door behind them.

"What do you want to talk about?" Rogue asked, crossing her arms. She didn't have time for this; hell, these days it seemed like she didn't have time for anything. Or want to have time for anything.

"It's about the picture you did..." the art teacher said. "You see it's not very...ah...appropriate for school."

Rogue lifted her eyebrows into the air. What picture? The one she had done of the girl in the corner, slitting her wrists? There was nothing wrong with it. Only if you planned to showcase it. Besides, she hadn't even turned it in for a project. The teacher had just leaned over and looked at it, and told her she had done a good job, then left. That was all.

"That's it?" Rogue asked.

"No," said the teacher, eyes turning icy cold. "I would also like to discuss your behavior in ceramics. No one needs to know your business."

Rogue lifted her eyebrows even further. Her business? Did Rogue even showcase her business?

"I would like to let you know that I have moved Kitty out of the class. You two do not need to be in the same class with each other."

Oh, so that was it. Yesterday her and Kitty had gotten a little loud discussing the topic of Porn Stars. They had been in a heated argument about it until the teacher had told the to quiet down.

"You didn't have to move her out of class," Rogue said. "We were just having a discussion. Freedom of speech and such, teacher." The teacher glared.

"I would also like to let you know that I have written a letter to the counselor about you. I do not want you behaving as such ever again. I also plan to call your parents."

Now Rogue was glaring. She could feel a wave of anger hovering over her like a cloud. She clenched her gloved fists.

"I don't have parents. I live with the Professor," Rogue said.

"Well, I plan on calling him. You are in a lot of trouble, young lady. Do you understand?"

"Yes...m'am..." Rogue said, fists clenched in anger.

"Truly?" Asked the teacher. "Do you really understand me?"

"Yes. Yes, I understand you!" Rogue said. She pushed past the teacher and went back into the classroom.

"I can't believe they changed Kitty's schedule!" Kurt said over lunch. "She's not even in my French class anymore! All that's left now is a bunch of stupid people. It's going to suck when she puts us in pairs; which, by the way, is all the time."

Rogue ignored him. She was still upset about what the teacher had said.

'You're picture isn't very appropriate for school.'

That disgusting picture of a naked old man in a womb that her son had done wasn't very appropriate for school either, but she had hung it up in her classroom anyway.

'No one needs to know your business.'

No one even cares about yours!

'I've moved Kitty out of your class. The two of you do not need to be in the same class as each other.'

No one needs to be in your class. Only people who want to get out of doing work go into it. Not anyone serious about art.

'Do you understand me?'

No one understands you. You don't even understand me. What the hell is your problem?

"Hey Rogue, you even listening to me?" Kurt asked.

She wasn't.

"Like, Rogue, it's my turn for the bathroom!" Kitty shouted.

"You took a bath this morning!" yelled Rogue, turning on the water. She heard a deep sigh, then Kitty's departing footsteps.

Rogue eased herself into the water and grimaced. The heater had gone out and the water was icy cold, like just melted snow.

Rogue had used to like baths like that, but now she had gotten tired of them. She like baths so hot that they burned her skin and turned it red.

She grabbed her waterproof CD played and stuck the headphones on her ears, then went under.

As a kid you always play that game with other kids. How long can you hold your breath under water?

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9...

That's the game I play with myself. Over and over again. Soon though, I loose count on the biggest number.

So I start a new game.

How long can I stay under until the pressure from my empty lungs forces me to come back up?

I don't even count. I just go under until I know I can't stand it anymore. Over and over and over again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9...

The water isn't even cold anymore. My own body heat has warmed it up, and it's not pleasant. It's at that temperature that's not cold, but not hot. Lukewarm. I hate it. Like I said, it's not pleasant.

It never was.

Nothing ever is.

I'm under pressure, and I can feel it making me come back up for air.

I don't want to.

I always let people think that I was the 'slit-my-wrists' type of person, but that's now how I am. I'm like the frog slowly dieing from the heat.

You know, like in France. When they cook the frogs, if they just put them in boiling water, they'll hop out. So they put the in cold water, then slowly turn up the water. Before he knows it, the frog has croaked.

That's what's happening to me right now. I can feel it.

And it seems like there's nothing I can do to stop it.

So I keep playing my games, hiding my face, letting people think whatever they want.

And no one knows the pressure they've put on me.

The thing is, I don't understand. And neither does anyone else.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's not.

But the pressure will kill me one day.

A/N: Please review and tell me what you thought. If I made any mistakes, please let me know.

Thank you and goodbye.