Okay, I know I'm on strike, but I finished this and I have to put it up.
Fallen Angel
-by-
Draco-luver
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Of all the times she listened to him prater on about equality between humans and mutants, she hoped he wouldn't be so surprised with what she was doing to herself now.
This had been going on for a while now, this pain she put herself through. No one had noticed yet, she would know. She thought Scott might have seen her arm the last time, but she wasn't quite sure.
She had amassed quite a collection of them now. Some thin and long, others short and much deeper. She had a star on her inner left thigh that no one knew about. She thought the Professor might have snooped a little when she was limping those days after she had done it. The others on the team should have noticed. Maybe she wouldn't be where she was now.
Maybe she did it because she missed home? Maybe because she missed her family. Sure she had family here. The X-Men were practically all she had now.
Her relatives had accepted her mutantcy, but for how long? She never talked about her but she missed her sister too. She had been close to Spyke and when he left it just put another nail in her proverbial coffin. God, what would he think of her doing this to herself? He was like family to her, he had even admitted to loving her. Well she supposed she could add him to the list of people to ask forgiveness from.
She let a tear fall from her eye as she looked around the second story bathroom from it's floor. Most of the main team was out tonight, she had planned around their outings. She sniffed and picked an ice cube from the bowl at her side. She set the ice in a wash cloth and held it through it, and pressed it against her forearm. When she numbed her arm she could cut deeper. That meant more blood. More release. She liked the feeling of her blood slipping through her fingers. Her life force. Her mutantcy.
She looked at the razor blade resting on her right thigh. Even after several dozen uses it was still sharp, still gleaming with it's potency. Out of all the things she'd ever used, this one was her favorite. The knives, glass shards, and other razor blades didn't come close to the way she felt about this blade. It was the one she had used to first cut herself nearly two years ago. She still had the thin pale scar on the inside of her left arm. It wasn't the deepest or longest scar she had by far, but it was her first so it was all the more special.
She pulled the ice cube away from her arm and dried the area with the wash cloth. Not wanting to waste time she picked up the razor and grasped it firmly. She placed the menacing tip at the north end of the numb section of her arm and pressed. She took in a deep breath and pulled back towards her.
She always felt a release cutting and wanted to pull that relief to her heart. She stopped when she started to feel the blade cutting. She wiped the blade on her leg and watched as the blood came to the surface. When she did it like this she couldn't feel the blade as much as the pressure from it, making it easier, making this more frequent.
She let out her breath. She turned to the shower door and looked back to her arm. After blinking a few times she quickly grabbed the blade and savagely cut her left leg in a swift motion, creating a deep and now bloody line.
She let the blood pool on the top of her leg and put her left hand in the blood and wiped it down the shower door. She did the same with her right hand and put a solid hand print on the door next to the streak.
The blood from her leg was starting to soak into the plush white carpet in front of shower. Sniffing, she opened the door to the shower and crawled inside. She moved up into a kneeling position and weakly grasped the shower head and pulled it down to her. Sitting back against the far wall she used her powers to turn on the water, full cold.
She shivered as the cold water ran around her feet that were on either side of the drain. She swallowed and looked up at the blood stains on the outside of the doors. Blinking sleepily she sprayed the bloody markings from the inside and cried a bit when they wouldn't wash away.
A stinging feeling caught her attention and she looked in the direction it was coming from. Her left thigh was completely red and a long gash wasn't stopping the flow. She blinked confusedly at it and sprayed it with water. The cold water was shocking to the cut and relieving at the same time. The painful sensation mixed with the stale adrenaline she got from making the dicey incision.
The moment needed something else, something that would be oddly funny later. Her cloudy mind searched for something appropriate. Eyes closed, she shattered the mirrors outside the stall, and she smiled as she listened to the glass hitting the faux marble floor. If she was going down she was taking those damned lying mirrors with her. They told her she was beautiful, telling her she was attractive.
Shaking her head out of a daze she leaned over to the door and pushed it open slightly. She brought the blade closer to her using her powers and picked it up. Slinking quietly back into the shower stall she closed the door again.
She rinsed the blood off of her left leg, admiring the way the blood seemed to wisp away in the water stream. It was so quiet, not loud and noisy like the younger students. She suddenly cut a horizontal line on her right leg. Now they were opposites, unalike in appearance. Quietly similar in their searing pain.
She cracked her neck and closed her eyes. Listening to the sounds of people arriving home. Children running up the stairs, adults telling each other a trivial good-night.
'So weak. I feel... so weak. Wh-why is that..? I..I wonder... why that is...'
Slumping slowly down into the shallow basin of the shower she watched lazily as the blood slipping from her legs thinned and mixed with the water as it disappeared into the drain. It swirled and slipped away and around each other so easily.
'It's... so pretty. I'm tired...want to..sleep now.'
From another room she could hear a soft song, accented by a bit of drums.
I cry when angels deserve to die, in my, self righteous suicide
The still young woman closed her eyes intending on taking a short nap, feeling rather tired that she was. She did not hear the people knocking on the door asking how she was. She did not hear the screaming nor the sirens coming closer to her home. She heard the quiet song as she drifted into a peacefull, if not restful sleep. Her last thoughts before succumbing to unconsciousness were that she should find out who sung the pretty angel song.
-5 minutes earlier-
Logan walked in the front door after the last of the kids and set the security system to ON for the night. Turning to Charles, he yawned.
"I hope 'Ro enjoyed her night in."
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Well, we can't all be perfect. Can we?