Lucky Me
Chapter 95
"You're not even trying." My teacher, Mr. Kurt pointed out for the twentieth time as I hit my knees again. They were going to have to replace these dumb blue mats because I was wearing the padding down.
The one hand I still had on the bar clenched, and I heard the crunch of the metal under my strength."Give me a reason to." I spat out coldly.
Again, I had to learn to walk again. For the third freaking time. Before it was almost surreal, now it was just another cold slap in my face. Another claw which dug it's nasty razor sharp edge into my life, ripping away the layers and leaving me to cry tears of hate.
"Kookie, this isn't like you."
Like I was anything I once had been. My wings were gone. Butchered. Completely hacked off and he thought I was supposed to turn around and be happy about it? Screw that. I had no wings. I had no real reason to learn anything. I spent all that time and energy on learning to fly and walk with wings and what was the point? What was the point?
I was a fallen angel.
All because my 'mom' was a psycho-crazy freak.
Who cared about walking?
"Kookie?" Mr. Kurt put his hands on my shoulders and I snapped my eyes up to him. Whatever he saw in my face caused his shoulders to slump. "I guess we are through for today. I'll go and get the wheelchair."
Still gripping the railing tightly with one hand, I swung the other one around and it too was holding on to the bar. If I wanted to, I could pull myself up and force my legs to help me stand. But again, what was the point of trying?
It was all going to be taken away from me anyway.
I jolted up in my bed.
Not again. I couldn't do this again. Everything that could possibly tremble, shake, or quiver was doing exactly that. Fear swept through me, became absorbed into my heart until it dripped with the petrifying emotion.
Another nightmare.
B-but this time it wasn't Darcy. This time I had been in Arty's hospital room and as she lay there, gently resting, I picked up one of the spare pillows. While humming a tune, I pressed the pillow over her face. I pressed and pressed….
My throat clenched to keep my dinner down.
Arty was out of the hospital and currently preparing a room in her new house for Darcy. She was fine, she wanted to visit but they said it wouldn't be helpful to me. That it might bring back bad memories of that night.
Right. I looked in the mirror, touched my bandaged back and the horrors of that night flooded my mind.
Stitches and scars would be the only thing I would have to hold on to. Carefully, I laid my hand on my shoulder, where some of my bandages were wrapped and felt the tears well up in my eyes. My hand tightened on the bandages, my nails biting into the cloth smoothly enough not to even make a ripping sound.
This was what I got for all my hard work?
Nightmares and scars? A lifetime of always jumping at shadows when I was alone? This was what I deserved for being what? For being a mutant? For being born?
A sharp cry of pain snapped my attention to the present. It took a minute to notice, but when I did I dropped my hand from my shoulder. I was the one who screamed and upon inspecting my nails I noticed a tinge of blood marring the tips.
Blood and pain. Summed up my life really.
I scrubbed the palms of my hands into my eyes and pulled into a tight ball. Why did I wake up? Why couldn't I just die?
"Kerry." My name, it sounded so foreign to me but the voice was familiar and had my stomach melting into cold fire. I didn't bother pulling my head up to meet his eyes, just allowed him to push me back and on to my side. I didn't protest or flinch as he lay down beside me and continued to pet my hair as I hid my face in my hands which were now gripping his shirt.
I feel asleep again but not even he could block out my nightmares.
Dr. Hank didn't drag me back down to the medical lab, but he did have our little 'meeting' in an open area. Oh, like the middle of the bathroom. It was the noonish and only because I had to go to the bathroom really really bad did I drag myself out of my bed and into the wheelchair, across the hall, to the restroom where I was caught. Oh, don't worry, I was fully clothed and my hands were washed, but still a conference of my medical condition in the bathroom?
"Kookie." He tried to smile but my permanent scowl froze that expression into oblivion. "Uh, I see you are still in therapy." I lowered my eyebrows even more. "Physical therapy, of course."
I shrugged, and looked into the mirror again. Of course since I was sitting down, I could only see from my shoulders up. I felt like something disgusting and horrible had slithered into my stomach and was munching away the lining. The straight lines of my shoulders, and then nothing. Well, not nothing because the shower stalls were behind me…but no wings.
No more wings.
As if he read my mind, this was when he picked up the conversation. "I would like to discuss your condition with you, if you have the time."
What else did I have to do? Run a marathon? Fly around the mansion? Oh, right, couldn't do that. Thank you for reminding me. "Sure."
"First off, Kerry, I want you to know we did everything possible to salvage your wings. But they were so badly wounded…the layers of skin had been cut," understood as hacked, "away. Much of the muscle tissue was damaged, severed completely in most areas and your bones were broken and fractured all throughout the base of your wings."
I bowed my head. The tears of memories and the loss came up to my eyes again.
"And there is something else I want you to know." I cast him a glance, it was enough of a reaction to get him to talking. "As you probably have noticed, there have been some-rapid changes in your physical attributes." As long as I wasn't turning into a guy, I didn't really notice anything. "For instance. Your nails. They have seemed to have thicken, am I correct?"
I examined the tips of my fingers boredly. Yes, so they were thicker. Who cared?
"Which is indicative to our more animalistic comrades' claws," he spoke slowly.
"Then there is the matter of your—teeth." That word capture my attention astonishingly well. "Your K-9s are becoming unnaturally sharp and slightly longer." When did they get my dental record? Maybe Jack informed them about the inside of my mouth (only before the attack) since his tongue (oh stop gagging on me, we were a couple…I think) visited there enough.
"What about them?" My interest wasn't something that stayed long these days.
"I think they, the possible development of claws and fangs, are a—compensation— for your recent loss of flight." Dr. Hank began to clean his glasses with his sweater. He did that when he was stalling. I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, so let him stall. Finally though, once his glasses had been rubbed free of all whatever it was making them needed to be cleaned Dr. Hank coughed lightly and tried to break the news gently. "I don't think you will ever be able to grow your wings back."
A brick over my head from ninety floors up would have been nicer to feel. Somewhere in me I had a strangled hope that my wings would return. I know I never said it out loud, but it was such a fragile hope that I was afraid if I spoke it, it would smash to the ground and disappear.
"Why not?" My voice became raspy. "Mr. Warren's did."
"True, but that is his natural mutation. As I've told you before, you're flight is a result of your advanced blood." Simple terms, simple words for the simple minded. "You're adrenaline of flight or fight has, obviously, acted out to where it will be willing more 'fight' than 'flight' than before." Most of what he said after that was hazy.
I was never going to fly again.
How could I live like that? I tasted the freedom of the skies and now, now they said I'd never be able to do anything but stay on the ground? I couldn't handle it. Why did I listen to Darcy that night? Why didn't I just push Heather down and make her stop?
If I hadn't been so pathetic, I would still be able to fly.
I would still be alive.
I was shoved back into the weight room as an attempt to get me to work my balance back into existence. My shoulders were sore and still healing and yet they made me do what they wanted me to do. Mr. Kurt and Mr. Warren were trying their best to be positive but my words and glares acted like darts which popped their little 'happy happy' balloons.
"What if we promised you some cookies? Or ice cream?"
I clenched my teeth down and strangled out a reply as I leaned heavily upon the bar, glaring at them. "Then I'd hear about how fat I'm getting. And then they'd make me come here more often to be submitted to perky torture." They blinked at me, slightly clueless. "No thanks." I mumbled out.
"What will get you to try?" Mr. Kurt urged.
I gave a sickening laugh and a frigid smile. There was no real reason to answer. I wanted what was most obvious. My wings. Heather's life ripped from her, but not her life, her very reason for being. She took my flight; I wanted to take her means of happiness as well. I wanted to walk, yes, but I only wanted to walk when I had reassurance that I wouldn't have, oh let's say, my arms taken from me.
Take, take, take. It was the only thing this world ever did to or for me. Take and did it give me something in return? Oh sure! It gave me perky peers and pure out hell.
A sudden burn surged in my mind and in a nanosecond; I was on the floor, panting heavily. Oh great, don't tell me that I am going to have a brain problem now too!
Take my sanity! I didn't care anymore! Take it and leave me to live out the rest of my days in a padded white room with buff body guards and lots of pointed, medicine filled needles. Just the thought of that had my laughter dropping another pitch. Even as Mr. Kurt 'bamfed' me to the medical wing to get Dr. Hank to check me out because blood started to trickle from my nose. I laughed.
I was so screwed up.
I lay on my bed the same night, staring up at the black ceiling. The pain in my healing back from the weight I was putting on it made it feel like someone kept jabbing hot pokers in spine. I hadn't felt my backbone against the bed in over a year.
Darcy announced that she was leaving tomorrow and all I could do was poke at my peas on my plate. Didn't they know I hated those things by now?
After dinner, I took the elevator up to the library and wheeled my way into my room. I pulled myself into bed and had been there ever since. Perhaps I should attempt to do something constructive like work on my balance, but my heart wasn't in it.
It wasn't around here. It was dead and buried back in Pennsylvania. When we were alone, I had half interestedly asked why she was leaving. Darcy stared at me for the longest time. I didn't know what she was looking for but apparently she didn't find it in me.
"I can't stand it when you look at me like that." No, it wasn't me who said that. I should have been the one to say it, but it was Darcy. "With those eyes."
I gave her a half-hearted glare. "Want me to replace them with someone else's?"
"No." Then silence started to play solitaire around us. She didn't look at me and didn't move away. Rolling these, I guessed, disturbing eyes I huffed out a question of why. Her own eyes snapped to me and seemed to be ready to get into a fight about it. "I want them to be you again!"
I gave the icy smirk I'd been prone to give lately. The one which would have Miss Frost running for her mink coat. "I'm not good with metaphors. You'll have to speak plainer than that."
Darcy appeared to be struggling with her temper, a rare thing indeed. "You-you are just like then." Her fires got cooled by some mysterious matter. Her voice came out softer, almost caring to the point where I would almost care. "Your eyes are just like back then. After Daddy died."
I flinched at that physically and my anger was steadily rising.
"You had this empty look. Like you were completely dead!" She stamped her foot for emphasis.
"News flash, kid. I was dead not too long ago, remember?" I narrowed my eyes. Did she forget why I was recently dead? They said if it hadn't been for Jean and Dr. Hank, I'd still be dead. For some reason, I thought I was been better off that way. At least I wouldn't have to live with how ungrateful my little sister was being.
"B-but you got a second chance! You should want to live! Not be a zombie! I can't stand it when you look so empty!"
I. Was. Mad.
"Then run away from the big ugly monster, Darcy," I seethed, and turned the wheelchair to leave, but she grabbed the handles on the back and jerked me to stay. "I don't have anything left to say to you." My words were cold, harsh and hopefully getting the point across. "If you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you. Run away and be perfect. Be without scars and nightmares. I took all of that for you."
The strangled gasp would normally have stopped me, but I didn't care. How many times did I have to say that?
Darcy would be leaving in the morning. Bobby asked what was wrong with us. Darcy had been crying all afternoon and it didn't even concern me. Did I blame her for being in the house when Heather was attacking me? Not really, some but not really. It was my fault for being so stupid to believe I could get away with something like that.
Did I blame Heather? Hell, yes. That insane psycho freak was probably wandering around free while I was trapped in the burning inferno of dark emotions. I caused those around me to be in pain by being dead and even more so by being breathing but 'dead'.
Something nagged at me. The idea that I shouldn't hurt them since I was a self-proclaimed protector and therefore shouldn't be shooting at them with my lack of sensitivity. My bitter laughter turned into the need to scream. I just wanted to scream my throat raw. You know, again.
Then the tears started. I was laughing and crying at the same time. Yeah, tell me I was sane.
If I was already lost to the sane world, who cared if I screamed?
So I did.
It had been a good ten days since I left the med lab. My birthday was in one week. And I had a breakthrough. Oh goody, I was wondering when I'd finally discover what planet I came from.
Okay, so that's not what I meant. Two nights ago I broke down completely and cried myself sick, screamed myself hoarse and clawed at my bandages until I ripped them off, but also pulled my stitches. I reopened my wounds without even knowing it. That night they had me strapped to a bed in the medical lab, but I kept breaking the straps (thank you super strength) and finally they had to give me enough tranquilizers to knock out the population of Los Angles.
But, when I woke up again, Professor said he thought it was my 'coming to terms with what happened' breakthrough. Sometimes it took hours and other times it took months. All it took to undo myself was to think. That's why I shouldn't be allowed to think. I might not endanger other people, but I sure did a number on myself.
Right away they shoved me back into the weight room with that dumb bar and tried to get me to walk. My temper might be currently dissolved, but it didn't mean I was over it. How could anyone think that'? Jack had to spend almost every night in my room because I couldn't sleep with the lights off, afraid Heather might be hiding, ready to finish the job. Every time I go near the kitchen I lock up and quickly make my way past. Yesterday, Mr. Remy had been ch-chopping something and heard me knock something over. He came out with the knife in hand.
I started to stutter and attempt to get away as fast as a lame person could. The wheelchair tipped over and I scooted away from him as far as I could until Miss Rogue came up behind him, saw me and threw him into the kitchen.
And yet I supposedly had some sort of breakthrough!
Yeah, a breakthrough into a new type of insanity maybe.
Every time I thought about Heather and what happened (which was all the time) my nose started to drip blood. My anger flared, as did my depression and I have a craving for onion rings.
Perfect. I would end up bleeding to death twice.
Two weeks since I got out of the medical lab and, boy, did I stumble upon the mother of all secrets that they'd kept from me. My face twisted into a sardonic smile as I thought about how it was such a fitting way to describe it really. I had been down there for two hours, hacking my way into certain personal files, one of which was an opened file of the Professor's.
I devoured it. Why? Because it had my original last name on the top of it (D'mon). All that washed out anger was stirring and starting to become a tempest of rage inside of me.
"Kerry, what are you doing in here?" Bobby asked with a laugh in his voice. "Trying to become some type of mutant ba-" He clamped his mouth shut.
"Bat?" I finished coldly. "No, you need wings to be a bat." My smile was anything but humorous.
There was only a slight pause.
"What's wrong?" All warmth left the room and his voice. I sat in the wheelchair in front of the terminal in the control room. My body shivered with barely suppressed fury. How could they keep this from me?
My teeth ground painfully into each other. The top were forging with the bottom and I didn't care.
"Did you know."
I heard him move closer. Good. I wouldn't want to chase down any of my victims. "Know what?"
A smirk, as chilled as a penguin in deep freeze, spread across my face as I faced him with narrowed eyes. "That that witch, Heather, was a mutant?"
