A/N: Well, I lack for viewer responses, but I didn't expect an onslaught. Regardless, I will continue writing this story because I really do love the idea and the plot. Plus I am on a recent X-Men high and until I ride it off, I'll be writing this story! As always, Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I also just remembered that I haven't done one of these since I started this story. Silly me! Anyway, you know the drill. I do not own anything X-Men: Evolution, yadda yadda, I came up with this idea and Parker is my own character, blah blah blah. Don't expect a repeat of this in any of my other chapters--it's a one time thing.
Seeking Solace
Chapter 3
Mother Dearest:
It all began on a dark and stormy night...Seriously!
Normally when someone begins a tale with 'a dark and stormy night', it's to add mystery and drama. Personally, the less drama in my world the better. And I have enough drama, so I don't need to purposely ask for more. And yet, I just couldn't stay away. Maybe I was looking for trouble. I think it was more likely that trouble was looking for me though!
I know I promised to write again soon, but I just haven't had the motivation. It would be a lie to say that I didn't have the time, but I know you already know that, Mom. Mostly I've been getting used to my new surroundings. During the day, I've been watching the mutants around here, observing their powers, their strengths and weaknesses. All of them are intriguing to me, beautiful in their flaws and stunning in their strengths. Each of them has a story to tell me just by the way they move. While I want to know their stories, Mom, I'm too afraid to ask, and more afraid to listen.
Asking would mean opening a door for them to ask about me--not that it has stopped some of the bolder people to pepper me with questions already. I give vague and general answers for the most part. I think that it confuses them, and it can even offend them, but they have been taught not to push. Like I told you, Mom, everyone here has a story to tell. I'd bet you my life savings that half of them are not the most pleasant of stories either.
Did I tell you that I'm starting school? A junior too! I'm old enough to actually be a senior, but because my schooling has been on hiatus the last year or so, they held me back as a junior. I can't believe I'm actually going to attend a public school with all the norms and the kids from the Institute. It makes me...really happy. Like I could be just a normal kid if I tried. When you start over here, there is no past, there is only a future.
It makes me want things, Mom. It makes me wish for things I can never have, and that makes me miserable when no one is looking. Why do I always have to want things I can't have? Why can't I just be happy with what I have now? Why can't I settle?
In some ways, I am much better off now than I was when I was with DeVero. There are no more bars on my windows, no more locks on my door, no more late night visits... I don't have to hurt anyone. But at the same time, I'm still a prisoner because I'm still running. I can't stay here long and I know that. If I stay, he'll find me and I'll bring these good people more trouble than I'm worth. For the past year, I've lived on snack food, park benches, and off the back of a motorcycle.
You tell me, Mom, which life is better? Being the prisoner of a millionaire, one who gave me the best of everything and had me trained by the best teachers money could buy? Or being free to live my life at my choosing while always having to look over my shoulder?
Worst of all, I can't tell this to anyone here. These are the infamous X-Men, Mom! The people crusading for justice and equality for all mutants. How could I tell them what I've done? How can I explain to them the things I've seen? They'll hate me if they know the truth, even if I did disappear and they never hear from me again. My guilt is enough as it is, remorse so thick it can choke me. I don't need their morals and their disappointment to weight me down as well.
Still, I can't lie when I say I enjoy their company. And that brings me back to the dark and stormy night.
You want to know what I'm talking about? Ok, ok, patience now! I have been living at the Institute for a week now...
All morning I had thought that something was wrong. All afternoon I was getting very suspicious.
The X-Men had officially made me part of their Danger room drills--on Team One to boot! That day was devoted to training, running a few drills, and last minute preparations before a new school year started and schoolwork would slow down the training schedule.
For some reason, Scott was the only one who seemed disappointed by that.
All during the breaks between runs, I heard the others whispering to each other. Some of them, like Kitty and Rahne and Evan, would look at me every now and then before whispering to each other all over again. It began making me edgy, waiting for some unexpected and random event to happen. I was waiting for the proverbial anvil to fall on my head like I was Wiley Coyote. In case you've never felt it, it's not a nice feeling.
Halfway through the day, Ororo presented me with my own uniform, tailored to fit my size and figure. Okay, I'm not a twig like Kitty--that would make me freakishly twig-like. I'm more proportionate, a curve here and there. I'm all sinew and bone, my mother used to tell me. I'm more muscular now, a result from a lot of physical training.
It's not everyday you meet a five two girl who can bench press over a hundred and fifty pounds.
My costume was form fitting, a black material that hugged the right places, and gave me free movement. It was lot better than a tee-shirt and jeans, I can tell you! There was a yellow X on the front, across my chest. I think it was purposely made like that to match my eyes.
I already loved it.
Sadly, my love of fashion was soon hindered by the strange behavior of my new-found housemates. I hadn't been there long, but long enough to know that when someone points and whispers behind your back, it's not a good thing. So I tried to get through the day as smoothly as I could--though I think I snapped a little when I beat a robot into six pieces with my batons during my final run.
After changing back into my normal clothes, I stomped out of the mansion, on to the grounds. The air held that tingling scent, something that promised rain. That's my favorite smell in the world, the smell of fresh rain. Pete always smelled like that because he's love of the outdoors. I always suspected my brother of being more feral than I was, probably because he was a boy which is what most ferals were.
I decided to go for a little walk around the grounds, go to places unexplored. It was best I inspect every inch of the grounds I was staying on, looking for weaknesses in security and for easily accessible escape routes. It never hurts to be prepared. Mostly, I'm sorry to say, it was out of habit from my days as DeVero's bodyguard. Always look for places the enemy might enter or exit, then look for places that you can use to get your charge to safety. Standard procedure when entering any room.
The grounds were as lovely as I expected them to be. Large green lawns rolled from corner to corner of the brick and chain-link fencing. There was a small lake in the far west corner of the grounds, with a tiny dock and an equally tiny boathouse. I wandered inside, checking out the cobweb infested rafters and unused stalls. When I came back outside, I noticed that the leaves on some of the trees were facing down. It was a sure sign of rain, if the darkening sky and the kicked up wind didn't give it away.
I made my way back toward the school, passing the pretty gazebo in the back, lined with thick rose bushes and ivy vines. I have to emphasize my love of plant life once again, seeing as how I spent a good twenty minutes admiring the root system and late buds.
Finally, I was on my way again. I sidestepped the main house in favor of the garage. I had been asked to park my bike in the main garage with the rest of the student's vehicles. I don't think Xavier liked too much the fact that I rode a motorcycle, but I was experienced and I knew the risks. Hey, I wore a helmet didn't I?
I was surprised to come upon Logan, kneeling beside another motorcycle--one I assumed to be his own. He probably knew I was coming, but he didn't look up from his task of tuning up the engine. A rusty toolbox lay open beside him, and his hand groped around for something while his eyes stayed riveted on the problem at hand.
I looked over his shoulder, seeing the problem as well, then grabbed the wrench he was look for. "I think you're looking for this one," I commented, placing it into his greasy searching hand.
He looked at the wrench, then up at me. "Thanks," he said gruffly before going back to his task.
Maybe it was a dismissal, but I was never one to be sent away easily.
"It looks like the connector is fried," I said, tilting my head to one side. "But I must compliment your engine."
He looked up at me with a blank expression. Kitty, the go-to girl if you wanted gossip, or just plain information about anyone in the Institute, told me that Logan's codename was Wolverine. It was kind of hard for me to picture this man as a small mammal that would attack everything in sight. Maybe I was inviting trouble on myself, baiting him into conversation, but when it came to motorcycles, I could talk as fast as Kitty.
"You know somethin' about motorcycles?" Logan asked me. There was disbelief in his voice.
"Did you see what I rode in on?" I asked him. "It's no Harley Davidson, but I keep it nice."
Logan looked at me, and I looked at him. Slowly, we shared a half-smile. I crouched beside him and the two of us continued work on his motorcycle in relative silence--speaking only when he asked for a tool, or I asked a question. I wanted to get involved in something that would help me relax, but I still found myself on edge. It wasn't because of the motorcycle--because mechanics always put me at ease. It was something I could control.
I was scared because I was alone around a man.
One of my principle fears in life is being alone with men. Even men that I knew wouldn't dare to hurt me, or even want to hurt me. Just the fact that they are a man makes me both suspicious and fearful. It's sad to me that I would feel this way, but haunting memories make so hard to get past the fear.
The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. My hands were starting to shake slightly and I felt my ears burning. It wasn't until his fingers brushed against mine when I handed him a tool that I let out a strangled cry and fell back. Logan looked over at me with a quirked expression. I guess he thought I just lost my balance. Then he offered his hand to help me up. It was a nice gesture, but I quickly scrambled away from him.
"I..uh...th-think I sh-should get b-b-back to the house n-now," I stuttered, backing up as I did so, face burning. "Take c-care of the b-bike!"
I turned and ran. I ran like a scared little girl with wolves at her feet. That's what exactly what I felt like. I was a coward, running from a man who meant me no harm. But because he was a man, I had to run. I had run for so long it was all I could do. My fight or flight reflex had become honed to total flight. Against my own irrational fears I was powerless. So I ran.
I felt like crying. I hated crying. It didn't help anyone or anything, so I couldn't tolerate it in myself. But still, I felt like curling into a little ball and crying until I couldn't move. I've done it before, I'm sorry to say. I wished to the heavens I'd never had to do it again, but somewhere in my heart I felt the memories stirring and the tears welling behind my eyes.
Thankfully that was when it started to rain. It began as a few meager drops, but by the time I was halfway to the house, it was pouring buckets. I was thankful for it. It hid the evidence from prying eyes.
When I got inside, I ran past Scott and Jean and Storm who were all sharing a fresh pot of coffee. I ran past Jamie and Jubilee and Rahne on the couch watching television. I ran past Ray and Bobby in the hallway, fighting over who got to listen to some cd or other. I didn't give any of them a second look.
I ran into my tiny room, slammed the door behind me, and dissolved. My clothes were sopping, my hair stuck to my face and neck, and I could barely breathe I was sobbing so hard. It made me think of things I wanted to leave behind me. Memories of darkness and pain, flashes of a face and hands. I could smell blood. I could taste it too. It was just like I was there again.
Suddenly, there came a knock at my door. I choked back my sobs, covering my mouth with both of my hands despite the tears that washed over my fingers. I put myself back together, piece by piece, as fast as I could. But I was a professional at this, so I could do it in a matter of seconds. I swallowed my pain and my fear. I forced my body to stop shaking and I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt.
"Parker, are you alright?" came the voice from behind the door. Jean's voice.
I took a deep breath and opened the door, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Yeah, sorry about the running," I told her when I met her eyes. "I'm soaked and I didn't want to drip on the rug."
"Are you sure? You looked upset," she pressed. She brushed some red hair out of her face to get a good look at me, green eyes appraising. I met her gaze steadily, knowing full well that my cat's eyes never gave evidence of crying.
"I'm not that fond of being rained on," I lied. "But I'm fine, really. Just a bit cold. I don't mean to kick you out or anything, but I need to change before I start sneezing on you."
"Okay," she said with a wan smile. I can tell she wanted to believe me, but her gut probably told her differently. "Well, I think I should give you a head's up." Then she grinned and I was relieved that she moved on. "Some of the others are planning to 'initiate' you tonight, so don't be surprised if we barge into your room in the middle of the night."
I grinned back. "Don't be surprised if you don't find me here," I told her, then waved her out as I shut the door and slowly stripped to change into something dry. As I did so, I ran my fingers over a few scars. There was a long one on the underside of my left arm, souvenir from one of my first missions. There were others on my back that I couldn't see, some on my legs, and two parallel lines across my stomach. The only scar that didn't make me wince when touching it was the small silver vee that went through my right eyebrow. That was a scar I got as a child, when I fell out of a tree in our backyard when playing with the brother. The rest were from beatings, or fights. None of them added to whatever beauty I could claim I once had.
Halfway through my inspection, I was surprised to see that there was a pile of clothes on my bed. I had just done my laundry the night before, and I didn't recognize any of the clothes that lay neatly in the pile. Curious, I inspected them. Pinned to the first article was a note.
"We thought you could use a few additions to your wardrobe. All of us donated something that we thought you'd like. Hope you like them!" It was just signed 'the X-men'.
I smiled, tears abated once more. These people seemed to brighten even my darkest moments. Moving the note aside, I rummaged through the offered clothes. A few faded pairs of jeans from the guys since they fit my hips but hung loose the rest of the way down; a couple shirts that reminded me that I wasn't very well endowed in the chest area; and even a new pair of ultra comfy pajama pants. Those were courtesy of Kitty. But my favorite had to be a sweatshirt. It was dark blue and about two sizes too big and it had that baggy-but-warm feeling to it.
Since I was a little cold anyway, I slipped it on over my head along with the pajama pants from Kitty. I might not be a supermodel from Paris, but I was comfortable, and that's what mattered. Looking over my new sweatshirt, I wondered who it was from. I could tell it was from a boy, the size and the style gave that away, but who?
Either way, I'd have to thank everyone later. Even though I'd probably stutter and blush at the fact that they noticed I owned a limited amount of clothes. Oh well, all for the cause, right?
Dinner was being served, so I padded barefoot down to the kitchen. I was the last to get a plate, but everyone welcomes me at the table. I seemed that at mealtimes, everyone naturally accommodated a spot for everyone else without looking up from their plates. I actually opted to sit at the more opened part of the table with Rogue and Jamie. Both of them looked up when I sat down, then went back to their meals.
"I take it this is the casual dinning section," I commented as I picked at my food.
"It's safer down here," Jamie said, taking a bite from a carrot. "Up there, you either get mauled in conversation or totally ignored."
"Good thing I came here then," I told him with a sigh. "I'm not up for being mauled via conversation." There were a few more minutes of silence where the three of us picked at our plates, but said nothing. I looked over at Rogue, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on her peas. "How's the rose?" I asked.
She blinked back into focus and looked up at me. "It's fine Ah guess," she told me. "Just left it on my dressa."
I nodded, pushing the food around with a fork. "I hope you don't mind that I put you on the spot like that." I looked over at her and grinned impishly. "You seem like the only person around here with any flare."
"What's that mean?" she asked, looking at me in a confused and suspicious way.
I looked around and leaned toward her in a conspiring way. "Everyone around here is some kind of prep or skater. You seem like someone with a different taste."
Suddenly, the pale-skinned girl broke into a lovely smile. "Thank ya," she told me. Thus the ice was broken between Rogue and me. And I made myself a friend.
By the end of dinner, everyone was nodding their heads as if they knew something us three at the end of the table did not. I looked to Rogue and she only smiled passively. "Initiation," she mumbled. "They think they're bein' smart. It's juss somethin' they do ta newbies."
"Hurray for the newbies!" I cried loudly, making the others turn to me strangely. I grinned as if I hadn't just shouted and they went back to their cleaning.
Rogue grinned. "Yer crazy," she told me.
"Ah know," I said, mimicking her accent. I picked up my plate and headed toward the kitchen with it. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to get it done!"
After dinner was done, I went into the other room with Rogue and Jamie to watch television. We ended up watching cartoons, which didn't bother me or Rogue. We just conversed now and them about music or movies. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Rogue was a closet comic fan, such as myself.
"So yer motha named ya after Spiderman?" she asked with a smile and a glint of humor in her green eyes.
"Yeah!" I laughed. "Our real parents didn't give us names, so when my mother adopted Pete and me, she named us after her favorite superhero. Peter and Parker, after Spiderman. And her last name was Watson, like Mary Jane!"
We shared a laugh. Comic book logic is always a light-hearted subject. But then the clock above the mantle chimed and Rogue frowned. It was nearing eleven. "Ya should get ta bed. They'll be comin' for ya at one or so."
"I'll catch a few winks in the library," I told her, getting up and cracking my back. "I left a good book there last night and I'm eager to get back to it."
Rogue shook her head and got up to, before poking Jamie awake with the toe of her boot. The boy had fallen asleep on the rug watching Teen Titans. "Time for bed squirt," she chimed. Then she looked back at me. "I'll see ya at the initiation."
"Later," I said with a wave.
"By the way," she said with a half-smile, looking back at me. "Why did ya take Kurt's sweatshirt?"
I looked down at myself. "This is Kurt's?" Rogue nodded. "There was a pile of clothes in my room before. Hand-me-downs from some of the other students. I didn't know this was his."
"It looks good on ya," she said told me with a smirk, heading toward the stairs with Jamie at her heels. I looked down at my new sweatshirt and smiled. It figures that it would be blue.
The students came for me around one-thirty. I was almost at the end of my novel, but when I heard the shuffling outside and the muffled voices, I sacrificed my reading for something much more fun. I got out of my chair and inched toward the door, pressing my ear to it.
No doubt about it, all of them were out there, and arguing over who goes inside to wake me up. I could just bet Rogue was smirking in the back. She knew I would be wide awake. Jean would probably know it to, considering she had warned me. But the boys had no clue--i.e.: Scott, Evan, Ray, Roberto and Bobby--the ringleaders of this escapade.
Casually as you please, I pulled the two library doors open, flooding the dark hallway with light and causing all five of the aforementioned boys to fall at my feet. "Would you lot kindly keep it down?" I asked in mock outrage. "Some people are trying to read!"
"Who told her?!" Evan grumbled loudly.
"No one had to tell me," I corrected him. "I could hear you from the hallway upstairs."
"Well come on then," Bobby said with a grin. "You're going to have to pass a little test."
"And me without my number two pencil," I sighed. That got snickers and I grinned, emboldened.
"Not that kind of test," Ray said with a smirk. "The kind of test that matters."
I clapped a hand to my mouth. "Whatever could that be!" I said overdramatically.
"Initiation," Sam said from the background. He held up a little finger and whirled it around to show his enthusiasm. "They make you do a task. If you pass, then you're one of us."
"Fail, and you'll be shunned from our table," Bobby said menacingly, flashing a flashlight under her face a few times for effect. I rolled my eyes.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"What we are about to impart upon you is something that no student can tell to a teacher," Scott said seriously. "It's a tradition, but something we don't want the instructors to catch on to."
"I'd say that's about as likely as Rogue shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch," I said with a lazy smile. "Those guys know everything that goes on here."
"Be that as it may," Scott continued, obviously flustered by my comments. "We still would like you to perform a task. That way, you will officially be an X-man."
"Ah think ya mean X-woman," I heard Rogue comment from the background.
I smiled and nodded. "It's only fair to be politically correct, Mr. Summers, or I can sue you for sexual harassment." He frowned. "Okay, okay. Sheesh, you drag a girl away from her romance novel in the dead of night and you don't expect witty repartee?" With a sigh, I clapped my hands together. "What am I to do?"
Jean sighed. "Enough with the melodrama." She turned to me and flashed a half-smile. "You're supposed to sneak into the X-jet and fill one of the helmets with whipped cream."
I raised an eyebrow at the five masterminds. "It was all Roberto's idea!" Ray said, pointing to the boy at his side.
"No, it was Ray's idea!" he quickly denied, returning it to his friend.
"It was, like, both their ideas," Kitty spoke up, yawning loudly afterwards. "And it's totally lame."
"I'll say! Can't I turn it on? Take it for a spin? Something?"
"You don't want to do that!" Kurt said from the left. "Last time the X-jet was taken for a joy-ride, they were caught. Big time!" There were nods all around and I couldn't restrain the grin that came unbidden to my lips.
"And here I thought you were all straight-laced," I laughed. "How about I do something better?"
"Such as?" Evan asked.
I smiled and strolled forward. "I'm going to steal Logan's motorcycle." There was a round of surprised gasps. I heard some of the boys saying it was a great idea, some of the girls say it was a dangerous idea, and Rogue only smiled as I passed. "It's cake," I told her. "I've hotwired bikes before."
"Juss be careful he doesn't find out," she warned.
"Oh ye of little faith," I grinned at her. I led the procession out back toward the garage. It was still pouring rain outside. Though I might be able to see in the dark, but the other's couldn't. I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of my eagerness to show off. "Wait here," I told them. "I'll ride out front so you can see. No sense in all of us getting soaked."
There were some nods. I was about to step out when I turned back to Rogue. "Hold this for me," I told her, shrugging out of my warm blue sweatshirt. There was a tight tee-shirt underneath, one of my old ones that I just slept in. It was enough to see me through this stunt. "I'll be back," I said in a mocking accent before heading out into the night.
"The girl's out of her mind," I heard Scott say from beside Rogue. The Goth girl only laughed.
I snuck into the dark garage, opening the garage door manually before bypassing my own motorcycle and the other vehicles until my eyes narrowed in on the unmistakable shape of a Harley Davidson. I crept over, forming a screwdriver in my open palm and using it to pop the front panel off of the bike. That got, I straddled the machine, cutting and twisting two wires together to make it start. The quiet garage was suddenly filled with the roar of a bike engine and the single headlight knifed through the darkness before me.
I laughed, swinging the machine around and gunning it toward the open door. Then I was shocked by the sudden bath of cold water that was dumped over my head as I sped out into the night. I swung around, foot scraping the driveway as I roared past the front doors. The other students were huddled there, watching me with shocked and delighted expressions.
After I looped around the drive a few times, I took the bike back into the garage and spent a good fifteen minutes fixing it up so Logan would never notice. He probably would notice anyway--he was a bike man--but he'd never be able to prove it when I was finished. Then I closed the garage door and ran out into the rain again.
Maybe it was just coming off an adrenaline high, but for some reason, I felt empowered. I danced around in the pouring rain, laughing my head off. Maybe it was because of what had happened that afternoon, the almost-breakdown that had cost me many hours of pensive brooding. Maybe I just needed it, and I shouldn't think of why.
By the time I ran back up the stairs to the school, it was nearly three thirty. Most of the others were dead on their feet, so I told them to get as I squeezed out my soaking hair. Kitty had gone upstairs and grabbed me some fresh clothes. I thanked her with a very wet hug. She squeaked, then laughed, then went to bed.
I ran into the downstairs bathroom to change. When I came out, only Rogue waited for me. "Did I pass?" I asked her as she handed my sweatshirt back.
"Probably," she said with a nod. "But ya never can tell. Ah think Evan and Ray might hold it against ya considering ya juss succeeded where they've failed s'many times."
"Since when is it my fault that boys are inadequate?" I questioned.
"Well, Ah'm goin' ta bed," she said with a yawn. "G'nite."
"'Night!" I called after her. With a sigh, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and padded toward the kitchen. This was an occasion that called for a pickle! I was surprised to find that I was not alone in the kitchen. Kurt had beat me to it, already seated--or crouched rather--in my spot on the counter.
He looked surprised to see me as well. I smiled slightly and walked toward the fridge. "Pickles are on the door," he commented as I opened it.
"Still hate them?" I asked, pulling them out.
"Still love them?" he countered.
"Heaven in a jar," I said with a grin. "The food of the Gods."
"Huh," he said with a thoughtful expression. "I always thought that was sugar."
I was quiet a moment, looking at him from over my pickle jar. He looked back at me, a half-eaten sandwich poised ready for another bite. Then I giggled--not an out and out laugh, but not a snort or disinterested grunt. I giggled, something I hadn't done in years simply because his statement made absolutely no sense.
Satisfied with my response, he continued eating his sandwich. I grabbed a large pickle from the jar, put the rest back, and hopped on to the counter beside him.
"Glad to see you wearing pants tonight," I commented, taking a crunchy bite.
"Ja, like after last night I would forget," Kurt snorted, taking another bite.
"I was only making an observation," I said sweetly, barely containing my laugh. We continued eating in silence, Kurt and me. The only sounds were the rain against the windows and the occasional sound of his tail thumping the counter behind us. I was surprised by the fact that I could comfortably sit beside this boy and not feel that afraid.
Yes, I was still nervous. Yes, the fear was still there, but it wasn't as pronounced as it had been with Logan. It wasn't crawling on the surface, threatening to suffocate me. It was in the back of my head, a dull throb, when I was around Kurt. Maybe it was because he reminded me a little of Peter. That and because he was young, a few months younger than me to be exact, and not a man capable of overpowering me.
Whatever the reason, I didn't dwell on it. I just ate my pickle and enjoyed the feeling of a warm person beside me. It was nice, a treat to a lonely person.
Eventually, we both finished and stood to leave for our respective nightly activities. As I looked over at Kurt beside me, about to head upstairs where as I would be heading down the hall to the library, I was suddenly struck by the urge to do something I did not think I would ever have the courage in the world to do. I grabbed his arm, just above the elbow and raised myself on to toes. He was a good four inches taller than me, so I had to stretch a little. I placed a soft kiss against his cheek, something I had never done to a boy not of blood before in my life.
Apparently he was as surprised as I was, though outwardly I was more nervous that shocked. "Thanks for the sweatshirt," I said with an almost painful shyness.
"S-sure," he said quietly, pale eyes holding a look of confusion and something else.
"Goodnight," I said, then escaped to the library.
I ran away again, to a book and a journal and a new letter to my mother.
...And that's the whole story, Mom.
I know I shouldn't have done that. I regret it now, though I would be lying if I said that all of me was upset over it. I really am grateful for the sweatshirt--and for the other clothes that the others gave to me. The people here are so kind.
I'm counting the days I have here. The longest I've ever stayed in one place since leaving DeVero was two months, but he nearly found me and I don't want him coming here. He might be tempted to do something to the school, or even Professor Xavier, for having me here so long. I'd say six weeks is the most I have.
Five weeks now. Five weeks with these lovely people.
Did I tell you that Xavier brought me into the Cerebro room yesterday? We started searching for Peter again, in the same places where I've heard rumors of his being. So far, we found old trails of his power signature, but nothing strong enough to do a global search on. He promises to keep looking and I know he will.
Five weeks, Mom. It doesn't seem very long at all. I just hope that it's enough time to find my brother, if not enough time for me to enjoy this place and this life I could build.
I am not a normal girl, Mom. I know that. I've always known that. But sometimes, it's nice to pretend.
All my love-- Parker
A/N: Remember to review now! And thanks for reading! I'm going to do reviewer responses this chapter because I want to thank you for reviewing!
Psycho88: I'm glad you are enjoying this story, I'm working on it really hard. Parker's past will be given slowly, though a lot of it can be guessed out. Most of what makes her who she is stems from what she's been though. A lot of it won't come to a head until later on though.
Idypebsaby: I'm glad you like my story and Parker. I like her too--which is why I decided to use her as my main character. School will be discussed in more detail in chapter 4, so hang on to your hat! In answer you your other questions: Yes. Yes. And maaaaaaaaaaaaaybe. Keep reading!
