By Nicole Wagner: The Deadly Gambit
Summary: Gambit's point of view on an illness that doesn't seem to wish to leave his body... and his current parinoia. This is the sequel to "Help Me, Save Me..." and is part of an on-going series called "The Antartica Effect"
Rated: PG/PG-13 for Language ond possible violence.
Everyday it's the same thing. I awake to my own screams, and sweat soaked bedsheets. I someone always find the strength to clutch my bedsheets, with hands that barely work anymore. Frostbite has taken it's toll on my body, and from what Hank tells me, it's serious. I give him a fake smile, tell him I'm fine, and barely walk away.
After I got to the boathouse, my health started to go downhill. Breathing always hurt, and it always sounded like I was weezing. I can barely walk without feeling a surge of pain go up and down my legs. Since I'm alone in the boathouse, I don't really walk anymore. I ethier drag or crawl about the place... I will not tell the X-Men how bad I have become. I still want to be thought of with some form of dignity and grace.
I roll on my side and look at the alarm clock. It's 4:33am... I hate getting up this early. My body aches so much, I know I won't be able to go back to sleep. Esspecially on sweat soaked sheets... I'll have to find a way of cleaning those, without much pain. I bite my bottom lip, just the thought of leaving my bed for anything makes me ill. I haven't even been to a Danger Room Session in a month. No one calls me to remind me, anymore... they just don't care... and in the back of my mind, I wished they had. I wished someone still loved and cared for me.
Sitting up, I hiss, already the pain starts in my legs, and in my hands, as I use them to support myself. I've become so useless... I can barely do anything, anymore. But I just swallow my pain and force myself up to my feet. I'm shaking like a leaf... I always do this, now. I put my palm on a dresser, trying to steady myself and find a way to walk with less pain. My pajamma bottoms are hanging off my waist... I have lost about thirty pounds, at least twenty from Antartica and ten pounds from when I returned to the X-Men.
I feel like the X-Men not only punished my body by leaving me in some frozen waste-land... but also destroyed my soul. All I ever feel is pain, miserey, regreat, hurt, and depression. Sometimes, I do feel anger... but that soon leaves and all taht is left is pity. Pity for myself, pity for the fact that I was never emnt to be an X-Man... pity that someone will never love me unconditionally.
The truth is, I deserve everything I got. It is MY fault the morlocks are dead, MY fault the X-Men left me behind, and MY fault Rogue doesn't love me anymore. If I had been a better person... a better man... none of this would have happened. This is why I don't tell anyone about how bad I have become, about how I've refused food thinking I don't deserve to eat, about my nightmares. I shouldn't burden the X-Men anymore... hell I should leave this boathouse. But then... where would I go? Who would take me in?
Sure, I have money, heck, I make Donald Trump look bad. But what is the point of having money, when you have no one at all. I guess I could always return home, to my father... or even buy a condo in Austrialla if I wanted. I could buy the company of all the men and women around, but they wouldn't want to hang around me... just my money. My father... I would just be a burden to him, like I am to the X-Men. Once I am well enough... if I can push myself past the pain, I'll leave the boathouse and just live somewhere, alone. It's what I deserve, no?
As those thoughts run through my head like a poison, I weakly start to gather up my sheets, using my hands like hooks to pull the sheets off, since my fingers no longer wish to work for me. I strip my bed after a few minutes, and just throw the sheets down on the ground, in a ball. I soon fall to the floor, myself. Damnit... how could I have become so weak? I let out a strangled cry of pain, trying to get back up on my feet, but I fail, the pain is just too much for me, this early in the morning. I swallow hard, and just drag myself to the bathroom, which so happens to be the next room.
Once I am in the bathroom, I manage to get close to the bathtub, using both of my hands to turn the dial and turn the water on to warm. I then slam my knucles down on the stopper, so that the tub could fill up. Warm water is never good enough... I still feel so cold. I turn the dial to the water on to hot, and watch the steam build up in the room, enough to fog the mirror. If someone found out that I wash myself in wter that turns my skin bright red and even blisters it sometimes, they would think I was crazy, maybe even lock me up and give me therapy. Pretend they care... Bah! No one cares about me! I am just alone in the world, and always will be.
I slid off my pajama bottoms and boxers, and get myself into the boiling hot bathtub. Once the water is up to my chest, I turn it off, and just lie there. I can already see my skin turning bright red., even some of my skin starting to peel... but I still feel so cold. Why do I feel so cold? I always feel so cold, no matter what I do. I wash myself in the hot water, not feeling any pain while doing so. Once I was finsihed, I hit the stopper, aloowing teh water to drain, and my body starting to feel as if I were back in Antartica.
I manage to slip out of the bath tub, and onto a rug below the tub. I'm thankful I didn't hit the cold tile floor... that would have made me scream, even have a flashback. I don't want that... I already suffer enough of those as it is. I reach my arm out, and knock a towel down from the rack. I am able to wrap it around my body, trying to avoid how thin I have become. I just lay on the carpet for awhile, until I feel ready to move across the tile floor. I grit my teeth as I can feel how cold the tiles are.
If I could, I would have dragged myself over on the carpet, but it had a sticky bottom, one fo those no move mats. I try so hard not to remember, not to think of the snow, not to imagine the freezing winds and the image of nothing for miles... No life around me, just snow. I try to fight the images in my head, but I fail, miserably. I make it half way to the door before I start screaming.
The screaming doesn't seem to stop. I just feel so much pain, not just physical, it's mental as well. Everything just hits me, the lack of love my family gave me, the lack of trust the X-Men had for me, the lack of faith Rogue had in me, Antartica. There is just so much pain in my life, and I cannot take it anymore.
Since I'm alone, I can finally let everything I bottle up inside out. I can scream and cry without feeling as if I'm not a man. I don't have to force myself to walk with pain, I can allow myself to lose the pride and dignity I show to others. I can just become what I truly am... what I've always been... a weak boy, one who desires love and acceptance, who doesn't have to put on a mask to perform a show for those around him. I'm free... I can feel... I don't have to be a puppet anymore... yet, I still want everyone's approval.
After a few minutes, I'm just reduced to gasping and weezing. Tears escaped my eyes as I realized I had made my way to the carpet of the bedroom floor. The towel is loosely around my body, now, and I feel a bit better. Screaming and letting out the agony I am in always makes me feel so much better. It may be a short relief I feel, but it is a relief none the less. I make my way to the dresser drawer and take out a fresh pair of boxers, and some new pajammas. I don't feel like getting dressed, today. I just want to lay around. The less I move, the better I feel.
I move the towel over to the pile of sheets on the floor... just another thing to wash when I feel better... if I feel better. I close my eyes and just lay next to my bed, thinking to myself... no... more like torturing myself with memories and past failures. I've allowed illness to rule my life... and I cannot find my way back to being normal. Mentally, that is. Physically... I'll never be what I was... and that, to some people... could be a good thing.
END