Author's Note**

                        I just figured I should warn you guys. This is not a typical funny chapter of mine. It's pretty dark and gloomy. The next one's probably going to be pretty violent. So, just as a heads up.

The moon had slipped behind a slow moving patch of clouds and the lamps that lined the streets did their best to illuminate the darkness that lay heavy over them. Like a deep exhale the wind whistled quietly between buildings, bringing with it the chill of the oncoming winter.

            It's getting colder, in this ditch where I lie. I'm feeling older and I'm wondering why.

            Though it was only October, store fronts were already displaying gleaming decorations of Christmas. Tiny faces had spent all day pressing their cheeks against the glass cases. At midnight the prints still had yet to be washed off. A job for the morning crew.

            I heard them tell her, it was say and live or die. I didn't know her, but I know why she lied.

            Rogue pulled her coat closer around her and stuck her gloved hands in the deep pockets. The cold air burned her nose and the back of her throat as she took in a deep breath of the autumn air. She could feel the chill seeping into her bones. Her joints ached and her skin chapped.

            I didn't know her, but I know why she died.

            Fuck, she hated winter. Give her the hot muggy nights on the Mississippi any day. Or night.

            Thinking of the slowing moving river reminded her of the Cajun she had left laid out on the barroom floor behind her. She smirked. The look on his face when his ass had hit the floor. It was nearly as priceless as the look on Jean's face when she had awoke to find dirt and muck, and other nasty things, packed into her long hair. The memory of the prom queen shrieking in horror with eyes bulging out like some Saturday morning cartoon made her chuckle. And she had video taped it, too.

            Her amusement faded quickly though; the melancholy she had started the evening with pressing on her shoulders slipped back in. After school specials had always said that alcohol doesn't solve problems, but she was still hopeful to prove that wrong some day.

            I heard them they, dreams should stay in your head. Well, I feel ashamed of, the things that I've said.

            Inside her pocket her fingers toyed with the keys to Logan's bike. Chances were that Kitty had passed out by then and some brave, or stupid, soul (Kurt most likely) had ventured into the disaster area to shut off her stereo. She didn't really want to go back to the mansion. It had ceased to be a place of refuge for her and was starting to feel a lot more like a prison. A comfortable prison, but one all the same.

            Put on these chains and you can live a free life.

            But Rogue was tired of wandering in and out of clubs and bars, trying to drown out the noise in her head with loud music, loud people, and loud amounts of liquor. There was no where else she could think of going and had come to the conclusion that there was no way to turn of the thoughts inside her head that didn't belong to her. Not unless she wanted to take Logan's bike and drive it off the east side pier and into Long Island Sound. Then she could let the cold waters close over her head like a blanket, slowly muffling the voices until there was finally only silence.

            I've started feeling, like I don't want to fight. Just give in to the given, and put out the light.

            She considered it for a moment; sometimes she didn't feel like she had the strength to keep fighting for a life that didn't seem worth it. Fear held her back from the edge though. It always did. But she wasn't afraid of it as much as she had once been. It was starting to hurt too much to be afraid.

            Fuck it, she was going back to the mansion. If she stayed out any longer she was liable to throw herself in front of a meter car or something. And if by some evil misguided plot of the devil Kitty was still up and still N'syncing, she'd take a page from Pyro's book of insane babble and burn the place down.

Rogue took one step in the direction of Logan's bike and then frozen when a high pitched scream tore through the night with a vicious clarity. Without thinking she sniffed at the air and caught a heady, rolling mixture of filth, sweat, alcohol, and rose petals. Underneath it was the overwhelming scent of lust and hunger. She turned on her heel and followed it, unable to stop herself.

            She'd smelled it once before. A long time before.

            Her nose led her to the bawdy sound of drunken laughter and the quiet whimpering of terror.

            She'd heard both before. A long time before.

            Her ears led her to a length of street where all the lights had been knocked out; it was too dark to even read the street sign. But the voices were clear and sharp enough to serve as a beacon.

            "Help me! FOR GODSAKE SOMEONE HELP ME!"

            "Scream all you like, girl. Ain't nobody gonna come save you." More of that horribly grating laughter.

 Rogue's head began to throb in the same steady pounding as her heart. She could hear it drumming in her ears, could feel the blood rushing through her body. Still she moved towards the alleyway, towards the memory that was fighting to surface.

Don't scream honey. I'sa won't hurt you none.

The thick soles of her heavy boots crunched over bits of broken glass, crushing them into powder.

Come here baby. You've been a good girl, and good girls deserve rewards.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

No. . . . no, please. Leave me alone. Don't!

Shhhh, baby. Daddy won't hurt you.

Down the alleyway, nearly completely shrouded in darkness, three men stood surrounding a weeping young woman, no more than seventeen, who in terror had backed herself into a dead end. Strips of ripped cloth were strewn about on the ground; the largest pieces of what had been a school uniform, were still covering her trembling frame. One of the men was peeling of a sweat stained t-shirt, revealing a once toned body that was beginning to go soft and bloated with beer and baseball.

At the sight of his bare chest the girl's trembling and weeping increased to desperate proportions. Shaking her head violently she wrapped her arms around her stomach and tried in vain to push herself through the brick wall behind her.

"Help me! Please, somebody help me!"

He grinned maliciously at her, the whites of his eyes and teeth the only thing visible in the night.

"Scream girl," he repeated as he stepped closer, aroused by her obvious fright. His mind was tangled with alcohol, cocaine, and the frustrations of being nobody.

 "Scream for me. Nobody'll come." He reached out one large, fleshy hand towards her but it never reached its mark. He cried out in pain as slender fingers encircled his wrist and pressed down hard enough to grind bone against bone.

"Think again, sugah."

***

            This Time Around by Hanson