Chapter 5

When she woke up, she forgot for a moment what had happened.

She was lying in a bed that wasn't hers, and it was very quiet. Her head felt crowded with the remnants of too many thoughts that weren't her own. It felt like what had happened after Liberty Island, when she'd had a strong desire to either rip apart the infirmary (presumably Magneto, since he'd obviously failed in his plan) or hit someone really, really hard (presumably Logan). Magneto's ire and Logan's violent memories of his past made her a bit frantic and...unpleasant, really, to be around.

Voices were murmuring in the darkness, and she recognized them as Mr. Summers and the Professor. Rogue kept her eyes closed and didn't move, not wanting to alert them that she'd woken. It would be best if they thought she was asleep, until she knew more of what was going to happen as a result of her failed experiment.

"How's Rahne?" Mr. Summers—he sounded exhausted, tense, and she felt guilty knowing she was the one who made him sound that way.

"She's in critical condition; her head hit the wall rather hard and she's suffering from a concussion. We'll know more in a few hours, though I shall go down to the infirmary myself here in a little while and have a look at her." Rogue felt her heart nearly stop at the Professor's words. Had she inadvertently killed Rahne, injured her past all hope of recovery?

"What about Rogue?"

There was a long moment of silence before the Professor spoke, and Rogue wondered if he was trying to sense whether or not she was awake. She let the tide of other people's memories swell gently for a moment, hiding beneath them so that he might not know she was aware of what he was saying.

"She's a danger to herself, to everyone here. I can no longer pretend that she's not, as much as I feel for her." He sighed. "I'm afraid this sort of thing will happen again, and I cannot risk the safety of my students—or my staff."

"So you're sending her away?" Mr. Summers sounded resigned; it saddened her, a little, to think they would so easily let her go.

What have you done to deserve anything else? Self-loathing made her slightly nauseous, and she swallowed the bitter taste of it rising in her throat.

"No. I'm going to...erase this from her mind, most likely. I think it best for everyone if Rogue awakens without remembering what has happened." He paused. "I am wondering if perhaps I should erase her mind entirely and move her somewhere that would be...aware of her mutation. I'm not sure Rogue will emotionally recover from this, and she clearly cannot stay here."

Rogue was so shocked she had to force herself to remain buried beneath the others in her mind, so that he didn't know she was hearing him, didn't know she was aware he was planning on erasing her mind and locking her up in some room for the rest of her life.

"You can't—Professor, is that entirely ethical?"

No!

"Scott, my first priority, as you know, is the students. I cannot allow a threat to remain among them, even if that threat is one of them."

The Professor continued speaking, his voice tight, and Rogue wondered if he knew she was awake.

"If she is not contained she could become a liability. I do not like this anymore than you do. What am I to do? Rogue attacked a student. She drained two more of their powers, and she went after you, a teacher. Do you think she'll wake up, apologize, and have that be the end of it?"

"Maybe she will," Mr. Summers protested, though it sounded weak even to her. "Maybe she'll shape up, after this."

"Are you willing to bet the life of every student here on that thought? Your fellow teachers?" The Professor asked, voice very soft.

"No," Mr. Summers said, sounding defeated. "I'm not. When will you—how will we do this? So that the others don't know? If you decide to do it, that is."

"I'll merely tell them that after her attack, her mind suffered a breakdown and she had to be moved elsewhere. She'll be taken care of, Scott, I promise you. In time, perhaps..." his voice trailed off.

Rogue struggled to keep her breathing even, though it was difficult. Part of her wanted to sit up in the bed and scream at them both. You have no right to do this to me.

"Perhaps we should go and check on Rahne. I'll be able to make a decision regarding Rogue once I see how badly she's been hurt."

She remained still until she heard the door close behind them, and she waited a few moments before carefully opening her eyes to scan the room. She sat up and looked around, at sea, her mind racing with what she'd heard.

If she'd understood correctly, the Professor planned to either erase her memory of last night's events—she assumed it was the next day, anyway—which wasn't in theory a bad idea, except that the memory in question was hers. Or, if Rahne was seriously injured, then he would erase her mind entirely and pack her off to the asylum.

Obviously the first option was better, but was she just going to wait around and hope for the best? No, she needed to get out, and fast.

She took a deep breath and stood up on shaking legs, moving towards the door and opening it very slowly. The hallway was silent and empty, and carefully she began making her way towards the student wing.

Every noise she heard scared her, made her think it was the Professor. She hoped that if the Professor was indeed examining Rahne as he'd said, that he wouldn't notice her creeping towards her room, preparing to run away, because he'd be too focused on the younger girl.

She arrived at her room without incident, which was a blessing, and she prayed Kitty wasn't in there waiting to confront her about what had happened. A cursory glance showed her the room was empty; she pulled the door shut behind her and moved quickly to lock it behind her. She scrambled to find her bag in the back of her closet, with shoes and purses and a million other things stacked on top of it.

She packed furiously, remembering how she'd done this the night she'd left Mississippi. I'm destined to run away from everywhere, I guess. She left everything she didn't absolutely need, including the small teddy bear Bobby had given her that she always slept with. Her eyes filled up with tears as she looked at it, but she dashed them away with the back of her hand.

Get out. Have to get out. If I stay I can keep the bear, but I might not remember Bobby.

When she was ready to go, she shoved all the money she had in her bag. She thought for a moment about leaving her roommate a note.

There were so many things she wished she could say—not all of them nice—but it would take far too long to write them all down and she had already taken far too long in packing.

In the end she grabbed Kitty's pink matte lipstick and wrote a message on the other girl's mirror; I'm sorry.

She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes strayed to the picture on Kitty's dresser. Within the cute beaded frame was a picture of her and Rogue, smiling, the lake behind them flanked by trees brilliant with autumn colors. She touched the frame lightly.

Don't have time for this. Get going.

With that thought, she found the fire ladder they were all required to keep under their beds. Periodically they went through the drill; open the windows, climb down, meet in the front of the mansion. No matter how many excuses people attempted to give as why they should be spared from this exercise ("I can control fire!" "I can freeze it!"), everyone's participation was required. Therefore, Rogue knew exactly what to do.

She opened the window and tossed the rope ladder out, then hefted her bag over her shoulder. She climbed down with quick, even steps, just as she'd done during practice. When her feet touched the ground, she spared one final glance to the place that had been her home before she turned her back and ran, finally allowing herself to cry as she did so.

Rogue expected them to follow her. They didn't. She wasn't sure if this was because no one knew she was gone, or if they had just decided to let her go.

She stood on the side of the road, her thumb out, almost expecting Mr. Summers to pull up in his car and demand she get back inside. She allowed herself a brief fantasy in which Logan showed up and took her away with him, but that fantasy died rather quickly, along with every single other hope she'd ever had when she'd showed up at Xavier's.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

The town where she stopped running for a bit was Lewiston, Maine.

She'd been able to hitchhike most of the way, though she'd finally used some of her money to take a bus into the town. She didn't know why Maine had seemed a good place, other than she still had vague dreams of going up to Canada.

I want to live somewhere cold, so I can wear gloves all the time and no one asks me why.

Besides, she was tired and wanted to sleep in a bed for a night instead of the passenger seat of a truck. Constantly wary of those who consented to give her a ride, she didn't sleep much. Surely it wouldn't be too terribly awful to spend a little of her money on a hotel room for a few nights, to regroup?

When she arrived, she checked into a cheap motel and went across the street to the diner to find something to eat. She had a cup of coffee and a sandwich, nervously looking over her shoulder each time the bell rang to signal the door had opened, still convinced they were searching for her.

She'd been vigilant on her flight, constantly keeping her eyes open for anyone that might have been sent to find her. Some part of her wondered if the Professor had chosen to wipe his hands of her, and if so, she vowed she'd stay hidden long enough that she could blend in with the rest of humanity. If she never used her powers again, maybe he'd just leave her—and her memories—alone.

After two days of sleeping nearly twelve hours straight, she was preparing to head back out on the road when something unexpected happen—Rogue got a job. She was having lunch in the diner on the day one of the waitresses quit and ran off with the fry cook. Rogue knew an opportunity when she saw one, and she was nearly out of money after splurging on the hotel and diner food. So she smiled and said she sure could use a job and she was a fast learner, and if they would let her try her hand at being a waitress, they didn't even have to pay her the first week.

They didn't even make her fill out an application. She was glad of that, though she'd already decided if that question showed up, she was checking no.

There was a freedom in being someone new, someone different, though it was quite an adjustment living in a motel after residing in a mansion. The walls in her room were paper thin, the shower leaked, and the night manager always gave her an oily sort of smile when he saw her coming home from work. Not to mention, she went through a lot of gloves because she was always spilling food on them in her new line of work.

It wasn't all awful, though. The people at the diner were nice, for the most part, and they were convinced the well-spoken young Rogue—who went by the name Anna Marie—had some dreadful secret in her past that made her very, very interesting. They were all convinced she was suffering from a love affair gone wrong, which was fine with her, because the truth was way more complicated, and would anyone believe it?

I'm a mutant, and I used my powers at my mutant school, and the telepath threatened to erase my mind and lock me up in a facility so I ran away live somewhere cold where I have to wear a lot of clothes, and ended up here because I got tired of sleeping in trucks.

No, let them think she was a spurned lover. She'd rather think that on most days, too, except that she still cried when she thought about Bobby and wished she'd taken the teddy bear after all.

Shawna, one of the other waitresses, was always asking her if she felt sick in the mornings. Rogue would shake her head and pretend to look innocent, though she did wonder if maybe she'd get more tips if she stuck one of her pillows underneath her shirt.

The stop in Lewiston was supposed to be temporary, but as she fell into a routine and became used to her new life, she wondered if maybe things weren't as hopeless as she had thought that first night in the motel. Maybe she could work and make enough money to find a little apartment, maybe she could take some college classes in the winter. Maybe she could show the Professor he'd been wrong about her, after all...

Do I even want that? Do I ever want them to know anything about me?

Then there were nights she'd think it was hopeless, and she would lie in the darkened room listening to the sounds coming through the wall next to her (Rogue's neighbor was a prostitute; she was nice, but she always looked very sleepy in the mornings when Rogue saw her at the vending machines), wondering if maybe she just should have waited to see what happened to Rahne, if maybe it could have all been smoothed over and she wouldn't be shivering at night under the paper-thin hotel comforter that smelled like cigarettes.

Then she would think about having her memory stolen from her like it had never been, and the terror from that gave her the strength to face herself in the morning and put on her uniform to go to work.

I guess I finally got some job experience, after all.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

One night she was working the late shift, which she liked the best, when the dishwasher, a young man named Troy, asked her out.

Rogue was sitting at the counter, working a crossword puzzle (she missed mental exercises, though being on her feet was surprisingly good physical activity), when he appeared out of the kitchen with his towel slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Anna Marie. Wondering if you maybe wanted to catch a movie and dinner or something." He smiled at her and leaned indolently over the counter, lighting a cigarette. She tried not to wince as the smell drifted under her nose.

Rogue had thought wildly about what to say. She liked Troy fine, but she wasn't overly interested in making friends—that would only complicate things. Not to mention, it was important no one knew she was a mutant. She already had to answer a lot of questions: why she had to wear gloves ("skin condition,") why her hair had that streak (which was harder to explain, really, than being a mutant. Normal people just didn't understand diabolical plots involving death machines, she was guessing. She just said it was genetic), or why she lived in a motel.

Troy didn't seem to care about any of this, either her made-up skin condition or the rumors she'd be having a baby in nine months (those had faded as she'd never appeared pregnant, though if she didn't stop eating apple pie after every shift, they might start back up again). Sometimes when she worked the night shift and they were slow, he'd tell her how he wanted to go to community college and be a mechanic one day. Mostly, he just talked about himself.

"Kinda late tonight for that, Troy, ain't it?" She smiled at him, but it was guarded, as all her smiles were of late. He was a nice enough looking boy, she supposed, though not really her type. She didn't usually go for the dark-haired smoldering types.

Except for Logan, that is. And see how well that worked out.

"I meant like...next time you weren't working late shift. What about Sunday?"

He had nice arm muscles, and smelled like dish detergent. Which was, Rogue figured, nicer than some things he could smell like working back in the kitchen.

"Um...dinner sounds good," she said, surprising herself. "But maybe not a movie. I don't have a lot of money." Which was true—living in a motel was not as cheap as it seemed, and she did not want to have to get another job.

She thought about her neighbor at the motel and blushed. Certainly not that job, as that would result in more dead bodies than extra income.

"Don't worry, Anna Marie, I'll pay for that." He gave her an easy smile, and she noticed he had a crooked front tooth. "What do you say?"

She looked around, then shrugged. "Sure. That sounds nice. Want me to meet you here?"

"Diner's closed on Sunday's," he reminded her, "After lunch. Remember?"

She rolled her eyes and put her crossword away as a customer came into the diner, pulling out her little pad of paper. "Yeah. But I live close, and I have a key." She only had they key because sometimes she had to open the restaurant before the owner, Dottie, arrived, but it made her feel nice that someone had trusted her enough to give her one. "But I'll just wait for you out front."

"Okay," he said, then winked at her and sauntered back into the kitchen. Though she wasn't terribly excited about her upcoming date, it was nice to think she would be able to eat a meal that wasn't at the diner (she was getting sick of the little pre-packaged salads and BLTs, the healthiest option there, sadly enough), and it had been forever since she'd seen a movie.

She thought about Kitty, of course, and pushed that thought out of her mind. It was time to stop dwelling on all that had happened. If she wanted any chance of happiness, she was going to have to learn to live like a human and pretend she really did just have a skin condition.

She went up to her customer, who barely spared her a look before ordering the breakfast special that Rogue privately dubbed the Cholesterol Killer, and went about her work. When she took the trucker's plate back to the kitchen when he was finished (he'd tipped her three dollars, which was nice), Troy's hands moved over her gloves gently, and Rogue felt the vaguest stirring of unease.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

It was starting to look like she'd been stood up.

At nearly a quarter of seven the following Sunday, Rogue waited in the dark parking lot of the diner, wondering if maybe people just abhorred the idea of going to movies with her. She was hungry and nervous, and she was wearing the nicest pair of jeans she had and had even splurged at Walgreens for some lip gloss.

Haven't you learned to stop dressing up for movies?

It wasn't that she had been all that interested in Troy, it was just that...well, how many times was this going to happen to her, never being important enough to remember? At seven thirty, she let herself into the restaurant, thinking she'd grab Troy's phone number off the employee list in the break room and call him.

After all, maybe if she'd just done that with Kitty...

The diner was quiet and dark, and she didn't bother to flip the lights on as she made her way by memory to the back. It was sad that she'd been here almost eight weeks, and already the place was familiar enough to traverse in the dark.

She found his number on the sheet and dialed on the phone in the office, but no one answered. Sighing, she placed the phone back in the cradle and turned to leave. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck, though, as she heard a noise and realized she wasn't alone.

"Hello?" Rogue slowly drew off her glove, walking through the darkened kitchen, her eyes darting back and forth. "Anyone there?" Her heart was pounding, and all she could think was they'd found her, they'd come at last, they were going to erase her brain after all...

"Hey, Anna Marie."

Relief surged through her. "Oh. Troy. Sorry, I was just getting worried so I came in to call you." Her eyes furrowed as she saw him, standing there in the darkness, blocking her path out of the kitchen. He must have followed her in, as she hadn't locked the door behind her, intending to use the phone and go back outside.

Stupid. Should always lock the door behind you when you're alone.

"Is um...is everything okay?" She left her glove off, flexing her bare fingers nervously.

"Yeah. Just thought maybe we'd do something else, instead of going to dinner." He moved closer, and she backed up instinctively.

"Uh...okay," she said, chewing on her bottom lip. She was hungry, though and wondered if maybe "something else" included dinner. Though she was beginning to think going out with him was a bad idea.

"Figured I didn't need to pay for it," he said smugly, and she had no idea what that meant at all until he lunged at her, pushing her back against the stainless steel cooler, and then when he pinned her arms and leaned down to kiss her, she understood what he intended to take.

She twisted her head away from him, and said very carefully, "You don't want to do this." Her voice was shaking with both anger and fear, but it was very firm.

"Oh, yeah I do," he said, and he smelled like detergent and fabric softener, which suddenly made her ill because those were supposed to be nice things.

"Easy enough to do it without spending any money. What are you going to do, go to the cops?" He chuckled and began pulling on her clothes. "Girls who live in motels don't want the cops to find them."

"If you touch me, you will be very, very hurt," she said, trembling from fear, unable to believe she had been so stupid to trust anyone ever again. "So you need to get off me and let me go."

"Uh huh. Look. I don't have to kiss you, but you better--" his hands grabbed at her breasts beneath her shirt, the nice shirt she'd washed in the sink just for this-- "just not bite me." His hands on her body made want to vomit.

"Oh, I won't bite you," she hissed, and raised her bare hand to his face just as he yanked at her jeans. "Promise."

She didn't really want him in her head, but it was the easiest way to get him off of her, since he wouldn't be expecting what would happen. The best rule of self-defense, the surprise attack. Her fingers dug into his cheeks, clean-shaven beneath her palm, and she waited for the pull.

Rogue suffered under the knowledge that he'd wanted nothing more than to rape her and leave her broken in the floor of the diner, that he'd done it to Shawna one night but Shawna had never told anyone because she was married and her husband was jealous, that he thought Rogue was weak and an easy target.

"What the hell...you're a mutie or something, aren't you!" He looked at her accusingly as he stumbled backwards, and Rogue gave a rough laugh at that, flexing her hand.

"Yeah, genius. And you're a rapist." With that, she reached out and grabbed a cast iron pan hanging next to the stove (only way to cook eggs, Dottie was always saying), and brought it across the side of his head.

He crumpled to the floor without a sound, and Rogue ran into the dining room and reached for the switches, flooding the area with light so bright it hurt her eyes. Unsure what to do, she picked up the phone next to the cash register and called Dottie.

"I'm in trouble," she whispered, when Dottie answered, and started to cry.