Chapter 6
Dottie didn't believe her.
She tried to explain to her boss why Troy was sprawled on the floor in the back, holding his head in his hand and muttering. Unfortunately, once Troy had informed Dottie that Rogue was a mutant, her boss wasn't all that interested in hearing her side of the story.
I should have hit him harder, so he couldn't say anything at all.
"Anna Marie…is what he saying…true?" Dottie gazed at her with wide eyes, looking down at Rogue's gloved hands. "Are you really…" she let her voice trail off, sounding as breathless as her favorite television soap opera star that she watched during her breaks in the back. "One of them?"
Troy was smirking at her, though every time Dottie looked over at him he moaned and held the ice pack to his head. Rogue hated him so much right then that she wanted to tell him she knew all about what he'd done on the bus in the fourth grade, and then laugh at him for having wet the bed until he was twelve. Then, she would hit him with every piece of cookware in the diner and laugh.
She had called Dottie because she was wary of the police becoming involved, and she was hopeful that Dottie would just fire Troy and then Rogue could pretend it had never happened, could get back to the—if not enjoyable, at least dependable—routine she'd established these last few weeks. Unfortunately, Troy had informed Dottie that Rogue was a mutant before any firing could commence, and that had thrown a kink into her plan.
"Yes," Rogue snapped, annoyed, her temper frayed like the edges of the vinyl seats in the booths lining the windows. "I am, but he still tried to rape me," she reminded her, arms crossed protectively over her chest. "Don't you care about that?"
"Why didn't you call the cops, if I tried to rape you? Afraid they'll throw your mutie ass in jail?" Troy piped up, and she wondered how she even considered going out with such a vile, horrible creature?
"I—" she faltered, unsure what to say. I don't want anyone to know I used mutant powers on you because I don't want Professor Xavier to find me.
"Yeah," he muttered, triumphant. "Because you're lying."
"No, I'm not! Dottie," she said desperately, ignoring her assailant. "I can't work with him here. I don't want him to go to jail, but can you just…" she waved one black-gloved hand, resisting the urge to draw it across her throat for emphasis. "Fire him or something?"
Dottie stared up at the ceiling, white tiles stained from years of smoke and water damage, ignoring Rogue. "I just can't believe Troy would do something like that."
Incredulous, Rogue stared at her. "He did, Dottie. Why would I lie about that?" She resisted the urge to repeat her cast iron skillet attack on her boss, though it was a pleasant image.
When did I get so violent?
"I didn't try and rape you," Troy spoke up, his voice sounding amused. "Tell the truth. You were going to rob the place, weren't you? And I showed up and stopped you, and you hit me with a frying pan."
Rogue turned to face him, fingers curling into her palm to keep from tearing his hair out. "Why would I call Dottie, then?"
He slowly lowered the ice pack and looked over at Dottie. " You're not going to take the word of some…mutant…over mine, are you?"
Dottie looked between them both; Rogue's tear-stained face, Troy with a vicious bruise on his head, and then her eyes settled on Rogue's hands, one of which was still bare. "Troy, you get on home now. You have to open tomorrow—don't want you to be late."
He slid off the counter and smiled at the older woman. "Sure thing." He winked at Rogue, and she could have sworn she heard herself growl at him as he waggled his eyebrows and left the diner.
Has the world gone mad?
Rogue tried to reason with Dottie. Nothing seemed to matter—the other women mumbled something about "workplace safety" and put the counter between her and Rogue. "Just think maybe you should move on," Dottie said, and Rogue saw she was holding the phone in a death grip. "Don't want me to call the cops, do you?"
"Dottie, please, I didn't do anything," Rogue said heatedly. "Don't you understand? He was going to rape me!"
Dottie looked up at that, her face unkind. "Why were you in here, then? No, you were trying to rob me, just like Troy said." She nodded, her voice becoming firm. "How am I supposed to make a living if I got some freak working here, trying to steal from me and lying about it? You just…you just go on and get out," she said again. She waved her hand back and forth, and then to Rogue's horror, said firmly, "Shoo."
Hatred flared inside of her so strong, she thought her eyes must be burning with it. "Give me my last paycheck, then," she said slowly, walking towards the other woman.
Dottie raised the phone, tacky chipped painted nails adorning chubby fingers wrapped around the receiver. "After what you tried to do? Don't think so. Get out. Don't make me call the cops. Or animal control…"
Animal...! Rogue glared fiercely at the woman, the anger taking away her ability to speak, then dug in her pocked for the key to the diner. She was tempted to keep it and come back to torch the place later.
Where the hell is Pyro when you need him?
She took two steps toward the counter, the key in her palm, intending to smack it down on the counter and leave. Dottie made a sound that reminded Rogue of a terrified puppy, and shrieked, "Get out! I will call the police, you little thief, if you don't leave right now!"
Rogue opened her hand and let the key drop to the floor. Without another word, she turned and left the diner, listening to the little bell chime merrily as she left.
ooooooooOOOOoooooooo
Unfortunately, Rogue had an unpleasant surprise awaiting when she returned to her motel room.
She'd gone on a walk, too upset to think straight, but it had started raining after she'd gone a few blocks. She'd had to walk home through the worst of the downpour and was freezing as she made her way towards her room. She'd have a shower and then figure out where to go looking for a new job.
The motel manager, the one with the oily smile, accosted her as she passed the office. "Ah, Miss Anna Marie. Got a call from Dottie over at the diner. Going to need you to pack up and get out," he said bluntly.
Rogue focused on the man's face though the rain. "I—what? I know I don't have a job, but I'll get another one. Besides, I paid up through the month, remember?"
"Yeah, well, I got the right to terminate our…arrangement…if I find out I'm harboring dangerous criminals or the like. Dottie over at the diner says you're some kind of mutant thief."
Rogue gritted her teeth, fishing for her room key in her pocket. "I'm not a thief," she began hotly, then gave up. He was no more inclined to believe her than Dottie had been, she could tell by the look on his face. "Fine. Give me my money back, and I'll be gone in the morning." She fit the key into the ancient lock, pulling up and twisting the knob to the right, the motion almost a habit after two months.
"You make sure you're gone before I get here tomorrow at five." His voice was flat, unfriendly.
"Yeah. Give me what I paid for the rest of the month, and you'll never see me again." She shoved the door open, blocked it with her body. No way was he following her inside.
"I'll have the guy in the morning give it to you. You been payin' me with stolen money, girl? Wouldn't put it past you." His oily smile was replaced by a look of pure venom, and Rogue wondered what she—or any mutant, really—had ever done to make this man hate her so much. Rogue didn't dignify that with an answer. She opened the door to her room and left him out there, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. Through the walls, she could hear the bedsprings squeak as her neighbor started her night's work.
Whores, welcome. Mutants, no vacancy.
She was wet, exhausted, and utterly miserable. Not to mention unemployed and evicted. All because I tried to defend myself from a rapist?
In order to stop the annoying sounds from next door—really, did the woman have to make those annoying high-pitched moans?—Rogue reached out and turned the television on as she walked into the bathroom.
She barely heard what the newscaster was saying, instead focusing on how dreadful she looked in the mirror, until her ears caught the word mutant.
Great, did Dottie call the local news station?
"Responsibility for today's attack was claimed by the terrorist group known as the Brotherhood of Mutants. The group, which espouses claims of mutant superiority, is known for violent attacks against humans the globe over."
Rogue walked into the bedroom, and sat down on the comforter, heedless of the fact she was soaking wet. Her eyes were glued to the screen, on which she saw a very familiar face as the newscaster continued speaking over the image of Erik Lehnsherr.
"The leader of the Brotherhood, the mutant terrorist known as Magneto, says that such actions will continue until homo sapiens submits to the leadership of homo superior in accordance with evolutionary necessity."
Rogue stared at Magneto, who looked just as she remembered from Alkali; eyes cold and pitiless, face serious and intent.
She wondered if he was watching the news, if he heard the thread of distaste in the newscaster's smooth, practiced voice.
She listened to the details on the attack, and wondered if Pyro was involved, if he felt guilty. The news said four people had died, and that three more were in critical condition.
Rogue thought about the diner, about what happened to her there. She thought about Troy, his hands rough on her body, how he'd been whistling when he'd walked out of the restaurant. About Dottie shooing her away like Rogue was some sort of rabid dog.
She stripped the sodden fabric of her gloves from her hands and wondered if maybe she'd been thinking about things the wrong way.
I've always protected others from me. I've always tried to keep from hurting anyone. I've always believed that it's never right to hurt anyone else. And where does this get me? Kicked out of a sleazy motel, good enough for a whore but not a mutant. Fired from a job that employs a rapist, just because I tried to stop a man from violating me in the kitchen in the easiest way I knew how.
She remembered Magneto in the boat to Liberty Island. There is no land of tolerance.
He was probably right.
There was something about admitting it that scared her far more than anything the Professor had planned to do to her, more than what had happened to her tonight. What am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go? Rogue looked down at her hands, which were very pale and soft, too frightened and angry to even cry.
I didn't ask for any of this. I was just born this way. It doesn't matter. No one will ever…it will always be my fault. I'll always be judged guilty, just as soon as they find out what I am. And they'll find out. There's no way I can hide forever.
Eventually she rose from the bed and went to shower, the water as hot as she could make it, as if she could burn away her poisoned skin. That night, she dreamt of a long wooden pier stretching far out into the sea, the only light coming from a single light mounted on a narrow metal pole. Everything beyond the pier was darkness.
ooooooooOOOOoooooooo
In the morning, she lay in bed and wondered what she should do.
There was no question that she had to leave Lewiston. She'd have to hitchhike again, make her way up to Canada, as she'd been planning all along.
What are you going to do when you get there? Get a job? Not likely. You have some experience now, but what if they call for references?
Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block out the reality her life had become. The minute her eyes closed, she saw the image from her dream again—the pier, the metal lamp post, the darkness of the endless sea.
If this is some metaphor about my life, I'm going to kick something.
The sound of a knock pulled her back to the present, and Rogue threw the covers back and padded over to the door. She peeked out of the peephole to find her neighbor, wearing a pink cotton robe and yawning. Rogue undid the numerous locks on the door and opened it a crack. "Hi?"
Up close, the woman didn't look that much older than Rogue. "Hi. I went to pay my bill this morning, and um…the manager asked me to give you this." She held out her hand, a white envelope with "Room 101" written on it in black ink.
Rogue reached down and took the envelope, which was presumably her cash. "Thanks," she said gruffly, relieved she at least had that little bit of money. At least she wouldn't starve.
"Hey, um…are you in trouble or something? I heard…well, I heard last night," she said slowly, shifting on her feet, though she didn't look away as Rogue expected. "What the manager said. About—about you. Being a mutant."
"Aren't you going to throw something at me and run away in terror?" Rogue asked, hating the bitterly amused sound of her own voice.
The woman shrugged. "Honey, I'm a hooker. You think I'm going to judge you?"
Rogue remembered what she'd thought last night, about how the manager didn't mind hookers but hated mutants. As if she's somehow less than you. It made her feel a little guilty. "I guess…I guess not."
"You leaving today?"
Rogue nodded, opening the door a little wider. "Yeah. I'm—going to head up to Canada, I guess."
The other woman nodded, pulling the robe tighter around her. "They got better laws about mutants and stuff up there?"
"I doubt it," Rogue said wryly. "I just…I don't know where else to go."
"Oh. Well, good luck." She yawned again. "You were a nice neighbor. Better than the dealer who was here before you."
Rogue smiled at that. "I'm, um, glad to hear it." She stepped back into her room, hand tight around her money. The nicest person she'd met here was a prostitute. That sure said something about life, didn't it?
"You take care, honey, and watch yourself. People like you and me, we gotta stay low of the law. You don't want to end up in jail. Believe me." With that, she went back to her room and disappeared inside.
Rogue stood for a moment in the doorway, staring across the street at the diner. She saw Troy's car there, and Dottie's truck. If last night hadn't happened, she'd be at work now. She glanced towards the door leading to her neighbor's room.
Rogue wondered if the girl had a story like hers; if bad things had happened, giving her no options in life, making her turn to a life of prostitution because she had nothing else. The thought was a little scary to Rogue, though some part of her was very bitter as she went inside to pack.
I can't even do that, she thought, opening drawers and folding her clothes as she placed them into her bag. What was she supposed to do, live in cheap motels and eke out a living until someone find out about her and kicked her out? Because it was beginning to look like that might be what she had to look forward to.
Either that or a life of crime. That thought almost made her laugh, but she had a feeling if she started, it would turn into something bordering on hysteria.
Once she'd packed her things, she opened the envelope and took out her cash. By her calculation, it was missing about fifty bucks, so either the manager had stiffed her or her neighbor had pocketed some of it. She hoped it was the manager, because it would be nice if at least one person wasn't awful, but it didn't really matter anymore.
Rogue looked at the diner as she passed, and had a wild urge to go in and order a piece of pie. She wondered if they'd give it to her and hide behind the counter as she ate it. She didn't go in, however, and left it behind her just as she had so many other things, and waited for someone to pick her up.