Just as a warning, this contains some dark stuff and a few of my own personal opinions from past experiences so if you really can't stand dark things this is your warning. As for my opinions- they're just opinions so don't freak out and kill me if you think I'm wrong. Enjoy the chapter and... REVIEW! Now, on with the story
Chapter 5
Kitty had proceeded to storm out of the cabin sobbing, and Rogue felt a small stab of guilt. The guilt, however, quickly dissipated leaving only pain and anger. Two emotions which badly needed an outlet. Depression was the swifter of the emotions and quickly took control. Now, after blowing up at Kitty, she was thinking about the relationship she and Bobby had. Had. The word seemed far more significant now than she knew was possible. She HAD a relationship with Bobby. She HAD a friendship with Kitty. She HAD a decent life. Now that was ruined. The two things that held her life together and made it bearable were gone, and she didn't have a reason to keep going anymore. The last phrase hit Rogue like a subway; she had no real reason left to live.
Without giving it any real thought, Rogue went to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a knife she had stashed in the cabin for cooking purposes. Now, however, it was not to cut meat. No, it would cut human flesh. That was when the anger took possession, when she picked up the knife. Angrily, she thought of how stupid Bobby and Kitty must have believed her to be. And brought the edge of the knife to her wrist. This was her last resort, she had nothing left. Rogue's life had been taken away. Absently wondering if it would be wrong to commit suicide or even if it would be right, Rogue decided that right or wrong chances were she'd kill herself. Mutilation that was unsightly, she thought, and really didn't care at all. The knife's blade hit same spot, dragged along the skin, deeper into it.
Actually, she'd wanted this for a while. It started when she killed Jean. Yes, she killed Dr. Jean Grey. If she'd learned how to land a jet before that mission it wouldn't have been broken, and Jean wouldn't have had a reason to sacrifice herself. The sacrifice made Rogue angry, to her sacrifice was simply taking the easy way out while gaining affection. The knife came down once more as she took out her anger on herself. Would anybody understand? At that moment if someone had just told her it was all ok, that she was ok, she would have believed them. If someone had come in at that moment Rogue would have stopped. No one came.
What was the point of living anyway? She had no friends, no family, no chance of gaining friends, and would eventually just die anyway. With that she cut one more time, in the same spot, deeper still. Looking down at her wrist she saw one long horizontal line running flawlessly along her vein and pouring crimson at an incredible rate. Blood, she mused, was nothing like what you saw on TV and in the movies. It was random, slowly oozing out then gushing then slowing again. The shape it formed was also random. You always saw it becoming a round spot, or a straight line without going outside some invisible margins, but in reality a shapeless blob was formed, thinner in the more shallow areas and thicker where the wound was deeper, it was closer to a sea creature than anything else; there were tentacles reaching across with intersections and in some places it blurred together creating a blob not worth describing. She laughed mirthlessly at this revelation. Some of the children believed nothing on television aside from cartoons was untrue, and if they were here they'd be proven otherwise. Mind you if they were here they'd also see that death wasn't glorious or hilarious or stunning, just death. It's more like being in a haze than anything else. Some details are clear and others blurry, everything assumes a dream-like quality and the actual situation doesn't sink in until later, when you expect the person to say or do something and they aren't there to do it. (A/N: If you've experienced someone you're close to dying and disagree I'm sorry, but this is my personal experience from when my mom died and other such experiences. Also, this story isn't exactly from Rogue's POV though you'll see lots of her opinions. Now, my wonderful readers continue reading). A bloody death is no more dramatic then silent ones, and the results are still the same.
It was ironic that Rogue had most adamantly denied TV being true, and her death was the thing that would prove her point. She started crying, but was still more angry than depressed. Tears of self-loathing and regret poured out all at once, but Rogue still didn't regret suicide. She regretted not getting to do what she wanted to when alive. All the stupid things she did overwhelmed her, along with all the people she wanted to say goodbye to, all the parts of her past that she knew she should remember but didn't. Her vision blurred. With a dry laugh Rogue thought how it was too late now. Then she lost the ability to see all together. Hearing was something she could still do but all she heard was her own breathing and that sound was frightening. Either way that sense was fading quickly. Sound became more and more muffled and suddenly it was like someone had put the world on mute and Rogue had gone blind. She was crumpled in a heap on the ground but still mentally conscious, thinking how strange this was. Suddenly all at once she completely lost consciousness as if someone had pressed the off button. Death was far swifter than she'd ever imagined.
