Author's note: This is what I get for branching out from LOTR section! Barely any reviews! But then, the site's been funky, so ah well! I am going to keep y'all guessing as to what will happen in this story—it's not as straightforward as it seems thus far! I'm even keeping myself guessing, heehee! Need I say—review!
And YAY, Quinn! You give such good reviews! I'm glad you like it! I won't give up on my other stories, don't worry!
Disclaimer: *holds up a sign that reads* NOT MINE!
Anya spent the next few weeks with her mind's eye closed; she was constantly bombarded by emotions and random thoughts swirling around her, but she held herself back from studying them. Everyone noticed her listless behavior. The truth was, she didn't know what to do with herself when she couldn't get the opinions (conscious or unconscious) of the people around her. She felt like she'd been deprived of vital information to function, and she found herself seeking time alone, when she didn't have to block everything out, when she didn't have to worry about what everyone was thinking—when she didn't have to worry that her powers would slip out of her control and she'd be found out.
She found that holding her abilities back was more strain than taking full advantage of them had ever been. The difficulty she had suppressing them forced her to realize that they were a natural part of her, maybe one of the most important parts. She spent her time feeling like a spring held tightly coiled, or a loaded gun.
She'd always had a bad habit of chewing on whatever was available—pencils, her nails, her mother's guitar picks that she left lying around the house. This habit came back full force as her nerves frazzled. She would look down in class and find her pen cap covered with teeth marks, and she hadn't even realized what she'd been doing.
With her mind was removed from everyone else's, Anya began to think she was becoming removed from herself, too. Then she realized the truth; apart from everyone else, she had never know who she was in the first place.
Anya was three years old, and it was Christmas Day. She running up and down the hall of her grandparents' house, counting out loud. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…" She was trying to beat her own time, her short legs stretching as she loped across the carpet. It was cold, and the running kept her warm. She was hoping they'd eat soon.
The toe of her shiny black Mary Jane caught on a snag, and she fell flat on her face with a shriek. She burst into tears, and a door at the end of the hall swung open as her mother, grandparents, and uncle rushed out, clucking with concern.
Grandpa reached her first, and he scooped her up easily. "Well, now, Miss Annie, what seems to be the trouble?" Her grandparents thought Anya was an outlandish name, so they used her nickname more often.
Anya sniffled and offered her grandfather a faint smile. He was warm, all his thoughts and feelings, even his arms. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and peered into his mind.
"Is she all right, Charlie? Her eyes look funny," Grandma said, staring at Anya's unfocused gaze.
"Sure she is, it was just a little tumble." He jiggled Anya on his knee, and her curls bounced. She hesitantly pulled back into her own consciousness, and her grandmother sighed in relief as Anya began to look more alert.
They worried because Anya didn't talk too much yet. They were always encouraging her to say more, with rewards and scoldings, but she was sometimes too busy soaking everything in. The world was so big to her—so many people to find out about, as well as all the usual things to see. She could forget herself for hours inside someone else's mind.
Then her mother was lifting her out of Grandpa's arms. Her tall mother, with her olive skin, dark hair, and slim build so different from Anya's. Anya barely looked like her family at all, really.
She laid her head on her mom's shoulder and drifted to sleep.
Anya woke up confused. Her dreams had been so real; they weren't just dreams. They were her memories, replaying themselves for no apparent reason.
She opened her eyes for a moment, but the sun stung them, so she closed them again. She could hear Allyson putting her makeup on, and before she thought about it she latched onto her roommates signal. Information poured into her—the words to the song Allyson was humming to herself, the high school dance it reminded her of, where her first class was, the shade of eyeshadow she selected. Anya relaxed as knowledge flowed through her mind, as Allyson's familiar essence reasserted itself.
Her breath stopped. She'd used her powers.
Then she realized that Allyson hadn't noticed. She was completely oblivious; she hadn't even stopped doing her makeup. Anya cautiously checked her roommate's signal again—nothing.
The psychic stretched her mind out and locked onto the people in the room next to her. She studied them deeply, and they remained ignorant of the interference, too. It seemed like nothing had changed.
But the DJ… she thought. Then a new and welcome idea entered her mind.
She'd be going to the Rising Sun that night.
~*~*~
Toad was in the laundromat; he hated the laundromat. He went late at night, when the place was usually deserted. He was sitting on an unused machine as the one next to him churned his clothes around, removing the dirt from the already dingy fabric of his rather monochromatic wardrobe.
A radio was blaring Nirvana, and Toad unconsciously hummed along with Kurt Cobain's whining voice. "You know you're right! You know you're right…"
The bell above the door jangled, and Toad turned his head with a jerk.
An ethereal cloud of blonde hair glowed in the light of the streetlights outside, and Toad's enormous eyes got larger. A wave of cold swept over him… then faded as he realized he was staring at a stranger.
The girl was visibly startled when she saw Toad, especially in his alert position. She gasped, stood staring blankly, then turned and pushed back through the door, leaving the bell ringing frantically.
Toad caught a flash of dark roots at the top of her golden hair, and he couldn't help but chuckle ironically.
Not Anya. Heck, not even a real blonde! And just like everyone else, another person to fear him.
He hated himself for thinking about the "closet mutant"; anytime he'd thought of anyone this much, he'd ended up disappointed and alone as ever. But how could he help it? Since the Brotherhood had dissolved, he'd had almost no human—or mutant—contact. Just talking to someone was a big event. And to touch her…
And when he'd run down the alley that night, he'd been the good guy for once.
An unusual experience for him, indeed.
A/N: I'll write more soon! I'm going to be gone until Monday, though. I can probably check my e-mail and see REVIEWS before then, though! Heehee!