Summer Shudder
Listen when I say, when I say it's real. Real life goes undefined, why must you be so miscible? Everything you take, makes me more unreal. Real lines are undefined. How can this be so miserable? Under the summer rain, I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!) You turned away. Listen I can't make, make a sound or feel. Feel fine I kissed the lies, why must they be so kissable? ~ Summer Shudder- AFI
Cairo, Egypt. 2005.
She takes another dainty sip, and he can't stop the thoughts that form at the movement of her lips. She is classy, this one. The way she moves, the way she speaks: so polite and refined. It's as if the unrelenting heat has no effect on her. The proud tilt of her chin indicates that she is unconcerned with the drab wrap she wears.
She doesn't belong in a shady place like this; she is a Goddess in all meanings of the word.
"And so you see, Gambit-"—"
"Please, call me Remy."
Her demeanor remains cool and professional. "And so you see, Remy, I've been through much of the same things as you. I understand what it's like to have to steal to survive."
He takes a sloppy drink from his mug and swishes it around in his mouth. He isn't sure what it's called, but it gets him drunk quickly and that's what matters.
"P'tite, Remy don' have to steal for food anymore. Remy steals cause he wanna steal."
He notices the slight downturn of her mouth; she's disgusted and he isn't surprised. A woman like her could never understand someone like him. Thieving is no longer a necessity, it's a pleasure. It gets him off.
He knows every curve and part of the place he is robbing like he knows a woman's body. It's almost an obsession; he has to be the best at thieving because if he doesn't have that—what does he have? And he is the best. Many have heard of the infamous 'Gambit', and many do all they can to contract him. This is why he's here now, in the hottest place on Earth.
Even so, a bit of shame buzzes at the back of his brain. She obviously sees him now as the scum beneath her shoes.
He pulls a deck of cards from his pocket and spreads them across the tabletop.
"Care t' play?"
Her blue eyes narrow as he shuffles. Unbeknownst to him, but he's completely misread her reaction. She isn't upset because she finds his answer deplorable, she's upset because in the recesses of her guilty thoughts: she feels the same way, and she's angry at herself for not having the confidence to admit it as easily as he does.
"Mr. LeBeau-"—"
"Ah, ah, ah," he corrects with a wink. "Mr. LeBeau is my good-for-nothin' father. Y' call me Remy."
"Remy I wish you would take this seriously. What we're offering is not to be taken lightly. Charles Xavier is a wonderful man who—"
"If he's so wonderful, why'd he send y' here? If what y' told me 'bout y' childhood is true, dis city holds a lotta pain for y'. Sounds kind of cruel, non?"
He deals the cards.
"That's completely irrelevant," she asserts. "But if you must know, I chose to do this mission." She takes another sip of her sweet-smelling tea. "I cannot be scared of this place forever. I'm tired of being scared." Her blue eyes go through him then; her mind is elsewhere.
His jaw tightens imperceptibly. Her comment had hit a little too close to home. If only he could be as brave as she.
"So lemme get dis straight: dere's an insanely rich man who opens his home up to random mutants an' wants nothin' in return?" He snorts, "T'ings dat sound too good to be true usually are, p'tite."
"Your hesitation is understandable."
To his surprise, she gathers her hand and fans the cards expertly. "But from what I hear, you are a man who enjoys taking risks."
"Danger is mon deuxième prénom."(1)
"All he asks is that you fight the good fight and help achieve his dream, and in return you get freedom. A chance to start anew. He doesn't care about your history, what you've done or who you were!"
"An' what if I'm still dat person?" He makes the first move. "Remy's past has a habit of catchin' up wit him."
Ororo tries not to get caught in his tragic eyes, and lays down a card. For only a split second his mask had wavered, and he looked as scared and lost as a child.
She didn't expected to feel so much sympathy for this man. In fact, up until this meeting she'd despised the mutant known as 'Gambit'. The X-Men know of his connections with Sinister and even his role in the Morlock Massacre.
She waits for the anger to boil at the thought of that atrocity. All those bodies strewn carelessly across the filthy ground. The screams that still echoed off the walls—
The ire comes and goes in waves, as if she's about to become sick. She takes deep, calming breaths, until all she feels is pity for him. Despite her effort, she finds herself staring into his haunting eyes; they glow against the smoky backdrop of the bar.
Charles had only managed to gain a few pages of information to start a file on Gambit, no, of Remy LeBeau; there isn't much. What is there is a gruesome string of heartache and terrible event after terrible event.
She can't even imagine what this poor boy has gone through in his short life. Twenty-three years old, two years younger than herself, and already he's known more pain and anguish than anyone could deserve. She'd been lucky. Sure, her parents had died while she was young, and life on the streets wasn't easy, but Charles came and ended her misery, showing her what true happiness really was.
The feeling had been hiding the entire time, from the first second she sat down to speak with him, but something had caused her to ignore it.
That is no longer the case, and it hits her full on. Her heart pounds; her face feels hot. She must leave. She can't be here! She can't be feeling this way!
She bolts upright on her unsteady knees, causing the cards to flutter every which way and the cups to spill across the table. She hands him a small, white business card.
"Please contact us if you change your mind." She pulls her hood over her head and then she's gone.
"Wait!" Remy reaches out to stop her but she's quicker than he expected.
He runs after her through the crowded streets. The sun beats down on him harshly, and dust from the ground makes his eyes water. Even the 'Ragin' Cajun' can't handle heat this intense and unforgiving.
He spots her entering an alley. He sprints but when he reaches it, she's no where to be found.
Storm glides through the air up above. Her mind still remains clouded and her chest spasms.
For a moment she hovers, and, as if having an extra sense, Remy turns and looks directly into her eyes. A minute goes by with them just staring; there is understanding in his smile. He raises a hand to wave.
She doesn't acknowledge him, but they are both aware of the smile she hides as she turns and soars away.
Ororo muses during her flight. No matter what, even if he joins tomorrow, she'll stop this feeling. She'll have her emotions back under control; it's what she's always done and Remy LeBeau will not be her undoing.
She could have no way of knowing that it will be another two years before Remy shows up at the mansion, and that she'll be just in love with him then as she is now.
...
No one would call Remy LeBeau anything less than extremely clever, and his wits do not desert him as he enters the pitch-black bungalow.
Someone is here with him, and he isn't naïve enough to let himself believe it's Storm come to seduce him. And as he reaches to retrieve his pack, the cold blade of a knife presses against the sensitive flesh of his throat.
He can't help but smirk, instantly recognizing the womanly figure pressed against his back. She is thinner, but he'll never forget the shape of her breasts.
"It took y' a whole year dis time. Y' losin' y' touch, Belle."
She adds pressure to the knife until a thin line of blood forms, then whips away from him without so much as a word. There is a burning line across his neck from where the metal was against his flesh, and he thinks he feels droplets of blood sliding over his throat and gathering in the collar of his duster.
He turns to find the nozzle of a gun in his direct vision. For only a second, unadulterated fear makes his entire frame go slack and cold sweat to break across his skin.
He manages to regain his composure and tears his eyes from the gun to her cold, violet eyes. They've changed. There is no longer any warmth in them, only desperation. Infinite, all-consuming desperation.
"I don' t'ink I've ever seen y' really get scared before, mon amour."
He begins to notice other things about her. How thin she's become, how tight her skin stretches across her cheekbones. The once-beautiful woman looks like a victim of botched plastic surgery.
"What happened to y', Belle?" he murmurs. There's sincere concern in his voice.
She cackles, lowering the gun. "You happened, Remy LeBeau. Y' waltzed into my life and ruined it, den waltzed right back out."
He opens his mouth to speak, but she shoves the gun against his chest.
"Mais now I'm here to take back control!" Her hands tremble so much he fears she might shoot him before she finishes what she has to say. But the hatred she is emitting lets him know it probably wouldn't sadden her very much.
"Y' ruined my life! Y' killed my brother an' de grief of his death killed mon pere. Den y' just…left me! No apology, no goodbye, not even a fuckin' post card!"
He shakes his head sympathetically. "Belle, y' know I was exiled, I couldn't have any communication wit anyone—"
"Bullshit," she sneers. "Maybe y' could fool a stranger, mais I know y'. Y' famous for gettin' round de rules. Five minutes, five minutes was all I asked! Jus' to know where y' were goin', jus' to know y' really were sorry!"
She looks towards the window; the moon shines in her eyes. He can tell she's reminiscing about pain and heartache.
"I'd known from de very beginnin' y' didn't really love me, even though I liked to pretend. I thought dat maybe you'd change y' mind, maybe I could tame y', mais I was wrong."
Remy listens intently. She's obviously distracted, he could have disarmed her and escaped with his life, but he can't. Belle has been tracking him down for years, and she keeps finding him time after time, almost their own game of hide and seek spanning across years. They are not meant to be together, but beyond tante Mattie, Bella is his oldest friend. And though they're toxic and though there's hurt on both sides: there's still love somewhere inside of them, still companionship…but now he isn't so sure. This night is different. Before, there had always been some sort of feeling in her eyes; she never really tried her hardest to kill him, and he'd always gotten got away.
Tonight is different. He knows he won't be able to joke his way out, or seduce her, or simply fight her off. Tonight Belle wants him as dead as her heart is.
Resolving what she was is about to do, Belle straightens her shoulders and looks him right in the eyes, he wants to squirm at her intruding gaze.
"Y' a selfish petit garçon, Remy LeBeau. It may not be now, it may not be twenty years from now, mais someday de God y' don' believe in is gonna make y' pay. Someday de Lord is gonna hurt y' like you've hurt so many people."
The gun moves slowly, unfocused memories swarm around him. Tante, he'll never see Tante again. And the beautiful, blue-eyed Storm, would she wonder what had happened to him? Probably not, because what Belle said is true: he isn't worth it. All he does is hurt and steal and ruin.
Would anyone care? Would Henri try to avenge his death?
His eyes clamp shut, and he feels no shame at his cowardice. Then comes the sound of a gunshot—then blood spattering all around him: the metallic odor of it, the taste of salt as some of it lands on his lips—these occurrences don't register at first and he wonders when his soul will leave his body and when he'll finally have to answer for all that he's done.
He waits for the pain; it never comes and when he opens his eyes to look at her, he knows why.
She'd never intended to kill him, no, because death would be an escape—she wanted him to suffer for the rest of his life. The gun was pointed at her own temple. It is her blood that oozes across the floor, her skull that is shattered and broken, her heart that will never beat again.
The man shakes harshly and falls to his knees.
Blood, so much blood. Pints and pints of blood. How can he clean up all this blood? There's too much of it.
The night of Julien's death comes back to choke him. It was an accident, he was only fighting for his life. He hadn't meant for the knife to go in Julien's stomach; he didn't mean to kill him!
"Y' were my first kiss, Bella. M' best friend…m' wife—"
He didn't mean to kill Belle either, but here she is: quite literally a shell of the woman she used to be. Of the fiery little girl who had fought by his side in a rat-infested alleyway. Of the glowing lover who was willing to give everything, even knowing she wouldn't receive his all in return. Of the hopeful bride who had no idea that before the wedding commenced she would lose her brother, lover, and sanity.
There was blood that night, too.
Remy feels the weight of his ex-wife's words. He is damned, truly and completely damned.
"Bella," he croaks, his trembling growing worse as the numbing comfort of shock begins to evacuate, "Désolé! Je désolé!"
His apology is completely inadequate; his apology does not piece her skull back together or fill her lungs with air or her soul with life.
There is so much blood, too much of it.
So much blood. Pints and pints of blood.
Listen as I break, break the fourth wall's seal. Gorgeous eyes shine suicide. When will we be invisible? Under the summer rain, I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!) We find a way. Under the summer rain, I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!) You turned away. This is the fall, this is the long way down. And our lives look smaller now, and our lives look so small. Willingly crying. ~Summer Shudder-AFI
Present Day New York.
So much blood. Pints and pints of blood.
The human brain is a powerful, incredible thing. It is the most evolved on Earth, yet no one can say it is infallible. Sometimes there are defects, and sometimes, an event can cause the brain to give out for a moment altogether.
Remy's brain does just this. The gore brings back recollections he can't handle, and so, being a most brilliant organ: his brain blocks it happenings before his eyes don't register in his mind and so he can't acknowledge them. It just isn't possible. Rogue's arm didn't reach out towards the girl. The girl's eyes didn't bulge out of their sockets and pop with a sickening sound. The girl's head didn't swell and eventually explode. Bits and pieces of skull and brain matter didn't project themselves all over him. Blood isn't spraying from the girl's neck; her body isn't flopping. Rogue didn't smirk during the entire ordeal.
There is too much blood. The girl's thin body couldn't have held so much of it! It is everywhere: on the floors, the wall, himself…
Who will clean all this up? There is too much for one person, and it has already started seeping into the cracks of the floor; it will be there forever. No amount of cleaner can ever remove it.
His mind begins to speed up and he can no longer block it out. He shakes violently and turns to find her staring him down coldly.
Her form is hazy due to all the smoke, but her metallic eyes show through clearly, like two headlights in the fog.
No, not Rogue at all. How could he even think his chère could do something like this? She is good, she is pure—
Do you see what happens when you hurt her?
Her voice echoes in his head. She is speaking with her mind; he knows this only because her voluptuous lips remain still, in a harsh line.
The influence I have over her grows and grows. As does our connection. Do what you must to adjust.
She turns away, and he soon loses sight of her.
Minutes pass by. The screams have gotten louder; he hears sirens. He has the decency to get on his knees and pray for the dead girl, though what the prayers of a Hell-bound soul can do, he isn't sure. He wonders if God would listen to someone like him.
Things lose the numbness. The girl is really dead; she'd been decapitated in mere seconds. Rogue's face didn't change…but no, it wasn't Rogue.
He can smell the burning chunks of brain all over, and he's reminded of Bella's suicide in Cairo and the sewers that ran with blood.
He then proceeds to vomit over and over again.
...
He returns to the motel looking haggard and pale. He'd already stripped off his soiled clothes as he made the long walk from the destroyed grocery store to here. He doesn't know how he isn't frostbitten; he doesn't know how no one saw him.
But none of that matters now. All that matters is the hot shower he's preparing.
He gets the water as hot as possible, he can't even feel the burn of it on his skin. He scrubs hard, until his skin is raw. The water goes from red to pink to clear, and if there was anything left in his stomach it would be coming up.
He tries to clear his mind like he was taught years ago. It's not like he's never seen death before. In fact, he's been the cause of death on many occasions. So why is this so hard? Is it because he's finally reached his breaking point? Did Phoenix raping his mind affect him more than he realized? Is it because it's his chère who committed the crime? No, not Rogue—Phoenix, he corrects himself another time. He can't let himself think like that. She is so good, so pure… Rogue would never… Rogue.
Dear God, why is he avoiding her? She is probably a wreck, she probably needs him.
He shuts the water off and curses under his breath. As usual, he was only thinking of his feelings and his pain. She must be devastated. At least when he'd committed the unforgivable crimes of murder, he'd been in control, he'd known what he was doing. Killing that girl wasn't even Rogue's choice!
He throws a towel around his waist and rushes into the bedroom, yearning to take her in his arms and ease her troubles.
To his horror, his southern lover is no where to be found.
...
He finds her in the back of a club, drenched to the bone from snow and something sticky, like blood. She's shivering, so he takes his coat off and drapes it over her.
She looks up at him with tear-filled eyes. "Ah'm so glad ya found me!"
He smiles and gathers her in his arms. They make their way to his expensive-looking car and he comforts her while driving, telling her they'll be there soon and she can take a nice, hot bath.
She buries her face in his neck, and suddenly she loves him with all of her heart.
He carries her inside the building and to the elevator, ignoring the looks people give them. She continues placing soft kisses on his cheeks and jaw and neck. He holds her tighter and kisses her back.
They reach the door and he pulls out a key to unlock it. He carries her right to the bathroom, showing her how to work the controls, and where the body wash and shampoo were. He helps her undress; his eyes go over her lustfully.
He moves to leave and she clings to him.
"Don't leave me," she whispers in his ear, making him shiver delightfully.
He explains to her that he's going to make her a hot meal, and that he'll come right back as soon as the food is in the oven. This does not please her, but she doesn't argue and let's herself sink into the pool of hot water.
The bubbles come up to her neck and she begins to spread soap over her body. She lathers the shampoo into her long hair and rinses it with a sigh. This feels good, so good. Good enough to allow her to forget what she did only an hour ago. A year ago.
Who am Ah?
Let go.
A decade back.
I want to feel.
Phoenix helps with the forgetting aspect as well.
He returns to the bathroom with hunger in his smile. He never takes his gaze off of her as he undresses and eases into the Jacuzzi. He presses their naked bodies together and takes her breasts in his hands.
She whimpers and his blue eyes spark. His hands go all over her body; she decides that this human knows what he is doing.
The man looks down at her startled. Weren't her eyes green before? But he soon loses this concern as her tongue slides in his mouth and her fingers comb through his curly, brown hair. Passion makes both of their hearts quicken, she is overcome with sensation and emotion. His lips break from hers and go to her neck, to her breasts, to her concave stomach, and then finally fall to the place below her navel.
She gasps and arches towards his hot mouth. "Jono…" She murmurs his name under her breath.
She knows his name. He doesn't remember giving it to her, but then again he was so distracted by her beauty he'd probably forgotten.
His tongue and lips work her into orgasm after orgasm. The Goddess of Destruction finds herself in awe at the raw sensation of being human.
He rises and runs his finger across her temple. "How do you feel?" There's a hint of arrogance in his tone, but she's far from caring.
"I feel empty. Can you fix that for me?" Short and to the point. She doesn't want this human for a tête-à-tête. Only hot passion and sweat and all human bodily functions that occur from two bodies meeting: disgusting little happenings that don't seem so disgusting when one is caught up in the whirlwind of release and spasms.
He could have sworn she'd had a southern accent…but he's too far gone to question her. The look she is giving him is almost enough for him to come right then and there.
But he isn't going to end this so soon, he wants to savor the taste and feel of her. It was obvious from her state when he'd first found her that she is probably some kind of prostitute, but he is no stranger to their kind.
He kisses her again, telling her to be patient while he fetches a condom.
She glowers when he leaves her to reach in the pantry. She wants to feel this human in every sense of the word; she doesn't want a silly, human contraceptive dulling the sensation of having him inside of her. She tells him this and he laughs.
"You sure are a strange one," he laughs. "I apologize, baby doll. But until we get you tested I'm afraid we'll have to use these." He winks at her and helps her from the tub and into his arms. She commences kissing him as he takes her to his bedroom.
He lays her down on the lush sheets.
"You're going to enjoy this, baby doll."
She smirks and silently agrees. But before he can enter her and before she can let herself get lost in orgasm once more, but before carnal lust overrides everything else, a sharp cry explodes in her head.
For a moment her vision gets fuzzy. It's Remy. He's used his empathy to try and find her and he'd felt her pleasure and her orgasm and he knows…
John's mouth falls open and he pulls away as her eyes switch back to emerald. "What the—"
Rogue sobs as soon as she breaks the surface and panic seizes her. "Where am Ah? Who are ya? Where's Remy?"
He tries to restrain her, but her eyes go back to gold and he feels something invisible wrap around his throat. Colored spots dance across his vision and the grip is too strong to fight.
He suffocates within minutes.
Rogue fights for control and screams as his body falls to the wooden floor with a 'thud.' In her desperation, she somehow connects with Remy telepathically. She senses his hurt, his devastation, his powerful jealousy. She cries for him and tries to let him know where she is. She begs for him to come get her, to save her—
And things cease to connect and consciousness leaves her.
October 1998.
Her Aunt Irene is blind: that and her immense wealth is about all Rogue knows about her. She is her Mama's sister and, despite her disability, seems very clever indeed.
She shows up at their front door a week before Halloween. Rogue is putting up decorations when she hears the doorbell ring and Daddy get up to answer it. She leaves her place on the window and jumps down to peek through the rungs on the staircase.
The woman is beautiful, with short reddish hair and a thin, but healthy body. She wants to see her eyes, but tinted glasses cover them.
Rogue can tell by the stiffening of Daddy's shoulders and the harshness of the pretty woman's words that the two do not get along.
Suddenly, the woman turns to Rogue's hiding place and smiles. "My, my. Look how pretty you've gotten! Just like your mother." Irene looks at Daddy when she says this. Something like guilt mars his features.
"Marie, honey, this is your Aunt Irene. Come say Hello."
Rogue dismounts the stairs shyly and shuffles over to the aunt she's seen once, maybe twice in her whole entire life.
"Hello." She lets her aunt hug her. She decides it feels kind of nice.
How long has it been since her Father held her without that burning look in his eyes?
"I would like to take you out for ice cream, Marie. How does that sound?"
It sounds great, but she turns to her father to gauge his reaction. He nods tightly, and she grins big and wide.
"I would like that a lot, Aunt Irene!"
She smiles softly. "Just call me 'Irene,' darling. Bring your coat with you, it's a little chilly."
Rogue nods eagerly and rushes to the closet to retrieve her jacket.
Daddy kisses her on the cheek when they move to leave. She sees Irene frown. Does her Aunt somehow know?
Shame makes her cheeks redden as a man helps she and Aunt Irene to the limo. Would Aunt Irene stop liking her if she knew the way Daddy touches her? Would Aunt Irene think she's dirty?
She bows her head and pinches her knees.
"Your father tells me you like going by 'Rogue.' Why is that?"
"Ah found a picture of me and Mama a long time ago. It was when Ah was just born, and she was holdin' me. On the back it said, 'Me an' my little Rogue.' Ah've liked it ever since."
Irene laughs. "Your mother was something, I loved her very much." Her face falls and she looks down at Rogue. "Do you know how she died, Rogue?"
The girl nods sadly. "She died in a car accident when Ah was just a baby."
The flash of anger on Irene's face scares her.
"So that's what the bastard told you," she mutters under her breath.
It's a long time before Aunt Irene speaks again. "All your mother ever wanted was for you to be happy. Are you happy, Rogue?"
They reach the ice cream shop. She knows the answer she should give, the answer a good little Christian girl would give, but it isn't the truth. And doesn't the Lord want all his children to tell the truth? But God wants all girls and boys to listen to their parents… so what is she supposed to do?
With each day Daddy gets more and more heated. He doesn't only touch her at bath time anymore, or when she goes to sleep. It is happening in the morning, in the middle of the day, when she goes potty.
His movements are getting more and more aggressive. Daddy doesn't just want to touch her anymore, he wanted her to touch him, too. Sometimes he pulls out his thing and shoves it in her mouth.
She hates the taste of it. She puked once, but he punished her and so she taught herself to swallow it back.
How much longer will it be before Daddy hurts her more? She isn't exactly sure how 'it' works because Daddy forbids inappropriate TV shows, books, and even took her out of class when the teachers began explaining nasty things like bleeding and such; but she knows things can and will get worse.
"Yes, Aunt Irene." She chokes on her tears, and her lies, and looks out the tinted window instead of at the concerned woman next to her.
"I think you're trying to save him, Rogue."
She knows the 'him' Irene refers to.
"You have to think about yourself, my darling. You have to understand that what he does to you isn't acceptable or commonplace, it's disgusting and it's all his fault, not yours."
"Ah wanna go home," she wails, feeling her Aunt pull her close.
"Oh you poor, poor thing." She feels Irene's tears. "Please let me take you away from here, please let me take away the pain, Rogue!"
She mulls over her Aunt's words. Happiness, no more pain. Daddy would never be able to touch her again and she'd never have to touch him.
She gives a little nod. "Please, don't let him hurt me anymore."
They get on a plane the next day, to go live in Aunt Irene's big blue house. She gets all new clothes and toys, and as she lays lies down in her new bed the first night, Rogue knows she can sleep without fear for tomorrow.
Present Day.
When she wakes, she's back in the motel. Remy has dressed her in sweats.
She sits up and finds him in the chair, watching her. His red eyes glow starkly against the dark room.
"How did ya find me?" she asks, avoiding his gaze at all costs.
"Y' somehow connected with me telepathically. Y' seem to be gettin' pretty good at dat lately."
His tone is like a slap in the face.
Like a knee-jerk reaction, she instantly begins trying to glue things together and make it all whole again. "Ah didn't know what was happenin'. Ah didn't mean to—Ah'm so sorry, Remy. Ah don't remember any of it, ya know Ah would never—" Suddenly her words sound stale in her own ears.
He grinds his teeth together and the sound of it causes an ache at the base of her neck. She notices he'd been playing solitaire on his lap.
"Are you apologizin' for shovin' yourself in my mind, or for fuckin' another homme?"
There have been very few times when Remy terrifies the belle, and this is one of them. He's so very pale and his face seems strained, like he could fall apart at any moment. His rage rolls off him in waves; he's going to snap at any moment.
"Gotta say, I'm a little disappointed. Y' killed him before I got de chance."
She smothers her cry with her hand and turns her head to weep silently. She'd killed him? She'd taken another human being's life? Rogue was nearly destroyed when she'd killed accidentally. Taking even one life in her lifetime is too much for her. But two lives in one night? What has she done? What has she let the thing inside of her do?
"Remy, ya have to believe me. Ah didn't know what was goin' on!"
He doesn't speak; he doesn't even move. His lack of animation unnerves her.
"Do ya think ah Ah wanted to kill them? Ah would never want—" She stops because she knows her words are having no effect on him. His mind is made up. He is furious with her.
"Ah know ya don't care, but for what it's worth, Ah didn't have sex with him." Something akin to peanut butter coats the inside of her throat and mouth.
She swallows and watches him carefully. Is that begrudging relief she sees?
"I was out lookin' for y'. I was crazy wit' worry. I blamed myself for lettin' y' run off. I knew how unstable y' were, an' I kept t'inkin' dat if I found y', I'd never let y' go again.
"I opened my shields to use my empathy. I hoped that I'd be able to pick up on your aura, mais I should have known it wouldn't work. We were too far apart, an' dere were too many people in between us."
He runs his hands through his hair and down his chiseled face. "I was a mile away from y' when I started gettin' de images. It wasn't pleasant. It was like dey were shovin' demselves into my head, I thought I was gonna explode, just like dat girl-"—"
Rogue gasps and part of him wants to apologize, but he's glad that she's hurting, because he's hurting too.
"I was fearin' for my life. Den I started to actually look at what was bein' put in my mind. It, it almost…" He shakes his head, she begins to cry softly.
She feels the bed drop under his weight when he sits. Just his presence chills her.
"I knew it was her tryin' to hurt me. At first I let myself pretend it wasn't real. But eventually, I had to admit it was de truth. I couldn't bear de thought of another homme—" Again he's forced to pause. Going any further would make him more vulnerable than he already is.
His hand clamps, then relaxes on his thigh. She knows it's one of the few shows of pain he'll allow her to see.
"Mais I knew it was what I deserved. How many times had I hurt y' like dat?"
He's descending into all too familiar territory: self-persecution. He'll lose himself in it if she doesn't do something to prevent it.
Let him. The bastard has no loyalty to you. He deserved it.
Shut up!
I want to feel next what they call 'pain.'
"Remy, it's not your fault."
I want to feel everything…you cannot fathom what it's been like for me all this millennia; emotionless, passionless, empty.
His lips press against her salty cheek; it's anything but loving. His frigid kiss tells her what he cannot say.
"When I got dere, I was ready to kill him, mais he was already gone. From what I could tell, he hadn't been able to get dat far wit y', mais I couldn't be sure."
"Shuga—"
"I shoved some alcohol down his throat and made it look like suicide."
Her stomach tilts. He talks about this like it's nothing. Like he's done it before—because he has done it before, hasn't he?
She pulls away from his chilly embrace and rises to her feet. He stands close behind. She's giving him exactly what he craves: more judgement. He's a glutton for punishment and the more people he turns against him, the more he pushes—the better. He thinks he deserves to be alone and wants, needs, her to think it too.
"Y' were so beautiful."
"Stop it," she seethes in a whisper. "Stop doin' this to yourself, stop doin' this to us."
His arms snake around her waist; his hot breath tickles the back of her neck.
"I know now dat you'd never do somethin' like dat, to me, even though I deserve it. I promise y', I'll never doubt y' again."
She wonders if he's being sarcastic. "Ah'm not perfect, Remy. Please don't think Ah am."
"But y' are! Rogue can never do anyt'ing wrong—didn't y' know? De perfect teammate, de perfect friend. Can y' do anyt'ing wrong, chère?"
"Please."
But his eyes are not his eyes and jealousy, terror, and rage are making him insane. He's working himself into a state.
"Not at all like me, non?" He sinks his teeth into the flesh of her earlobe and it's all she can do not to cry out, to run away. "Cause y' all know how unworthy I am, how bad."
She whips around and pushes against his chest. "Remy, stop!" She weeps harshly. "Can't ya ever just be happy? Why won't ya let things be?"
He smiles and pulls back from her. "Because I ruin, chère."
And she knows she's never heard anything more true.
This is the fall, this is the long way down. And our lives look smaller now, and our lives look so small. Under the summer rain, I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!) We find a way. Under the summer rain, I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!)We find a way. Under the summer rain (Burn!) I burnt away. Under the summer rain (Burn!) You turned away…~ Summer Shudder- AFI
(1)mon deuxième prénom - my middle name