"Oh my god, Logan! Get in here! LOGAN!"

--

There were a lot of things people never knew about me. Specifically, anything about my life before I ended up here. They never wanted to know, either. They all wanted to think I had been just a loser like them, thrown out of their house because of their powers, and left to wallow in misery, nothing special. That's what they thought.

I was eighteen when The Cure began to mainstream. I was almost graduated from the Private School my father had sent me to. For some reason, I agreed that I was take The Cure. I guess it would make him look good to the public if I came out and took The Cure on television. That always perplexed me. Yes, it would make him look good making his mutant son take The Cure. But when people looked back on it, having a mutant son would still have repercussions that he never would have wanted to deal with. But I digress. I said I would take The Cure. I was scheduled to meet with a television crew the following week at the Hospital where The Cure was to be administered. I wasn't happy, but then again, it rarely made any difference anymore. I had forgotten what happiness was.

See, living with my father is the opposite of happy. I was never good enough for him. He was a big, rich owner of a big, rich company. He always wanted me to take over the business after him. Secretly, I always wanted to be a Firefighter. I know it sounds corny. But I really did. When I was younger, I used to tell him so when he went off and off about me taking over the throne, or some bullshit like that. I would always tell him I wanted to be a Firefighter. And he would always look at me, shake his head, and walk away. It deserves to be said that he would also ignore my presence for the next few days. It didn't take me long to realize I would never win. My father's affections couldn't be earned. They had to be bought. So eventually I started telling him it was my dream to own Worthington Incorporated. I did all of his little internships and shit like that. It thrilled him to pieces.

But he still didn't love me.

He still only loved his work.

A few days before I was scheduled to be 'Cured', I was woken up in my dormitory to screaming. My private school was very small. At least, the dormitories were. And the walls weren't thick. So it wasn't hard to hear a massive uproar of students. Before too long, I was peeking out the door to see what was going on.

Everything was smoke. Thick, black smoke. I could barely breathe once I was in the hallway. Forcing my eyes open, I could make out a bright spot down the hall. The dorm was going up in flames. Those flames were blocking the only way out.

I knew I didn't have a choice.

For a long time, I had been binding my wings to my back with thick, leather straps. But that night, I took them off. And I'm not sure why, but I grabbed a bed sheet and covered myself in it. I don't know if I was trying to disguise myself, or if the smoke was just going to my head. But it was under these pretenses that I took each student from their room and flew them out of their window and safely down to the ground, away from the burning building. I saved their lives that night, and I liked that feeling. I liked feeling that I was doing some good.

So I kept at that routine. I lurked around cities, hiding in shadows during the day, and swooping around at night, fighting crime. Usually little stuff like muggings and vandalism. But since it was, in all fairness, New York, there was the occasional attempted murder, and attempted rape that I helped to foil.

Needless to say, I did not take The Cure as planned. After the dorm incident, I changed my mind. People needed someone. Shit happened to innocent people all the time. And I wasn't about to just let shit happen.

I was born with wings…

Why shouldn't I fly?

My father was so angry when I never showed up to take The Cure. I only went home after that to make sure he didn't beat up my mother, as he was so prone to doing. I wouldn't let him do that. See, my mother was my shining star. She was the most wonderful woman in the world. I loved her more than anything. Sweet, kind, loyal, always there for me. My mother always took the greatest care of me, and I grew very attached to her. It was the one reason home held even a scant comfort anymore. The only thing about her that troubled me is the way she looked at me after the day I asked how I was conceived.

I don't care for the details. And she didn't give me too many. But reflecting on what she did tell me, now that I am an adult, I know I was not conceived.

I was forced.

Once I was satisfied that my father had blamed only me, and once he had calmed down enough not to abuse my mother, I left. Under the circumstances, I couldn't go too far away. I had a city to protect, and a mother that I wanted to at least get a glimpse of every now and then to make sure she wasn't being mistreated. So I bought an apartment in Manhattan. I bought it under a false name without any presentation of identification.

Handfuls of money more than what is asked for can persuade a lot of people to forget who you are.

Evidently, holding an apartment under a false name put my father off of my scent. If he was ever really looking for me. I'm inclined to believe that he sent people to look for me. I'm not nearly important enough for him to look for himself. Not while he was still in control of Worthington Incorporated. Whoever looked for me never found me. My only regret was that I couldn't tell my mother where I was. My father probably had her followed, figuring I would tell her where I was hiding out. I knew that if he found me, he would probably use my mother as collateral and make me take The Cure. At least if nobody knew where I was, I wasn't putting anyone in danger.

Actually, that's not totally true.

There was one person who knew where I was.

Growing up, I only had one friend. Honestly! Jake Lombardi was the only friend I ever had, because he and I were outcasts together. We were both the little rich kids at school who got laughed at and teased because the other kids hated us. Whether they hated us for who we were or what their parents said about our families, I wasn't sure. But they ostracized us one way or another. That was how we ended up sticking together. And how I ended up basically living with Jake's family.

Connor Lombardi, Jake's dad, was the Governor of New York at the time. Great guy. He was in the Army growing up, so he had all these awesome stories of his deployments he loved to tell us. Julia Lombardi, Jake's mom, was a Physician, and second mother to me. There were four Lombardi kids in total. Michelle and Natalie, twins, and the oldest. Jake. And Jake's baby sister Trista-Leigh. They pretty much became my family. I was there more than at my own house. And what was more important was that they were my happy family.

Michelle and Natalie were both a few years older than Jake and I. So they were rarely around. Natalie ended up moving to France to be some sort of Ambassador or something. Michelle ended up marrying some Mormon and moving out to wherever he was from to have their twelve kids, and get acquainted with his other ten wives. I'm not so sure her parents were too happy about it, but Michelle never really had much sense to begin with. So mostly it was Jake and I hanging out, while Trista-Leigh watched television and periodically asked one of us to get her some apple juice and graham crackers.

Note that the apple juice and graham cracker habits died with age. And later it was asking for things like the phone, or the paper her boyfriend's number was written on, and things like that. I liked the apple juice and graham cracker stage better.

Anyway, eventually it was time for Jake and I to grow up. My father shipped me off to Private School. Jake took a different route. When he was seventeen, he enlisted into the Army. After a few months of training, he was sent out to Germany. Since he was stationed there, I didn't see him much after that. We still talked, but time zones made things hard. And if you've ever written to someone in the military overseas, you know it isn't very effective. Takes months, most of the time. So our communication died out eventually.

Actually, Jake died out eventually. My best friend was over in Germany at his home base when some Private went nuts and started a shooting spree. He killed six, including himself. He killed Jake. I was horrified.

The funeral was nice. I noticed, though, how they skated over telling the real story. I understood. They wanted to make it seem like he died heroically. I wanted it to seem that way, too. Jake deserved it. I think that was my ultimate low. Sitting between Jake's mother, and Trista-Leigh, I broke down. I felt like part of their family. I felt like my brother had just died. I had never felt so low before. It was a stab below the belt. I never thought I would recover.

I stayed with the Lombardi's for a while after that. Michelle (surprise, surprise) only stayed for the funeral and flew back to the hell she was living in. Her excuse? She was pregnant. Again, another big surprise. We coped without her. Natalie coming home was a big help. For a while, I thought Connor and Julia were going to get a divorce. Every time Jake's name came up, it turned into a screaming match. Natalie, Trista-Leigh and I just watched. And listened. Eventually Natalie intervened. She was old enough to be able to do that sort of thing respectfully. It was that intervention, I believe, that fixed everything. She got them talking, and opened their communication back up again. Positive communication.

When Natalie left, there was a definite air of strength in that house, again. She was like Duck Tape. The magical thing that holds anything together. But then, it was just me and Trista-Leigh. At first it was awkward, because she was always too young to be around Jake and I. But she became an easier confidant than I'd thought. We'd shared something special. We'd shared Jake. So to me, she was an easy friend. We both needed each other. I needed a friend, and consol after my friend's death. She needed someone in her world who understood what was going on, both inside of her and inside her home.

We were closer than Jake and I had ever been.

She knew where I was.

In fact, few nights passed when she wasn't at my apartment with me. I went nuts living alone. I was reduced to daytime television and infomercials. But whenever Trista-Leigh came, she brought something to occupy me. Sometimes I was something serious, like articles to read about my father. Other times it was inside jokes. Like painted turtles. Long story. But every time she came, it was a comfort to my mind to not be alone. And for a long time, I thought of her as a friend that was keeping me company. But there was one night when I realized that she was so much more than that.

I couldn't help but look at her, laying so beautifully on my couch, and I so wanted to touch her. I wanted to run my hands through her hair and hold her close to me. Not the way I used to when we were younger. I wanted her in an animalistic way.

"Trista?"

"Hm?"

"Can you hand me another beer?"

"Damn, Warren, you're sucking those down!"

But she handed me another one, and I smiled. She opened another one for herself, too. I wished she hadn't. We'd just come home from a club, and I was feeling attracted to her there. Now, sitting on my couch in that short, black dress, with her hair thrown back, drinking a beer, I didn't think I could keep it down. I think she knew what I was thinking, because her smile faltered. I realized I was staring.

We both started laughing.

We were both a little buzzed.

Next thing I knew I was on top of her. My hands were in her hair, and I was pushing her down into the couch, keeping her under me as I kissed her. And at first, she kissed me back. But then she pushed me away.

"Stop it! You're drunk!"

"No I'm not. Not yet."

"Than what-,"

"I love you."

The first time I said it was the first time I realized it. I had known this girl for years. I should have seen it coming. She knew everything about me, we hung out all the time, and we worked so well together. She knew I was a mutant, and it never made a difference to her. I fell in love with Jake's little sister.

If it's true that dead people can see what it going on down on Earth, I hope Jake wasn't watching us that night. There was more sex in that room than in a Vegas Brothel. I came in that girl so many times I don't know how she took it. But what really got me wasn't the sex. It was after.

I was laying on top of her, trying to get my breath back. I was still inside her. I hadn't pulled out yet. I felt her hands in my hair and I relaxed. My head was on her chest, so her voice reverberated as she spoke.

"I love you, too, Warren."

My first lover. Who was, consequently, never hassled by my father as to my whereabouts. I think that by that time he had given up. He really didn't care that much. Money could be spent in far more productive ways than trying to find a disappointment of a son. Oh well.

It was late summer when I got a phone call from Professor Xavier. He told me that there was a school for people like me. Where all mutants could go and learn. Not just math and shit. But learn to hone their powers and be around other mutants. I jumped at that opportunity. Hell, I jumped at any opportunity to be around mutants. Because unfortunately, I was the only one I knew.

When I got to the school, it was great. There were all of these people just like me around. Nobody thought I was weird or different. I could learn here. And I did. I took college level courses. But I also learned to fight. I learned to use my powers in the Danger Room, and I learned how to fly the X-Jet. Storm became sort of a personal mentor of mine. She taught me many things about being a mutant and dealing with it. I needed those lessons. Because I really wasn't coping too well. I missed my life outside of the school. I missed my mother. I missed Trista-Leigh. I just missed having my own life. Not one I had to share with all of these mutants. And I was obviously apparent. I practically ate up any news I could find. I watched the television all the time. Especially since Connor was declared to be the new Secretary of Defense for the next President. I hung onto that news story like a hawk.

People noticed. It was weird that people noticed, because I didn't have any real friends there. Just people I would talk to sparingly. But yet these people seemed to notice that I was hiding out and being evasive. Sometimes they would come and try to talk to me while I was holed up in the Rec Room hanging on the local newscaster's ever word.

"I didn't know you were from Manhattan."

"I didn't know your dad owned Worthington Incorporated."

"I didn't know you drove a Lamborghini."

"I didn't know you liked to go to clubs."

And despite the plethora of questions, and despite how creatively they could be rewoven and asked to me, my answer to them all would remain constantly the same.

"There is a lot you don't know about me."

But people never believed me. Not even teachers. They would all retort with the same little defensive statement.

"You're just like us! There isn't anything to know. You're nothing special. Just like the rest of us."

I think kids must have told the teachers that I was a wackjob trying to pretend I was all special, because they started asking me a lot of questions, too. But it was Wolverine who took it a little too far.

"Hey, Warren, I didn't know you liked sushi."

"There is a lot you don't know about me, Professor Logan."

"Okay, listen Warren: I know being a mutant is hard, but you don't need to pretend you're something you're not. We're all friends here."

"I'm not trying to make myself sound special."

"There is nothing about you that is different from anyone else here. Admit it."

"I'm sorry, but I won't. Because it's not true."

"Stop telling your lies, damnit, it's a fucking pathetic thing to do. Making yourself out to be so fucking special. Trying to make yourself to damn cool. Trying to make everyone else here feel like nobodies!"

Logan wasn't too happy. But none of the teachers were. They all thought the same way Logan did. That I was just trying to make myself out to be special.

I wasn't.

I'll tell you, though, that sometimes I wanted to be like them. Not famous. Not rich. Just normal with no family to speak of. I really felt that way when I found out about my parents. Some asshole named Dazzler killed them. I don't know why. I don't care why. I just want them back. Even my father. I really regretted the terms on which our relationships had ended.

My mother had tried to contact me while I was 'missing'. I never let it happen because I didn't want her keeping another secret from my father. He was far too violent when he found out things like that.

My father never tried to contact me. I think he was too bitter about how things had turned out. At the time, I thought it would be okay to run away and never talk to him again. But now I really regret it. I have to live everyday knowing the terms that he died on. Us not talking. Our family broken apart. It never really bothered me because I figured he didn't love me anyway. He didn't want me anywhere near him. Or so I thought.

He left me Worthington Incorporated.

I broke down.

I didn't belong here. I now had a business to run. I could have given it up to the largest shareholder. But I didn't. That one last act by my father made me realize something: I wasn't meant for this life of hiding. I was meant for the life I was born into; Fame. Fortune. The corporate sector. This lifestyle was too different for me. I wasn't used to living without a chauffer, much less without people around me that understood where I was from. Or even people around me that knew I had come from something greater.

I remember when I finally snapped. I was feeling low because I was still dwelling on my parent's death. At first, I'd thought I was alone in the rec room until I heard her move. I guess she had been standing there the whole time. I felt ashamed because she had seen me crying. Not loudly. Not like a baby. Just quietly. But she had seen it. As she approached me, I could see that she genuinely looked like she wanted to help. But I figured out later that she only wanted to help if it was on her terms.

"Warren, what's wrong?"

"I want to go back."

"What do you mean, go back?"

"Back out there. Into the world I was meant for."

"But you're safe in here!"

"I'm safe out there, too. I'm someone out there."

"You are nobody out there…"

"I had a life outside this fucking hellhole, Rogue! I was someone! I had a family, and I actually had a life!"

"You had nothing, Warren! None of us did! You have nothing!"

"That just goes to show that there is a lot that you don't know."

Everyone thought that I was inventing this life. And they all wanted to tell me that. Every single person wanted to tell me that they were onto me. That they knew I had nothing. That I should stop pretending that I made any difference in the world. It really pissed me off! So it's no wonder I started spending less time at the mansion.

I started leaving a lot. Partly, it was because I couldn't stand being around people that didn't know me at all. Didn't care to try to know me. Partly it was because I had a business to run, now. But mostly it was because I needed Trista-Leigh. She understood what they didn't. And nothing gave me quite as much emotional release as a physical release between the sheets and the legs of my own girlfriend. When I looked at her, I saw a future. Every time she smiled, I did, too.

Being with her was important to me. Just being around her was intoxicating. Sometimes it actually felt like we had a normal life together. We could cook dinner together, or just watch a movie together. She knew both sides of my life. She knew I was a mutant. And she knew I was now a business owner. What I loved most about her was that she didn't care about either or those things.

She loved me for who I was.

And I loved her for so many reasons.

She was my everything.

Also while I was gone, I was attending social functions. Of course! It wouldn't look good for the new President of Worthington Incorporated to keep shy of the public eye. I went to dinner parties and balls and all sort of things I was supposed to do. And that took up quite a lot of time.

Probably the most eventful thing I went to was the Presidential Inauguration. I saw the new President sworn in. But more importantly, I saw Trista-Leigh standing on the platform behind the President.

Her father was the new Secretary of Defense.

I was so happy for him. He was a great Governor. And he would be a great addition to the Presidential Cabinet. I was really proud.

I was more proud of him in that moment than I had been of my own father in his entire lifetime.

I didn't feel guilty.

In these moments, I didn't mind being born into wealth and fame. Moment like this, when people you care about as much as family make it to where they want to be, it makes the prestige that got them there seem okay.

Nobody knew where I was going. Everyone at the mansion thought I was hiding from them. Sulking. I never told them. Why should I? They wouldn't believe me if I did. Nothing I said would make a difference. They didn't know anything.

But someday, I know they'll find out.

--

"Logan, look at the news, quick!"

"Multi-billionaire Warren Worhtington, now 23, of Manhattan, was recently married to Trista-Leigh Lombardi, daughter of Secretary of Defense, Connor Bryant Lombardi, after two years' engagement and a lifetime acquaintance. Exclusive wedding photos tonight at eleven!"

Logan hesitated before he spoke.

"Well I'll be damned… I guess there were a lot of things we didn't know about him after all."

Back in a dark chair in the corner, Rogue began to cry.