We dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up. - Richard Siken
She sits restlessly in the back seat, eyes darting between the two of them, Erik's brown leather jacket sliding up her thighs as she moves, bushy tail flicking back and forth.
Charles, without any effort, regretfully picks up her surface thought of both highly acceptable for mating, but what she says out loud is merely, "I'm starved. Do you have any food?"
"I'm afraid not," Charles answers with forced politeness, unsettled by the odd organization of her thoughts. Only half are human sentiments. The other is instincts and sounds and strange, bright sensations that he can't bring himself to sort out quite yet. He has faith, however, that in time her mind will become clear to him. He's never met a challenge he couldn't conquer.
Erik doesn't comment until Charles gives him a pointed look from the passenger seat. "We'll stop soon."
Charles ignores Sasha's sudden surge of impure interest for Erik and focuses on the tendril of thought that whispers it's been days since I've eaten. The pain heavily laced in the statement pulls Charles in so abruptly that he almost can't control it. He does, of course, regain his composure, but curiosity gets the best of him and he sinks further into her mind.
He sees her at six years old, ears flat against her head, tail tucked between her legs, entire body trembling as she's curled into a tight, inconspicuous ball under her bed. The yellow sundress hangs too large off her too thin frame- a problem attributed to her obscenely high metabolism which she does not master until much later in life.
She listens to the thunk of boots, her father. And the desperate hushed pleas, her mother.
"She is a monster," the man booms.
"You are the monster," the woman counters. "She is our daughter."
The backhand she receives is not a warning. It is hard enough to draw blood from her lip and send her sprawling across the floor. Her eyes- wiser, sadder mirrors of her daughter's- stare in defeat into the darkness where Sasha quivers.
Loud footsteps boom closer, until a large hand curls unforgivingly in the mother's hair. He drags her aside until he can crouch in the space she once occupied. His smile- condescending and falsely reassuring. "Come Sasha. Time to go."
"I'll try harder," the young mutant whimpers. Her furred ears slide into her skull, replaced by the delicate shell of fleshy human ears, but her tail stays resolutely put. "It's just when I'm nervous, I can't-"
Ten lines are carved into the wooden floor as the man drags his own daughter out by the ankle, claws burgeoning at her fingertips in a last ditch effort to cling to her safety. She's manhandled into a cramped cage, and then shoved in the back of a truck, the doors swinging shut to leave the darkness to devour her.
The next memory Charles slips into must occur just hours later- the edges of the vision tinged with the same panic, the same small child in the same ill-fitting outfit. But a different man knelt in front of her now, with an expression that Charles can feel the poor girl did not understand at the time, but knows now makes her physically ill.
"What a pretty little girl," he coos, fingers dancing across her shoulder where the thin strap has slid down. "So different. Exciting."
Despite her naïveté, her instincts had kicked in. Had made her growl in the back of her throat and flail gracelessly as a small pup lost in what seemed like yards of yellow fabric. The man picked her up by the scruff of her neck, laughing as her paws beat at him.
"I can wait."
Charles watches, rapt, as Sasha discovers for the first time that she is more than just human and animal. She is mutant. And as she grows to the size of an underfed collie, the man drops her to the floor in a self-preserving fit of fear. Charles feels her mind lose a touch of humanity- something that was terribly hard for her to keep a firm grasp on as a youth- as she bares her teeth and leaps.
Later, the police will knock down the door of the suburban home, called in on account of the neighbors hearing a cacophony of terrified screams. They will find a naked six-year-old in a pool of blood, while a man with half-unzipped pants lies pale and dead on the floor with half his throat missing.
"I'm so very sorry," Charles snaps pulling out of her mind. Erik spares them a curious glance, but continues steadily down the road. "I shouldn't have-"
"I don't mind," Sasha shrugs unashamed. "You're free to look, but you could just ask."
"Why were you locked up?" Erik asks in that way of his that sounds more like a demand than a friendly inquiry. His face remains impassive evens as his hands clench around the steering wheel.
Her heads cocks to the side, considering Erik's stiff posture. "They were afraid."
"You could have gotten away," Erik reasons.
"I did the first time. The second time they chained me up so that if I changed I would have popped my joints out of place."
The car begins to gradually increase speed. "Did you not fight them?"
"Well no," Sasha answers as if the notion is ridiculous. "I thought it better to wait it out. I could have hurt them."
Charles knows that Erik can't help but think she is a foolish girl, but he still feels the chill down his spine from the image of the poor girl sobbing and blotched in red.
"Better them than you."
"Better that it's no one."
And Charles wants to palm his face in frustration when Erik thinks she will learn as she simultaneously echoes he will learn.
Through the dirty window of the gas station, Erik watches Sasha sit impatiently in the car. She's slipped into the passenger seat now, and has begun to rifle through the glove compartment as if it is the most interesting thing around.
"She confuses you," Charles startles him, arms full with beef jerky and sweets.
"I'm not sure how she'll be useful to our cause."
Charles bites back the comment our cause, or yours? "Picking her battles does not make her weak. I believe that she could make a great contribution."
"This isn't charity, Charles. We cannot measure our recruits by their magnanimity."
"And we cannot measure them by their anger, either, my friend." Charles follows Erik's gaze out the window where Sasha is now sniffing a collection of air fresheners. "She is less human than many of us. She understands what survival takes, even if she is not vengeful."
Sasha pushes up onto her knees in the seat and the two of them get an eyeful of her upper thighs.
"We'll need to get her some clothes," Erik mutters.
"Heavens yes."
Erik steps away from the window, taking half of Charles load while shooting him a teasing smile. "She's very fond of you already."
"Hush," he grumbles. "She's very fond of both of us. Rather lasciviously."
Throwing a wad of cash onto the counter as the overly bored teenager rings them up, Erik arches a brow. "Interesting."
"I hardly think we have the time for interesting."
"Really?" Erik drawls, holding the door open for the shorter man. "I was under the impression you always had time."
Charles rolls his eyes and fumbles with the plastic bags. "The circumstances are quite different now, and- Sasha's gone."
"What?"
"She's gone from the car," Charles reiterates in a misleadingly calm tone.
Erik, just as misleadingly sensible, replies with, "She can't have gone far."
"Right, we'll just ask around and see if anyone has spotted a nearly naked woman with fox ears and a tail."
"Yes, now is the time to be snide-"
Charles holds up a hand to silence Erik, assaulted by the very pointed tail end of the thought like an old married couple.
"I imagine you'd sound like my parents, if I had any." Her grin does nothing to disarm Erik's tension.
"You can't just run off like that," the German barks, opening the door to the backseat and gesturing impatiently.
Sasha sends him a curious look, eyes shining with mirth. "I didn't run. I sauntered." The light in her expression dims somewhat at Erik's lack of amusement, mellowing out into something more serious. "It's just that it's a beautiful day out, and I haven't been outside in a very long time. They'd even boarded the windows up. I've missed the sun."
Erik didn't look particularly contrite, but Charles could feel the small pinch of empathy emanating from the man next to him. So often Erik liked to focus on the injustices, rather than the victims.
"Well, perhaps warn us next time. And wait 'til you're dressed."
Sasha slips back into the car, her ears wiggling playfully. "I haven't worn clothes in years."
Charles laughed to himself and the loud projection of Terrible distraction. More trouble than she's worth.
Yeah, her back story is increasingly depressing, so I tried to balance it out with light-hearted stuffs. Thanks to anyone who's read this! The continuation of this story pretty much depends on the kind of response I get, so if you like it, let a girl know!