04. Pain - He tries to hide it, his face masked in blankness and indifference, but you know that you were the real cause of his pain.
15. Touch - You miss him, you miss his touches in a way you never thought you would; you can't help but regret that now those touches are reserved for another.
--
Regret
verb (-gretted , -gretting) [ trans. ]
feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done, esp. a loss or missed opportunity)
--
She found him lying on a grassy knoll near one of Storm's garden ponds, smoking and just staring up at the empty sky.
It was their spot, a place where they shared their mutual dislike of Mr Summers' teaching methods, laughed at Jubilee's most recent antics to get under Logan's skin, told stories from before they were ever known as Pyro and Rogue, whispered secrets long hidden from the world…
It was also the spot where he had kissed her… And she had responded back…
One of the very few things she'll never regret.
"You gonna stand there all day?"
She snapped out of her reverie and saw him snuff out his cigarette into the grass. "I…I wanted to talk to you…"
"So talk." He took out another cigarette, lighting deftly like he did a million times before. When she continued to just stand there, looking so guilty and ashamed, he almost felt pity for her.
Almost.
"Let me guess: Bobby asked you, didn't he? Make it official and shit?"
She flinched noticeably and it was then he knew what her answer had been to Bobby's question. He let out a short huff full of mockery.
"I…"
"Save it. I really don't want to hear it, okay?"
She wanted to get angry, wanted him to understand that it hadn't been a decision she made lightly.
But something stopped her. Even from the distance between them, him still lying on the soft grass and her hovering above him a few feet away, she could still see his face quickly turn blank and indifferent. It was something she learned he did in self-defense, self-preservation. Something that said you can't hurt me because I don't fucking care. Something to cover up whatever actual feelings he might have felt.
"Well…congratulations…" he muttered, flinging away his half-smoked cigarette. He got to his feet and without another word, walked away. She made no attempt to stop him, thinking that once he cooled off, she'll have a chance to talk to him properly.
He was always there to listen to her no matter what.
Right?
--
Regret
noun
a feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done
--
Regret. That should be the title to her life story, she mused to herself.
Regret: The Marie D'Ancanto Story.
She sat alone on the grassy knoll that used to be a place of comfort. She was foolishly hoping that he would come by and sit with her like they used to, share a cigarette, talk about nothing and everything.
But he wouldn't. He was busy with his own life now. He had a new…
Bitch? Whore? Fat-ass, nasty piece of shit?
No, she couldn't even call her those names either.
That…girl…she was…perfect. Beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, slim, and, worse still, had breasts that would give Mount Everest a run for its money. It was no wonder he couldn't stop touching her. He touched her constantly – ran his fingers through her hair, rubbed softly against the inside of her wrist, hung his arm around her shoulders, kissed her adoringly…
Things he used to do with her. Here, at this exact spot.
Sometimes she wondered…wondered what would have, could have been if only she had told Bobby thanks, but no thanks, if only she had let herself get carried away by John's kisses under the yellow sunshine and blue sky and red scarf, if only she had just listened to her own heart for once instead of her head.
But she had made her choice a long time ago and there was no way to undo it now.
All she had left was…regret.
