Chapter Eight:
He Said it Was Stigmata

"All right, squirt, we're here. You need to wake up, now."

Groaning out of frustration at being woken up, I slowly cracked open an eye and was surprised to find that it was Mr. Logan, not V, who had brought me out of my sleep. He was still sitting in the driver's seat, looking over his shoulder at me with his hand on my forearm. I felt a small tingle and blushed embarrassedly when I remembered the way I reacted after waking up from my nightmare and that I had thrown him ten feet away from me and off his feet. Stupid. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and arched my stiff back until I heard a soft crack. I sat up and looked around. The car wasn't moving anymore and everyone was gone, save for me and Mr. Logan. "Where's here?" I asked, adjusting the strap around my neck. It was beginning to bother me.

"Bobby's place," he replied as he got out and shut the door behind him. As he walked around the car, I took the chance to look out the window and saw the others standing on the front porch of a nice looking house. Bobby was looking for something, most likely the key to the front door, while John was leaning against the railing and Marie stood away from them both, her arms crossed over her chest, protectively. Scooting towards the car door, I pushed it open and tired to get out without hurting myself.

"Need some help?" Mr. Logan asked; looking down at me with his head tilted to the side, arching an eyebrow.

Since he had offered, a part of me wanted to say yes, to keep playing the roll of the damsel in distress for his knight and shinning armor character, but the other half was telling me to say no because I couldn't keep depending on him to always be there and help me. He wasn't my guardian and he didn't owe me anything. If anyone owed anyone anything it would be me. He saved me twice. I had to learn to take care of myself, for everyone's sake. Giving in to that half, I shook my head. "Thanks anyway," I said, smiling despite of the pain in my knee. I wondered how long I would have to endure it.

"You should just let him help you," V said.

I didn't get the chance to respond to V. "You sure?" He asked, stepping back a little to give me enough room to get out of the car, but still close enough to catch me incase I lost my balance.

"Uh-huh," I said, leaning against the car door to steady myself. "Let's go," I motioned for him to walk up ahead of me. I didn't want him walking behind me. It made me paranoid. It didn't matter who the person was: man or woman, someone I knew and trusted… I still got paranoid.

"And with good reason, too."

"Damn straight," I murmured, limping towards the steps of the front porch. I bit my bottom lip as I gripped the rail tightly, making my way up to the front door. I didn't know how far I had gotten before Mr. Logan spoke.

"You're obviously in pain," he said, walking down to meet me. "I know you don't want my help, but you're takin' too damn long." I didn't say anything when he wrapped his arm around my waist and ignored the amusement I felt from him.

"Found it," Bobby said, standing up straight with a key in his hand. He quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, Marie and John following close behind with Mr. Logan and me in the back. "Mom? Dad? Ronny?" He called out, walking further into the house, "Is anybody home?" He stopped and looked around. Mr. Logan shut the door behind us. Looking over his shoulder at Marie, Bobby said, "I'll try and find you some clothes." He then turned to John, who was playing with his lighter, and told him, "Don't burn anything."

Snorting a little, I tightened my grip on the back of Mr. Logan's shirt as we walked into the living room. It really was a nice house. "I'm gonna try and get a hold of Jean or Storm," he said, setting me down on the couch. "You stay put. Got it?"

"Got it," I said, nodding. "Thanks, Mr. Logan."

His normally tense face visibly relaxed and the corner of his lips twitched a little. "Don't mention it." He reached out and placed his hand on the side of my head. I got the feeling that he had wanted to ruffle my already messy hair, but the skull hat saved me from that. Mr. Logan didn't remove his hand right away. He kept his eyes on my face and slightly frowned. At that moment I sort of wished I knew what he was thinking but I gathered that it was something troubling. I offered him a small smile to show him that I was okay. He returned it and walked off into another room.

Flick. Clink. Flick. Clink.

Hearing the familiar and, yet strangely, comforting sound of John's Zippo lighter, I turned my attention to him. He was standing in front of me, looking at a wall filled with family photos of the Drakes. Wanting to get a better look at the pictures, I stood up and carefully made my way to stand beside him. They looked happy, Bobby's family. I felt a small tug at my heart. I stole a glance at John, who was still staring at the same photo from before. He was upset. I could tell.

Maybe I should try and talk to him… "Cute family, huh?" I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He didn't look at me, didn't even react to what I had said. I scanned the living room without moving from my spot, "Nice house, too. Bobby's - Bobby's really lucky," I sighed, beginning to feel depressed myself. "I use to live in a house like this," I told him, wondering if he was even listening. "It wasn't as nice as this, but--"

"What's your point?" He snapped, cutting me off.

The sound of his voice startled me a little. I took a step away from him. "No point, not really, just trying to make conversation, you know?" I was babbling and giggling. Giggling? I rolled my eyes inwardly. Since when the hell did I start to giggle. "It seems like I'm really bad at it though." Sighing, I turned away from him and made my way back to the couch. My head itched, so I took the hat off and carefully, scratched the area. When I looked up, John was facing me. I shifted in my seat feeling uncomfortable under his watchful eyes. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and tucked some of my hair behind my ear.

"You're bleeding."

"Huh?"

"You're bleeding," he repeated, raising his hand and, with his index finger, pointing at his forehead to show me where.

Almost hesitantly, I followed his lead and touched the part of my forehead where the bandage, Dr. Grey put, was and looked at my hand. The pads of my index and middle finger were covered in dark blood. I cringed a little, furrowing my brows. How had I not felt that I was bleeding before? When had I…? Then I remembered. "Shit," I muttered to myself. "I must have hurt myself when…" I trailed off when I realized that John was still staring at me. I looked back at my hand, vaguely wondering if I should wipe the blood off on my shirt.

"You should go get cleaned up,"V said. I nodded in agreement.

"C'mon," John said, moving towards me. "Let's go see if Popsicle's got a first aid kit around here," he reached for my arm suddenly, to help me up, I assumed. But, of course, being who I was, I jerked away. I felt the heat in my cheeks rising from embarrassment. He raised an eyebrow, giving me a questioning look.

"Sorry," I murmured, looking away from him as I stood up, "Force of habit. Can't let too many people get to close." Not wanting to stain the white couch with my blood, I used my forearm to balance myself as I limped towards the stairs I saw Bobby and Marie use.

"You know," he said from behind me. "If you were to lean on me, I could help you walk and we'd be save a lot of time." I stopped walking, a little surprised that he was offering to help me. I hadn't known him for less then a day, I'm guessing, but I knew, from the vibes I was getting from him, that he more of an every-man-for-himself kind of guy. Maybe he felt bad about snapping at me? Whatever reason, I nodded. He walked up beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist. I shuddered, feeling something cold pass through me, and carefully draped my working arm

around his neck, keeping my blood stained fingers away from his shirt. "See," he began, not at all bothered by my reaction to him. That or he hadn't felt it. "I don't bite, unless you want me to, of course." He chuckled a little, trying to lighten the mood, which really surprised me. "Besides it's not like this is the first time we've been close to one another."

I felt myself blush again. What the hell was wrong with me? "Being close to someone physically isn't my problem," I admitted, trying really hard not to look at him because I could feel his eyes on me. "It's emotionally. I can barely handle my own right now. I doubt I could handle yours too."

"Is that why you freaked out in the car, you overloaded or something?" He asked as we began to walk. I nodded at his question. "So don't."

"It's not that easy," I sighed, pressing my palm against his shoulder. "I can't turn it on and off," I finished with a note of finality in my voice. I didn't want to talk about my mutation any more. Who was to say that he wouldn't go blabbing to someone about it if he was captured? He was an every-man-for-himself kind of guy like I mentioned before and I was paranoid.

"You need to learn to trust."

I wanted to tell Voice that I trusted Mr. Logan, but I kept quiet.

"Really?" John asked, and, for a moment, I thought he had read my thoughts, but then I remembered what we had been talking about for the past minute or so. I nodded. "What am I feeling right now?" He asked in a challenging tone.

"You really wanna know?" I asked him, hoping that I was able to hide the disbelief in my voice. No one in their right mind, in my opinion, would ever want to admit that there was someone who could feel what they were feeling, literally. At least, I wouldn't. It was like an invasion of privacy. "You're bitter… angry, jealous and lonely, though you won't ever admit it out loud." I turned my head to the side to look at him when I felt his grip on my waist tighten. I wondered if I was going too far. "You're also tired and relieved, about what, I don't know…" I trailed off. He narrowed his eyes and I began to tell him that he was the one that wanted to know, but a gruff voice cut me off before I got the chance.

"I thought I told you to stay put," Mr. Logan said, turning to face us as we entered the kitchen area. He looked between me and John, raising an eyebrow, "Where you two goin'?"

I stole a quick glance at John before answering, "We're gonna see if Bobby's got a first aid kit." I wiggled my fingers to draw Mr. Logan's attention to my hand, "I'm bleeding."

"I thought I smelled blood," he muttered, looking back at an object in his hand. It looked like a cell phone. "Don't break anything."

I rolled my eyes. Of all the things he could have said. How old did he think we were? "We'll try not to," John replied cheekily as we made our way up the stairs. When we reached the top of the landing, Bobby walked by with some clothes in his arms. They looked a little outdated, but who was I to judge? "Hey," John called out, trying to get his friends attention. "You got a first aid kit?"

Bobby stopped at the sound of John's voice and looked over his shoulder at us. "First aid kit? Yeah… third door on your left," he said, pointing down the hall he'd just come from. "There should be one… in the cabinet underneath the sink," as he finished talking, his eyes shifted to my bleeding forehead. Hadn't I told him before that staring wasn't polite? "What happened?" He finally asked, taking a step towards us.

"She's got a case of stigmata. What's it look like?" John asked, turning the two of us in the direction of the bathroom. "I got it covered though," his grip on my waist tightened again. "You just run along back to Rouge like the love sick pup you are. It's what you're best at."

There was no response from Bobby, at least none I could hear, just the sound of his retreating footsteps and a door slamming behind us. "That was kind of mean," I finally told him as I sat on top of the counter beside the sink, in the bathroom, while he looked for the kit. "Don't you think?"

"No, not really," he said, uninterestedly as he rummaged through the cabinet. After a while, he stood up, examining a small box with a red cross on it, "Found it." I cleaned off the blood on my fingers and reached for the kit. "I'll do it," he offered, opening the box and taking out a fresh white band-aid with some disinfectant.

I carefully began to remove the bloody band-aid from my forehead as he applied some disinfectant on to the cotton ball in his hand. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, wincing as it pulled at my skin. "How bad is it?" I asked John, throwing away it away in the waste basket.

Cleaning my cut with the cotton ball, he furrowed his brows. "Some of the stitching came out." I winced a little. "It's not that bad."

Silence filled the room in a matter of seconds and as I've mentioned before- I hated silence. Not only did it make me uncomfortable, but it gave me time to think. Which was not what I wanted to do at the moment, but sadly- I did. That was when I realized just how close John was to me. He was standing between my legs, a small space between us. We weren't touching though, so I couldn't feel what he was feeling. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was about being so close to each other. Probably not. I wasn't exactly much to look at. Not like him. I felt my eyes widen a little. I hoped that I wasn't blushing. If I was, he wasn't saying anything. Maybe he was just being nice? But why was he being nice? Why was he helping me at all?

"There you go again being paranoid. You've got every right to be, but enough is enough."

I ignored Voice, "Can I ask you a question?" I made myself look at him as I spoke.

The corners of his lips twitched. "You just did," he replied smartly.

Whether or not he was being serious or just messing around with me, I laughed, or more like, I giggled. It wasn't one of my nervous, awkward giggles. It was an honest giggle, which made me feel a weird inside. "That was lame," I finally told him. "You could have done better."

He shrugged. "So sue me," he said, grinning a little. It was the first time I'd ever seen him really smile. I mean, the last time I had seen him smile was when he and Bobby were talking about me and I didn't like him much at that point. I wasn't even sure if I liked him now, but he was helping me, not mocking me. He had a nice smile, I noticed. Made his face livelier, better looking then he already was.

Repeating that last sentence, I shook my head discreetly. Better looking? Oh, God. "I would, but I don't have the money to pay for a lawyer." He shook his head and reached for the band-aid on the counter beside me. "Why are you helping me?" I asked in a soft voice. I didn't want to sound suspicious or ungrateful.

He seemed more interested with putting the band-aid on my forehead then paying attention to the conversation I was trying to have with him, "What'd you mean?"

When I was sure he was done, I grabbed his wrist and immediately felt how nervous he was. He wasn't as nervous as I was, but it was there and that comforted me a little for some strange reason. "Don't play dumb," I said, letting go.

He gave me a long hard look, which intimidated me a smidge, before answering me, "You remind me of me," he said, moving from between my legs to wash his hands in the sink, "When I first got to Xavier's."

"How's that?" I asked, removing my sling. I had been trying to ignore how uncomfortable it was making me feel. I doubted I needed it anymore. My arm was still broken, of course, but I just didn't see the use of having the sling. "Rude? Cocky?" I added the last bit softly.

He turned off the tap and wiped his hands on a towel hanging near by, "More like defensive, really private," he turned around and leaned up against the sink as he continued to speak. "Not wanting to depend on other people to help you…"

I looked down at my hand and wiggled my fingers, "I have every right to be the way that I am." I lowered my voice, "It's hard not being defensive and private." I scanned my surroundings, "I haven't had to depend on anyone for a really long time. I've practically been alone for a long time."

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

I shook my head, "It's just like you said." I turned my head to the side, our eyes met. "I'm a private person. I don't like talking about my home life, past included."

He nodded, but I knew that he really wanted to know. I wasn't sure if it was out of curiosity or if he was genuinely interested about my past. We kind of stared at each other for a bit, neither one of us saying anything and I didn't feel uncomfortable. John opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the door opening.

"Hey--" Marie stopped speaking abruptly, her eyes shifting between the two of us. I noticed that she had changed her clothes and was wearing a pair of white gloves. What was it with her and gloves? "Am I interrupting something?" She asked, eyes going wide.

John moved away from me, standing up straight, "No, what's going on?"

"Bobby's parents are home," she said in her southern drawl. "I think we should all be down there with him when he tells them he's a mutant."

"He's gonna tell 'em?" I asked, jumping down from the counter, forgetting that I still had an injured leg. I sucked in some air, so deep it hurt my chest, but tried to ignore the pain otherwise.

"Yeah," she nodded, moving towards me, helping me keep my balance. "And by the looks of it, it ain't gonna be pretty."