The punching bag groaned in protest as Rogue's fists made harsh contact with it again. And again. And again.
Sweat slicked back her hair and forced her skin to shine as the muscles underneath continued to uncoil furiously.
It had been two days and she was still livid.
It had been two days and Remy was still unconscious.
The line keeping the bag suspended snapped as she forced all of her fury into one jarring hit.
"Sonovabitch!" She hissed, clutching her bruised knuckles close to her chest.
All of her confused and heated emotions fumbled around inside of her awkwardly. Fury- she'd been lied to and used. Resentment- Maybe he hadn't even ever liked her at all. Maybe it was all a plot or a ploy. Sourness- Hell, maybe she'd never even fallen in 'love' with him in the first place. He had probably installed that emotion in her to get her more dependent on him. His eyes. His voice. His smile.
His damn stupid ability to get her into trouble!
She kicked the punching bag viciously on the ground, spitting out a colorful list of words as she went.
And now she had nothing again. She'd been so close.
She pounced on the bag, straddling it as her fists made craters in the surface.
She thought she'd had smiles.
Her fist struck the bag.
She thought she'd had touches.
Her fist struck the bag.
She thought she'd been in love.
The wrappings around her balled up hands started to come undone as she continued to strike the bag until her knuckles were bloody, and even then she continued.
"Manipulative bastard!" She screamed. Tears started streaming down her face. Her arms continued to strike out. Blood spattered against her face as her knuckles continued to split open, but she was beyond the point of caring. Eventually her vicious strikes died down to nothing more than her batting her fists against the bag as she sobbed.
She felt the warmth of hands fall down on her shoulders, but ignored it.
She allowed herself to be eased into a standing position, but did not respond.
She was afraid that if she looked up she'd see another smile. Another fake. Just like her friends who plastered on faces when they saw her. Just like him every time he locked eyes with her.
All part of a scheme.
"Rogue?" The person in front of her rumbled with concern as she kept her eyes tacked to the ground. "Rogue?" They repeated, She till didn't look up. "Marie?"
"Don't call me that." She growled, looking up to glare at Logan.
Logan looked over the girl in his arms ad realized she was angry. Ferally so. She hadn't spoken to anyone in two days. She'd just seclude herself in the Danger Room or the gym and spend hours and hours collecting cuts and bruises. She had a chip on her shoulder. Gravel in her gut and spit in her eye.
It reminded him of the chip on his shoulder. The gravel in his gut and the spit in his eye.
She had started growling rather than speaking. Glaring rather than seeing. Drinking rather than dealing.
He felt a sharp pain pass through the spot where his heart resided when he thought about her possibly turning into him.
"Rogue," He said again. The defiance in her now dry eyes kicked up another notch from the tone in her voice. "This isn't healthy." He took her wrist, intently looking at the torn flesh on her knuckles.
"What d' yah care?" She rumbled.
"I do care." Logan leaned forward, trying to keep eye contact with her as she turned away her face. "Talk to me, kid. Tell me what happened."
"Don't call me kid."
"So I ain't allowed to call you Marie, I ain't allowed to call you 'kid'," He mused to keep himself from snarling. "What's next?"
"Nothin'." She snapped, wrenching herself out of his grip. "Everythin'. Don't call me Marie, don't call me kid, don't call me Rogue, don't call me darlin', don't call friend, don't call me chere, flat out don't call me at all." Rogue rumbled as she stomped out of the room.
Logan stood still, stunned into submission.
She was so isolated now, she wouldn't even talk to him.
He was thinking quickly now, pacing across blood speckled floor as his mind worked.
She was being distant, and usually he was the one to make her interact. Before it had been Bobby as well. And if he couldn't do it, and Rogue had politely implied that Bobby should take his apologies and discreetly shove them up his ass when he tried, who was left?
After a few more moments of brooding, Logan decided that he should be there to greet Gumbo when he woke up so that they could have a 'pleasant' conversation about what the hell he had done to Rogue.
His boots struck the cold floors of the underbelly of the Xavier Institute with resounding thuds and impending doom and the spaces in between his knuckles ached with the barely suppressed urge to unsheathe hell as he stomped his way to the med lab and threw open the door. He came up short when his eyes finally took in what he was seeing there.
A little girl was perched on Gambit's bandaged stomach, leaning forward with her hands planted on his shoulders as she started straight down into his closed eyes.
"Uh…" Logan said as way of introduction.
The little looked up at his sharply, brown eyes narrowing with the intrusion. "Do you know this man?" She demanded.
"Yes…" Logan hesitated his response, though he was positive he had seen this girl around the Institute before in the younger groups.
She leaped off of Gambit's stomach in a flash, balled up her fists in the front of Logan's shirt as she dragged him down to eye level with a blazing glare.
"What color are his eyes?" She snarled, pink hair falling into her eyes and across the bones that protruded out of her face.
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'Nother chapter tomorrow! (I already wrote it :D)