I try to breathe
Memories overtaking me
I try to face them but
The thought is too
Much to conceive
I just stuffed it down
Now I'm older and I feel like
I could let some of this anger fade
But it seems the surface
I am scratching
Is the bed that I have made
John stared at the other kids playing. He'd been at Xavier's for almost two months now, but things hadn't changed since that first day he'd arrived. People avoided him like the plague. They all knew that Xavier had bailed him out of jail to bring him to the school. A few of them even knew the reason why he'd been in jail, even though Xavier had promised to keep that secret.
John turned away, and walked back inside the mansion, and up the steps to his room, where he lay down on his bed. Not really his. None of it his; the only thing that was 'his' was his Zippo. Everything else, even his clothes, were bought and paid for by the school. Nothing but the lighter…
John stared at his lighter, and felt the memories try to push their way to the surface.
"No, don't!"
"Please, stop!"
He shuddered as his chest tightened. He forced the mental movies back into the recesses of his mind. He wasn't ready.
The pain in his chest turned to anger, bubbling, boiling. His mother hadn't even visited him in jail after the first time. And that time had only been to tell him that he was none of her concern anymore; that she'd tried to do right by him, but he went wrong anyways. John had forced himself not to leap over the table and strangle her. Tried to do right… that was a laugh. She hadn't protected him from anything. She'd thrown him to the streets with the discovery of his power. Thrown him to…
He forced his breathing to return to normal, violently straining to keep the memories at bay.
Xavier and Dr. Grey had told him the memories would fade with time. That the pain would ease. Eventually.
Just give it time.
John threw himself backwards on the bed, hitting his head against the headboard. But he barely felt it.
Just give it time.
How much time?
There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self control I fear is never ending
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Rogue awoke, sweating. The trucker looked over at her.
"You alright there, honey? Musta been one hell of a nightmare," He commented as she pulled herself up into the seat.
"Yeah. I'm… fine," She said slowly. "Um, could you let me out?"
The man looked at her in concern. "I thought you wanted to go to Chicago. It's cold out there, sweet heart, and there ain't a town around for another twenty miles."
"I'll be fine. Just… I need to get out."
The trucker shook his head. "I can't stop you, but I wish you wouldn't. Might not be another vehicle for an hour or so."
Rogue nodded as the large semi pulled over to the side of the road. "Thanks for the ride," She said as she opened the door.
The trucker went to shake her hand, and Rogue recoiled.
"I ain't gonna hurt you, honey," He said unsurely.
Rogue forced herself to relax. "I know. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." With that, she jumped out of the truck.
She waited until the semi was fully out of sight, before she sat down. She started shaking uncontrollably, the fear inside her clawing it's way to the surface.
She stayed like that for a while, before she forced herself to stand. Her legs were wobbly, and felt like Jell-O. She glanced around. She was in for a long night, she thought as she started walking.
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Bobby traced the patterns on the ceiling again with his eyes. He knew every detail by heart, had them all memorized. He spent all of his time staring at them, doing the same thing, over and over…
Sometimes he slept. Not often. But sometimes. It took off some of the edge, some of the boredom, some of the hurt.
The pain of leaving had started to lessen. His parents had jumped at the chance to send him off. His father hadn't even made it home to see his plane off. He hadn't received a single phone call, and only one letter from Ronny, asking if he would mind if they got rid of the dog. Bobby's dog.
Bobby hadn't bothered sending an answer back.
He sighed as he heard the rain start to hit the window. He knew in a few seconds, the screaming would start as the younger kids ran out to play in the mud.
He almost wished he could join them… But another part of him never wanted to leave the bed ever again.
He rolled over onto his side. School would start next week. He'd have to leave his room then.
He closed his eyes slowly.
Maybe he could sleep the rest of the year away…