A/N: Happy reading!

They Call Me Pyro

Chapter 5

Left Behind

Was I trembling in excitement or fear? I tried my best to remember more, but instead, I was just giving myself a headache. My hands were stiffening so I decided to go back inside. I took one last look at the tree and turned around.

I backtracked the way I came . . . or . . . at least I think I did. The walk back was a complete blur and I was now in my private dorm sitting on the king-sized bed. I lay down; my intention was to only shut my eyes for a few minutes, but it ended up being a few hours. My eyes were open, but I couldn't see a thing because the room was completely dark. I hopped off the other side of the bed and felt my way into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I made a beeline to the toilet and relieved myself, breathing a sigh of relief. I felt the chill from the white tiles beneath my feet. After I flushed, I explored the bathroom, which was the size of a kid's bedroom. Opaque glass surrounded the bathing area. My fingers closed around the handle and I pulled the shower door open. Immediately I noticed pockets in the walls—the thought of a steam bath made me grin. I was expecting jet pockets in the white porcelain tub but there weren't any.

I kept the light on in the bathroom so that I would be able to maneuver with ease. Once in the threshold, my stomach growled which reminded me that I hadn't eaten anything. A tray was left for me that contained a bottle of water, sandwich, potato chips, and a medium-sized homemade cookie with a bunch of chocolate chips peeking out of the dough.

The decision wasn't hard. I bit into the cookie first. Delicious wasn't apt to describe it. It was very good, but I hadn't eaten one in six years so my taste buds were beyond ecstatic. I moaned with each bite—if anyone was able to hear me, they would think I was getting pleasure in a completely different way. If that were the case, I'm confident that I would be able to control the noise (assuming I'd want to, of course).

I was able to control myself as I consumed the rest of my meal. Stomach full, my back hit the mattress. The thought of the cookie kept the smile on my face intact. I noticed the cardboard in the corner of my eye, but my mind had already drifted back to the tree. 'Something like that couldn't be accomplished just by pouring lighter fluid and striking the match. It was done with precision and control. If I was able to wield fire, wouldn't that be—?' I scoffed, cutting the consideration short. That theory was utterly ridiculous.

I needed facts, not theories! And the box that might hold some answers . . . let's face it . . . I've been putting it off.

'Why?' I'm not entirely sure.

'Am I scared? What's there to be afraid of? The person I was?'

"No." That two-letter word had to be said out loud, including the word that came after, "Am."

'I am still that person even if I have no recollection.' Finding out who I am has been my number one goal—truth be told, the first and only goal—since coming out of a coma. There had to be a better explanation. When it hit me, I was still laying there, staring at the ceiling. It was simple, really. I wasn't scared. Lazy. I was lazy. I smirked knowing that I didn't have to look in the box to figure that one out. Shoving laziness tendencies to the side, I sat up; however, that didn't stop me from groaning childishly in annoyance as I moved.

Standing in front of it, I placed both of my hands on either side of the lid. A moment later, I found myself looking inside. I picked up the notebook with the red cover and studied the various doodles on it, which included: my preferred name (there was no doubt this pad belonged to me), random shapes and lines, skulls, and flames. I decided to go through the contents later, so put it on the bed along with two other notebooks. Next, I pulled out a red hoodie. Instinctively I brought it to my nose and took a sniff. The hoodie smelled like burnt toast. I put it on and immediately placed my hands into the pockets. I felt paper in the left and something made out of plastic in the right: a twenty-dollar bill and a disposable lighter. The lighter was empty, thus useless, but I chose to hang on to it.

The thought of toast lingered. I glanced at the door. 'Was it locked?' I shrugged. 'Only one way to find out.' I walked to the door, turned the knob, and the door opened with ease. With that question put to bed, I closed it and returned back to the things I once left behind. The consumption of toast would have to wait. In the meantime, I could continue to take whiffs of my hooded jacket. I was about to dig into the box when I heard a knock at the door.

"Co—" I cleared my throat, and started again, "Come in."

I corrected my posture as soon as my eyes gazed upon her. I wished the action was more subtle than it was. I then proceeded to put my hands in my pockets—hopefully, that was done more smoothly—and held the useless lighter between my fingers. Within seconds I felt more comfortable. "Hi," I said, finally.

"I figured you'd be up. You were always a night person."

"Were we…?" I blurted.

She laughed. "No."

"I honestly don't know why I said that," I admitted, my tone laced with grief with the left part of my face buried in my hand. If she was bothered by my stupid question, she didn't let it show.

"You look good . . . all cleaned up," she said, changing the subject.

It was then that I noticed the white in her hair; however, the majority was auburn. I met her emerald gaze and was struck with a memory.

Five teenagers are hanging out in the recreation room. Pyro is lounging on the couch, taking up two seats. Rogue is in the last cushion watching Peter, Jubilee, and Bobby play ping-pong—two against one at Bobby's request. Pyro was so focused on what he was writing, the noise from the ball bouncing on the table and the trash talk Bobby was spewing went into one ear and out the other.

"And just like that, it's a score of five to one," said Blue Eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "I warned you about my ping-pong skills."

Frustrated, the Asian girl with long black hair turned to her teammate, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze as he was significantly taller than she, "Piotr, it's not about how hard you hit it, just get it to bounce on the other side of the table."

"I'm trying my best, but in my defense, my hand is bigger than the paddle."

Blue Eyes tossed the small white ball to himself a couple of times. "Enough chit-chat. Ready for more?"

His opponents got into their ready positions and Blue Eyes made his serve shortly after. The ball bounced back and forth ten times. When the ball bounced high enough Blue Eyes extended his arm and swung with great force purposely aiming at the back of Pyro's head. "Bullseye."

Pyro stopped writing, placed the pen in the notebook, and then closed it. "You're just looking for attention," he said calmly, "though I can't fathom why you would poke a bear in hibernation that didn't even know of your presence . . . until now." His words were directed at Blue Eyes, but his gaze was upon the girl with auburn hair and green eyes.

"I guess the only obvious question that's left is . . . what is the bear going to do now?" challenged Blue Eyes.

"Nothing," he answered in less than a heartbeat. "If you wanted me to watch you hit a little hollow ball, all you had to do was ask."

Blue eyes crossed his arms, unsure of what to say, so he said the first thing that popped into his head, deflecting, "Rogue, do you believe this?"

"You should know better than to poke bears, Drake," she replied matter of factly, and then added, "It's a good thing he's not hungry."

"Rogue . . ." I said, faintly.

"Mmm?"

I jerked at the sound. "Oh, I forgot you were here. I guess I got lost in a memory," I paused momentarily and continued to explain, "My memory is completely shot. I'm regaining it in pieces."

"Did you just remember something?"

I nodded. "Your name."

She gave me a soft smile. "My given name is Marie, but I prefer Rogue. Still do after all of these years." She closed the gap between us and peered into the box. "Do you mind?"

I motioned for her to go ahead, and took a seat on the bed.

"You used to listen to these albums constantly," she said and then handed them to me.

I looked at each one, but none of the covers looked familiar. "Which one should I start listening to first?"

"The Red Hot Chili Peppers," she replied instantly.

I turned the case over and read the tracklist while Rogue rummaged through the box looking for the next thing to pull out. Music can play an important part in who you'll become—molding and shaping you depending on how the lyrics speak to you.

Rogue pulled out clothes and put them on top of each other creating a small mound on my bed. I didn't know what it was, but something she saw made her smile. "I can't believe you kept this."

I waited for her to elaborate.

In her hand, she held a piece of paper. From the back, I could see handwritten text. "You wrote this ridiculous story for an English assignment that made the whole class laugh," she told me and handed it to me.

Within the first few sentences, I found myself laughing uncontrollably. "Good stuff," I said. "Definitely worth saving."

"I fully agree, but you weren't the type to hold on to things . . . especially school-related."

"Rogue . . ." I started, my tone serious, smile erased. I paused to gather my thoughts before continuing. "What can you tell me that I don't already know? I can't get any solid information from anyone. We were friends, right? I know Moira and Ororo want me to figure things out on my own—I'm not quite sure the same can be said about the dude with dog tags—but . . ."

She looked at me as she considered the question. After a minute or two, she walked over to the desk. She took the chair and brought it closer to me, facing the low backrest towards me. She straddled the seat and hung her arms over the backrest.

Before Rogue could speak, I blurted, "What am I?"

"I'm not allowed to discuss that," she said, in an even tone. "Just know that you're not alone."

'Okay . . . not what I was looking for, but it's something. I was expecting much less.'

"Logan wears dog tags. He wouldn't tell you his name, huh?" I shook my head, and she smirked. "He asked me to hold on to them once. I gave them back to him when he returned. He was searching for answers too."

"He doesn't trust me," I said matter-of-factly.

"Trust is earned. You lost any you had when you went to Erik's side." She waited a moment, adding, "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"No," I replied. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Erik has a different way of handling things. He's extreme. Shows no mercy. And will use you as a human shield to save his own skin."

The disdain in her voice was as plain as day.

She scoffed. "Oh, and Erik will sacrifice his own for 'the good of the cause'." She rolled her eyes. "That's what he told me once . . . a long time ago."

I asked the only question that came to mind "You were on his side at one time?"

"Not willingly," Rogue muttered. She wrapped her fingers around the top of the backrest, her elbows pointed to the floor as she held on like she was ready to do some pull-ups. "I was mad at you for leaving with him, but those ill feelings vanished years ago." She slightly tilted her head to the side and pushed some hair behind her left ear. "What's your next question?"

"Who did this to me?" I showed her my hands. "And why?"

A/N: I wanted to explain why I wrote the memory section the way I did: I used names in the first paragraph to give context. For the rest, I only used the names if another character stated them first.

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Review Shout-Outs:

ShootingStar02 I want you to know that your review means a lot to me. Thank you for the kind words.

KittyHawk09: Agreed. He doesn't seem like the sentimental type. However, someone neglected to check those pockets!

Emeralden Rapley: I can't make any promises as I don't know where this story will take me, but for now things seem to be calm. However, the next chapter will be titled Scars of War so emotions just might get heated.

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