SCOTT SUMMERS
2009
Scott never knew a real home. His early memories were blurred images of a plane falling from the sky, screams, and sudden darkness. He was only five years old when he lost his parents in that plane crash. Since then, his life had turned into an endless series of foster families and orphanages.
By thirteen, Scott was under the care of Mr. Milburn, a gloomy middle-aged man who seemed to have taken Scott in only for the monthly allowance. Their relationship was cold and distant. Milburn provided Scott with the bare necessities but never showed any interest in his life or emotional state.
The kitchen in Milburn's house was the embodiment of cold functionality. Sterile white walls, devoid of any decorations or photographs, gleaming chrome surfaces, and immaculately clean linoleum on the floor created an atmosphere of a hospital ward rather than a cozy home space. The only hint that anyone lived here at all was a tattered calendar on the wall, whose pages no one had turned for several months.
Scott Summers stood at the stove, mechanically stirring the contents of the pot. The smell of reheated canned soup filled the kitchen, but instead of stimulating appetite, it only emphasized the joylessness of the situation. The boy glanced at the clock — 6:55 PM. In five minutes, Milburn would return from work, as always, punctual and predictable.
As he placed the plates on the table, Scott felt a timid hope stirring in his chest again. Maybe today would be different? Maybe Milburn would finally notice his efforts, ask about school, or simply say a kind word? Scott knew these thoughts were foolish, but he couldn't force himself to give up on them.
At precisely 7:00 PM, the front door opened. Scott straightened up, trying to put on a welcoming expression. Milburn entered the kitchen without saying a word. His gaze slid over the set table, over Scott, but not a single emotion registered in it — neither gratitude nor irritation, nothing at all.
"Good evening, Mr. Milburn," Scott said, trying to keep his voice cheerful. "I've prepared dinner."
Milburn nodded, sitting down at the table. He began eating without a word of praise, as if it was something taken for granted.
Scott sat across from him, his own plate remaining untouched. He watched Milburn methodically consume the soup and felt a lump forming in his throat. The silence pressed on him, making him search for any excuse for conversation.
"How was your day at work?" Scott asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
Milburn raised his eyes from the plate, his gaze momentarily resting on Scott's face.
"Fine," he answered shortly and returned to his food.
Scott felt the hope he had so carefully nurtured beginning to melt away. But he couldn't give up so easily.
"We had an interesting physics lesson today," he continued. "We were studying optics. You know, it's so fascinating how light refracts and..."
"Scott," Milburn interrupted him, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I'm tired. Let's eat in silence."
Milburn's words hit Scott like a slap. He lowered his eyes, feeling the color flooding his face. The rest of dinner passed in oppressive silence.
Scott stared at his plate but didn't see the food. Before his eyes flashed images from the past — his parents' smiling faces, warm embraces, ringing laughter. Memories that grew more blurred with each passing day, but no less painful for that. He tried to remember what it felt like to feel loved, to feel needed. But reality cruelly brought him back to the present — the cold kitchen and the indifferent man across from him.
Having finished eating, Milburn rose from the table. He put his plate in the sink and headed for the kitchen exit without even glancing at Scott.
"Thank you for dinner," Scott said to the back of his departing guardian, desperately hoping for some kind of response.
Milburn paused for a moment, as if about to say something. But then he simply nodded and left the kitchen. The sound of his footsteps faded into the depths of the house.
Scott remained alone in the kitchen. He slowly stood up and began clearing the table, his movements mechanical, devoid of energy. Each clatter of a plate, each creak of a chair on the floor seemed to emphasize his loneliness.
After finishing the cleaning, Scott went up to his room. It was a small space, almost devoid of personal items — Milburn did not encourage "clutter." Scott sat on the bed.
He looked out the window at the darkening sky and dreamed of another life. A life where he was understood and valued. Where he could freely talk about his interests without fear of being rejected. A family that saw him not as a burden but as a person.
Looking at the first stars appearing in the sky, Scott thought about the future. He promised himself that one day everything would change. That he would find his place in this world, find people who would accept him as he was. This dream, though seemingly unattainable now, was what gave him the strength to move forward, to endure each day like today.
With these thoughts, Scott lay down on the bed without undressing. Tomorrow would be a new day, a new chance. And maybe tomorrow something would finally change.
School became Scott's only refuge. There he could immerse himself in the world of books, which became his only friends. He was particularly drawn to science fiction novels — stories of distant worlds and incredible adventures helped him forget the gray reality of his life.
Teachers noted that Scott was a smart and diligent student, but withdrawn and unsociable. He rarely participated in group activities and almost never raised his hand to answer a question, even if he knew the answer. His classmates either ignored him or teased him for his silence and interest in books.
The only person who seemed to understand Scott was the school librarian, Mrs. Henderson. She always greeted him with a warm smile and recommended new books that he might like. Sometimes they discussed what they had read, and in these moments, Scott felt like a normal teenager, not an orphan whom no one understood.
At home, Scott spent most of his time in his small room, reading or dreaming of a better life. Sometimes he imagined himself as a hero saving the world, or an explorer discovering new planets. These fantasies were his way of coping with the loneliness and feeling of worthlessness that haunted him.
The day that changed Scott's life forever began as usual. He woke up early, had breakfast — Mr. Milburn had already gone to work by then — and headed to school. The lessons dragged on slowly, and he eagerly awaited the lunch break to seclude himself in the library with a new book that Mrs. Henderson had recommended.
However, when the lunch bell rang, Scott felt a strange pulsating pain in his temples. He decided it was just the start of a migraine and headed to the cafeteria, hoping that food would help him feel better.
Sitting at a far table in the corner of the cafeteria, Scott tried to focus on his book, but the pain grew stronger. Suddenly, the world around him began to blur, and then became tinged with a bright red color. Scott panicked and squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help — he felt something hot and powerful tearing out of his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, dazzling red beams of incredible power burst forth. They pierced the cafeteria ceiling, causing part of the structure to collapse. Chaos reigned around: screams of frightened students, the sound of falling debris, fire alarm sirens.
Scott tried in horror to close his eyes, but his eyelids, seemingly paralyzed by fear, wouldn't obey. The beams continued to burst forth, destroying everything in their path.
"No! Please, stop!" Scott shouted, trying to cover his eyes with his hands, but it didn't help.
The second attempt to close his eyelids also proved unsuccessful. Panic seized Scott when he heard screams of pain around him. Would he not be able to stop this?
On the third attempt, gathering all his will and overcoming the paralyzing fear, Scott finally managed to close his eyes. The beams stopped, but chaos continued to reign around him.
Scott trembled, afraid to open his eyes again. He heard shouts and moans around him, the sounds of approaching sirens. A sense of guilt and horror gripped him when he realized what he had just done.
It seemed like an eternity before someone threw a thick cloth over his head, securely blocking his eyes. Scott trembled, stunned and frightened by what had just happened.
"I... I didn't want to... I didn't know..." he mumbled, feeling tears flowing down his cheeks under the improvised blindfold.
The next few hours passed as if in a fog. Scott was taken away in an ambulance, constantly being asked questions for which he had no answers. In the hospital, he was examined by doctors, but no one seemed to know what to do with his condition.
Scott heard the medical staff whispering about the dead and wounded, and a sense of guilt overwhelmed him with renewed force. He had caused pain to people, even killed someone, it seemed. This thought was unbearable.
Towards evening, Mr. Milburn entered his ward. Scott, still blindfolded, couldn't see the expression on his face, but the tone of his voice was colder than ever before.
"I'm relinquishing guardianship," Milburn said without preamble. "You... you're dangerous. I can't have anything to do with this."
Scott felt his heart break. Even now, when he needed support the most, the only adult in his life turned away from him.
"Please," whispered Scott, his voice trembling. "Please don't leave me."
But in response, he heard only the sound of the closing door. Mr. Milburn had left, leaving Scott alone in the darkness of his new, frightening world.
He spent just one night in the hospital. The next morning, people whose footsteps sounded determined and authoritative entered his ward. They introduced themselves as agents of a special government unit dealing with special cases.
"Scott Summers," one of them said in an official tone, "we're here to take you to a specialized institution. There we can help you control your... abilities."
Scott felt he had no choice. Without a guardian, without a family, he was helpless in the face of these people. They led him out of the hospital and put him in a car with tinted windows.
The journey seemed endless. When they finally arrived at their destination, Scott was led through a series of corridors and doors before being left in a small, sterile room. The next few days merged into one endless nightmare of tests, experiments, and interrogations.
Scientists in white coats constantly conducted various tests, trying to understand the nature of his abilities. They talked about mutation and genetic anomalies, using terms that Scott barely understood. Every day he had to go through painful procedures during which they tried to measure the strength of his eye beams.
But worse than the physical pain were the loneliness and fear. Scott felt not like a human being, but like a lab animal. No one talked to him except to give instructions or ask questions about his abilities.
One night, Scott overheard a conversation between two guards outside his room.
"Tomorrow he'll be transferred," one said.
"Where to?" asked the other.
"To a more... specialized facility. They say there they'll be able to really unlock the potential of his abilities."
Hearing these words, Scott felt a chill of horror run down his spine. His heart began to pound so hard that it seemed about to jump out of his chest.
"To a more specialized facility?" This phrase echoed in his head, painting in his imagination pictures even more terrifying than what he had already experienced.
Scott curled up into a ball on his narrow bed, trying to suppress the trembling that had seized his entire body. Thoughts frantically raced in his head: "What do they mean by 'unlocking potential'? More tests? More pain?"
He remembered the horrifying procedures he had already been through, and panic seized him at the thought that it could be even worse.
"I can't stay here," thought Scott, feeling desperation give way to determination. "I must escape."
But fear paralyzed him, reminding him of what awaited him beyond the walls of this institution — a world that fears and hates those like him.
Scott spent a sleepless night, battling contradictory feelings of fear of the unknown and a desperate desire for freedom. Every sound in the corridor made him flinch, every shadow seemed like a threat. He felt like a cornered animal, ready for anything to save itself.
With the first rays of dawn, Scott heard footsteps approaching his room. His heart leapt to his throat — he knew the time had come. The door swung open, and two guards entered.
"Time to go, kid," one of them said, and Scott heard the sound of handcuffs opening. "Your new life awaits."
Scott felt panic sweep over him completely. The escape plan crumbled before it could begin. He wanted to resist, to fight, but his entire body seemed petrified by fear.
The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into Scott's wrists as he was led down the long corridors of the facility. Each step echoed in his ears, reminding him of the inevitability of his fate. The thick blindfold over his eyes prevented him from seeing his surroundings, intensifying the feeling of helplessness and fear.
When they went outside, Scott felt the cool morning air on his skin. Despite the blindfold, he knew that everything around was enveloped in predawn twilight.
Scott heard the roar of a powerful engine and realized that some large transport was nearby. This made him go cold inside. He knew he was being taken to some "special place," and intuition told him nothing good awaited him there.
"Come on, get in," one of the guards roughly ordered, pushing Scott towards the back of the container.
The heavy door clanged shut behind him, cutting Scott off from the rest of the world. He heard a lock click outside. After a few moments, the truck's engine purred, and the transport began moving.
Scott sat in the darkness, listening to the monotonous hum of the engine and trying to quell the trembling in his hands. His thoughts raced feverishly. What awaited him at the end of this journey? Even more cruel experiments? Complete isolation? Or something worse?
Suddenly panic seized him. He couldn't let this happen! Couldn't let them take the last crumbs of his freedom, his humanity. Something had to be done, and done now.
Scott began to carefully move his hands, trying to find a weak spot in the handcuffs. Suddenly a mad idea struck him. He had read somewhere about how people dislocated their thumb to free themselves from handcuffs. It was dangerous and clearly painful, but there was no choice.
Taking a deep breath, Scott prepared himself. He closed his eyes tightly under the blindfold and sharply jerked his hand, simultaneously twisting his thumb. A sharp pain pierced his palm, and he barely stifled a scream. But it worked — his hand slipped out of the handcuffs.
With trembling fingers, Scott felt for the blindfold. He knew that removing it was a huge risk. But it was his only chance for freedom.
"Whatever will be, will be," he whispered and tore off the blindfold.
Powerful red beams burst from his eyes, instantly cutting through the metal wall of the container. Scott heard screams and the screech of brakes. The truck suddenly skidded, throwing him to the floor.
Not wasting a second, Scott directed his gaze at the opening, widening it. Metal melted and warped under the impact of his beams. Somewhere outside, shots and screams rang out, but Scott paid no attention to them.
As soon as the opening was big enough, Scott lunged for it. He cut himself on the sharp edges of the metal, crawling outside, but the pain was barely noticeable in a consciousness overflowing with adrenaline.
Once outside, Scott froze for a moment, blinded by the bright sunlight. His eyes, open since the moment he decided to burn through the container door, involuntarily continued to emit powerful beams of energy, directed into the sky.
Quickly getting his bearings, Scott saw the escort of cars surrounding the truck. Not wasting a second, he directed his destructive gaze at the nearest vehicle. The red beam sliced through the metal like paper, causing a powerful explosion.
Methodically moving his gaze from one target to another, Scott destroyed the guard vehicles. Each turn of his head meant a new explosion, a new wave of destruction. The air filled with screams of pain and panic from the guards, who hadn't expected such a devastating attack.
He vaguely saw figures of people running towards him with weapons at the ready, but his beams were faster. Screams of pain and the sounds of falling bodies mingled with the rumble of explosions.
Taking advantage of the chaos that ensued, Scott ran, his eyes tightly shut. He didn't know where he was heading — just away from the truck, away from the people who wanted to lock him up. His lungs burned, each breath like a gulp of liquid fire. His legs, weakened by long confinement, were giving way, but fear and adrenaline drove him forward.
As he ran, Scott felt for the blindfold that had slipped onto his forehead and quickly pulled it back over his eyes, realizing that the beams could reveal his location to pursuers. Now he ran blindly, relying only on his hearing and tactile sensations.
Around him, shouts and sirens sounded, but they grew quieter as he moved further away from the place of his short imprisonment. Scott couldn't allow himself to stop to even try to look around. He ran, orienting himself by sounds and changes in the surface beneath his feet.
Suddenly the hard asphalt gave way to soft, loose soil. Scott stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to keep his balance. He slowed his pace, trying to understand where he had ended up.
Around him rustled tall plants, their stems brushing against him as he moved. A corn field? Wheat? Scott couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. The main thing was shelter. He continued on his way, now slower, making his way through the dense growth.
Plants lashed at his face and arms, leaving small scratches. The sharp edges of leaves cut his skin, but Scott barely noticed this pain. His mind was focused on only one thing — moving forward, as far away as possible from his pursuers.
The hot midday sun mercilessly beat down, sweat poured down his face under the blindfold. Scott felt moisture gathering under the cloth but didn't dare remove it.
Each step was a struggle. Muscles unaccustomed to such exertion screamed in pain. His breathing became ragged, his throat dry. Scott felt his strength leaving him with every second.
Finally, when his body refused to obey, Scott collapsed to the ground. He lay there, breathing heavily and feeling the cool earth beneath him. This sensation was so unusual after months on a hard mattress in a cell... The earth smelled of moisture and life — a smell he had almost forgotten.
His body trembled from exhaustion and overexertion. Every muscle ached as if he had run a marathon. The damaged thumb, which he had dislocated while freeing himself from the handcuffs, pulsed with sharp pain. Scott carefully moved it, wincing at the unpleasant sensations.
Lying there, among the tall stalks, listening to the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong, Scott felt something like peace for the first time in a long time. He was free. Exhausted, frightened, not knowing what awaited him ahead, but free.
Scott didn't know how long he lay there. Minutes stretched into hours, and hours seemed like an eternity. The sun slowly moved across the sky, its rays, penetrating through the foliage, changing their angle of incidence. The heat of the day gradually gave way to evening coolness.
Gradually his breathing steadied, and the panic receded. The adrenaline ebbed, leaving behind exhaustion and a dull pain throughout his body. Each breath no longer seemed like a struggle, and Scott finally was able to focus on the surrounding sounds: the rustle of leaves, the chirping of insects, the distant singing of birds.
When the initial shock passed, Scott realized how vulnerable he was. Lying here forever was impossible. He needed to move, find shelter, possibly help. But where to go? How to find a safe place when you can't open your eyes?
Carefully, overcoming pain in every muscle, Scott rose to his feet. His knees trembled, threatening to buckle at any moment. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his strength. The blindfold over his eyes was damp with sweat, but he didn't risk removing it.
Slowly, like a blind man, Scott began to walk. Each step was a trial. He stretched his hands out in front, trying to feel his way. His fingers touched the rough stems of plants that lashed at his face and arms. He stumbled over bumps, nearly fell several times, but somehow managed to maintain his balance.
Scott didn't know how long he walked like this. Minutes merged into hours. Thirst tormented him, his stomach growled with hunger. But he continued moving forward, guided by survival instinct and a vague hope of finding help.
Suddenly his hand encountered something hard and cold. Metal. Scott froze, his heart beating faster. Carefully, afraid to scare away good fortune, he began feeling the object. A chain... it led upward. A seat, suspended on these chains. A sudden realization struck him: a swing!
A wave of relief washed over Scott. By some miracle, he had wandered to a playground or park. This meant that somewhere nearby there must be people, homes, possibly help. Scott felt for the swing seat and carefully sat down, feeling his legs trembling from fatigue.
The cool evening air caressed his face. Around him reigned silence, broken only by the slight creak of the swing and the distant noise of the city. Scott took a deep breath, feeling the tension of the last hours (days? weeks?) beginning to release him.
Sitting there, in the silence of the night, Scott allowed himself to relax for the first time in a long while. Thoughts of the future frightened him. Where to go? Whom to trust? How to live on with this destructive force in his eyes? But now, at this moment, he felt a strange calmness.
He was free. Scared, lonely, not knowing what awaited him ahead, but free. There were no more walls containing him, no more doctors with their endless tests, no more guards with their cold eyes. Here, on these old swings, under the cover of night, Scott felt he had a chance. A chance at something new, at a life he could choose for himself.
A light breeze swayed the swing, and Scott felt a solitary tear roll down his cheek. He didn't know if it was a tear of relief, fear, or hope. Perhaps a bit of everything. But for the first time in a long time, it was the tear of a person who could allow himself to feel.
JEAN GREY
Elaine Grey had always dreamed of a normal life. A cozy suburban home, a loving husband, and a daughter. When Jean was born, it seemed that this dream was beginning to come true. The little red-haired girl with bright green eyes was everything a young mother could dream of.
The first years of Jean's life were filled with happiness and love. Elaine adored her daughter, spending every free minute with her. She read fairy tales to Jean, taught her to draw and sing children's songs. John, Jean's father, couldn't get enough of his girls. Their little family seemed perfect.
However, everything changed when Jean turned five. That's when the first signs of her unusual abilities appeared. It started with small incidents: toys that moved on their own when Jean cried; strange coincidences when the girl seemed to know what her parents were thinking.
Elaine tried to ignore these oddities, attributing them to a child's rich imagination and random coincidences. But over time, the incidents became more obvious and frightening.
The turning point came when Jean turned seven. At the girl's birthday party, an incident occurred that forever changed the Grey family's life. When one of the boys began teasing Jean, all the candles on the cake suddenly flared up, turning into a real bonfire. Guests fled in panic, and neighbors called the fire department.
After this incident, rumors spread throughout the neighborhood. Neighbors whispered behind the Grey family's back, calling Jean strange and dangerous. Other parents forbade their children from playing with "that abnormal girl."
Elaine was horrified. Her perfect life was crumbling before her eyes. She began avoiding neighbors, stopped going to the local supermarket, fearing sidelong glances and whispers behind her back. John tried to calm his wife, saying that everything would work out, but Elaine saw how he himself was struggling with the situation.
A month after the birthday incident, John was called in by his boss. It turned out that rumors about his "strange" daughter had reached his workplace. Colleagues refused to work with him on the same team, fearing "bad influence." John had to resign.
This was the last straw for Elaine. She insisted on moving, convincing her husband that they could start over in a new place. Jean was eight when the Grey family left their first home, leaving behind friends, work, and their familiar life.
The new city seemed like a chance for a fresh start. Elaine was determined to do everything right this time. She had long talks with Jean, explaining how important it was to keep her abilities secret. The girl, feeling guilty about what had happened, promised to try her hardest to be "normal."
The first months in the new place were full of hope. John found a new job, Jean started at a new school, and Elaine actively participated in the local community, trying to create the image of a perfect family. For a while, it seemed that everything was getting better.
However, Jean's abilities continued to develop. Now she could hear the thoughts of people around her, even when she didn't want to. This caused the girl headaches and emotional breakdowns. At school, Jean began falling behind, unable to concentrate due to the constant noise of other people's thoughts in her head.
Elaine noticed the changes in her daughter's behavior. She saw how Jean became increasingly withdrawn and nervous. But instead of trying to understand and support her daughter, Elaine began to distance herself. Fear of Jean's abilities and memories of past problems made her keep her distance.
When Jean turned ten, a new incident occurred. During a physical education class, frightened by the teacher's sudden loud whistle, Jean involuntarily used her telekinetic power. All the balls in the gym rose into the air, then forcefully hit the walls and ceiling. Several children suffered minor injuries.
The school administration was shocked. Parents demanded explanations. Rumors began to spread again, this time even faster. In the era of social media, information about "the girl who could move objects with the power of thought" spread instantly.
Elaine was crushed. All her efforts to create a normal life were ruined. She couldn't look Jean in the eyes, blaming her daughter for destroying their life. John lost his job again when his management learned about what happened at school.
The second move was even more difficult. Elaine fell into depression, sitting for hours in her room and refusing to talk to her family. John tried to stay strong for his women, but he too began to break down, turning to the bottle more and more often.
Jean, now eleven years old, felt guilty for all the family's problems. She tried to control her powers, but the more she tried, the stronger they seemed to become. At night, she cried into her pillow, dreaming of waking up "normal."
In the new place, Elaine decided to stay away from community life. She rarely left the house, avoiding acquaintances with neighbors. Her relationship with Jean became increasingly tense. Each look at her daughter reminded Elaine of the lost dream, of the life that could have been.
John tried to mend the relationship between his wife and daughter, but his own problems with work and alcohol only made the situation worse. He would get a job, but each time rumors about his "strange" daughter surfaced, he would be fired or would quit himself, unable to bear the sidelong glances of colleagues.
By thirteen, Jean had become virtually an outcast at school. Children sensed that something was wrong with her and avoided her. Teachers were nervous in her presence, remembering the rumors that circulated about her. Jean increasingly skipped school, preferring solitude to communication with people who feared her.
Elaine, seeing her daughter's suffering, experienced mixed feelings. On one hand, maternal instinct made her want to protect Jean. On the other hand, years of fear, stress, and disappointments had created a wall between them. She couldn't bring herself to hug her daughter or tell her that everything would be all right because she didn't believe it herself.
The Grey family continued to move every few months, as soon as rumors about Jean's abilities began to spread. Each new city, each new school, each new attempt to start over — all this only deepened the gulf between Jean and her parents, especially her mother.
Elaine gradually turned into a cold, detached woman, only remotely resembling the loving mother she once was. Her dream of a perfect family had long crumbled to dust, leaving only bitterness and regret.
Jean, now a teenager, had learned to live with a constant sense of guilt and alienation. She saw how her existence was destroying her parents' lives but didn't know how to fix it. Her powers continued to grow, becoming more frightening and uncontrollable.
By fifteen, Jean was a withdrawn, insecure young woman who was afraid of her own shadow. Elaine looked at her daughter and saw not a child who needed love and protection, but the source of all their troubles. John was torn between wanting to support his daughter and striving to preserve his marriage with a woman who was increasingly distancing herself from both of them.
The Grey family had turned into a group of strangers living under the same roof, united only by a common secret and fear of the future. And in this atmosphere of fear and alienation, Jean continued to grow, not knowing what awaited her ahead and whether there was hope for a better future.
Jean Grey stood at the school gates, clutching a sheet with her grades tightly in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly as she ran through the lines again: Math — A, Physics — A, Literature — A. A perfect result. She hoped that this time her mother would be pleased, maybe even smile.
Taking a deep breath, Jean stepped onto school grounds. As usual, she felt the gazes of other students on her. Some openly stared, others quickly averted their eyes when she looked in their direction. Jean heard whispers that seemed to come from everywhere:
"That's her, that strange girl..."
"They say the Thompson family moved because of her..."
"I saw things moving around her..."
Jean clenched her teeth, trying to ignore the voices. She knew that some of them were not just in her head — her telepathic abilities often picked up fragments of other people's thoughts. It was torturous to constantly hear what others thought of her.
Passing by a group of senior girls, Jean felt the hostility emanating from them. Sarah Jenkins, the leader of the group, snorted contemptuously:
"Oh, look who's here. Our little witch."
Her friends giggled. Jean quickened her pace, but Sarah's words caught up with her:
"Hey, Grey! How's your nuthouse doing? Isn't it time for you to go back?"
Jean felt the color flood her face. She knew what Sarah was talking about — a few months ago, Jean had a nervous breakdown right in the middle of class. She spent a week in a psychiatric clinic, trying to cope with her abilities. Of course, the school was buzzing with rumors when she returned.
In class, Jean sat at her usual desk in the far corner. No one sat next to her, as if there was an invisible exclusion zone around her. She took out her textbooks, trying not to pay attention to the whispers and sidelong glances.
The lesson began, and Jean tried to focus on the teacher's words. But her mind kept returning to the grade sheet lying in her backpack. What would her mom say? Would she ever be proud of her?
Suddenly, Jean felt something hit the back of her head. Something small and hard. She turned around and saw Sarah and her friends giggling, looking at her. On the floor near Jean's desk lay a crumpled piece of paper.
Jean leaned down to pick it up. Unfolding it, she saw a crude drawing: a caricature of herself, with a huge head and the words "Psycho-freak" above it.
Pain and anger flooded Jean. She felt control beginning to slip away. The air around her seemed to thicken, to become electrified. The pen on her desk trembled slightly.
"Miss Grey?" The teacher's voice pulled her out of her stupor. "Are you all right?"
Jean nodded, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat.
"Yes, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry."
She crumpled the drawing and shoved it into her pocket. For the rest of the lesson, Jean fought the urge to cry or scream. Or both simultaneously.
When the bell rang, Jean quickly gathered her things and hurried to the exit. But in the corridor, Sarah and her entourage blocked her path.
"Where are you rushing to, Grey?" Sarah smirked. "We haven't even talked yet."
Jean tried to get around them, but two girls grabbed her by the arms.
"Let me go," Jean said, trying to make her voice sound firm.
"Or what?" Sarah laughed. "Will you cast your witch spells on us?"
Sarah brought her face close to Jean's.
"You know, Grey, we've been thinking... Maybe we should teach you some respect? Or at least how to behave normally," she said with a sense of superiority. "Let's go for a walk," Sarah added, and the girls dragged Jean toward the school exit.
They took her to a small park near the school. The place was deserted; most students had already gone home. Sarah and her friends surrounded Jean, pressing her against a tree.
"Well, Grey, ready for your lesson?" Sarah smirked.
Jean felt fear being replaced by anger. She gritted her teeth, trying to maintain control, but deep inside something began to awaken, rising like a wave.
"I'm asking for the last time," Jean said, her voice trembling. "Let me go."
Sarah laughed and raised her hand, preparing to strike. And at that moment, something in Jean broke.
The air around her seemed to explode. An invisible force pushed Sarah and her friends back several steps. Leaves and small twigs rose from the ground, spinning in a chaotic whirlwind. The grass beneath Jean's feet lay flat, as if from a strong wind.
Jean stood at the center of this chaos, her red hair flowing as if in an invisible wind, and her eyes glowing with a strange greenish light.
Sarah and the other girls looked at what was happening in horror. One of them screamed when her feet lifted off the ground.
"God, she really is a witch!" exclaimed one of Sarah's friends.
"Let's get out of here!" Sarah shouted, and they ran away, stumbling and falling.
Jean blinked, as if coming out of a trance. Objects around her slowly settled to the ground. She looked around, breathing heavily. The park was empty, only the frightened voices of the fleeing girls could be heard in the distance.
The realization of what she had just done hit Jean like an ice shower. Horror gripped her. What would happen now? How would she explain this?
With trembling hands, Jean picked up her backpack and ran deeper into the park. She didn't stop until she reached the old swings where she usually hid when things became too difficult.
There, sitting on the swings, Jean finally allowed her tears to flow. She cried from fear, from loneliness, from hatred of her abilities that made her so... abnormal.
After some time, having calmed down a bit, Jean remembered the sheet with her grades. She took it out of her backpack and stared for a long time at the neat rows of "A"s. Now these grades seemed so insignificant, so meaningless...
Jean slowly climbed the stairs, each step was difficult for her. In her hand, she firmly clutched the sheet with her physics test results. The highest score. She should have been happy, but instead she felt only anxiety.
Entering the kitchen, Jean momentarily froze in the doorway. Her mother, Elaine Grey, stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. The tension in the air was almost palpable.
"Mom?" Jean called quietly.
Elaine turned her head slightly but didn't fully turn around.
"What is it, Jean?"
Jean took a deep breath and sat down at the kitchen table.
"I... I wanted to show you something," she began uncertainly, smoothing out the test paper on the table. "I got the highest score in physics."
"Mmm," Elaine mumbled indifferently, continuing to stir the contents of the pot.
Jean bit her lip, trying to suppress her disappointment. She knew not to expect much, but still...
"The teacher said I have great potential. Maybe I could go to a good college, study physics or..."
"Jean," her mother interrupted sharply, finally turning around. Her eyes were as cold as ice. "Do you really think a grade will change anything? That it will somehow compensate for everything we've had to go through because of you?!"
The girl shrank, feeling her mother's words hit her like a physical blow.
"I just thought..."
"That's exactly it, you don't think," Elaine cut her off, slamming the pot on the table with a crash. "If you thought, you'd understand that a normal life is no longer possible for us. Your father lost his job again, we're forced to constantly move. And for what? For your 'peculiarities'?"
Jean felt tears welling up in her eyes. She tried her hardest to hold them back, knowing that showing emotion would only anger her mother more. In desperation, she reached out with her mind, trying to catch even a glimpse of warmth in her mother's thoughts. But there was only a wall of bitterness and disappointment.
"I'm trying, Mom. I really am," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't want things to turn out this way. I didn't ask for these abilities."
Elaine sighed, and for a moment something like regret flashed in her eyes. But it quickly disappeared, replaced by the usual coldness.
"Try harder," she said, turning back to the stove. "And get that paper off the table. Dinner will be ready soon."
Jean silently stood up, folded the test results, and put them in her backpack. Leaving the kitchen, she cast one last glance at her mother, desperately wanting to see at least a reflection of warmth or pride. But Elaine didn't even look in her direction.
Once in her room, Jean closed the door and leaned against it, allowing the tears to fall. She slid to the floor, hugging her knees.
"Why?" she whispered into the emptiness of the room. "Why can't I be normal?"
Suddenly the room filled with a hum. Books on the shelves trembled, the lamp on the desk began to rise into the air. Jean panicked and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to subdue her abilities.
"No, no, no," she muttered, concentrating with all her might. Gradually, the objects returned to their places.
Midnight had long passed, but no one was asleep in the Grey house. Jean lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly the front door slammed, and she heard her father's heavy footsteps.
"Well?" came her mother's sharp voice. "How did the interview go?"
John Grey sighed heavily.
"Elaine, not now..."
"No, let's do this now!" Fury rang in Elaine's voice. "You failed it again, didn't you?"
Jean squeezed her eyes shut, trying to mentally block out the sounds of the argument, but her heightened hearing and involuntarily activated telepathy didn't give her that option.
"What was I supposed to do?" her father exploded. "You know our situation..."
"Oh, I know perfectly well," Elaine laughed bitterly. "Our daughter is a walking disaster, and you can't even find a job!"
Jean felt a lump rising in her throat. She sat up in bed, hugging her knees.
"Elaine, don't talk like that," John said wearily. "Jean is not to blame..."
"Not to blame?!" Elaine interrupted him. "Because of her, we've lost everything! Friends, work, a normal life! And now you can't even provide for the family!"
"And you think I like this?!" Her father's voice trembled with anger and despair. "You think I don't want to provide for my family? But who will hire a person who constantly moves?"
"If we sent her somewhere, to a special school or facility..." Elaine began.
"And where would we get the money for that?" John replied tiredly.
"Then let's just get rid of her!" Elaine shouted. "Give her to the state, to an orphanage, anywhere! Maybe then we can start living normally!"
Jean couldn't bear it anymore. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. With trembling hands, she opened it and, without thinking, jumped outside.
The cool night air hit her face. Her bare feet touched the wet grass, but Jean paid no attention to this. She ran, not seeing where she was going — away from home, away from the shouting and accusations, away from the thoughts that were tearing her apart inside.
Jean wandered through familiar streets, her bare feet automatically carrying her to the place where she always found solace — an abandoned park on the outskirts of town. The moon lit her path, casting long shadows from trees and old rusty structures.
Approaching the park, Jean slowed her step. Something was wrong. She heard the creak of swings — the very ones she loved to ride as a child, before her life turned upside down.
Jean's heart beat faster. Who could be here at such a late hour? She carefully approached, trying to step as quietly as possible.
In the moonlight, she saw the silhouette of a boy sitting on the swings. He seemed younger than her — perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Jean took a few more steps forward, and suddenly a branch cracked under her foot.
The boy turned sharply, and Jean froze. There was a blindfold over his eyes, completely covering the upper part of his face.
"Who's there?" he asked in a tense voice, in which Jean caught notes of fear.
Jean was momentarily at a loss. Her first instinct was to run away, but something in the boy's voice, in his lonely silhouette against the night sky, made her stay.
"I... I'm Jean," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just come here often."
The boy relaxed a bit but still remained wary.
"Are you alone? Why are you here so late?"
Jean came closer, carefully sitting on the adjacent swing.
"I could ask you the same thing," she said with a slight smile, though the boy couldn't see it. "I... I had problems at home. And you?"
The boy turned his head in her direction, and Jean noticed how he nervously fingered the edge of his blindfold.
"I ran away," he admitted after a pause. "From the hospital. I can't... I don't want to go back there."
Jean felt a pang of sympathy.
"I understand," she said softly. "Sometimes it seems like running away is the only option."
The boy nodded.
"I'm Scott," he said after a small pause. "Scott Summers."
"Nice to meet you, Scott," Jean replied. She hesitated for a moment before asking, "You... you don't mind if I stay here for a while?"
Scott smiled slightly — the first smile Jean had seen on his face.
"No, I don't mind. Actually... I'd welcome the company."
Jean felt the tension she had been carrying all evening begin to recede. Here, in the silence of the abandoned park, next to this unfamiliar boy, she felt something akin to peace for the first time in a long time.
"You know, Scott," she said quietly, looking at the starry sky, "maybe sometimes you need to run away to find your way home."
Scott turned to her, and even through the blindfold, Jean felt how attentive his gaze was.
"Maybe," he agreed. "Or to find a new home."
Jean didn't know why, but these words resonated in her with a strange feeling of hope. As if in this moment, on old creaky swings, under the light of the moon, something new was beginning. Something that could change everything.
Jean and Scott sat on the swings, gently rocking back and forth. The moonlight reflected off the metal chains, creating bizarre shadows on the ground. Jean couldn't tear her gaze away from the blindfold over Scott's eyes. Finally, gathering her courage, she decided to ask the question.
"Scott," she began carefully, "may I ask... Why do you wear that blindfold?"
Scott instantly tensed. His hands gripped the swing chains tighter, his knuckles turning white.
"I... I can't take it off," he replied after a long pause, his voice trembling.
"You can't or you shouldn't?" Jean gently clarified, feeling her heart beat faster.
Scott turned his head in her direction, and Jean sensed how he struggled between the desire to trust her and the fear of being rejected.
"I... I shouldn't," he finally whispered. "It's dangerous. I can... cause harm."
Jean held her breath. Suddenly everything fell into place — his reluctance to return to the hospital, the fear, the tension in his voice. She felt a shiver of recognition run through her body.
"Scott," she said quietly, her voice full of emotion, "are you... are you like me?"
Scott turned sharply toward her.
"What do you mean?" he asked, and in his voice Jean heard a mixture of fear and hope.
Jean took a deep breath. For the first time in her life, she was about to tell someone about her abilities by her own choice.
"I... I'm different too," she said. "I can do things I shouldn't be able to do. Read minds, move objects with the power of thought. I'm... I'm a mutant."
Silence fell. Jean felt her heart was ready to jump out of her chest. What if she was wrong? What if Scott would now run away from her, as everyone else had done?
But Scott didn't run away. Instead, he slowly reached out and found her hand.
"You're the first person, besides the doctors, who knows," he said quietly. "From my eyes... Beams come out of them. I can't control them. That's why the blindfold."
Jean felt tears welling in her eyes, but this time they were tears of relief and some strange happiness.
"We're not alone," she whispered, squeezing Scott's hand tightly.
"Not alone," Scott echoed, and in his voice Jean heard the same mixture of relief and joy that she felt herself.
In that moment, sitting on old swings in an abandoned park, holding hands, Jean and Scott understood that their lives had changed forever. They were no longer lonely mutants afraid of their abilities. Now they were together, and that changed everything.
The old abandoned house on the outskirts of town became their secret refuge. Jean carefully pushed the creaking door, holding a bag of food and a tattered book.
"Scott?" she called softly, entering the dimly lit room.
"I'm here, Jean," replied the familiar voice from the corner, where Scott sat on an old mattress, still with the blindfold over his eyes.
Jean smiled, coming closer.
"I brought lunch and a new book," she said, sitting down next to him.
Scott turned his head in her direction, smiling faintly.
"You're my savior, Jean. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jean began to lay out the food she had managed to sneak out of her house.
"Well, you'd definitely be starving," she joked, but there was tenderness in her voice. "Here, take a sandwich."
She placed it in Scott's hands, and their fingers touched for a moment. Jean felt her heart beat faster.
"How are your parents?" Scott asked, taking a bite of the sandwich.
Jean sighed.
"The same as always. Mom pretends I don't exist, and Dad... He tries, but I can see how hard it is for him."
Scott found her hand and squeezed it.
"I'm sorry, Jean. You deserve better."
Jean squeezed his hand in return.
"But I have you," she said softly.
After eating, Jean took out the CD player she had brought last time.
"Want to listen to music?"
"Sure," Scott nodded.
Jean turned on the player and shared the earphones between them. They sat, leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, listening to soft melodies. Jean closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of peace and closeness.
When the music ended, Jean took the book.
"Ready for a new chapter?" she asked.
Scott nodded, making himself more comfortable. Jean began to read, her voice echoing through the empty room. She described scenes and characters, trying to make the story come alive for Scott, who couldn't see the pages.
As she read, Scott listened intently. His hand found hers, and their fingers intertwined.
"Jean," he said quietly when she finished the chapter. "Thank you. For all of this. You... you make my life bright, even when I can't see anything."
Jean felt a lump form in her throat.
"Scott," she whispered. "You make my life better too. Here, with you... I feel like I can be myself. My real self."
Memories of recent events at school suddenly flooded Jean. She again felt that horror and helplessness when her abilities went out of control in the park. The faces of frightened classmates, Sarah and her friends, appeared before her eyes again. Jean shuddered, remembering how objects around her flew into the air, how she couldn't stop this chaos.
"Scott," she whispered, her voice trembling, "you're not afraid of me, are you? After what I told you about school... about what happened in the park?"
Scott squeezed her hand tighter.
"Never," he answered confidently. "Jean, you're not a monster. You're just special. Like me. What happened at school... it was an accident. You didn't want to hurt anyone."
Jean felt tears welling in her eyes.
"But what if it happens again? What if I lose control again?"
"Then we'll deal with it together," Scott assured her firmly. "We'll learn to control our abilities. We're not alone anymore, remember?"
Jean nodded, feeling warmth spread in her chest. Maybe together they really could overcome all this. Maybe the incident at school wouldn't define the rest of her life.
She looked at their intertwined hands and realized that for the first time in a long time, she felt truly happy. Here, in this abandoned house, next to a boy who couldn't see her but seemed to understand her better than anyone else, Jean had found her refuge from a world that didn't accept her.
"We'll manage," Scott said confidently. "Together we can get through anything."
Jean nodded, though she knew Scott couldn't see it.
"Together," she repeated, and this word sounded like a promise.
Darkness. Absolute, impenetrable darkness — that's what surrounded Scott Summers every second of his life since he put on the blindfold. But now this darkness seemed especially oppressive.
Scott woke up abruptly, his heart pounding wildly. The darkness, always surrounding him because of the blindfold over his eyes, seemed truly crushing this time. He remembered falling asleep leaning against Jean's legs and listening as she read him another chapter of the book. Now he felt only the cold floor of the abandoned building beneath him.
"Jean?" he called quietly, his voice trembling. He reached out to where he thought she should be. Emptiness.
Panic, so familiar and terrifying, began to build in his chest. Memories flooded him: the feeling of helplessness in the laboratory, loneliness in the truck, fear of being caught. But now a new fear was added to these — the fear of losing Jean, the only person who had accepted him as he was.
"Jean?" he called again, louder this time. Silence was his only answer.
Scott awkwardly got to his feet, his hands shaking. He began to feel the space around him, stumbling and bumping into objects. Each step, each touch of emptiness intensified his fear.
"Jean!" he shouted, no longer hiding the desperation in his voice. "JEAN!"
Thoughts raced feverishly in his head. Maybe she left, realizing how dangerous he was? Maybe he had been found by those people from the laboratory and they had taken Jean? Or worse yet, maybe she just decided to leave him, as everyone else in his life had done?
"Please," he whispered into the void, his voice trembling with unshed tears. "Please, don't leave me."
Suddenly the door creaked. A gust of fresh air burst into the stuffy room.
"Scott? What happened?" Jean's voice was full of concern.
Relief washed over Scott like a wave. He turned sharply toward her voice, nearly losing his balance.
"Jean! You're here... You came back..."
He heard quick steps and in a moment felt Jean's warm hands on his shoulders.
"Of course I'm here. I just went out for a bit... Scott, you're shaking all over!"
Scott took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He felt the warmth of Jean's body nearby, heard her breathing, and gradually the panic receded.
"Come on, let's sit down," Jean gently suggested, carefully guiding him to their makeshift bed of old blankets.
When they sat down, Jean didn't remove her hand from his shoulder.
"Tell me what happened?" she asked quietly.
Scott swallowed.
"I... I had a nightmare," he began. "I woke up, and you weren't here. I called for you, but you didn't answer. I thought..." He fell silent, unable to finish the sentence.
"You thought I left and wouldn't come back," Jean finished for him. Sadness and understanding were heard in her voice.
Scott nodded, feeling both foolish and vulnerable.
"I know it's stupid... It's just... Everyone always left. My parents, my guardian, even those people in the laboratory — they all left me alone. I thought that maybe you too decided I was too dangerous or... just not worth all this."
"Oh, Scott..." Jean pulled him closer, embracing him. "Listen to me. I will never leave you. Do you hear? Never. We're in this together, remember? You're not dangerous, you're special. And you are definitely worth caring for and even more."
Scott leaned into her, feeling the tension gradually leaving his body.
"Thank you, Jean," he whispered. "I... you're everything to me. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jean gently stroked his back.
"I don't know what I'd do without you either, Scott," she admitted quietly. "You're the only one who truly understands me."
They sat like this for some time, finding comfort in each other's presence. Scott felt fear and panic gradually receding, replaced by a feeling of safety and... something else he couldn't yet name.
"Jean?" he said finally.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for coming back."
He couldn't see her smile, but he felt her squeeze his hand.
"I'll always come back, Scott. I promise."