AUTHOR NOTE: Hello you lovely people. Welcome to my latest obsession: X-Men. Specifically one amazing Kurt Wagner. I happen to catch the movie on FX a few weeks ago and this story erupted. Now, the actual reason for this note: my story almost completely removes Storm from any important part of the movie. She is still in the story, but most if not all of her parts are going to be morphed to fit my OC into her spot. So, apologies to any Storm lovers (she's one of my favorite characters too, but her and Kurt's interactions were too cute not to steal). Now, ONTO THE STORY!

When I was 12, I got my mother committed to an asylum.

I didn't mean to; in fact, I fought with everything I had to stop it. I attacked the men that came to take her away. I screamed until my voice gave out. I begged. I tried to block the doorway.

But none of that has any affect, when you don't exist.

It started slowly, over the passage of a week.

At first, I thought it was my mom; I thought she was just too out of it to notice I was in the room until after I moved or made a sound. I would sit on the floor, watching the TV with her on the couch behind me, and then I would move or laugh or talk, and she would jump, confused. She wouldn't remember that I had been there the whole time. But she had done that before, on a particularly long break from her medication, and I knew if I could just wait it out, she'd be better by the next dosage.

It didn't get better, though, because next I would have to call out two, three times before she would hear me; usually I resorted to just tapping her arm when I wanted her attention. She would stare down at me, blankly, before smiling and asking what I wanted; she wouldn't remember that I had asked four or five times before tapping her. I worried, concerned for why she was blanking out so often. I thought maybe I should call the doctor or get help from the neighbor lady, Mrs. Maibley. But I knew that my mom never wanted to bother anyone, never wanted anyone to know about her medication, so I decided to continue waiting for her to get better. It would happen soon, I just knew it.

And then came the day I realized it wasn't her; it was me.

I remember that this happened on a Wednesday, because she was supposed to take me to church that night. She stood in the living room, her best, navy blue church dress on, calling my name even though I stood right beside her. She didn't hear me when I told her I was right here. She didn't hear me when I begged her please, please just look at me! She didn't flinch when I slapped her arm as hard as I could, crying for her to notice me, look at me, do something so I would know she saw me. Finally, she gave up and walked out the door, never noticing I was right behind her.

When we got to church, I thought someone would notice my mom wasn't quite right that night. I hoped maybe the preacher would help. I prayed God would help. But, there was no help; the entire church looked over me, spoke through me, never even glanced my way. I spent the service in our pew, praying to Jesus, hoping he would still hear me when the entire world didn't.

The next day, my mother looked right through me, her eyes glazed over and her veins pulsing slowly as they pushed her medication through her body from the needle. I took care of her that day, forcing myself to ignore the way she was so confused when the bowl of soup appeared, or why her favorite blanket was on her when she hadn't gotten it. When she fell asleep finally, I curled up beside her, positive she would wake up fine now that she had taken her medicine.

Friday, she couldn't find me. I spent the first hour following her from room to room, screaming for her to see me. The next hour I sat on the couch, resigned to her not acknowledging me; this would pass- she just needed more time to get over it. I refused to think about how this morning Mrs. Maibley from next door hadn't seen me either when she came over to help my mother look for me. Or that the police didn't see me either, even though I was on the couch, rubbing away tears quietly.

That night my picture was on the news and Momma cried all night.

I didn't sleep that night. I spent all night beside her on the couch, continuously saying Momma Momma Momma hoping, praying, if I said it enough she would hear.

And she did. But after a final search of the house, yelling at me this isn't funny, come out baby, where are you!, she started screaming. She could hear me and she couldn't see me and that drove her crazy.

They came within the hour. A siren from the police; silent stoney faces on the asylum workers. And though I beat at them, though I clawed at their arms and bit them and cried for Momma not to let them take her, she was gone.

And my last memory of my mom was her wide grin and her hoarse voice crooning,

"My baby's invisible. She's here but she ain't."

Professor Xavier found me a year later, in a small shack only three blocks away from the asylum. He was with two ladies, and they came in a shiny black car. While the ladies looked about, Professor Xavier looked right at me by the shack wall and smiled. The reason this is so important is because it was the first time in a year anyone knew I was there.

"Hello, Melaney. My name is Charles Xavier."

"Hello." The two ladies jumped and finally looked towards me, shocked perhaps by thin air speaking. Over the year I had found I could make people hear me if I concentrated extremely hard. "Why are you hear?" I didn't mean to be rude, but making people hear me was hard and caused a terrible headeache if done for too long.

"I am here to offer you my help; I run a school for gifted youngsters, for people like us," he paused to indicate himself and my general area, "for mutants."

I glanced down the block, looking at the towering gray building I could see even though it was three blocks away. "My mother," I say, looking back at him and hoping he will understand.

"Oh yes, your mother. She was admitted around this time last year, wasn't she."

"My fault," I nod, "She could hear me, but she couldn't see." I swallow, the guilt as fresh as that day.

"You blame yourself for your mother's condition?"

Of course I did because it was and I couldn't leave my shack because she may come back out and by then maybe she would be able to see me.

Professor Xavier extended a hand and smiled reassuringly at me, saying kindly, "If you come with me, you will learn how to control your powers, how to be visible to everyone again."

My resolve wavered. I could learn and come back. And my mom would be out and we would be back together. But... my shoulders dropped when I remembered exactly what I had tried to forget. My mother was not going to improve, and so she was not going to get out.

Perhaps sensing my turmoil, Professor Xavier began speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "Melaney, as I said before, I too am a mutant. Where your ability is in remaining undetected, my talent is telepathy; it focuses on the mind. I can hear the thoughts of people, and when required by circumstances, influence the minds of people. In a case as delicate and unique as your own, I believe this is a circumstance that calls for interference. If I made your mother forget the incident that led to her incarceration and send her on a quick release, would you agree to come with me back to the school?"

My mother, always so sweet and loving even while on her medication. Finally, closing my eyes and clenching my teeth, I choked out, "Me. Make her forget me," because I am the reason she is there. She will be happier without me.

Professor Xavier didn't speak for a moment and when he did, it was only a quiet acceptance of my term. My hand barely touched his and he led me towards the car. I took one last look at the building where my mother was hopefully soon leaving and then I got into the car.

And that was my introduction to the world of mutants.

I grew up at the school. Over the next ten years, I learned to control my power, to use it at will and to use it on other, to use it with almost perfect control.

Life could not have been better. I had a family with Ororo, Scott, and Logan. Professor Xavier was the closest thing to a father I ever had. The children never ceased to make me smile. Everything was perfect.

And then the President was attacked, and my life took an abrupt turn.