Title: Sometimes It Hurts
Author: Estonia Lockhart, or more commonly known as Gwynje
Disclaimer: Never will own them. Too bad- it would have been fun.
A/N: This is what comes out when you listen to Stabbing Westward long enough. This is my interpretation of the song, even though it's about divorce and all... I have an ending set up and everything, I have just have tweak it in a few spots. I thought of it while I was at my grandma's Saturday...
Feedback: Pretty please with cherries on top?
Darkness set over the mansion, but a man, dressed in vintage jeans, a dark flannel shirt, and an oversized buckle still stood outside the gates, his large hands gripping the bars as if he'd just been shut out of heaven. The sun disappeared at the horizon line, finally hiding the road that had held his deep hazel eyes captive for so long. She was gone, gone beyond the road now disclosed from his eyes, and he had no idea if she was ever coming back.
Even after the moon had risen in its nightly glory, bathing his face in the beams of light, he didn't move, didn't stir, just gazed into the darkness, his heart exploding in his chest.
She was gone.
Finally, Hank had to come out to the gate and slowly pry the man's fingers from the iron bars. He was instantly flung through the air, landing hard on his backside in the dirt. But, Logan didn't run back to the gate, only stomped off toward the woods, his hands balled tightly into fists.
Dr. Jean Grey shut her eyes tightly, feeling the sharp jab of guilt stab her in the pit of her stomach. Then they opened again, glistening with stillborn tears as she saw Logan march away from the gate, heading in the direction of the woods. The room she was standing in, even the window she was gazing out of seemed to reproach her by sending a cool chill down her shoulders, causing her to shudder. It was Logan's room, and Jean's freshly packed suitcase sat in the doorway, seeming to be alienated from the rest of the room. Finally, a tear fell as she realized she would have to take them out again, back to her room alone. There was no way Logan would want her there now. No way.
Her chin trembled as a deep sob exploded from her mouth, almost choking her. Shoulders shuddering, Jean backed away from the window, burying her face into her hands. The suitcase sitting in the doorway was a bitter reminder of what she had gained- and lost in the time of so few hours, and it was the only object she could rest on, stifling her tears with her hands.
Rogue shut her eyes, only to open them again as a car horn blasted through her ears. Quickly regaining control of the wheel, she guided the jeep over to the R&R section, and killed the engine, breathing steadily. She'd done it; she'd left the mansion. But, what happened to the elated feeling of independence and liberation that she had expected would overwhelm her on the road? All she felt now was empty- and alone. Part of her wanted to turn around and drive back to the school, and apologize for making them worry. Another part of her wanted to keep going, keep plodding steadily on and make a way for herself. Her chest heaved dangerously, but she didn't cry; there was time for that later. Now, she had to convince herself to turn the engine back on.
She wasn't running, because there was no one to chase her. No, she was just leaving, trying to find her place in the world. The eerie silence of night surrounded the car, automobiles whooshing by her on the highway. They had a destination, they had a plan. But, this had been more or less spontaneous. The real question was, not where was she going, but what she was getting away from.
That morning, the rumor that Jean was moving into Logan's room had circulated around the mansion like wildfire. It had almost been expected; Jean had broken it off with Scott months before so that she could date Logan without a guilty conscience. When Rogue had first heard it, she didn't- couldn't believe it until she saw Jean in her room packing. She'd thought she could handle it, if it had ever come to this. These past few weeks, she'd been preparing herself for anything that could happen between Jean and Logan. But, she couldn't cope with it, no matter how much she tried to persuade herself otherwise. The thought of Jean moving her clothes into Logan's dresser, brushing her teeth in Logan's bathroom, sleeping in Logan's bed with her fingers curled over his waist blew her heart into tiny pieces, fragile bits of broken glass. The suitcase- that had given her the idea, the desire to leave. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she couldn't stay there watching Logan and Jean become even more like a couple and maintain her sanity at the same time. So, she'd run.
Logan had found her in the garage, heaving duffel bags and a backpack into the trunk of her jeep, the same jeep the staff of the mansion had bought for her on her nineteenth birthday. He'd been silent at first, just staring at her as she'd climbed into the driver's seat.
'Hey, kid. Going somewhere?'
That had been all he'd said, just gazing at her intently, as if relaying a deeper message than the one he'd spoken. Rogue had shrugged, avoiding his gaze. 'I'm leaving, Logan.'
How long had it taken him to answer after that? It had seemed like years to her, the time dragging on endlessly as she'd waited for a reply. She'd almost given up, jamming the keys into the ignition when he'd spoken up again, but this time he was closer, his hands almost touching the door.
"Why?"
His short, clipped questions had annoyed her, making her feel as if he was only asking in the role of duty. That's why she'd decided to reply with the same iciness, but when she'd finally gazed at him, witnessing the softened and pained expression on his face, she couldn't bring herself to be cold toward him.
"I need a change," she'd replied, shifting guiltily in her seat.
He'd stopped staring at her then, only ducked his head and scuffed his shoe in the gravel. "You'll be back though, right?" There it'd been again; that imploring gaze, earnest and sad. Rogue couldn't help but wonder if that was how she looked whenever he left.
Fingers tightening on the steering wheel, Rogue could only imagine coming back years from now. Most likely, Jean and Logan would be married, and have a child. Could she bear coming home to find matching wedding bands on their fingers, and a beautiful infant with light red hair, and Logan's hazel eyes? Even the thought of it pained her, wrenched sharply at something in her chest. No. She couldn't.
"No," she'd replied honestly, turning her face away from him. "Probably not." Feeling the tears already burning her cheeks, she'd hurriedly turned the key, bringing the engine to life. "I'm sorry, Logan," she'd cried over the engine, hastily wiping away at the tears. "Goodbye."
Not daring to risk another look at him, knowing it would break her resolve, she backed out of the garage a little too quickly, head jerking forward with the abrupt speed. Logan had walked after her, she remembered, as she'd driven down to the gate. He hadn't chased after the jeep, screaming her name- he'd merely followed quietly, his hands in his pockets, his face dark and unreadable. As the gates to the mansion had closed behind her, she could still see him through the rearview mirror, right behind her, his hands lifting to the iron bars, gripping them in his hand.
Rogue lifted her head from her hands, and gazed dully out the window, the bright lights of passing cars flying past her eyes. She could still go on; after all, she'd gone this far. Taking the car out of the parking gear and resurging the engine, Rogue pulled out of the R&R, her eyes glued straight ahead.
Jean shuddered, feeling the light from the hallway blocked. Rising slowly from the suitcase, she turned and gazed expectantly at Logan, the remnants of tears apparent on her face. He didn't say anything, only stood in the shadowy doorway, staring blankly at her suitcase in the middle of his floor.
"Logan," she breathed shakily, filling the long silence. It would be better if she just got it over with. "I- If," she stopped, trying to regain control over her breaking voice. Logan didn't say a word, hadn't even made an indication that he'd heard her. She continued anyway. "If you want me to go, I- I'll understand." To show she meant it, Jean leaned over and clutched the handle of her suitcase firmly in her hands, about to raise it in the air.
Now, his dark hazel eyes rose slowly to her face, as if taking her in for the first time. But, there was a coolness in them that hadn't been there this morning. "No," he said quietly, placing his hand over the suitcase, forcing it back down to the ground. "Stay." His tone was cold and indifferent, void of any sign of his true emotion.
A feeling of hope flowed through Jean, and she couldn't keep back a relieved smile on her lips. Yet- at the same time, another emotion inched its way into her heart, nudging aside her relief and causing a distinct shiver to run over her back. By the fierce way Logan was gazing at her, as if she didn't exist and was only a nightmare to be delt with, she knew what it was she felt- fear.
Logan inched through the doorway, his shoulders falling considerably. He wasn't drunk - his healing mutation hardly allowed him that pleasure - but, he was buzzed enough to be angry and slightly out of reason. A new smell had encroached his room, filling it with a strong scent of peppermint. It smelled and felt so wrong. It shouldn't be here.
His eyes caught a slight movement from his bed. The sleeping form of Jean curled up in his sheets, her dark red hair sprawled across the pillows- made him sick to his stomach. He'd trade it all, peppermint and red hair - if only he could have her back- the doe brown eyes and dark brown hair with the platinum streaks raining in the front. He felt full of wasted air, as if at any moment he would deflate and crumple to the ground into a small ball of nothingness. Just seconds before he'd walked down the hallway, making his way steadily back to his room- he could feel the hollowness of her room under his feet, detect the faint scent of cinnamon tormenting his nose with its incapacity, hear the wind whistling against the bare walls, ricocheting off the empty bed.
'I need a change'.
Her words echoed through his brain over and over again, along with 'Goodbye.' Surprisingly, he'd never expected this, never even thought that after all the years he'd been coming and going, he'd be the one left behind the gate, staring after her as she drove down the road, leaving him alone. Is this how she felt every time I left? He hated himself then, for leaving her constantly all those years, never writing- never anything. But, this was different. She wasn't coming back. The way she had said, 'No, Probably not,' was so definite, he felt in his gut that she meant it; she wasn't coming back.
But, why? There had to be a reason why she had packed up so suddenly and driven off without really intending to say goodbye to anyone. He'd agonized over this again and again; why had she left? The only obvious thought that made its way into his mind was Jean. Only when, after all the prompting and suggesting, he'd agreed to share a room with Jean, had she left. Only when Jean had come into his life, had she started pulling away. And, now she was gone. He couldn't wake up in the morning, go down into the cafeteria and greet her with a smile, loving the way she smiled back at him- making him feel so... at ease and wanted. He looked forward to seeing her, watching her live, breathe, and grow right before his eyes. It was as if he was watching the manifestation of a long tended to rose, finally emerging from the bud and blooming perfectly, radiating happiness from all who laid eyes upon it. But, now she was gone, and Jean was in his bed.
Easing toward the side of the mattress, he couldn't help but feel an acrid rage burn within him as he gazed at the woman with red hair, pouty lips, and smoky gray eyes. For some reason, he'd given up Marie for this woman, whether he'd known it or not. Because of her, Marie was out somewhere in the world without him, living without him, smiling without him to see.
Unconsciously, a single claw protruded from his knuckle without hesitation, reaching out in the darkness. Only when the light reflected off of the metal did he realize it had been drawn, and then he knew why. Moving in a mechanical motion, he leaned over Jean and lifted the claw toward her face, pausing mere inches above the flawless white flesh. Sweat broke out across his forehead, dotting his eyebrows. Maybe- maybe if Jean wasn't there... Marie would come back. And, if she didn't...
The sharp edge moved closer, the point indenting the skin at her cheek. Jean's eyes snapped opened, widening as she stared down the long nine inch claws looming up in her line of vision. Her head hurriedly jerked back, and she scrambled out of bed, staring in horror as Logan kneeled helplessly on the bed, his bloodshot eyes following her every movement.
Lifting her hands to her cheek, she felt warm and sticky liquid leak between her fingers. Drawing her hand back again, she stared in shock at the blood, her mouth falling open. He'd tried to kill her. "Logan.." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible as the wind whipped past the window. Dark blood stained her fingers, and finally her eyes raised to his face. "What-?"
She stopped, leaning up against the wall in fear as Logan leaped off the bed, his claw finally retreating back into the flesh. "I'm sorry," he muttered, staring at her sullied fingers, his arms hanging limply by his side. "It was an accident."
Jean shook her head, and felt her shoulders begin to tremble. "No, Logan" she replied, her voice shaking. "You were trying to..." she trailed off, unable to say it. He had meant to kill her.
Logan didn't deny it, but his deep hazel eyes bored into hers, freezing her to the spot. "I was trying to wake you up," he murmured, his eyes clouding over as he looked away. "It was an accident."
She opened her mouth to protest, but Logan stepped closer and lifted his finger to her lips. "It was an accident," he repeated, now tracing her trembling shoulders with his fingers. He knew she was afraid; he could hear the wild heartbeat of her heart, but that pleased him. The gesture wasn't gentle; it was taunting, overlording- domineering. Avoiding her eyes, he instead led her to the bed, pulling her roughly by the wrist. He wanted to hurt her, wanted her to feel the same pain he was feeling because Marie was gone. Share the agony. Ripping the slip from Jean's body, he began the pain of torture.