Disclaimer- I do not own X-Men: Evolution.

A/N- This takes place just after Quicksilver moves in with the Brotherhood, so Rogue is still a part of the team.

Also, this is my first first-person point-of-view fic.

This originally was going to be the replacement chapter for the prologe in Blood is Thicker Than Water, but I thought it'd be a nice one-shot too. This will still be the first chapter for BiTTW.

You know, others at school think I'm this rich little prick who has always gotten what he wanted. Total bullshit, if you ask me. I mean, have they even noticed where I lived? In a complete shit hole they call a boarding house with four other losers and some crazy, shape-changing, major psycho-bitch. I admit though, I can be a prick. I can be a complete and utter asshole. Not that I can stop myself.

But that's beside the point. My point is, is that people think I'm an only child from a little rich family who wears brand-name clothes. Another reason to believe that people around you are blind as fuck. Sure, I dress a helluva lot better than the other idiots that I live with. Avalanche has no style at all. Rogue is a moody bitch who wears goth clothing. Blob doesn't really have much of a choice; he's really…rotund to be nice (which is really not like me at all). I'm not even going to go into the territory of Toad.

I hate them. I can't stand them; they never leave me alone. Mystique drills us constantly, breathing down our necks and try to train us to use control. Like I can't control my powers already. I've had plenty of practice with my old man.

Speaking of my "old man", it's his fault I'm here. I only agreed to do what he says so he can spring me from jail. Are they even allowed to put minors in jail? Sure, I'm seventeen and'll be eighteen next year, but c'mon! I get claustrophobic. Do you know how tiny and cramped those cells are? I wanted out! Can you really blame me? Can you really?

At times like these is when I really start to miss Wanda.

Ah, didn't know about my sister, did you? Yeah, she's my twin. Nobody knows about her. Baldy does, we met when we were really little. Mystique might too, I remember glimpsing her when Wanda and me spied on good ol' Dad. Not sure she noticed us though.

Wanda was my constant for our first eleven years. I think I'd be insane if it wasn't for her. No, scratch that. I think I'd be insane sooner if it weren't for her. But she just up and left. Okay, she didn't just "up and left". She was forced to leave. And I stood there and watched while they dragged her away. She was crying and kicking and screaming. Wanda never cried. I'm an imbecile. I really am.

But Father convinced me it was for the best. See how weak minded I am? But she was so out of control. I thought that place would help her. I really did.

I daydreamed of our reunion. She'd be all better and she'd run to me with open arms, laughing joyously as I squeezed the living daylights out of her in a tight embrace. I stopped daydreaming when I was fifteen. I knew she'd never come out of there, and if she did, she'd kill me. And I know I deserve it.

Sometimes I wish someone would kill me, just to end it all. I sure as hell am too cowardly to do it on my own. Who'd put a knife to their wrists? I flinch just thinking about it. Course, there are other ways, but that seems to be the most common way to attempt to do it.

I wonder how she's doing now? I wonder if she knows that I really do miss her. God, I hope she realizes that I really didn't want her to go.

Who am I kidding? She saw me stand there and watch her. I didn't even shed a single tear. Some brother I am. Didn't I swear that I'd protect her? 'Course, when we were little she did the protecting. She was bigger than me. How embarrassing.

But I did promise I'd be there for her. I told her if any boys come a knockin' on the front door looking for her I'd give them the tour of the backyard with a shovel and ask them where they'd like to be buried when I killed them. You probably could have taken care of yourself anyways. I don't know for sure now, though. I don't know how much you've changed the past six years. Guess I'll never know.

It's his entire fault if she's changed. He never cared about us. He cared about our powers. Wanda was his favorite. Then he throws her in some asylum without batting an eye. Some father we have. I don't know why I try so hard to impress him, 'cause it's not working.

Guess being the fastest man alive doesn't count for shit, does it?

But I guess the reason is is because he's my father. We share the same blood after all. Maybe in his own, sick, twisted way he cares about us. Maybe when he abandoned me he went to visit Wanda. I know he didn't, but I can only hope that he's a better father than he was to me.

I had a dream about two years ago. It was about Wanda. It scared the shit out of me. She was in a dark, little room. It was so dark, it scared me shitless. I've never been afraid of the dark. Wanda always has been. God why didn't I help her?

I couldn't see anything, but I could hear soft breathing in the corner. She sat there, in a straightjacket, staring off into space. She looked a mess. I guess someone tried to put makeup on her, but did a shitty job. They could have at least brushed her hair.

If I was her, I'd have gone insane. I'd bang my head on the wall as hard as I could until I knocked myself out. I couldn't stay conscious if moving was restricted like that. Screw brain damage.

I heard footsteps, and a little slot in the door opened, and a tray of food slid in the little cold room. The food looked terrible. It was just a sandwich and a glass of milk. How dull.

I wondered, "How do they expect her to eat if she can't move her arms?"

Her breathing grew heavier. She kinda growled, as if she was angry at something. Then she choked back a sob. She crawled on her knees, slightly off balance, and kneeled in front of the tray.

She was going to bend down and eat like an animal. There was a painful knot in my chest and a lump in my throat. My eyes burned badly. Sweet little Wanda, forced to eat like an untamed beast.

She tried to drink, but she couldn't. She choked on a sob and whispered, "Help me, Pietro."

That's when I started to cry. I walked forward slowly, going on my knees too beside her. I picked up the glass of milk, and brought it to her lips. I tore little pieces of the sandwich and hand fed her. I felt humiliated for her.

It sounds cheesy to say this, but it broke my heart.

When she was done I folded my arms around her small frame. She trembled violently, and I knew she was still crying. I cried with her. I wanted to say how much I missed her, but I couldn't get any words out.

She turned and looked at me with eyes like mine. There was an undying fire in her eyes; they burned with anger and resentment. Loathing. Hurt. I hated it. I wanted to look away from those eyes like mine and run away.

There were still tears trailing down her pale cheeks, but it wasn't as bad. Then her lips moved, and I heard the words-

"I hate you."

That's when I woke up in a cold sweat, with a foreign warm liquid mingling with the sweat on my cheeks. That's when I quit daydreaming about a happy little reunion. Because now I truly knew that she hated me.

I never really think about her much anymore. She's like a constant hum in the back of my mind, dormant for now. Only when I'm really distressed does she come out. Then I push her back in and shut her up. I can't have constant humming. I'd go insane.

Though I think I already am. But that can't be helped right now.

No one can help me. I'm totally lost.

I think I can live without seeing her again. I think I can live without anybody in this damn house or that damn school knowing a thing about her. Not even Daniels knows about her, and he's been my best friend up until two years ago. Then again, I didn't meet him until she left.

It'd be nice to see her, I guess. But like I said, I can live without. I don't think she'd appreciate me seeing her though.

So I'll keep her in the back of my mind like some constant itch or hum that won't stop and only resurfaces at the precise moments. No one will know.

She's like a skeleton in my closet.

We all have skeletons in our closets. And Wanda, my father, the secrets, and all those good times I had with her when we were little are mine.

A/N- Done. Finished.

Like it? Hate it? Either way, review!