Fight or Flight
She'd never felt so alone.
People shot murderous glances at her, hatred seeping out their pores and choking her. She wasn't one of them anymore. She had no special power, she was defenseless, a traitor to her own kind.
They just didn't understand. She thought this cure would make her life easier, would make it more worthwhile. Instead, it just brought her pain and rejection. At a safe-haven for mutants, being an ex-mutant was not acceptable. Sure, the teachers tried to preach acceptance. She could see the disapproval in their eyes, but at least it was not hatred.
Some of the children spit on her, others pulled her hair, kicked her shins, tripped her, laughed at her, showing her the same kind of cruelty that humans often showed them. She'd talked to Storm, saying she didn't feel welcome and that she'd like to leave, but Storm reminded her that she had no place else to go, and that she would be welcome as long as she stayed. Those were empty words. Maybe Storm welcomed her, but the majority of the school population didn't.
Only Jubilee stayed by her side, defended her, picked her up off the floor, cleaned off her scraped knees, held her when she cried.
She cried often now. Almost every day. She'd taken to escaping to the woods on the property to get away from the cruelty. She'd collapse on the dirt and pine needles and cried so hard her whole body shook. When she calmed, she downed a shot of bourbon and lit a cigarette. She was up to two packs a day, mostly to calm her nerves, but also to give her aching hands something to grasp onto.
Before, she'd torn at her hair as she screamed, ripping whole chunks out to curb her overwhelming anxiety. Jubilee had helped her part her hair so that the bare patches didn't show.
She looked so tired and so old. Her eyes were ancient, her hands rough and stained yellow from the cigarettes. The bags under her eyes stood out starkly against her pale, translucent skin. She wanted to touch people so badly, but was so anxious and tense that she jumped anytime she made contact. She shied away from any touch, even Jubilee's.
Every night she'd take a shower and scrub at her body hard, until her arms and stomach and legs were raw. She hated her own skin. She hated that her skin had driven her to betray her own kind. She hated that her skin was now a symbol of cowardice. She hated that she was trapped inside it. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red and bleeding, but she couldn't free herself from it.
She missed Logan. He never judged her. He always would kiss away any doubts she had, just a light flutter of his lips against her eyelids. It wasn't bad until he left. She'd never thought to beg him to take her with him. The kids weren't horrible to her then.
She needed him so badly. At night, she'd wrap her arms around herself and pretend they were his. Her scrawny arms would never compare, but it was better than nothing. She drift into sleep and would always be woken by nightmares. Without fail, every night she shot up in bed, terrified at what she'd seen and experienced. Most were his nightmares, but now a few were hers. She dreamed of the day that Bobby had rejected her friendship, how he'd looked her hard in the eyes and told her that he hated what she'd become. She dreamed Magneto's dreams, the bitter loneliness in the Polish camp, his only family ripped away from him.
She tried to convince Storm to let her leave, to give her approval.
"You know I can't do that," Storm said softly. "You can leave whenever you want, we're not holding you here, but I won't ever approve. You have a home here, you know that."
She snorted bitterly. "Some home."
"Rogue, why don't you eat something, calm yourself down. You'll miss lunch." Storms eyes showed kindness, the first she'd experienced in a long time. She nodded, and slipped silently down the hall to the lunchroom.
Everyone had already started their meals and were engaged in deep conversation. The sound of the door slamming behind her caused everyone to look up. The room was silent.
She looked around at all their faces and felt sudden intense fear. They all hated her, they didn't want her there, they'd turn her back over to Magneto if they could, they wished Logan had never saved her. Terrifying thoughts ran through her head as she began to hyperventilate. She ran out the door, crying wildly. She was so dizzy, disoriented. She could breathed so hard it felt like the breaths were doing nothing at all.
She escaped to the woods, failing to hear the sound of a motorcycle coming up the drive.
She was so dizzy, she couldn't run straight and hit a tree, scraping her forehead and hands hard. It didn't stop her, she picked herself up and kept running. She needed to get out of there, she needed sanctuary, she needed love.
If she could make it to the road, she could hitchhike. She had her wallet in her pocket, with about $100 in it. She could catch a train, go north, south, west, anywhere but back to the mansion.
She could hear footsteps following her, catching up to her fast. She began to run harder, breaking into a dead sprint. They can't catch her, they can't make her go back.
"Marie!"
She stopped dead. Logan.
"Marie, what's goin' on? I could smell your fear from miles down the road."
She shook her head, still not turning around to look at him. She collapsed to her knees, her breathing wildly erratic, her eyes still streaming tears. There was a warm trickle down her face. Blood.
There was a hand on her shoulder and she jumped, tensing her whole body.
"Marie, relax, it's OK. It's me. I'm not goin' to hurt you, darlin'." He was kneeling next to her, not touching her. "You're bleeding." He reached out to wipe the blood away and she let him, still not making eye contact. "Marie, what happened? Your fear was so sudden."
She turned her head to look at him, her breathing finally starting to calm down. "I-I don't know," She stammered, her voice hoarse.
He reached out to her shoulder and she tensed slightly, but didn't jump. Her eyes didn't waver, she kept them trained on his. He could read hers like a book. All the fear, anxiety, loneliness, anger, it was all there in her eyes. "Marie-"
She began sobbing harder as he pulled her toward his chest, embracing her tightly.
"I'm going to get blood-"
"Don't you worry about that," He interrupted. She began to relax in his arms, one hand stroking her hair, the other massaging her back lightly. She was so tense, her muscles were like rocks. She smelled different, like tobacco and alcohol mixed with peaches and vanilla. It was a harder scent, one that would belong to an older woman, a rougher woman. He'd seen her eyes. They were ancient. "Shh, it's OK, no one's going to hurt you." What had happened to her? He could feel bare patches on her scalp, prickly where the hair was beginning to grow back in. Her skin was rougher, everything about her so tired.
"They hate me," She said softly.
"What have they done to you?" He pulled her face from his chest and kissed her forehead next to her scrape and mopped up the blood with his sleeve.
She shook her head, her face screwing up again, and new tears erupting from her eyes. He kissed each tear away, his rough hands so gentle on her face.
"I'm not welcome here anymore."
"Storm said you could stay-"
"But I'm not welcome." She shook her head, her muscles tensing again. "They don't understand. I need human contact. I couldn't get that before. And then I was able to and they think I'm a traitor. But all I wanted was to be touched."
He slid his hand down her neck, across her shoulder and down her arm. The skin was so raw and angry under his fingertips. "You're not a traitor."
"Well you're the only one who thinks that." Her voice was bitter and acidic. Her consonants were so biting.
"Marie, you need to relax. That tension's goin' to hurt you. C'mon, I'll draw you a bath or somethin'."
She shook her head, more tears slipping out. "I can't go back. I can't face them."
"I won't let anything happen. I'll take care of you." She shook her head weakly in protest, but allowed him to pick her up. She closed her eyes and leaned her temple against his shoulder. His heart was beating so quickly. He smelled the same, that mixture of tobacco and pine. "Do you need to see a doctor?"
"No! No doctors."
"Marie, you just had a fuckin' panic attack, goin' to a doctor might help."
She tightened her arms around his neck. "No, I'd feel better with you."
He was grateful that Marie's roommates were out, and laid her on her bed, wrapping a blanket around her. He drew her a bath that smelled like roses. As she began to undress, he turned to leave.
"No! No, don't leave me."
There was a pleading in her voice. "Marie...I-OK, I'll stay. I won't leave you."
She undressed with no modesty and crawled into the bath.
"Just relax, Marie. Everything will be fine."
Seeing her bare skin startled him. It wasn't just her arms that were so raw, it was her whole body, as if she'd tried to scrape the skin off of her.
"Marie, what did you do to yourself?"
She looked up at him with sad eyes and didn't answer. Her body started to relax. Relieved, he squirted some shampoo into his hand and began massaging it through her wet hair. He massaged her scalp, trying to relax every muscle of hers that he could. His hands traveled down to her shoulders. She winced as he tried to work the knot out. She lay back and began to rinse the suds out of her hair.
As she washed herself, he searched through the medicine cabinet. "I need to rinse out those scrapes, darlin'. I don't want them to get infected." He wet a tissue and rubbed it gently over her forehead. She winced a little, but knew it was for the best. She stood up and drained the water, stepping into the towel he held out for her. He dried her hands first, and cleaned out the scrapes on her hands, wrapping them in gauze.
She curled up on her bed. Everything hurt, but it hurt less to know that Logan would take care of her. She smiled at him as he rubbed lotion on her red, inflamed skin, taking special care on her back, massaging the tension out of her muscles.
"Logan, I can't stay here."
"Come with me then. I'm leaving in a few days."
"I'd love that." Her lips stretched into a big smile, the first real smile that had been on her face in months. Dropping the towel, she pulled on her soft nightgown and crawled into her bed.
"Go to sleep, kid." She felt warm hearing his old nickname for her. "You need it. Just relax, I'll be right here."
"Lie with me," She pleaded, scooting over to make room. He obliged, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She nestled her face up to his neck and breathed deeply. "I missed you."
"I missed you too. I'll never let anything happen to you."
"I know. That's why I love you."
He pulled her tighter. "Go to sleep, kid," he said gruffly. "I'll be here when you wake up."
A/N: Just kind of a quick query, does anyone think that Logan probably has PTSD? The nightmares, lack of memory of the event, flashbacks, the emotional detachment before he picked Marie up. Just a theory, but it seems pretty plausible.