Summary: A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and all she does. It's a series of short stories based on a slightly different take of the Rogue. Rated M for drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicidal tendencies. Slight Romy. "Because it was all for the attention."

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep.

On With the Show!!!!

Attention Addiction

Chapter 1

It starts in the morning.

The covers are tangled around my body. My boxers are twisted and riding up places they shouldn't. My tank-top's half way up my torso. I wake up feeling like the devil is chasing me. Funny thing is, sometimes he is. Those little demons inside my head bitch and moan so much at night, attacking me with their persona that I don't realize I'm stuck in my own head dreaming. Its okay on some nights; they at least have the courtesy of waking me up from their own nightmares. If not their nightmares, mine.

I have a hangover again. It must have been from all those shots I was taking in my room last night. I've realized that Jack is my only friend at times. He's the only one who gets me through the night's crash. The combination of those shots and those voices however weren't doing too well together this morning. My head's pounding and I feel sick. I can't vomit. There's nothing there to vomit besides all of the alcohol I consumed last night. I don't remember the last time I ate, or the last time I felt the need to eat.

It's dawn right now. I see the horrible sun creeping up over the stone cold hedge of the Mansion's barriers. I hear those birds whining again. As I step outside I comprehend the biting cold of New York's fall weather. I'm only wearing a tank top and rolled up boxers. I can't feel the cold, however. It's so hot outside. I'm sweating and panting. Hyperventilating.

I feel shaky. My head's closing in on me and the world is getting so small. My arms are trembling and my feet are numb. I'm cold and sweaty and itchy. It isn't from the cold though. I know what it's from.

I reveal to the world the tiny baggie of white powder from behind my back, a beat-up playing card I got from some guy in the Mansion, a razor blade, and the casing to a pen. I sit on my balcony's cold cement Indian style and ready myself.

I begin my daily process: I pour a small amount of the white powder on to one card, measuring it out almost to the grain. I take the razor blade and line the powder up in a nearly perfect straight line. I smile and hum to myself, taking the pen casing in one hand and using my other to plug up one nostril.

One thing the danger room has been good for is building my lung capacity. I take the line in one straight snort and revel in the feeling of the burning sensation of the white particles invading my sinuses. My eyes water slightly, but they always do that for a few seconds after. My vision clears and I breathe deeper, clearing any remaining powder in my nostrils. I lie back on the cold cement and give up my gaze up to the light sky.

I wait for the numbing sensation that started in my head to travel down the length of my body. I can feel an anesthetized shiver run down my spine and my head becomes light and fuzzy, but active and simulated. I wanted to get up and sprint somewhere, to get up off this balcony, to go on to the roof and try flying. I want to do anything.

But I lie still and gaze at the morning sky. I don't blink. The clear morning was moving- or was I? I floated. Did I actually? I don't know. I can never tell. The next thing I realize is I'm standing up. This euphoria, this high that I'm on… I feel blurred together, like I could just evaporate into the breeze at will and twirl around in circles.

It's not the first time I've done it. God no. Today's just a normal day. I took a little more coke than usual today, but it's a normal morning routine. No matter what I do now, I won't feel or care about a thing. All of the voices in my head will still talk, but I won't care. They'll be muted and so quiet that if I care or imagine long enough, I can make a little tune inside my head with their whispers. But then, I'll sing it in the middle of class, and everyone will think I'm crazier. We can't have that now, can we? That would only draw more attention to me.

I lie on my bed for a while. I don't realize how much time has passed since I snorted. All I know is the feeling of apathy and intoxication.

Kitty comes in my room. I just stare at her. Who is she again?

"You haven't woken up for school yet?!" I've woken up, but just not for school. I don't say anything to her. I don't feel like moving my lips. I feel like laughing. So I do.

"What's your problem?"

If she only knew.

I get up. Somehow I make it downstairs fully dressed and make-upped. I have my usual "scowl" on. It's not actually a scowl as many of the inhabitants like to think; I consider it my high face. It's funny; everyone always whispers I'm not a morning person. Well I'm not- when I'm on a withdrawal. When I'm high, I just don't care. So on either day, I won't speak to anyone.

I don't speak to anyone as I make my way to the coffee maker. I pour myself the last (and reserved) cup of black coffee. And down the whole thing. I feel eyes on me, specifically those of Logan, Kurt, and Kitty. Do I care?

No. Not in the least. Let them stare. I do this every morning. No sugar, no cream (because they make the hang-over worse). Straight black coffee not only kills the hangover, but kisses my coke high with more caffeine. I will say that normally, I do tend to enjoy and savor my coffee a little more; today's circumstances call for dire measures. I still felt the low hum of the hangover and I knew I needed to look like I was awake.

Kitty asked me something. If I was feeling okay, I think.

"Yeah, Ah'm jus fine," I waved her away.

"You look kinda tired."

"Late night."

I saw the look Logan gave me. He sniffed. He was trying to see if I was lying. I wasn't lying. I just wasn't telling the whole truth. The speed I got last night gave me a bad trip. I had an anxiety attack a couple of hours after I snorted, so I decided to take shots and smoke outside to ease my discomfort. It wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but I've done worse.

Logan couldn't have caught me on anything. I hadn't smoked since last night; with him smoking on his cigar all the fucking time outside anyways, I could just say the outside smell got on me. I know exactly when he smokes during the day; Psyche Logan often craves during certain times of the day- and I'm always ready to oblige.

"Do you vant something before ve leave?" Kurt asks me.

"Nah, Ah'm alright."

The beauty of cocaine is that it suppresses hunger. I don't remember the last time I've eaten. I don't remember the last time I've been hungry. All I need to survive now is a cup of coffee in the morning, a couple of bathroom breaks for water during school, some ciggs, and alcohol. I don't care how much weight I've lost; I don't care how it's getting harder and harder to make up excuses not to go to dinner; I don't care how it's partially hard to go to sleep because of the lack of food in my stomach. All of these primal needs can be thrown out the window with a smoke or a snort.

I don't remember how I got to school. For all I care, which I don't, I could have flew or something. There are some fuzzy memories with Kitty in it, but only of her flipping her hair and smacking her gum. I think I had some kind of conversation with Kurt, because I can still hear his voice repeating, "You look kind of pale, mein schwester." If my response made any sense to the outside world, it would have been "Ah'm fine, Ah swear. Now jeez, stop badgerin' meh."

It was the beginning of my day. I had six periods to go. I'm standing in front of the school.

Have you ever had a moment where what you see just doesn't feel right? Like you are watching your body mechanically move from the inside of your head? I'm starting to black out into my own head again. By black out I mean, the psyches are trying to drag me into my own head and lock me away. It's not so fun. I had it happen once and I found myself about to stab Logan with a kitchen knife. I think Psyche Sabertooth was mad because I didn't grow nails, thus the kitchen knife. I stopped before he noticed though.

I feel myself drowning in some black abyss of memories. A flash of something works its way into my head. I pull myself out and back into my body. By the time I do, I'm sitting in first period with all my crap on my desk.

This is the beginning of a bad trip.

I don't normally have bad trips. I'm the type to be lost in a euphoric trip, a nice, floating trip. I only have a bad trip when the psyches get involved. When all of them are ganged up on me, they get me a little paranoid and anxious. They have a tendency to give me little "presents." They're self-explosive presents. They tend to send their memories to me and those memories blow up in my face. It's like having a nightmare during the day. A daymare, if you will. It feels like the real thing- and it scares the shit out of me. I don't like their presents.

So here I am. In first period. I feel a little spout of anxiety sent my way. Being on coke and receiving an anxiety attack is like taking two Adderalls when you don't have ADD. You become paranoid and anxious and sweaty and hyperactive. You focus on everything in front of you and you swear you see shadow people. You feel like jumping out of your skin and screaming and ripping your hair out. You feel like you're positively dying.

I'm positively dying. My hands were shaking and I can't help but keep a locked gaze on the clock. I only see it move every five minutes. It's on the five one second, and then it switches to 10, then to 15. Out of my peripheral, I see the shadows of people seizuring and melding together. Something's not right here.

Someone shakes me. It's Kitty. The bells rang. Why am I not leaving?

Presently, I don't know. I don't remember the bell ringing. So I leave.

"Are you alright?"

"Yea, jus kinda dazed."

I'm perfectly fine. Why, yes in fact, I do feel a little dazed. But it's okay. That means its working.

I see the hoards and hoards of idiots rush past me. I'm at a nice gait. They point and stare and whisper. I jump out at them, whispering nonsense, and giving them the finger. They all think I'm a Satanist anyways and they know I'm a mutant; why not scare them with the southern voodoo? Under normal, sober circumstances, I wouldn't consider giving them the time. Today, I'm feeling outspoken. When one is high, this is not often a good thing.

In dealing with high people you have three different types. You have the normal one, the one who doesn't say anything. They're the type that can get away with anything. They can always blame their silence on sadness, thinking, or just being tired. They're the lucky ones.

Then you have the lively ones. The ones who, at a social gather of some sort like school or parties, they are the life of it. They're acting more strange than usual. These druggies can also somewhat get away with murder as well. "I'm hyper!" they can usually say, or "I'm happy!"

Then you have me. When I'm high and out there and social, it's scary. I supposedly get this maniac glint in my eyes. I'm eviler than normal. I'm more daring. I get cocky, annoying, and fanatical. I laugh in the middle of class; I joke with people I'd never even talk to; I'm rude; frankly, I give myself a lot more attention that I'd ever need.

So here I am in my high and soaring glory, smirking at the world, jumping at the swarm of maggots who stare. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to be high and go to school. Or, not in my case, anyways. Teachers passing in the hall gave me an eye. I gave them the finger and a laugh. Kitty and Kurt passed by and tried to stop me.

"Rogue, like, what's wrong with you today?"

"Ja, you're being really out there…"

And my reply?

"Sorrah kiddies, but Ah've got a joint in mah bra and it's about time to go an' use it." I struggled out of their grip and half stumbled my way through the halls towards the bathroom.

If the Kitty/Kurt combo inside my head was begging me to go to my next class, I can only imagine the reactions of the real Kitty and Kurt had I stayed long enough for their reactions. I don't mean to get these reactions; it just kind of oozed out of my mouth before I could screen it.

Plus, the anxiety attack I was suffering through needed something bad to ease the seizure. Drinking my coffee too fast gave me a head-on collision of caffeine. I really did need to smoke some of it out. No big, though. The only downfall of smoking right now is the hunger factor; I might feel hungry during class. Sacrifices, I suppose.

I took a stroll down the hall, as to avoid the psyches' urge to go to class. I strolled through the late bell (gasp!) and sauntered in the girls (or was it boys?) bathroom. I glared at a girl who rushed out of a stall. Poor girl, afraid of being late to class; if only I had the heart to tell her it didn't matter. Or that she had her Gucci thong hanging over her jeans. Oh well. The girl started washing her hands on the outer sink of three; I decided in my high wonder that I wanted to make friends. I hopped on the sink right next to her, leaning against the faucet and mirror. It was a little damp, but fuck it. Shit dries. I leaned on the mirror and just smiled at her as she lathered. It wasn't a genuine, Let's-Be-Friends smile; it was an I'm-Going-To-Eat-You smile. It was a good smile, really. I grinned my best grin and widened my eyes slightly- you know, like a platter of desserts in shoved in front of you face. She wasn't a good dessert, however. She looked at me like I was a lesbian about to rape her. I would hardly; preps aren't my type.

"What?" She asked defensively. I smiled wider.

"Your thong's hanging out, baby cakes." I internally rolled my eyes. How Todd's mannerisms manifested without me hearing his psyche is beyond me. The girl was dismayed.

"Freak," she spat at me. Well, she obviously recognized me as the "mutie freak." She grabbed some paper towels and stalked out of the bathroom somewhat calmly.

"I'm a freak for you, baby!" I shouted out as the door swung closed. I laughed hysterically. Some people…

I breathed a sigh of relief. Alone at last. I pulled out the poorly rolled joint. I swear, that's the last time I entertain a psyche's idea on how to roll a joint. I pulled out the lighter from my boots. Boots, I've realized through many drug adventures through the Mansion, are very handy for hiding stuff in. I put the joint in my mouth and lit it. Oh such sweet, weedy taste. Only few things are better than the smell of weed. Personally, I prefer the smell in a concert or on my balcony; bathroom flavored weed isn't so sweet. Beggars can't be choosers. Weed is weed and I love it.

I sat on the sink and inhaled; the scratchy feeling down my throat was only so much of a hindrance; it couldn't stop me from enjoying the calming effects. A few hits of my joint and I was good to go. My mind was cleared, my body was relaxed. The psyches weren't going haywire, or if they were, I just couldn't feel anything because my head was too fuzzy. I finished the joint and washed the end down the drain. I hopped off the sink and did a 180. I saluted the girl in the mirror and marched down to the class I was supposed to be in. I thought better of it, and just went to my locker. I thought the bell was supposed to ring, so I just stayed.

It rang sometime later; I was too busy laughing at some shit to care. I started caring when I felt someone tap my arm. Kitty. She was an angry kitty. I smiled.

"Rogue! What's your problem! You're in school!"

"Yea, so?"

"How stupid could you be?!"

"Actually, this was one of the smarter choices Ah made."

"Compared to what?!"

I laughed. "Ah've done worse."

To put it lightly, she was horrified.

I don't remember most of the classes I went through. Somehow I made it through lunch, strung out and drunk on panda glory. I saw Kurt and Kitty trying to get my attention through my peripheral. Eh, another day. I had a mission today. I was out of drugs and I needed some for tonight. Tonight was party night. Tonight, I was going to get slammed. But first, I needed some supplies.

I went to my normal tree, the one I sit behind every lunch. When I was still a faithful X-Man, I would listen to music, read and sulk, like a normal angsty teenager. But now I'm a big girl. I sit behind the tree and smoke. It gets rid of the hunger produced by the weed and not eating in a couple of days. Today, my tree was the meeting spot of my drug dealer.

I waited briefly. I saw my dealer come from behind the fence's trees and meet at mine. He came close and gave me a hug. It was welcomingly received.

"How you holdin' up, Rogue?' Lance asked.

"Oh, ya know, voices still bothering meh. The coke ya gave me last week worked and the weed was beautiful. Ah'm still riding on both of them."

Lance smiled smugly. "I can tell."

"So. What do ya got today?"

"Well, I got a couple of wet ones, some cocaine, and an eight ball some guy didn't pick up."

I moaned. How perfect. "So tempting…" I leaned against the tree and banged my head. I only had so much money.

"How bout I make you a deal?" He looked devilish.

"Keep it comin', sugah," I coaxed, motioning him closer. I sensed some people coming by.

"Take the wet ones off my hands." He spoke quietly.

"No problem there." I purred, smiling to his strong face. I handed him his usual amount. He flipped out a small baggie with three specially made, dipped joints in it. I took them out of the baggie. Lance took them out of my hand, and stuffed them in my bra himself.

"Looks like someone remembers mah hidin' spot." I swear, he smirked like Pietro.

"I have a feeling you're partying tonight," he mused.

"Got it in one."

"You need party drugs."

"Damn skippy Ah do." My lips curled in a hungry smile. "What's ya offer?"

"I'll give you the eight ball, for a small, quick price…" he whispered in my ear, playing with a lock of my hair. I smirked at his offer. Oh, that Lance.

"You know mah rules, sugah."

"You still riding high?"

"Of course."

"Good."

I felt his hands on my hips, squaring me with him. He drew into me, pinning me against the tree from the leering eyes of others, and kissed my neck, nipping at it. I could already feel him through his jeans. One hand reached around me and groped my ass, drawing me closer to him. The other hand touched the skin on my stomach and slowly reached up. His lips kissed the way up my neck and finally reached my lips. I know there's going to be red marks where he nibbled. He kissed me sloppily; he bit my lip and tugged at it to open my mouth more, squeezing me to comply. Who was I to deny? He thrust his tongue in my mouth and I half-assed him, hardly doing anything as he touched me.

His hand reached up my stomach and met my bra. He stroked there before plunging up and grabbing my chest and fondling it. I could barely register his hands were cold. I felt his other hand reach in front of my skirt and start to lift it up. His warm hand stroked the inside of my thighs, then began petting me through the little thong I had on. I felt little tingles where he touched. I could feel his fingers move my thong and circle around my entrance.

"Please, Rogue?" he begged, moving his fingers faster around my clit. Stupid asshole. He knows what that does to me.

"Lance," I began warningly.

The bell rang.

That's right. I'm still in school. In broad fucking daylight and I'm getting sexed up by a drug dealer who's not even supposed to be in a fucking mile radius of this shit-hole school. I'm a genius.

He got off of me. "You're a tease," he grumbled.

"Not a tease," I purred. I slid my hand in his jean pocket and pulled out my reward, making sure to rub against his obvious member. "Ah'm just an addict." I leaned up and kissed him before walking away.

I laugh as I put the speed in my bra. What? Did you actually think I would go that far for drugs? Well. I can't blame you. I probably would if I was broke and really needed a fix. Or if it was anyone else but Lance. I couldn't do it with Lance. Not that I wouldn't want to, but last time I almost did, Kitty erupted from my drug fog and about killed me. So forgive me and my moral-less morals; it doesn't matter if it's a friend or not, I'd still hit it and quit it for drugs.

I walked into the crowded hallways. People stared as I flipped them off. I knew I looked like sex. After a scene like that, who doesn't? But the weed makes you not care. It makes you float. It makes you laugh. So I was doing all three. I walked up to my locker, I think. Kitty again. I swear, she's my school protector. If I'm not where she is, she flips out. And I think, if in my fog I am not mistaken, she was flipping out.

"You look like you just had crazy sex! What have you been doing?!" She reached up and fixed my hair, patting it down and combing it through. I laughed.

"All in a day's work? Fooling you alllll…" I made squiggles with my hands. "Maybe I can really touch, maybe I have mad sex all the time!" I laughed. It wasn't the total truth… the last part was a lie. I don't go having sex all the time. Ah, weed and coke makes things so funny.

"Rogue!"

"Wha?"

She sighed. "I'll see you after school."

By after school, did she mean at the Mansion? Because that's where I think I'm at.

I'm outside. I am no longer in the bathroom smoking that wet joint. I finished it and I'm outside, in a forest I think by the Mansion. Correction. I am at the Mansion. I can clearly see my room from here. But do I really want to go?

Too late! I think Kurt might have taken over and ported me to my room. Or I walked. That too.

I'm on my bed, lying face up, about to fall off the bed. But do I care? Noo… The hallucinations my joint gave me are too pretty to care. The colors swirling above my head are fantastical. I think Jubilee may be playing with fireworks again, that's how magical they are. They're like little butterflies, or fireflies, or something. They're dancing and I'm smiling.

The shadows are swirling above my head. They're jumping out at me, clawing and clamping and biting. Shadow people. They're all looking at me. Tell them to stop looking at me. I want none of them, none of their attention. I don't need it. I'm fine on my own. All I need are these magical colors that are floating like fireflies about to die. Because each little color is me. I'm just floating around, minding my own business.

The shadows aren't leaving me alone. They're fucking eating my colored friends. And they see me. And they know I have no friends, nothing to rely on, nothing to stop them from eating me.

They all join as one monster shadow and envelope me in their darkness.

I think this is the part in my hallucinations where the psyches drag me in and lock me in my memories. Today, I am taken to the old me. The old me that sat behind my tree and read lonely, angsty books like a lonely, angsty girl should. My head hurt from the psyches. The aspirin I took in the morning had no effect. It stopped having an effect months ago, but if I upped the dosage any more, I might classify as overdosing. I couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. The Prof knew and involved Dr. McCoy. Logan knew, Ororo knew. The adults knew. Kitty and Kurt knew. I think Jean knew, only because she "cared" like that. Everyone knew, but nobody really knew. Nobody could really do anything.

I sat behind my tree. I put my head down. They were yelling and screaming and talking and bouncing off the fucking walls.

I felt someone come up next to me and sit. I remember thinking if it was Kitty or Kurt I would bash their heads in. They had already asked me enough questions today to reach their quota for the week. But it wasn't them.

It was Lance. I smiled weakly at him. We hadn't talked in a while, mainly because of the Kitty relationship. But we were close friends, going through the same stuff as kids and shit. His powers gave him headaches too; well, that is, until he started mastering them. He understood, to a certain extent.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Nothin's workin' anymore."

"They give you anything?"

"Besides a fucking bottle of aspirin? Fuck no."

"Have you tried anything else?"

"Tried vicodin once. Didn't work. Anti-anxiety. Sleepin' pills only made the nightmares come back. Ain't nothin' out there that can help me anymore."

"Have you tried herbal?"

"Wha?"

It was a glorious moment when I was handed my first joint. I was skeptical, making sure nobody was taking pictures of me for blackmail. But it was Lance. He wouldn't do that.

"It helped me until I controlled my powers. Maybe it'll help you."

And forever praise the day I took my first high. I realized more high than when I was sober.

I realized I was alone. That nobody really listened or paid attention. So thus, whatever I did, wouldn't be noticed. I was unnoticeable, untouchable, uncared for. Nobody could love an untouchable. Nobody could care for one who couldn't be cared for.

And thus my first step in committing murder under the eyes of my friends. Nobody could tell the difference of when I was stoned or quiet. I'll admit I was a little dazed the first couple of times. Lance and I had some good laughs at my antics when I was prodded. We had a little quasi-relationship. I became more alive.

Until it slowly stopped working.

But in the world of drugs, you can always find something new. And I did. I started cocaine and speed. I've done LSD, prescription, pretty much anything I can get my hands on. And all of them have worked beautifully.

And now it's pretty beautiful. My minds faded back into wandering my walls of pretty colors. I hear music coming from some place in the room. I look up and see Kitty looming over my face. I couldn't understand her even if I wanted to. But she sang a nice song. I hummed it along with her, and almost called her back into the room from her angry bounce to sing some more.

But I remembered I'm alone, so it wouldn't matter.

I'm alone in my room as I pass out from the pretty colors. I'm alone in my head as a little girl dances with the butterflies. The shadows are singing for her as she hums a little song.

I've decided I'll sit here and drink the spirits in. I'll sit and watch the little girl, and hope she gets attention one day, so she won't turn out like me.

---

Author's Note: So how was that? A slightly different way of writing for me after the last few stories. I've had this story plan and shitting out of my brain since before I finished "A Lovely Absorber." I wanted to play off a different part of Rogue, but this kinda seems stereotypical… hopefully, we'll get to the different part of Rogue in later chapters. This is part one of four of Rogue's journey of… what? Well, let's read on and find out! I have the next chapter already planned out, I just, as always, need to type it.

This part of Rogue plays off not her "I need to get away from life because I'm so angsty" drug addiction. Instead, she wants to shut up the voices because nothing else is helping and nobody realizes it. She, in her mind, knows she can get away with murder through drugs because it's no different than how she is anyways. So what if certain people see changes? They can't stop her from shutting up the voices. The awesome feeling of not caring about anything is just a bonus. This is the beginning of the claim that she wasn't listened to, thus she won't listen to anyone. The "lack of attention" in her mind is enough to let herself fall into drugs. We all obviously see how much people care for her.

But um. The story. Yea. I had written most of it on a trip to Orlando- Go Disneyworld!!!!- And stopped at the beginning of the drug deal part. I sat down today to finish it and was like "How can I shock EVERYONE? I know! Put a quasi-sex scene between Lance and Rogue to depict Rogue's desperation for attention!!!" Heh, just kidding about the desperation part. But I entertained putting a full on sex scene in the middle of the school campus. And I remembered I must save some for later. (Hint: Foreshadowing?). Thus, the spiciness that ensued today maintained the M rating.

So yea, look for the second chapter hopefully within one month from now! Read it and weep! It should be fun. Hint: Jack is everyone's best friend.

Review!!!

MidniteAngelGoth