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.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep. I'd highly suggest rereading the previous 3 chapters as well as reading this slowly and let yourself be taken on the horrible emotional rollercoaster… (And review when you're done too plz!… heehee!)

On With the Show!

Attention Addiction

Chapter 4: Release

I love awkwardness. Especially among friends. "Friends." How they look at you after something happens. Every time something weird happens at the Mansion, I think of that Dane Cook joke- the one about daddy hitting mommy at the dinner table. Because really, that's what it feels like. Especially now.

I can feel their eyes. The new recruits are whispering about me and eyeing me, like I'm going to rip the spandex right off of me to reveal my stripper outfit and use Gambit as my pole. I've left a great impression on them. I shoot them a wild smirk and they all look away in shame. I saw the ice one look back down my body again. Oh, really? Yea, he'll get it later.

Scott and Jean are trying to restore dignity among the group, silently ignoring me and acting like nothing has happened: no, THE most dangerous X-man did NOT admit to having sex with the resident Cajun. That DID NOT happen. I can feel the effort put into physically turning themselves away from me and not ogling like the newer recruits. They want to look. I can feel Jean skimming my head. She can't get through, no matter how strong she's gotten. She'll get a drug haze, that's all.

Kitty and Kurt are paired off on the opposite side of the Control Room. Sulking. Kitty no doubt told Kurt of what happened. I bet she even informed him of my "recent" drug usage. Kurt looks abused, sad even. Dejected, there's a good word. Kitty looks down right pissed. Every occasionally, I can feel a little wave of anger from her and a quasi-glare. She's funny. I can understand her anger though. She's been bugging me about the Gambit thing FOREVER- and now she finds out I am and have been sleeping with him. Well, fuck me stupid, I'd hate me too.

What's really funny is Gambit's presence behind me. This guy is trying to fuck with me and for once, I don't want it. I can feel with his empathy a bunch of different emotions. He's trying to confuse me and not let me know what he's actually feeling. And then he'll completely cut off everything. When he knows I'm open to his empathy, he'll send me little bits of lust. And I'll shove back anger. I'll look back at him covered in the shadows and I know he's shrugging and thinking "Quoi? Je ne fais rien." And I think "Lies, you did ME."

And when he thinks I'm not paying attention, I can feel him lapse back into something. I can't explain it. It's not on the good spectrum of emotions. It feels like "I want to go drink until I pass out." What would that be classified as? With alcoholism as it is now, it needs a word to describe that emotion. Pre-shit faced. Yes. That works.

It's hard to focus on the objective of today's simulation. So I didn't. I figure it was another basic quasi Kill-Each-Other run. With a maze or some flying laser shit. More or less, I was right.

I took a stance in the far end of the Danger Room and peeled off my gloves. I did a couple of lines earlier, so my actual power isn't needed. They don't know that. For all they know and care, today will be a small, minor power freak out. The stress of everyone finding out about me sexing the Cajun up is just so stressful and it caused my power "freak-out."

Or some other made-up bullshit like that.

The simulation starts. The images appear and solidify. Everyone's separated. Groups, partners, whatever Logan told them. I'm alone.

I smile. I'm a lone, one-woman army. The thought of taking everyone out is intoxicating. Surprise! Look at me! I have control. I'm a druggie because of it, but whatever. Teh uber winz.

I walk normally around the warehouse maze. I can hear people trying to quietly maneuver around. I can hear their conversations with their partners. I can hear their thoughts. I can hear their heartbeats from behind the crate next to me.

I phase through the crate and peer out. The princess is slowly meandering the other way. I step out and she hears me. I can feel her heart quicken; her expression becomes fearful then determined. She forms a ball of magma in her hands and hurls it at me. I catch it and toss it between hands.

She steps back horrified. I walk up to her slowly.

"Throw these fireballs all ya'd like, just keep ya hands to yaself, sugah." I let the ball dissolve in my hands.

Before she knows it, I'm behind her. I grab her arms and jerk them behind her.

"You're out, Princess," I breathed in her ear. She slumped to the ground as I released the mental locks on my powers.

The voices in my head are excited now. Even that little taste of energy turned them on and I can feel them bouncing around my head. Bouncing isn't the right word. They're anxiously pacing, waiting for the next time they can take over. Damn ungrateful brats. I give them leeway to absorb whenever they fucking want and they still can't wait to get a hold of my body. Honestly, they get more turned on by the thought of touching someone than I do.

"Magma's out," growled Wolverine's uncertain, wary voice over the intercom. I knew what he was thinking and hear the calm undertones of panic in his gruff, loud voice. 'What just happened down there?' I grinned as I stood up. There were of couple of other recruits who had been tagged already. The best were last. I walked a bit down the aisles of the crates and heard the gleeful sound of battle and soon a triumphant cry and a hurt groan. I stepped out.

"Cannonball, yer out." Wolverine didn't sound nearly as cautious with this win.

I laugh, looking at the murderer. Naturally. "Good job, Popsicle," I drawled. He was surprised and slightly scared. As he should be. He got in a defensive stance.

"Oh, ya wanna fight? Not oogle at me lahke ya were earlier? How cute," I crooned. He iced up and started a running slide towards me. How fun and convenient I had just absorbed Magma, remember?

I started a ball of magma in my hand and with Pyro's powers, I was easily able to shape-shift the magma form into the exact replica of him. Popsicle stopped mid-drift and looked horrified awe. "Surprise," I drawled. The fire figure rushed at him, barely missing the fleeing recruit in a mid-leap. The impact of the explosion sent him sprawling against the crates. Out of the corner of my hearing peripheral, I hear something twitch.

I walked up to the nearly unconscious boy and bent down to caress his cheek with a bare hand. Naturally, he flinched.

"Oh, an' here Ah though ya wanted me. Too bad." I leaned down to kiss him on the lips briefly and stepped back.

The poor kid's going to feel like smashed shit when he wakes up.

"Iceman is out." Wolverine's voice was growing more growly and suspicious by the win.

A heartbeat thumped louder, faster.

"Ya can come out, Kurt."

A moment passed as he ported right in front of the kid, knelt down on his haunches and inspected him and the surrounding, burnt area.

"You really did this, Rogue?" He spoke quietly, as if I didn't know the extremity of where things lie.

"Ah suppose." Brace yourself for a talk, Roguey ol' girl.

"How? How could you do this much damage?" Obviously, he didn't know the extremity either.

"Really, it's not that hard," I deadpanned humbly. Any mutant could do what I do, obviously.

He looked everywhere but me, as if the answers would jump from the crates and give him ass splinters.

"Kitty…" he started off, as if he didn't want to name names, "she told me. Vhy?"

"Why what?" Honestly, if you're going to ask me a question, please include the proper subject after the question word.

"Vhy everything! Do you still not trust us? Do you still hate us that much?" Jeez. Naturally, it's a pity party for everyone BUT me. They act as if I intentionally want to hurt them.

…Huh.

"Don't ya dare turn this around! It ain't got nothin' ta do with ya! It's about me! Now back off an' fight me!"

"No, Rogue! You need to-"

"What? Explain? Does it mattah? Did ya even notice any of this before? Do ya even care?" I hissed. "If ya did, ya'd know that Ah've been doing it foh months before anyone knew anythang. How does that make ya feel? To know that Ah've been damn near committin' murder right before the X-Men's eyes? Well, gawd damnit! It makes meh feel great!"

I ported over to him and used the telekinesis to hold him still and telepathy to stop his powers. His face looked panicked.

"What's going on? I can't port!" I smiled. My tirade was over. Towards him anyways.

"It's the drugs," I told him simply. "But it doesn't matter, really. Ah have what Ah want." I smiled wanly as I ran my finger down his cheek. I laughed a little. The lines made everything feel weird. He really was fuzzy. And close up, he was miraculously blue. A deep blue. Like drowning.

"Mein gott…you… can touch…" He was amazed and enthralled and horrified by the finger touching his cheek.

I chuckled. "Ah've wanted to do that for a while."

I felt my stolen empathy kick in. Sad. He was so very sad.

"Damnit."

I smiled again, as sadly as he projected. I had to get this over with.

"Ya really are fuzzy…" I spoke to his drooping, unconscious form.

"Nightcrawler is out." There was no denying the dread now. I imagine at this point Wolverine was furiously sending thoughts to the Prof, asking him to scan my mental state. By now, it was probably obvious to any observer that I was calling out powers I hadn't absorbed today. He was probably putting the sim on autopilot, ignoring the rest of the group and analyzing me. He was watching me like a hawk, waiting for my next move.

"Every time you pull shit like this it tears him apart, you know," came Kitty's angry voice. She stepped out from beyond a crate hall.

"Yea, well not everything's candy and rainbows up the ass. He should learn that," I shot back.

"Jeez, would you just step back and realize what a bitch you're being for once," she commanded.

"How cute, is the pretty Kitty actually angry?" I put my hands on my hip and stanced.

"You're damn right I'm angry. You've put us all through enough of your crap." Her hands clenched at her side.

"Like Ah've done anythin' to ya."

"You've done plenty to us! Do you know how much we worry about you? How you're not eating, sleeping all day, and just a fucking hermit crab in general? We're not that inferior and oblivious." She spat.

"Oh, Ah'm sure that it just sprang up on ya'll one day and smacked ya in the face."

"Goddamnit!" She stepped closer until she was a few feet away from my face. Being that she was a good foot shorter than I was, it was slightly entertaining in my high and fucked-up state to see her angry face below my eye view.

"I've done so much for you and you don't even realize it! I'm the one who cleans up after you come back smashed, the one who lies for you when you ditch, or when you sneak out!"

"Sorrah, Kit, but Ah don't remember askin' ya ta do that."

She stopped. Then she glared. Her clenched fists shook and her face got red. Her eyes especially.

"You are such a bitch." She said, quavering. She threw the first punch.

I let it hit me. I think I deserved that much. After all, I lied. I do remember asking her to cover for me once or twice in the beginning. I was stoned when I asked, but I do nonetheless remember. The girl was surprisingly strong; she made me stumble a few steps back. She kept at it. After the third or fourth attempt, I began to phase through her attacks, still burning her energy, but not on me.

"Don't cheat! Fight me!" She yelled.

"Ya'd die if Ah fought ya," I retorted.

"You're probably too messed up on all your crack to fight," she sneered.

I caught her flying fist with my bare hands and watched gleefully as her eyes got wide. "Yea, ya probably right." I smirked.

"What the fuck have you done to yourself?" she whispered.

"Don't ask. Ya probably couldn't handle it."

I pushed her back and apparently I used super strength or some crazy shit like that because she flew and hit a crate. Hard. She let out a small cry.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, all hell broke loose.

I felt myself being shoved forward psychically. "What the heck, Rogue?" cried Jean's voice behind me.

I turned around and smirked. I set up my psychic field and flung her back. "What do ya want, Miss Perfect?" I snarled. She actually grimaced as I pushed her back on her perfect ass.

"What's wrong with you? You know this sim doesn't need that much power! Kitty could be seriously hurt because of you!" She sent another blast my way which I neatly dodged. Her perfect face was marred with the expression of deep hurt, concern, and plain confusion.

"Well then she shouldn't have been pissin' meh off! Just lahke ya!" I sent an equally powerful blast towards her right as she was standing. Had Scott not jumped and pushed them both out of the way, I would have got her perfectly.

"Rogue! This isn't you! Don't let the psyches control you!" Scott yelled.

"No, Scott." I reprimanded. "This is me. Crazy, fucked-up Rogue. That's me. Now fuckin' fight me!" I felt his powers rise up behind my eyes and I aimed. He saw what was going down and dragged Jean away from the near perfect shot I unleashed.

"Rogue, it doesn't have to be like this!" Jean's voice pleaded. She was leaning on Scott. I think I fucked up her perfect leg when I flung her back. Win. I wonder what it's like fucking with a huge cast on your leg. Oh wait. Nevermind. They're too perfect to do it.

"Please, Rogue, what is it?" Scott actually sounded concerned. Had I not been high with the drugs and the feelings of finally unleashing some fucking power, I might have tried to listen and be rational. After all, first crushes like that tend to have that effect on a young girl. Buuuuuuuut, no.

"Oh so now ya'll want to know what's wrong? Ah mean, Ah was sure convinced that ya'll didn't want to know anything the way ya'll were carryin' on. Just ignore crazy-Rogue, she'll freak out soon enough and then everything will be all right. WRONG. NOTHIN IS RIGHT!" I couldn't help but screaming. But hell, it sure feels good to be all powerful, with the glow-y fist power and floating in the air.

Because all of a sudden, I had glow-y fist power and was floating in the air. I wouldn't doubt that my hair was flipping wildly and my eyes were glowing. I've always wanted that look. The shrinky-self-destruct initiAted look of a crazy evildoer. That look.

"Ya'll finally notice me when Ah become a threat to everyone else! A threat to ya'll's perfect way of life! What about me? What about being a fuckin' threat to mahself? It's only when Ah can do this," enter ball of flame-y, crackling power being hurled to the Danger Room floor directly underneath me whilst children flee, "that ya'll begin to wonder if something's wrong!"

"Please come down, Rogue," Jean pleaded. She looked and sounded so pathetically tired.

"Fuck you!" I threw a flame-y ball at her. She set up a force field around her and Scott so the flame dissipated.

"Stripes, calm down," Logan's voice barked over the loudspeaker. "Don't let your anger guide ya."

"And why the fuck not?" I turned to scream at him in the control deck. "The only thing that's guided me so far is the voices in mah head! Now it's mah turn! Somebody fuckin' fight me!"

And I felt something slam into my back and felt the energy that hit me shimmer throughout my body on impact, impressively with enough force to send me flying forward with the waves of the explosion. I smiled wistfully as I looked back. Gambit and his love for flying cards. He didn't say anything, just look at me with the painful intensity of a lover, except in a darker "I-know-your-secrets" kind of way. Because he's Gambit and that sexy smoldering look is one he does well.

But what does he really know anyways? Not me. Not even I know me. I felt my hands tingle, just looking at his beautifully rugged face. I felt the kinetic energy and gathered it back into my fingertips as a pink mass in my small hands. I hurled it at him. I was a slight bit relieved he used his bo-staff to launch himself away. Only a tiny bit though. He narrowly missed the explosion of Danger Room bits and smoke. I heard someone scream and people scuttling away. Yes people, shit just got serious.

"Rogue, stop!" Jean commanded me, with one hand outstretched and the other on her temple. I felt my body being bogged down, like a huge x-ray blanket weighing me down. I felt her sweep my mind the furthest edges of my mind, trying to find a crack to come in and contain my rage.

"Fine! When ya stop being a fuckin' pussy!" I screamed back. I screamed in my head as I pushed out my psychic force field against hers and obliterated it. She screamed. Yes, bitch, I'm powerful. In my distraction I felt something ram into my side and bring me down with such force that when I hit the ground, my side became embedded in the Danger Room floor. Ah, the Wolverine enters at last.

"Snap out of it, damnit," he growled and pressed me further into the ground.

"Then fight me!" I flung back my arm and he flew across the floor with such speed he rammed his claws into the steel floor to stop himself from hitting the group of weenie kids curled together on the floor in fright.

"Get out of here," he snarled to them. Wise words. They took off running, the blonde girl tugging at the small, frightened red head.

"Rogue, I cannot allow you to hurt anymore people," came Storm's sage-like voice. It was like déjà vu as she whirled in front of me and dissipated a large cloud of electricity in an attempt to stun me. It was powerful, I'll give her that, and it did lock my body into a rigid plank. I fell to my knees with a teeth-clenched growl from the pain. I'm fairly certain she had been holding out on me during my previous nervous breakdowns. My body recovered after a few agonizing seconds and absorbed the electricity just as it did Gambit's. She stopped her flow just as she realized she was powering me up more than harming me.

I smiled and stood up from the ground. I felt her powers running through my body and lifted up into the air to face her. I felt rivers of crackling electricity tickle the top of my body, caressing my skin in the places my uniform hadn't been able to survive.

"Am Ah included in that, Storm? Can ya stop me from hurting myself?" I sneered. It was such a bitter thing to say, selfish. They had made a feeble attempt to help, but ignorance was truly bliss when it came to me.

I generated the electricity she had just stunned me with in a huge ball and whacked it like a tennis ball. She whirled out of the way and the mass flew into the complete opposite side of the Danger Room and buried itself into the wall, crackling to its death.

And thus began the free-for-all. Apparently attacking the mother hen was taboo. I felt Cyclops' red beam of fury hit my back and caused me to drop down. I returned to him a fireball with one hand, courtesy of Magma, and on the other hand, a ball of burning kinetic energy to counteract Gambit's tirade of cards. They both flew out of the way, Gambit with more finesse and grace. On the up-roll he rocketed more of his love cards at me. I borrowed Quicksilver's speed and flicked them up and away with a flash of my hand. They flew to the ceiling, embedded themselves in the steel, and then exploded.

"Impressive, chere," he whistled. "But how is y' hand-t'-hand now?" He rushed me and flung his bo-staff in front and whirled it around.

"Just fahne, darlin'," I sneered invitingly, as I blocked each rapid bo-staff attack with an arm. I could barely feel the zing of metal hitting my bones, only the pressure.

And that's what we did for probably 5 seconds normal-mutant time. Hit, block, hit, block, hit, twirl, hit-hit, block. Round-about kick flung him back a few feet, even with him blocking with his staff. He was fast, agile, and flexible. Just like in bed. Blasts of whatever hit my shield and occasionally slipped through and hit me.

And then Logan joined the fight. Finally. If Logan and Gambit were to merge bodies they'd have a fast, powerful killing machine. Not enough to take me out, but enough to make this game fun. Both of them together kept both sides occupied. We flew together so fast, no one else could join in on this ménage a trois. I felt Cyclops, Jean, and Storm's powers taking turns at the openings the fight allowed. I laughed manically. It was dangerous for everyone else but me. Any fatal mistake of timing could kill Gambit or Logan, and barely harm me.

I could feel nothing and feel everything. Nothing hurt. A good majority of my uniform singed off and my skin was recovering rapidly from the blows of whatever. Everything that zinged my skin increased the nebulous feeling inside me. I felt full, enraged, omnipotent, and tired. I felt like I had eaten too much (as long ago as that had been) and my body was engorged and the food coma was setting in. And it was uncomfortable. Itchy. It was all-encompasing and uncertain and formless, like a black hole eating me from the inside. Like a vortex had formed inside of my body and was spinning round and round, faster and faster. This and my anger kept building.

And even through my fuzzy rage I felt my mind being sifted through by a ghostly presence and nothing more. I don't care. I don't fucking care. What was there to hide anymore? What could they see now that would surprise them anymore? What could they do? My mind was too powerful to control to contain anymore, a small, cheeky voice whispered into my ear.

Wait…what?

When had this happened?

A split second passed. The only thing I heard was a sharp intake of breath from the observation deck and my own strangled choke, mid-laugh.

Survival's dim automaticity took over. I flung back Wolverine by his adamantium skeleton and threw a strong round-about kick to Gambits chest. My psychic shield took over and absorbed the remaining attacks on me.

"Everybody! Get out of the Danger Room! NOW!" Professor Xavier commanded everyone. He sounded panicked. Urgent. Scared.

Scared for what? Everyone's lives? Scared of me? Was I that close to killing everyone? Did he even care I was killing myself? Did anyone care? Or had I delved too deep into this depression that I couldn't be saved, even by the amazing Charles Xavier?

Was this it?

A heartbeat passed and I knew the horrific implications of my rage and understood the fear in Xavier's voice. I took a sharp intake of breath and his fear was my own, choking me, punching me in the stomach so I could no longer breathe. My mind really WAS out of control. I was out of control. My powers were out of control. I always knew I had been able to use these powers, but to this extent? My powers had exploded to Omega-mutant status sometime while I was thizzing. Absorbing energy like someone had touched me? When did I learn that trick?

And I felt my heart breaking as the cold realization fell upon me. They couldn't stop me like I'd assumed. Like I had hoped. Like I had needed. They couldn't fix me, like last time, when my powers had spun out of control while I was coked up. No one could deal with me, even if they so desperately wanted to, even if I so desperately needed them to. No one could save me, not even me. Tears pricked at my eyes and ran down my face. I held back a sob. None of my teammates or mentors seemed to see this revelation- that I could and probably would kill them. Even if I didn't mean to. They didn't race towards the doors like they should have. They stayed surrounding me, ready for the onslaught. Another sob reached up and choked me. Lashes of power, crackling electricity, firey spews, slipped from my control as the dam holding my emotions and horrific realizations back started leaking. I was cracking, leaking, exploding. I was losing my control, my mind. This was the end.

"Just fucking run!" I cried so desperately at their hesitation and defiance of the professors ruling. "Ya can't deal with me! Ya can't fucking save me!" This anguish felt hot and burning, like I was burning at the stake, the fires gripping my heart with an unrelenting grasp. More lashes of fire, electricity, energy exited the whirlwind surrounding my body and reached out to everything around me.

And this is when I was sucked from the forefront of my mind. I was falling so fast into the dark bleak hole that was once my own mind. I looked around at the slow moving chaos surrounding me. It was like watching a doomsday movie through the television. I could hear metal shredding and crackling with electricity. The ground shook and the lights flickered with a high enough rate to induce seizures. My teammates ran, tripped, and helped each other up and out, watching me with paranoia and panic. Did I want to hurt them? Did I mean to hurt them? When had I intentionally wanted to hurt my family physically? To make them feel my emotional pain physically and kill them like I was killing myself? This wasn't me anymore. This morbid addiction wasn't in my control anymore. I was no longer in the driver seat.

I saw Ororo flying low to the ground, picking up a child-barely-teenager that had been thrown forward and skidded painfully on her way out. She looked like the despairing and forlorn mother, leaving a cherished, inconsolable child for the safety of the others.

I saw Scott pull the limp, unconscious Jean away. He looked like a defeated and reluctant sergent, plainly pained at the idea of leaving his own on the battlefield. Because even he knew it wasn't enough to risk his team to save the undeniably fallen.

I saw Kurt port in next to Kitty, pure anguish in their faces. They knew there was nothing to do except let this happen. Let me go. They watched and hesitated, then ported out.

And I saw Gambit, gazing up at me with such intensity that his eyes were a burning and heart piercing bright blood red, standing with his bow staff keeping him upright and level in the cacophony of turmoil, yelling, begging for me to let him in with his lips and his eyes. I felt his empathy punching and clawing at my mind, trying to get in, trying to calm me down. I couldn't let him in and expose him to the twisted inferno that would instantly burn his mind alive. Remy.

"Just leave, Rems." I heard myself whisper mechanically, my voice cracking. I knew he heard me.

"Get OUT of here, Gambit!" Logan screamed, a child locked in one arm, the other, reaching out to pull Remy as he sprinted towards the doors.

Remy struggled against Logan's ridiculous strength. "Rogue!" He screamed.

"Let her figure this out, Gambit." He ordered. "Don't stop this. She NEEDS this." How I could count on Logan to understand the blinding, blazing rage and fury consuming me. How I could count on him to understand, even though I had stopped trusting him. Him and everyone else. Me.

I had done this to myself, I thought to my dissociated self. I had pushed people away, the people I so desperately needed. But this is what I wanted, right? To finally be truly alone. To finally prove that I was an utterly lost cause.

"MARIE!" Remy screamed.

And everything spilled over the disintegrated dam. My heart exploded, my mind along with it.

I screamed.

I collapsed onto my knees in the middle of the inverted dome that was formerly the Danger Room. The bomb I let lose was barely contained. The light fixtures were shattered. The only light that shone came from the downed power lines from the ceiling that sparked sporadically and flipped around on the ground, the hallway, and the observation deck. The prized mechanical fixtures originally inside the paneled walls of the room were now visible and completely wrecked. The heavy steel entrance doors that had closed in an attempt to contain the explosion mere milliseconds before I detonated were completely crumpled, partially melted, and nowhere near its original hinges. They hadn't taken the impact well and had flown completely off into the hallway. The viewing windows from the observation deck had shattered completely. Shards of glass lay on the floor and I'm assuming, inside of the observation deck itself. All was silent.

And I began to sob on the obliterated Danger Room floor. Softly, silently. My shoulders shook and my hands ran through my hair and pulled in frustration. Tears rolled down my face.

I've taken so many lines of everything. So many pills. So many joints, so many shots, so many injections. It didn't matter how much sex I was getting, it didn't matter if I was letting the psyches touch other people or if I was, so long as I felt the control- so long as I was in control of my life, my thoughts, my feelings, my freak-outs, my body, my skin, my mind. And after all the months of drugs and abuse and insomnia and paranoia, I thought I had found the perfect concoction to reach this control.

Only, I was never in control. I thought I was, when I was able to fuck someone's brains out, when I could turn my power on and off willingly, when I could use everyone else's powers whenever I needed to. I thought I had finally kept the demons inside my mind at bay. The psyches.

How stupid was I? Thinking that just because I couldn't hear them, they weren't in the background, that they'd just disappeared? No. They hadn't. They realized what I was doing. And didn't object because I was giving them what they wanted. Touch. Power. Control.

But I had been used again. By the demons in my mind, who had given me false control and access to their abilities only because I couldn't hear what they were planning. Because I had drugged myself up so much, I couldn't hear about the revolution they were planning. To take over. To use my body as tupperware for storing powers up until the right moment to explode and kill. Why? Who knows. Because that's what they do. Take control of my body, because they're so angry and so tired of being caged up. They wanted a release.

And did I not willingly give that to them, at this moment? At the expense of everyone? At the expense of my mind, my body?

And I had allowed this. Horrible, bitchy, selfish Rogue. Doing all of this shit, the drugs and the alcohol, really ended up hurting everyone. I had pushed everyone away even while hoping they would stay and save me, that they'd keep fighting, that they'd keep watching me destroy myself because I let them. I let me. Hoping they'd never leave me.

But maybe they should.

People were reviving from the explosion finally. I heard groans, hisses of pain, grasping to get upright. I hear the cracking of bones, probably Logan, the steps of people over the debris and metal.

'Rogue?' The Prof's concerned voice echoed weakly in the remnants of my mind. 'Rogue, are you okay?' He sounded so far away.

I thought that over. Physically, I felt…there. Tired. Shakey. I can feel the remnants of my high dwindling away. I can feel the beginning of the crash. Falling, burning, aching, sickness, anxiety, falling, falling, falling. The voices hadn't come yet.

I felt tender. Like I could hurt, but I couldn't but I will. Like it should hurt, but it hasn't hit yet. The horrible consequences of my actions. I felt empty. I felt raw, open, bleeding, and empty. Alone. Undeserving. Guilty. Empty. Wasn't I supposed to feel better? Now that everything was out in the open and they could see what I've been doing to myself? Why do I still feel empty?

"No, I'm not okay." I whispered or thought simply, weakly, drained. I wasn't, and hadn't been, for a long time, and this was the first time I had admitted it to anyone in a very long time.

What had I expected to come of this day, in whatever form it would have taken? Would I have stopped doing the drugs? Fucking everyone? Would my craving for touch, bliss, or attention ever let up? I had had all of those things and it was wonderful. What did I expect would change? That I would feel just as good sober?

Someone climbed over the debris closer to me. Their breathing was a bit labored, their step uneven, and I could smell the smallest amount of blood. I had injured them. Naturally. It was my nature. I shook harder.

"Rogue?" He approached me hesitantly and tried to peer into my covered face. I could bet my worthless life that he was scared I still was unstable and would just blast him back to Louisiana's swampland. I didn't respond with anything more than a heavier sob. He grabbed me unabashedly and yanked me to his chest firmly. He smelt delicious, as always. Manly. Cajun. Stable. Normal. Sober.

He stroked my hair. I could feel his fingertips touch the skin of my scalp; I could feel the smallest pull from the silent entities of my mind and I cock blocked them from taking more. I could feel him probing my emotions, seeing if I'd immediately throw up my shield. I didn't keep a shield up from him. What's the use? I've done all that I could do. My energy was spent. My mind wasn't going to kill his with my violent flood of anger and anguish. He's seen pretty much everything. Everything about me was out in the open.

And I knew what he was doing. Touch amplified his empathic powers. Each touch was meant to more efficiently calm me down, among other things. And I let it.

I heard the soft porting sound of Kurt's arrival. I could only assume that the warm body that had near materialized out of thin air was Kitty too.

How they came back after all this shit, I'll never understand. How someone like me, a walking, talking, fucking A-bomb, still had people around, was amazing. I didn't deserve anyone. And I was the only one to blame.

I felt Kurt squat next to me on his haunches. I felt Kitty take my hand. She squeezed it lightly. I could barely twitch in response.

I felt Remy calm me and bring me down slowly, slowly. I errantly wondered how laborious he was working to fight my nutcase emotions. He quieted the emotions, but even he couldn't fully stop the shakes. They leaped out every other breath or so. I felt like I was falling and falling asleep at the same time. I don't want to feel anxious or nauseated. I don't want to feel anything.

I retreated to the back of my mind, trying to focus on just breathing. On understanding what just happened. On listening to everyone around me finally wake up and tend to their wounds. On trying in vain to quiet the thrumming whispers in my head that were getting louder with every goddamn second.

What was going to happen now? I'm pretty certain I had depleted the psyches' energy storage with that last hoorah. Was this going to be an ongoing cycle? Collect energy until Rogue reaches maximum capacity and then explode in a secret war-room basement while hurting everyone in it? How was I supposed to stop this without going positively insane?

And my body was starting to remind me of this. This slowly-quickly creeping, mounting feeling was a cold reminder why I never had the will to stop. I began to get cold and clammy and shivered and shook.

"We'll get you to the Med Bay soon, we just need to clear the hallway first," a voice said. Kurt, maybe. It was far away. I couldn't focus on what was going on outside of my body. It was like I was being slowly pulled back into my mind. No. I don't want to go back. I growled in my head. I fought against the ghost force in my mind. And it began getting louder. The whispering voices. Demanding my attention. They were finding their voices and volumes again; they were getting louder than I had let them in the last few months and they knew it.

And I knew what was happening. It had been hours since I took anything. My metabolism compounded with Logan's brought things up or down so quickly. It took so much more to keep them quiet and more frequently. It had been way too long since I had anything, and my body and mind were crumbling. Withdrawal. I had to get to my room. I had to find something to take. NOW.

But I couldn't say anything. They stole my ability to reach reality and speak to everyone around me. They were trapping me, slowly dragging me down into my head to devour me and my feeble latch on my worthless life. I struggled, keeping the blackness barely inches away. My breathing hitched and a tremor rolled through my body. I felt my body gasp for air.

"Rogue?" Someone sounded panicked. Someone touched my face, trying to get me to respond.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard my own moan of distress.

"It's the psyches, they're trying to trap her in her own mind." It sounded like Xavier. When did he get close? "They've created several layers of defense. I can't reach her," he sounded deeply troubled and alarmed.

Well yeah, that sounds like those sons of bitches. One of my only potential lifelines and they won't let me reach anyone. Except…

And all the little phantoms of my head looked at me and realized the same thing I did. Remy and Kitty were most definitely still touching me.

'NO!' I screamed. And they inched their long phantom fingers down my arms trying to reach Kitty. I screamed in my head, desperate for anyone to hear me. I clawed and scratched and screamed my way away from their grasping arms and briefly saw through my own eyes and screamed through my own mouth.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed and gasped and choked noisily. My eyes reeled backwards and my back arched upwards. Gambit kept his firm hold on me while moving his skin away from mine, forcing me down. Kitty jumped back when I phased my hand out of hers. Yeah, it does feel weird, doesn't it Kitty dear?

I felt everything more clearly now that I was firmly in my body's external, cold reality. My body was trembling, clammy and cold. My heart was pounding and galloping without end. My head was being ripped apart by dozens of hands clawing at my mind. My chest was tight and I was hyperventilating. My metabolism had finally kicked in full gear.

"Rogue!" Xavier commanded. Was this in my head now, or out loud?

"She's withdrawalin'," Remy explained grimly. He touched a fingertip to my hand lightly and let a hiss of pain through his teeth. I struggled more as I felt that little bit of him enter the hoard. Was he fucking retarded? "She hasn't had anyt'ing in hours. Her skin is absorbin' and the voices are takin' over. She won't focus on anyt'ing but what she probably has in her room."

He was so right. I felt the pull upstairs. The psyches felt the pull and pushed me towards it. I need something so bad. I couldn't go through this. This was like being spun around a fiery tornado.

"Rogue! You must fight this! You must not give into this craving. The sooner you fight this off, the sooner you can get better." Xavier sounded so hopeful and I had to smile at his attempt at persuasion. Internally, of course.

"Ah can't," I wailed, finding my voice. The pain and nausea was reaching new heights. I was blacking out. Black dots colored my vision and I was seizuring with every breath.

"Don't know what y' got in dat Med Bay o' yours, but whatever it is, she needs it now."

And I didn't care what they were planning. All I know, is I had a book on my shelf, carved out and filled with a lighter, a straw, and my special occasion black tar foil. It could be so delicious, so perfect, so healing. If I could fucking get to it.

"My room," I gasped.

"Rogue, no!" Kitty pleaded.

"Please," I struggled for half a breath. Shit was just flying out of my mouth now. "Ah can't do this. Ah need it. Ah need it now. Ah can't do this without it."

"Chere, the good doc will give you somet'in'. Y' just need t' be patient. Y'll be fine, y' just need t' wait." He tried to convince me firmly and latched on even tighter.

If only they could realize that after this hit I could even begin to think about getting better. If the psyches were listening to me, I'd get up and get there myself. Pound through the barricade I had stupidly created for myself, melting the doors into the walls so no one could get out. Fucking stupid me. Phase through the floors…

Port to my room.

I evened out my breathing the best I could. I gathered my strength. I gritted my teeth and tried to clear my eyesight.

And I looked Kurt square in the eyes. He was so close. Not even an arm's length away and still weak from earlier. Would he forgive me for this eventually? Would he understand the dire nature of this later? How my mind was close to closing in on itself and imploding?

And tears streamed down my face. There was no other way. "Ah'm sorry," I choked out, as I brushed a finger down his haunches and disappeared.

And the world is so much brighter now.

Lucid.

Blinding.

Silent.

Horrifying.

I ignore the sounds of pounding on the doors. I hear them all so vaguely in my horrific bliss. They can't get in. I won't let them.

I'm down for the count on my bedroom floor, the shards of glass from my earlier outburst digging into my skin as I flip around on the ground in orgasmic ecstasy. The foil and lighter fall out of my relaxed hands, both horribly used and abused.

The voices are gone. They've quieted down to a muted whisper in the back of my head. I flex my hands. I still feel the remnants of power from Kurt's sacrifice. It feels tingly good, or maybe that's the heroin still. Either way, yum.

I feel numb and tingly. Like your mouth feels after you get a cavity filled. You touch yourself but it feels unreal, like you're touching someone else, but at the same time there's such an acute tingling that it makes you giggle. I'm giggling. Hard.

Lordy lord, does it feel so good to fly like this! Every muscle movement brings on a new wave of prickles and it just takes my breath away. I'm floating higher and higher on each exhale and if this doesn't stop, I may just reach heaven sometime today.

And I can feel it. The pulsating ball of light that's always just barely in my grasp whenever I'm this far gone. God, I want it so bad. I can feel the warm, intoxicating glow of it and I'm so damn peaceful, so goddamn happy just to be in its presence. I plead with it to let me bond forever with it.

And in the back of my mind, I know what it is. I'd be a fool among fools not to know. Its horribly inviting sheen is just too good for this world, that's why it's of a different place. It's the light at the end of the tunnel. It's that point of overdosing and dying. It's the point that I've reached so many times yet can never obtain it because of Logan's healing factor and the high metabolism I've seemed to gain from Remy's constant presence. Either way, I want it.

I'm begging my body to go higher and higher. Let me finally greet this wonderful feeling of happiness and freedom. I'm so close; I can taste the cloying numbness and happiness. My fingers are almost there. I'm almost touching it, caressing its velvety light. I can't remember anything else but this light and its protection from the horrible world I've lived in.

And just as I'm about to grasp the light, I fall. And I'm falling hard and fast. Down, down, down. The light gets farther and farther away. It's so cold now as I grasp the air, trying to hold on to the disappearing warmth. Not again. Not fucking again. I was so close. I'm falling as the world turns round and round, laughing at my stupidity.

Cold realization slaps me as I fall. My heart is shattering into a million pieces.

All of my memories flood back to me as I plummet towards sobriety, everything and everyone that I've done. It's a bleak, dim memory, like I was watching through a thick, dark veil. Everything was blurred and so sad. I felt a choking sob escape. Everything is so frighteningly clear.

I couldn't live like this anymore. I couldn't live like I had even before the drugs. In my briefest moments of flying so high I could reach the sky, I've tasted bliss and freedom. I've tasted everything good in the world in that every time I come back down, I can't find it again. Nothing will be as good as that. How can I possibly live now? Knowing that no more drugs or sex or anything could satisfy me? That even if I did find something as magical and wonderful as that final feeling, it would never be enough to last me the rest of my goddamned life?

I'm sobbing and screaming now. There was nothing for me on this planet that could save me. I know now that I'm too far gone to fix. I had tasted the forbidden fruit and cast myself out of Eden. I couldn't possibly go back to the time of not being able to touch and not being able to feel temporarily happy with my druggie antics. I couldn't go back to everyone being blissfully unaware of my transgressions; I would never be looked upon as a teammate, a daughter, a friend, or a lover. I would be forever seen as the broken, pity-party drug addict.

And God, if there ever was a last wish, I wish I could clearly remember and relive the days before I truly let myself go. The days before I was horribly fucked up, the days before I was so very sad. Those simple days, when the little girl with the curly two toned hair danced and sang so freely and contentedly in the southern swampland forests with the butterflies, the days so long before she holds my hands and cries as I fall so hard and fast.

I watch her pull at me, trying to get me up from my broken, useless state. My smile quivers weakly at her, the tears pouring down from my face. I can vaguely remember my one wish for her I had cast long ago, that one day she would get the love and attention she deserved, that she would never turn out like me.

I hold her close to me, trying to memorize her innocent, childishly cherubic face. I pass my fingers through her soft little curls and wipe the tears from her face.

And I saw the answers in her eyes, falling out with her tears like autumn leaves on a dying winter tree. My little doppleganger had seen everything that I had been so forcibly ignoring. I saw the yearning looks of my closest friends, Kitty and Kurt, the unshed tears of their sorrow for me. I saw the helpless look of my mentors, of Logan, who had tried so hard to stop me from going down the same lost path he had trekked. And I saw the blatant love pour out from Remy's mouth time and time again, with each time his growlingly desperate pleas trying to save me from myself in some form or another.

And just when I thought I'd burst from my own sorrow and pain, I saw a glimpse of what my life could have been. What her life could have been. Had I not been addicted to everything else, the drugs, the touches, the attention of everyone but the ones I truly loved… had I paid attention to the real love and affection of everyone around me, I could have been saved. Had I not been addicted to being alone in my own fantasy world, I could have been addicted to life and the love of my family. I could have had both. She could have had everything.

"Ah'm sorry," I whispered, knowing full well I had let her down. She just nodded and cried. Even she knew there was no way to come back from this horrible black hole I had conjured up. Even if I had the will to live anymore, the long road emotional and physical road down to sobriety was almost a straight drop I was positive I couldn't make alive.

She just watched me in sorrow as I picked up a long mirror shard that had been poking me in the side. She cringed and sobbed harder as I traced it down my arms, finding the river and traveling down it hard. She threw the shard away and held my hand. The tears fell so noiselessly from my eyes as I tried smiling a true smile for her. She collapsed on me and hugged me hard. I wrapped my bloody arms around her and tried to soothe her.

I can feel Logan itching through my foggy mind, trying to heal the dull rips in my skin. It isn't his place anymore, really. I wonder idly how long I can keep him at bay, how I can keep my teammates out of my room, before I drown myself in this salty, crimson river.

My breathing becomes leisurely and Little Marie's sobs grew quiet. She began singing her little song again. I hum along with her. Gosh, she was so wonderfully warm. I close my eyes, relaxed and ready to let her lull me into peaceful sleep. I follow her fading childish song as I fly higher and faster to the warm light, wishing her the best that I could never give her. I hear my name being called over and over again and hope it's the angels of heaven saving little Marie from this horrible hellhole.

Authors Note: Oh hello there! So yeah… It's been a while… Don't hate me! It was a weeeee bit longer than a month… but better late than never, ehy? Lets see! I'd like to thank all my reviewers for sticking it out with me and STILL doing reviews 3 freaking years later! I still get author alerts and story alerts in my inbox and it makes me so happy. =) I would love more reviews, but considering the tardiness of this chapter, I probably don't deserve them… But please please please review me! I'm wondering if my writing style has matured at all since I've been in college and it would give me warm fuzzies and more inspiration to write if you all reviewed me! 3

Anywho! If this seems a bit rushed and raw, it is for 2 reasons: one, it's really hard to get out so many emotions and themes and have the really tie together and two, this is supposed to portray Rogue as confused and desperate and trying to figure everything out as she commits suicide.

But yeah…this is the last chapter and I know some of you are ready to tar and feather me because, well, did Rogue really commit suicide? That is for you to individually ponder on. It's purposefully open ended. Was Marie saved because of Rogue's sacrifice? Was Marie a drug induced hallucination or an actual fragment of Rogue's mind? Who were the angels calling for her and taking her up faster to heaven? Was heaven death or a new beginning at the Institute?

Ponder on that! I hope you all enjoyed the ride and I hope that some of you got even a wee bit emotional too. I did, and I wrote the damn chapter. I may go back and rework some of it, but chances are it won't be in the near future. This is the absolute last chapter. I don't think a sequel should be done in any case.

On a more promotional and exciting note, I'm re-writing (and hopefully finishing) Tormented Sanity, EXCEPT , it will probably be under a different name, so look for that hopefully in the next 10 years. (Joking! I have a whole crap load done, I just need time to reread it!). Lastly, I'm working on another series, soon to be posted as "The Love-Hate Chronicles". This of course, will be a Romy too. =)