-1I touch myself at night when I think of him. I used to become him and run my hands over myself. He's refused me time and time again. So much, I've begun to hate him. I think of the look in his eyes right before he pushed me away the time I came to him in his tent.

I think of the way his body stiffened beneath mine when I ran my tongue over his ear. In the stillness of night, I like to think he responded out of something besides disgust but then daylight returns and I know the truth.

I am a human. A mere human. He wasn't interested in me when I was his equal and now…well I am no longer his equal.

I throw the notebook across the room, cursing the shrink I've been assigned. All mutants who received the cure unwillingly have been issued, at the government's expense, a psychologist. A head doctor. A shrink. Those responsible for Alcatraz and the events leading up to it were all so afraid we would sue or worse, they were doing anything and everything to keep us subdued. Bread and circuses. I laughed. Like any of us could afford lawyers. Few of us even had the heart left to vote, much less fight.

Just yesterday, as I was leaving Dr. Yaani's-what a name, like yawny, as in very boring-I passed someone who I assume was his previous client. This guy had a mutant tattoo across the right side of his face and down his neck. I assume it continued to his back but even before the cure I didn't posses X-ray vision so I can only assume. He didn't carry himself like he was still proud of his tattoo. His eyes never left the carpet, which is just as well. I have had about enough with guys ogling me.

I was beautiful. My skin was a rich blue with glistening scales in a darker blue. I had glowing yellow eyes, their contrast with my skin a sight to see. I had red hair, which I kept short and slicked back. I never wore clothing, my scales covering the more, um, erogenous zones of my body. I had a lover. I had power. I had a purpose.

Now, I was just like everyone else. Well, not just like everyone else. I am apparently more pleasing to human males than others as I can't walk down the street without hearing cat calls and whistles. There was a time when I got a kick out of tricking men; appearing as someone I wasn't to arouse them, make them want something they couldn't have. Now it was just a day to day headache.

And now I am just me. I have black hair and boring blue eyes. My skin is a horrible pasty white which, if I don't slather with sunscreen before venturing into the sun, turns into a blistering red mess. I can't change my appearance, at least not without surgery or some other such drastic measure. I get cold in the winter and hot in the summer. My body no longer adjusts to temperature the way it once did. My jeans chafe and my underwear bunch.

Speaking of which, I check to make sure my roommate is out and after locking the door, strip down to my birthday suit. Horrible as it is, it's better than being covered in layers of someone else's skin. That's how I described my aversion to clothes to Dr. Yanni.

I pick back up the journal and walking into my room, threw it on the nightstand. Ronnie, my roommate, hates it when I leave my stuff out. I sprawl on the twin bed, wishing I didn't have to go to work in twenty minutes. Part of the governments attempt at reintroducing us to humanity was us getting jobs. So, for the first time in my life, I am holding a job in my given name, Raven Darkholme. Raven. Wouldn't have been so bad if I'd chosen it but I hadn't. It was thrust upon me when I was born. Of course, I looked normal at birth. All first generation mutants look normal at birth. It's only the second and third generations that look like mutants when they are born. Lucky bastards.

I've been a senator's aide, a senator myself, a weapons manufacturer, a hooker. Heck, I've been the famous Wolverine on more than one occasion.

I like to think about our fight at Liberty Island. The look on his face when I hit him time and time again. He was surprised every time I slipped past his guard. He'd been so easy those first couple of encounters. He did catch me off guard the night he almost bested me. I remember how he smelled, cigars and a new leather uniform. He smelled of sweat. He ran his claws up into my chest, puncturing a lung but not much else. His breath had been hot in face as he cut me down, his brows creased and lined. I remember the look on his face. No remorse. No guilt. Simply doing his job. That's Logan's way, or had been until they made him soft.

I break away from my train of thought, realizing how late it's gotten. I have to be at the store in less than ten minutes. I quickly dress, pulling on black slacks and a white button up shirt. I grab the ghastly black bow tie they make us wear and pin my name tag over my left breast. I look up into the mirror. "Hi! My name's Raven! How can I be of service to you today?" I sneer at my reflection. I shake me head. What have I come to?

I lock the door behind me, thinking again how pointless to lock a door that's no stronger than cardboard but Ronnie insists. She's totally paranoid. If the government didn't make me live with her, I wouldn't.

If the government didn't make me keep this job, I wouldn't. I couldn't stand smiling at all these stupid people. I am not a naturally cheerful person and Mr. Wyatt's continual harping to, "Smile. Smile. Smile," was not my idea of good leadership. Give me a megalomaniacal, power-hungry, psycho who I could really get behind. Someone I could really follow.

But such people aren't allowed anymore. They've either been 'tamed' like Logan or 'neutralized' like Erik. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes when I thought of Erik. I'd loved him. I'd followed him. I'd rescued him from prison. I'd stepped in front of a bullet for him and what did I get in return?

I got left.

Because I wasn't one of 'them' anymore. And now we were again equals. I'd watched in horror as the newsman read from his script. He'd been so happy. So proud of humanity for defeating the great Magneto. What did that little pimple have to be proud of? He couldn't have defeated a class one mutant, much less come against Erik. It was Logan and Dr. McCoy who'd defeated Erik. Brought him down to my level.

I often think of finding him. I fantasize about what I will say if we happen to run into each other but I don't know what will happen. Part of me wants to run into his arms and let him lead me again. Another part wants to ignore him, pretend I don't recognize the old man before me. But the largest part wants to hurt him. I want him to experience the rejection I felt as he left him in my mobile prison, having gotten the information he came for.

I can't decide how to hurt him, though. If I'd been successful the night before Alkali Lake, I would tell him all about it, but I don't think telling him I got turned down is the best way to show how much I didn't need him then and don't need him now.

I walk out the front door and walk into the oven of Kansas City summer. It's hot. It's humid. I curse again the lottery that sent me here. I feel sweat running down my back before I'm a block from my building. Luckily, the grocery store is less than a mile away and it's not long before I step into the coolness of air-conditioning. The store smells slightly of old meat and body odor. The floor is sticky and the carts broken. Hey, no one said the government had to get us good jobs.

I walk back to the office, ignoring a fat woman's request for help. I hear her swear at me under her breath. Of course she doesn't have the guts to say it to my face. They never do. Homo sapians. Cowards and weaklings. My nails dig into my palms and I realize I've stopped in the middle of an aisle, clenching my fists closed. I give myself a small shake and continue to the office.

I clock in and grab a money drawer. Jolene, the assistant manager tries to make small talk but I ignore her. I've gotten good at ignoring her. I know she thinks I'm a racist but her dark skin has nothing to do with my rudeness. I just don't like her. She's always running her mouth. Like right now, she's talking. Ain't nobody listening but she's flapping her jaw. Mr. Wyatt oozes into the office. A slimier human being I've never met. His hair is thin and light brown. He has it plastered to his scalp with enough gel to…to…do something else with. His body folds in on a nonexistent chest. He has no butt, his body totally shapeless. His voice is high and scratchy. I hate him more than anyone else. I feel my blood pressure rise as he address me.

He asks if I remember how to do credit card sales.

Of course I do, you spineless piece of trash I think. I simply nod to him. He goes on to insinuate that I might be stealing from my drawer and that if it continues to happen, I'll be fired. Stupid man. You should never tell people you've almost caught them. I make a mental note to not slip any bills into my pocket for a couple of weeks. It's alright. I already have over $1200 in bills stuffed in an old sock in the back of my closet. I'll pick up where I left of in a couple of weeks.

I head to the front of the store, the checkers there no doubt ready to go home to their meager little lives. Of course, look who's talking. At least they have friends and family, pathetic as they might be.

I wonder where the remaining members of the Brotherhood are. Sometimes I miss the scheming and planning. I worry sometimes about what will happen to me if the succeed in taking over. Will John remember me? I saw his face when Erik left me there, laying naked on the floor. He didn't approve. He thought they should take me with them. Had he risen to the greatness we'd seen in him or had he reverted to being a petty criminal, like he was on his way to being when we rescued him from Xavier's clutches?

Mr. Wyatt is calling my name. I can't ignore him; he signs my checks. He tells me to smile more and not be such a sour face. I can't help it, I laugh in his face. He has no idea. He sputters and begins to turn red. He says I need to show more respect and have some gratitude. His voice drops to a whisper, his words meant for me and me alone. If I don't straighten up and follow the rules, he says, I'm going to find myself without a job and, he continues, he just might let it slip that I was an ex-con and a previously dangerous mutant.

He's threatened stuff like this before so I don't know why today is different but it is. My vision gets hazy and I feel my face flush. His pupils widen and he takes a step back. I can feel the fear radiating off of him. A smile forms on my lips as I take a step towards him.

You think you can get to me don't you? I ask him. He doesn't answer but lifts the clipboard he's holding. Like it's a damn shield. You will never get me to crack, I say. I thrust my money drawer into his hands telling him to hold it for me.

I stomp into the bathroom, my breathing heavy. I put both hands on the sink, my knuckles turning white as my grip tightens. I feel the anger and rage coursing through my body and I like it. I see him in my mind's eye, his little beady eyes, his pockmarked face. The way his thin lips curl when he talks. His voice grates on my ears. Show some respect, I mimic, his voice echoing in the silent bathroom.

I stop, my heart beat the only sound I hear. I look in the mirror. Staring back at me is a pair of gray beady eyes, rimmed by Mr. Wyatt's skin. My body is my own but the face looking back at me is Mr. Wyatt's. Slowly, his face morphs into mine. Well, it's almost mine. It looks like my face in structure but it's color is wrong. My pale face has a definite blue tinge to it. My heart races. I can't go out there with blue skin! Why the hell is my skin blue?

My heart skips a beat. No, I tell myself, it's impossible. The thought returns unbidden. Maybe the cure…no. The cure is permanent. Everyone knows that. Besides, I wasn't the first mutant to receive it. If it wore off, we'd have heard about it by now. Still, I think.

I look into the mirror again. Still not perfectly white but I think I can get out of the store without getting lynched. I straighten my clothes, trying not to hope against hope that I'll soon be free of their restricting presence. I start to straighten my bow tie but come to a decision instead. I pull it off and throw it in the toilet. Hope you plug things up, I tell it.

I walk out of the bathroom. Mr. Wyatt is standing outside the office, still holding my drawer. I walk past him without so much as glancing his way. I hear him call after me but I continue to walk away.

There is only one place I know of to get answers about mutations besides the government and I think they've done enough. Showing up at Xavier's isn't my idea of fun but I don't know what else to do. I need answers and to be honest, I'm tired of being the bad guy. Maybe they need help up there. I could…hack computers for them. Or help students into their rooms when they've gotten locked out.

Okay, maybe I don't have the greatest resume but I can't stay here any longer. Some things going to happen and I am a survivor. So I am going to go somewhere where I will be safe. I just hope they'll listen.

And maybe I'll see Logan.