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Misfits and Runaways
by Jade Blood
Some cure. It didn’t take. Well, that’s not all true. It did for a while. Maybe I should start over.
When the government started demanding mutant registration, I was one of those that decided to voluntarily opt out of my powers. It wasn’t because I’m all “rah-rah establishment” either. When you’re incapable of touching someone without hurting (or worse, killing) them, there’s a temptation to jump on whatever cure they toss at you.
Plus, there was a boy. Isn’t there always?
Long story short, it came back. That nasty feeling of having worms crawling in my skin, in my head, while I laid next to Bobby. It was the most literal rude awakening either of us could’ve been treated to. Then began the decent of our relationship into what it was before: I can’t touch you; you can’t touch me; why are we bothering?
I’m good at running. I bet Logan is so pissed at me because I took that route, but I just couldn’t deal. All the people in that school were just so close, and the physical distance I felt translated itself into emotional distance, too. I don’t want to get into that. It is what it is.
Of course, I could’ve stood to wait until I was older. Employable. Something. I was on the street. I started doing things. Bad things. Nothing sexual, because… well, I can’t. But I was using my powers to steal. I know that might sound nonsensical almost, but it actually makes perfect sense when you think about it. I would touch them, trying to be sneaky about it, and they’d get weak enough to pass out. Then I’d take some money from their purse or wallet. I got good, too. I got so I could do it in plain sight without freaking out because I was absorbing stuff (memories, personalities, the usual). I would crouch by them when they fell, and the other folks that stopped to check would just assume I was helping. They never saw me sneaking the cash.
Well… Not totally true. One did, but he wasn’t one of them. He was like me.
He was an older guy, and I say that like it’s a bad thing, but it really isn’t. For one thing, he knows more than me, which has got to be good. He’s pretty hot for being older, too. You know, he’s not that old. This kind of talk is embarrassing. Like it matters at all. I’ve got a white streak in my hair, so I bet plenty of people assume things about my age.
Anyway, he saw me and picked out what I was doing immediately. When I made a break for it, he was there to catch my arm. Thank God, or whoever watches, that I was wearing long sleeves as usual. I still had the typical reaction, though: don’t touch me! He wasn’t listening, and I’ve come to realize he has that kind of stubborn streak to him. He dragged me aside, and I saw his eyes do this weird thing. They flashed a kind of red, and that’s when I knew. That started a scuffle, and I came pretty close to draining him before we reconciled over it. Apparently, this guy wanted to help me. He called himself Gambit, and I didn’t question it. I’m “Rogue”, after all.
I was lucky to have him, for more reasons than just needing a place to live and honest (Gambit? Honest? What am I saying?) money to keep me going. It turns out there were side effects to absorbing people all willy-nilly without tempering myself. Remember when I described the sensation as worms in my head? Suddenly, I had a brain full to overflowing with worms. All of them nibbling and talking and making me lose myself as they ate.
Before, it was easy to manage. There were flashes where I felt the worms talking or acting through me. Like when I was really affectionate and playful, that was Bobby. When I was angry and lonely, that could be Logan. When I was deeply afraid, mostly of myself, it was Magneto and what he’d done to me with that machine. There were other people I’d never known for more than the few seconds it took me to get their money, and that’s where things really started to get bad. Cravings, bizarre sexual attractions, isms I’d inherited from strangers.
Bottomline: I was losing it. I couldn’t hold that many minds. Mutant, I may be, but I was still only meant to be myself, not all these people. These feasting worms. If the professor were still alive, I would’ve run to him. Even if just Dr. Grey was around to turn to, that would have been a reason to go back. I was half-tempted to return for Logan, for that stability I had in knowing he’d always catch me when I fell. Like a little girl to her dad.
“You’re a grown woman, chere.” He’s got this voice that just rumbles. It goes right through you. Did I mention that? Guess not. “You gotta deal with this.”
I told him I was scared.
“That’s natural. And you aren’t alone, so stop acting like you are.”
So that was that. We weathered it. Some days, I was downright schizophrenic. He still teases me about some of the stuff I did that made him positively baffled. Like when I insisted on taking all the American cheese out of the fridge and unwrapping every, single slice. It seems funny now, but at the time? Not so much.
You know, Remy (yeah, he eventually told me his real name, and I told him mine) acts like this tough, impenetrable force. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Play for keeps, because you might not get a second chance. Life in the fast lane. If you ever meet him, and he acts this way, tell him I said he’s full of shit. That is the sweetest, most heroic man you’ll ever meet. And yeah, he might be a little right when he calls himself a charming asshole, but underneath all that… You just have to dig.
Oh, and he kisses like a guy who is well-schooled in the art. I risked having another worm in my head to do that, but what of it? You would have, too.
He smiles at me and calls us “misfits and runaways”. A couple of thieves. That’s how he knew me, because he can see his own reflection from a mile away. I’ve toyed with the idea of taking him to the school, because they’re the kinds of people who would take me back and invite him in with no questions asked, but I like this life. Maybe I like it too much. It’s both quiet and loud, him and me. I still have my weirdo spells every once in a while, but they’re getting fewer. I’m starting to learn control of a sort. We have to travel a lot sometimes, because Remy tends to leave a trail of burnt bridges behind him everywhere he goes, but it doesn’t bug me like I thought it would.
I’m almost scared to say it. Damn, I’m terrified to say it. But I think I’m happy.
The End