FAN FICTION - X-Men: ... head like a hole (epsilon series)
TITLE: … head like a hole
FANDOM: X-Men
{AU-ish world}
RATING: PG?
WORD COUNT: about 1090
WARNINGS: My mother never washed my mouth with soap and you can tell.
{the usual}
PAIRING: Rogue/Pyro
SUMMARY: … You saw them and you heard how she laughed, punching his arm and you felt a twinge of jealousy, of hurt and pain, so unbearable, and you knew this is something you have to do.
{for 50scenes}
PROMPT: 056 pitiful
SENTENCE: #21 - Fool. You're hiding in Bobby's goddamn wardrobe when he storms in, walks straight to the closet (how the hell does he know you're there, you wonder) and pulls you out in rather violent manner saying, you little fool, there's better ways to spy on your ex having sex, you know and you glare at him, tell him to fuck off, it's not that, I just wanna see what she's got that I don't, and the fucker only smirks enjoying your misery.
TABLE: HERE
{epsilon series}
A/N: I feel weird and I feel this fic is weird too. Not what it was supposed to, but I guess it doesn't matter. Just a little insight to their relationship... in a way.
AND:
Previous fics HERE
The original sentences can be found HERE in case you're interested. This thing hasn't been betaed, but if you'd like to be the one to do so, lemme know.
DISCLAIMER: Dude, as if.
... head like a hole
If anyone had told you about a girl who's done what you're about to do, you would've laughed and laughed, made faces, snickered and called her an idiot, pathetic. The rest of the day you would've spent making fun of her with your friends because that's the way it goes and you wouldn't have even considered to stop and wonder why. What drove her forward, caused it, why she did it. Why she needed it so bad.
But if it happened now, you would. You'd stop.
It's been a month. A month since you found yourself having sex with Pyro, on regular bases might one add, but still you can't let it go. Can't let him go and you need to, you need to feel whole and actual again. Like always when it comes to you, you need to know why so that you can work with the problem, around it, and make sure it never happens again. Not to you, not ever.
So that's how you reason it to yourself, you hiding in Bobby's dark wardrobe. It's not like the pretty birds woke you up this morning and suddenly you opened your eyes deciding this is the day you're gonna do what you've wanted to do for weeks, but you saw them at breakfast and you froze, tried not to look, but couldn't keep your eyes off of them. You saw them and you heard how she laughed, punching his arm and you felt a twinge of jealousy, of hurt and pain, so unbearable, and you knew this is something you have to do.
After lunch you talked with Jubilee and told her to do something for you, begged, but careful enough not to arouse her suspicions. She didn't understand why, but simply gave you a big wide-eyed stare and with a weak, stuttered okay she left to accomplish the mission you set her out to do.
And you, you did your part in a manner of which a real cat burglar would be damn proud of. You took a deep breath and went to see if John was in their shared room for you know Bobby wasn't. No, but neither was he and that's when you made the final decision, or rather, ignored the quiet reasoning in the back of your mind, echoing with all the other voices and you walked to the wardrobe, opened it, stepped inside and pulled the doors close. It let out an ear-hurting sound while at it, but you didn't even flinch. It's dark in the wardrobe, in the room, but you can see through the shades, can see everything's that happening and after five minutes you're thinking of leaving, abandoning the ship.
Are you a fucking idiot?
And inside your head, you hear his voice, Pyro's, strong and taunting, He's with her, doesn't give a shit about you anymore so what the fuck does it matter anymore, Marie?
But it does.
Because you need this, need the clarity of mind, need the truth no matter how painful it is. Because you can't stop loving him, not this fast, not the way he's stopped loving you.
The door opens and you cease breathing, horrified, excited, scared and then it all goes to ashes, the whole damn plan.
It's not Bobby that walks into the room, storms towards the closet you're in. The door gets pulled open, violently, and John grabs your arm and pulls you out with an angry grimace burning on his face, darkening his eyes and even with him holding you, hurting you, you have time to enjoy it. The shadows in his eyes.
"You little fool," he snarls, eyes pouring accusations, curses, insults, "there's better ways to spy on your ex having sex, you know."
"Fuck off!" You snap back, "It's not that," it was never about that, you damn idiot, and you tell him, with defiant eyes easily matching the fire in his, you tell him, "I just wanna se what she's got that I don't"
And he smiles, a corner of his lip twisting into a smile and if he wasn't holding your arms the way he is, firmly in place, you'd slap him hard.
But the hands go nowhere and you guess he's learnt his lesson then.
"Stop that, stop looking at me like that!" you bark after awhile, after the stare in his eyes gets too pressuring, too something, and his grip on you softens.
He chuckles, anger fading into obvious amusement. Neither of which he has any right to feel, not now.
"You're such a pathetic little thing," he chuckles aloud, shoulders shaking in tune with his laughter and just like that you feel your own anger subsiding, retrieving back to the darkness of your mind. There's something about the way he smiles that makes you melt inside, the way his eyes shine, pure and boyish with no trails of deception, of Pyro and you love to see it.
In fact, you're almost ready to admit you love being the only one who ever gets to see it.
"I'm not little," you put back, glaring, but not even trying to fight back the equally amused smile, "But I admit being pathetic."
But it's not your fault, it's not, because you don't want to love him anymore, miss him, you don't want to care about him and his stupid new girlfriend, but you do and it tears you apart, pains you. You want him back and you don't and you hate him and you love him and it's all so fucked up you don't know whether to cry or laugh and John, he knows it. You don't want him to, you never told him, but he does and he's taking it all in, enjoying the fact you're broken inside. Broken the way he is, damaged goods, beyond repair.
And he, while still chuckling faintly, pulls you close and traps you against his chest and you can't help but breathe in his scent, the one you're grown weirdly fond of. But it's all okay, because here, in his arms, vulnerable and exposed, it's actually when you don't feel so pathetic anymore and pieces fall into their places.
Most of them, anyway, and that's about all you can ask for.
The funny thing is that you don't even realize it then, don't want to see, to know, but these are the only moments in your life it's completely silent inside your head.
Too bad you never notice what you've got until you lose it.