Lost- Chapter 3
Title- Lost- Chapter 3
Author: ragingindie47
Time: Post-X3
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Summary: Third chapter of Lost.
Author's note: This chapter is mostly about John's past, and what Kitty's going through. The next chapter will be up soon. Reviews are always appreciated!
:-)
Kitty sat on her bed, holding the second letter in her hand tightly. She closed her eyes in the dark, tears falling on the unopened envelope. She didn't know if she could do this, feel this longing in her heart for him. But she knew if she gave up now, she would never feel the burn of his skin on hers again, or hear his voice whisper softly in her ear.
It was the night after Rogue, Bobby, and Logan had found her on the street, and they had left with her promising that she would call or write soon. And she would.
She opened her eyes at the noise of the door opening and saw Elizabeth jump in surprise as she turned the light on and saw Kitty sitting on her bed with tears streaming down her face.
"Kitty! Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked, putting her bags down and making her way over to her.
"I'm fine. Really." the smaller girl said, smiling and wiping her tears away. Elizabeth stared at her for a moment before turning away, tears forming in her own eyes. She had always been sensitive to other people's tears, probably coming from her own abusive childhood. Elizabeth always felt the need to comfort people, but to see Kitty in this mess was too much. It brought back bad memories of her own relationships.
Kitty stared at the taller black haired thin girl. She knew Elizabeth had troubles of her own, but she didn't know how to talk to her. She didn’t even know how to talk to herself.
"Are you okay?" Kitty asked quietly, and Elizabeth looked at her.
"I'm fine." Elizabeth whispered, trying to ignore her own memories. Kitty needed her the most right now, and she had to stay strong for her friend.
"I'm going to go for a walk." Kitty said after a minute. Elizabeth nodded.
"Kitty-" she said before Kitty walked out the door.
"Yeah?" Kitty said, looking up.
"Do you want to talk later? I have ice cream. And hot chocolate. Either one." Elizabeth said, smiling through the tears that were forming in her eyes.
"I'd love to." Kitty said, a giggle escaping from her mouth. Elizabeth nodded and sat down on her bed.
"I'll see you when you get back." she said, and Kitty waved and walked out of the room.
Kitty walked down the hallway, holding the letter tightly as she walked outside to the street and found herself lost in the crowd of people.
She knew where she was going, but she didn't know what she would read in the letter. It was the second of the bundle, and she wondered what was in those pages. She wondered what he wanted her to know. And she wondered what it would take to see him again. But she trusted him. Because he knew her better than anyone else ever had.
She kept walking until she found the place where she usually sat near the ice skating rink in the city. She sat down on the bench, enjoying the snow fall on her small black coat. She watched the couples skate around and laugh on the ice skating rink below, and she wanted for her and John to be skating and laughing.
She could picture his expression on the ice, unsure and amused. She would stumble and he would catch her, and she would look up at him and smile. And he would smile back. But she didn't know if he would be the same. She had changed, and she knew he had too, even if she hadn’t even talked to him yet. She only had these envelopes, and she had to hold onto them.
She held the letter tightly in her hands, looking down at the think envelope. She missed the way he felt, she missed his voice, and she missed his mouth on hers. So she opened the second letter and read it, the Christmas lights brightening the paper while happy couples skated and laughed below.
Dear Kitty,
By now you're probably wondering why you have to read all these letters. You're wondering why you can't just skip to the last one and find out where I am. You're wondering why I'm writing you instead of just finding you.
It's because I don't want you to see me again without knowing what's in these pages. I haven't told you a lot of things, and I hope that you'll know me by the last letter.
So I'm going to tell you a story.
When I was little, my dad abused me and my mom. He seemed friendly enough on the outside, but when he came in the house with that look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t.
When I was about 10, my mom left. She couldn't take it anymore. So she left me with him. And things got worse. I hated the way he came in the house after a bad day at work, and I hated the way he beat me to the ground, the punches and slaps getting harder with every protesting word that came out of my mouth. So I started just to accept it and not say anything.
Every time he touched me, I kept thinking of how things would someday get better. How I was the better person for not hurting him. That thought was the only thing that kept me going.
The school I went to noticed the marks on me and called my dad a lot of times, but he just got madder and madder. I kept going to school and wearing clothes that hid the bruises, and the teachers still called, but not as often.
Then when I was 14, we were eating dinner one night when a social worker called. I heard my dad talk to him and say everything was fine and when he hung up, I could tell that the social workers hadn't changed my dad at all by talking to him. I remember him backing me up to a wall and beating me. Really beating me. It was the angriest he had ever been. And I already had a few ribs broken and things would've gotten worse if I didn't do something.
So then I felt fire in my hands. It was powerful, and it was protecting. It probably had come from the candle from the dining room, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger.
I heard my dad yelling and shouting, and I just let the fire go and I ran upstairs and got my clothes and my dad's credit card. Then I ran. I ran while my house was burning down and I could still hear my dad yelling for me.
I kept running for I don't know how long. Then I got to an airport and bought a ticket to New York City. The airport people didn't even look at me twice and they let me go.
Then I read that my dad died in a house fire. And I knew that I wasn't the better person anymore. I had hurt him just like he hurt me, and I didn't know if I could deal with that.
When I got to New York, I bought a lighter and I figured out that I really could control fire. And that's what made me realize that it wasn't my fault. So I just forgot about my other life. I wasn't "St. John", like my dad used to call me. I wasn't anyone. I could be anyone on the streets.
I want you to think before you read the next letter, Kitty. I killed my dad, I know. And you might hate me for that. Or you might feel bad for me. But I don't know how you feel.
Love,
John
Kitty finished reading the letter with tears flowing down her cheeks. John had never told her this. She knew that he had come from a dysfunctional family, but she never knew that it had been this bad. She let out a sob, putting her hand over her mouth. She didn't know if she could take this anymore.
But she had to trust him. He knew what was best for now, so she had to let him guide her to him. He was her star, and she was trying to land amongst him. She could only hope that she would. And she knew he did too.
Kitty stood up, walking back into the crowd and taking in everything that she had just read. She looked at the people walking by her as she walked through the city street. They could just as troubled as her and she wouldn't know. She would never know anything beyond of what she saw, heard, and felt. And that's what broke her to pieces.
Author: ragingindie47
Time: Post-X3
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Summary: Third chapter of Lost.
Author's note: This chapter is mostly about John's past, and what Kitty's going through. The next chapter will be up soon. Reviews are always appreciated!
:-)
Kitty sat on her bed, holding the second letter in her hand tightly. She closed her eyes in the dark, tears falling on the unopened envelope. She didn't know if she could do this, feel this longing in her heart for him. But she knew if she gave up now, she would never feel the burn of his skin on hers again, or hear his voice whisper softly in her ear.
It was the night after Rogue, Bobby, and Logan had found her on the street, and they had left with her promising that she would call or write soon. And she would.
She opened her eyes at the noise of the door opening and saw Elizabeth jump in surprise as she turned the light on and saw Kitty sitting on her bed with tears streaming down her face.
"Kitty! Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked, putting her bags down and making her way over to her.
"I'm fine. Really." the smaller girl said, smiling and wiping her tears away. Elizabeth stared at her for a moment before turning away, tears forming in her own eyes. She had always been sensitive to other people's tears, probably coming from her own abusive childhood. Elizabeth always felt the need to comfort people, but to see Kitty in this mess was too much. It brought back bad memories of her own relationships.
Kitty stared at the taller black haired thin girl. She knew Elizabeth had troubles of her own, but she didn't know how to talk to her. She didn’t even know how to talk to herself.
"Are you okay?" Kitty asked quietly, and Elizabeth looked at her.
"I'm fine." Elizabeth whispered, trying to ignore her own memories. Kitty needed her the most right now, and she had to stay strong for her friend.
"I'm going to go for a walk." Kitty said after a minute. Elizabeth nodded.
"Kitty-" she said before Kitty walked out the door.
"Yeah?" Kitty said, looking up.
"Do you want to talk later? I have ice cream. And hot chocolate. Either one." Elizabeth said, smiling through the tears that were forming in her eyes.
"I'd love to." Kitty said, a giggle escaping from her mouth. Elizabeth nodded and sat down on her bed.
"I'll see you when you get back." she said, and Kitty waved and walked out of the room.
Kitty walked down the hallway, holding the letter tightly as she walked outside to the street and found herself lost in the crowd of people.
She knew where she was going, but she didn't know what she would read in the letter. It was the second of the bundle, and she wondered what was in those pages. She wondered what he wanted her to know. And she wondered what it would take to see him again. But she trusted him. Because he knew her better than anyone else ever had.
She kept walking until she found the place where she usually sat near the ice skating rink in the city. She sat down on the bench, enjoying the snow fall on her small black coat. She watched the couples skate around and laugh on the ice skating rink below, and she wanted for her and John to be skating and laughing.
She could picture his expression on the ice, unsure and amused. She would stumble and he would catch her, and she would look up at him and smile. And he would smile back. But she didn't know if he would be the same. She had changed, and she knew he had too, even if she hadn’t even talked to him yet. She only had these envelopes, and she had to hold onto them.
She held the letter tightly in her hands, looking down at the think envelope. She missed the way he felt, she missed his voice, and she missed his mouth on hers. So she opened the second letter and read it, the Christmas lights brightening the paper while happy couples skated and laughed below.
Dear Kitty,
By now you're probably wondering why you have to read all these letters. You're wondering why you can't just skip to the last one and find out where I am. You're wondering why I'm writing you instead of just finding you.
It's because I don't want you to see me again without knowing what's in these pages. I haven't told you a lot of things, and I hope that you'll know me by the last letter.
So I'm going to tell you a story.
When I was little, my dad abused me and my mom. He seemed friendly enough on the outside, but when he came in the house with that look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t.
When I was about 10, my mom left. She couldn't take it anymore. So she left me with him. And things got worse. I hated the way he came in the house after a bad day at work, and I hated the way he beat me to the ground, the punches and slaps getting harder with every protesting word that came out of my mouth. So I started just to accept it and not say anything.
Every time he touched me, I kept thinking of how things would someday get better. How I was the better person for not hurting him. That thought was the only thing that kept me going.
The school I went to noticed the marks on me and called my dad a lot of times, but he just got madder and madder. I kept going to school and wearing clothes that hid the bruises, and the teachers still called, but not as often.
Then when I was 14, we were eating dinner one night when a social worker called. I heard my dad talk to him and say everything was fine and when he hung up, I could tell that the social workers hadn't changed my dad at all by talking to him. I remember him backing me up to a wall and beating me. Really beating me. It was the angriest he had ever been. And I already had a few ribs broken and things would've gotten worse if I didn't do something.
So then I felt fire in my hands. It was powerful, and it was protecting. It probably had come from the candle from the dining room, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger.
I heard my dad yelling and shouting, and I just let the fire go and I ran upstairs and got my clothes and my dad's credit card. Then I ran. I ran while my house was burning down and I could still hear my dad yelling for me.
I kept running for I don't know how long. Then I got to an airport and bought a ticket to New York City. The airport people didn't even look at me twice and they let me go.
Then I read that my dad died in a house fire. And I knew that I wasn't the better person anymore. I had hurt him just like he hurt me, and I didn't know if I could deal with that.
When I got to New York, I bought a lighter and I figured out that I really could control fire. And that's what made me realize that it wasn't my fault. So I just forgot about my other life. I wasn't "St. John", like my dad used to call me. I wasn't anyone. I could be anyone on the streets.
I want you to think before you read the next letter, Kitty. I killed my dad, I know. And you might hate me for that. Or you might feel bad for me. But I don't know how you feel.
Love,
John
Kitty finished reading the letter with tears flowing down her cheeks. John had never told her this. She knew that he had come from a dysfunctional family, but she never knew that it had been this bad. She let out a sob, putting her hand over her mouth. She didn't know if she could take this anymore.
But she had to trust him. He knew what was best for now, so she had to let him guide her to him. He was her star, and she was trying to land amongst him. She could only hope that she would. And she knew he did too.
Kitty stood up, walking back into the crowd and taking in everything that she had just read. She looked at the people walking by her as she walked through the city street. They could just as troubled as her and she wouldn't know. She would never know anything beyond of what she saw, heard, and felt. And that's what broke her to pieces.