I stare out at the back lawn, watching Remy doing handstands in the grass and drooling. I appreciate the strength in his arms and the way his chest fills out his old tee-shirt. He's acting the fool to make Jubilee smile. I wonder what he'd be like with a baby. The pain is like a sharp needle in my heart. My vision shifts and I see through the haze of his memories. He/I am playing with my/his brother's children. Their smiles are more precious than anything I/he's ever stolen, but I'll never see them again. I'll never have children of my own.
My heart dies a little bit every time I witness his pain first hand. I want to make him smile the way Belle remembers him at Marti Gras. I've never seen that smile. I horde her memories of him. The professor has given up trying to teach me to control my powers. I know why, though no one else does. I enjoy rifiling through other people's lives. Remy and Belle are connected in my head. I refuse to let them fade.
Remy always looks carefree and confident. His grin is wild and his smart mouth runs free. I know it's all a lie. I want to shake him until he becomes the professional bastard I have living in the corner of my mind. I want to see him bleed a little more from the brokenness inside of him. I want the real Remy, whoever the fuck that is. Bt I think he's too far behind the masks to fight to the surface. I idly consider getting the knife Victor gave me when I was still Mystique's little girl and my hand trembles. I cant' seriously be thinking of cutting him, but part of me wants to see if he'll arch up into my blade the way he caresses Logan's claws when the old man pins him.
I leave the porch and go up to my room. I close my door with a sharp click. I set on my bed, surrounded by my stuffed animals and try to pretend I'm just a little girl who's not old enough to have fantasies of sex and blood run together in my mind. All the dark, slimly little men and women I've touched slither out of their nooks and crannies. Carol laughs at me from behind the metal door of her prison and I give into reality. I want to feel someone other than Joseph touch me. I want something other than my vibrator inside of me.
When my phone rings, I jump. No one calls me. No one has my extension. "Hello?" I say, hesitantly into the receiver.
"Hello, Rogue-chere," a woman's voice purrs at me. "Y' know who this is, don't y', girl?"
"B-belle," I stutter. "I thought you went home after you fucked my boyfriend."
"My husband an' y're ex y' mean? Y' could know what he's like in bed, y' stupid lil' cunt."
"What right have you got to talk to me like that?" My voice is soft and sweet.
She laughs. "Stupid, pretty, chile. He don' got t' touch y' t' make y' fly. An' y' don' got t' touch him . What's wrong wit' y', femme? I know y' watch our memories when y' lay wit' y're favorite lil' toy. Plastic can't make y' feel the same. Or are y' pretendin' y're him?"
"Leave me the fuck alone, bitch." I don't hang up though, just to hear her laughter, bright and clear like *he* remembers it.
"Y' want t' know what it's like so bad, chere." Her voice is fond and I have to repress my shiver. "Y' want t' know what it's like when they ain't payin' y' f' it. I know what y're daddy done t' y'. I know about the money he made off of y'. I know about Cody and how he made the world safe f' y' again. He's a nice boy. Tad afraid of mutants though. Bein' in a coma f' t'ree years'll do dat. I know y' ain't an untouched virgin and I know it weren't y're kiss that near t' killt the boy."
I want to smash the smug little bitch into a wall, but Remy'd look at me with his big, hurt, little boy eyes and I'd feel miserable. I don't even know where to start looking for her.
"Don' bother wit' masks, chere. It don' surprise m' that he fell f' y' neither. My slut's got a tendency t' play the edge. Y' should see some of the boys he plays wit'. Oh, dat's right, y' already know 'bout dat, don' y'." Her voice is seductive. I can't stop listening to that oh-so-familiar accent in her soft purr. She reminds me of Mama. "When y're playin' wit' y'self what do y' t'ink of?"
"Why are you doing this, Belle?"
"Because I'm a bitch, chere."
I can't help it, I laugh.
"Y' need a primer on how t' get him off, girl?"
"What?" I squeak.
"Po' lil' Remy-slut needs sex like he needs t' breath."
"I'm his ex, remember?"
"Course y' are. That's why y' bruised up his wrist wit' y're jealously."
"He told you?"
"Non, chere. But I take care of m' t'ings unlike y'. Y're a sloppy bitch an' y' gonna get him killt. I don' want t' see that happen. Get y're act t'gether and stop actin' like the teenage slut y' used t' be an' I won't have t' kill y'."
"Even the most invulnerable bitch got a weakness. I can find y'res. Keep it in mind. Y' get him hurt or killt, and y' die. Y' ain't not'in' but an irritant in the scheme of t'ings. Just a favored mistress. Adieu, Rebecca Anne."
She hangs up and the phone turns to an irritating buzz in my ear. When the "operator's" voice comes on, I hang up. I stare out the window until the clouds start to gather and the playful shrieks come from the basketball court where Storm is drenching the opposing team.