Lost in the Dark

“Hey mister, you got the time?”

I slouch to look smaller than I really am and take a drag of my cigarette, even though I hate the way it tastes. I hate having to do this. It’s supposed to be special, you know, but it just isn’t. It never was, it never will be. I force a seductive smile as the man approaches me and wink at him. I know what he wants. I don’t really want it, but whether I want it or not doesn’t matter. It’s all about the money; the emptiness in my stomach, the thinness of my clothes, the smallness of my shoes. The need for money.

That’s all I think about as I lead him to a secluded back alley and let him use me. It doesn’t hurt, it never does. Physically, anyway. Emotionally it’s just a bitter empty feeling. I close my eyes, I moan, I play along and act like it’s good. He gets off on it and gives me a crumpled wad of cash. He’s a cheapskate, but I smile and wink and pull my pants back up as he leaves. I wait for a while, then go back out. I want the night to be over. I see a young, drunk couple walking hand in hand, tripping over each other and laughing. They hold each other for support, they kiss. I lean against a building and light another cigarette and try not to think about them as I wait for someone else with money and a need for action.

“Get back, get back,” I whispered, trying to push the memory away. Professor X had taught me how to repress another person’s memory. Sometimes it was easy, sometimes it was hard. timetimes they get all mixed up in my mind and I wake up screaming about things that never happened to me. Sabretooth’s arm brushed against me briefly – he didn’t even notice. I couldn’t figure out how such a small, sudden touch could cause so many of his memories to flood my mind. Images and sounds flew at me, bombarding my senses and making my head ache, like it would tear in two from the pressure.

I watch Mort, trying not to be too obvious. He’s leaning over the tab table, trying to line up a shot. He’s not very good at the game, but I’m not paying attention to that; I’ve got a great view of his ass. He looks almost hot. He’s a great guy, the only one I can talk to. He’s not the most social person in the world, always reading, but he’ll talk to you if you express an interest in him or whatever he’s reading.

I’m surprised that he isn’t curled up on the couch reading, but I don’t say anything about it. I approach him slowly, and he glances sideways at me.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You want some help setting that shot up?”

He looks at the pool table, then at me. “OK.”

He starts to get up, but I move behind him. He stays still as I place my hands over his, readjusting his grip on the pool cue. He smells like soap and soda, and his hands are calloused. I can hear his breathing; it’s rapid, almost nervous. I move his arms, concentrating on the pool table and cue, but I notice that I’m pressed against his leg. I can feel his muscles; they’re taut. Don’t be nervous, I think, I won’t hurt you. But I stay silent. I move my hands, and nod at him. He licks his lips. His tongue is dark green, like his skin, and it flickers across his chapped lips for a second before he shoots.

Yellow ball in the corner pocket.

He grins, and I notice that his teeth are crooked. They are off-white, and look as though they’re still growing in. He turns his head slightly and looks at me, arching an eyebrow. That’s when I acknowledge my arousal. He can feel it, it’s against the back of his leg, and I’m surprised that he hasn’t fled the scene.

He turns around slowly, and I move back to give him room. He’s put the pool cue down on the table, forgetting the game entirely. I watch his eyes. They dart around, flickering from my eyes to my mouth and back to my eyes. He swallows, and his breath smells faintly of lettuce. He’s a vegetarian because his teeth aren’t sharp enough to handle meat, I remember. He moves his head forward awkwardly, and he smells nervous. I lean in and kiss him gently, closing my eyes.

He’s frightened at first, and I almost pull away, but I feel one of his hands snake up into my hair. It feels nice. I can tell this is his first kiss, and I guide him, gently wrapping my arm around his waist. This isn’t my first kiss, but it’s the first one that feels good. It’s soft and warm and tender and he means it. He doesn’t expect a quick release in exchange for cash. I want to kiss him harder, to cover his face and the sides of his neck with kisses, but I remember that he’s never done this and restrain myself. I don’t want to frighten him, and he’s so much smaller than I am; part of me is afraid of crushing him, but not even my fear can ruin this.

It’s the perfect moment until I hear the scream.

“No! Get it out of my head!”

Logan shook me hard. I felt my head snap back and forth and knew I’d feel the soreness of whiplash the next day, but that didn’t matter. He succeeded in pulling me out of Sabretooth’s memories for an instant.

“Rogue, talk to me,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “I’m fine now,” I said. “I’ve just…I mean, his memories are just…something else…”

I wanted to tell Logan what I’d seen. It felt like something that just had to come out - Sabretooth’s gay - but I didn’t say anything. I understood that these were the man’s private thoughts and feelings, and that if I had to talk to anyone about them, I needed to talk to the Professor. Logan rested his hand on my shoulder, staring intently into my eyes. He wanted to see what had made me react so strangely. I shrugged, trying to brush it all off like a bad dream. That’s what it was for me, anyway, just a bad dream.

“Shit!” I glare after Erik as he makes his way back across the walkway. Bits of metal fly out from under him the minute he moves his foot, and the walkway is gone in a matter of minutes. I lean against the wall still cursing myself for dropping that jackass senator. He isn’t even that important, I tell myself as restlessness sets in and I begin to pace. The cell is small and restricting, and part of me begins to pa Th That small part of me that hates small places and fears capture takes over, and the cell seems to shrink.

Just sit down, I tell myself, just sit down and think this over rationally. Erik won’t leave me here. He can’t. I’m supposed to help him capture that girl we need to run the machine. He’s just trying to punish me for dropping the senator into the ocean, he’ll let me out in the morning.

I force myself to sit down, and the cell seems to stop shrinking. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths, and lean back against the cool, damp wall.

The memory passed through me like water. It was seamless and non-traumatic. I pushed it into the back of my mind, along with all the other memories that aren’t mine. I sighed and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“You feelin better?” asked Logan. I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m better now.” He looked at me, wondering if I meit, it, if I was lying to him so that he wouldn’t worry. Part of me was; I was pretty sure that the memories were over, but I couldn’t be certain. “The worst of it’s over,” I added, “I feel fine.”

I know he isn’t looking for action by the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are fixed on my face, not my ass, and his hands hang at his sides instead of being jammed in his pockets. He’s a cop, I think, and begin to run away, thinking up excuses in the event he caught me. A blonde woman steps out in front of me, blocking the path. I feel the man’s hand on my shoulder before I can shove her aside and I whirl around.

“I’m clean,” I say, “honest, officer, I’m not turning tricks or anything.”

He has clear blue eyes and curly dark hair. “This isn’t about that, Victor,” he says in a low, steady voice. He smells like mint and coffee, lots of coffee. I glance back at the blonde. She hasn’t moved an inch and is surveying me with steely blue eyes. Her eyes are harsh and relentless, and that alone tells me she isn’t looking for action either.

“What do you want?” I ask in a low voice. “I don’t deal dope – ”

“This isn’t about that either,” he says, cutting me off. “Come on, you look hungry.” He turns, his hand still on my shoulder as if to make sure I don’t run off, and begins to lead me toward an all-night coffee shop. My stomach rumbles and takes an instant liking to this stranger, but I feel apprehensive and scared. He’s a little shorter than me, and I know that I can outrun him or beat him senseless, but there’s something about him that makes me feel weaker.

The blonde and I sit down at a table and the man orders coffee and bagels. She watches him for a moment, then turns to me. “My name is Raven Darkholme,” she says, extending her hand. I shake it and introduce myself, giving her a fake last name. “I know who you are,” she grins, “you don’t have to lie.” I don’t reply. She continues in a near whisper that I can hear perfectly even though she’s on the other side of the table, “Victor, you’re different from other people, aren’t you?”

I nod. I know about mutants, what they are and all, and I was starting to think that I might be one because of my hearing and sense of smell. The man comes back to the table and hands me a cup of coffee and a bagel. I thank him and practically eat the bagel in one bite I’m so hungry. The coffee is bitter but it feels wonderful and warm sliding down my throat.

“Victor, would you like to go somewhere where you’ll fit in?” asks Raven.

I look at them. The man has placed a spoon in his coffee and it is stirring itself. I can’t help but stare. “A place for mutants, like us,” he says after a moment.

“Like a cult?” I ask, ready to throw the coffee at him and run out the door. He laughs.

“No, of course not.” He puts the coffee cup down on the table andendsends his hand. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr,” he says as I shake his hand tentatively. “I know someone who runs a school for gifted individuals such as yourself.” The spoon stops moving on its own and I feel slightly better.

“I don’t have any money,” I say. I am telling the truth. I have no money, and, as of last week, I have no home. The landlord started wanting cash instead of quick lousy sex and threw me out. Part of me wants to go with Erik to this school, but I don’t want to have to turn tricks in exchange for an education.

“That’s all right,” Erik says. I shake my head and grip my coffee cup. I’m prepared to run. I know a thousand hiding places.

“I don’t wanna turn tricks in exchange for a roof,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to,” he says calmly. He hands me a business card. “Victor, we want to help you.” I take the card and stare at it. Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. There is a phone number and an address in New York. I star at it for a long time.

“I need to think about it,” I say, rising and jamming it into my pocket. “How long you in town?”

“As long as it takes you to decide.” I thank them for the food and coffee and leave. I wander around for a while, thinking about this school for mutants. They tell me I can stay for free, that I’ll never have to sell myself again. It sounds too good to be true.

I shook my head again, wiping the memory away. Logan’s hand was still on my shoulder. “I need to see the Professor,” I said.

“I’ll go get him,” said Logan. “Go sit down. I’ll be right back.” He patted my shoulder lightly before leaving. I waited until he’d gone down the stairs and vanished from sight before sitting down in the living room.