Frail

Disclaimer and Warnings:

I do not own any Marvel caharacters. This story is for entertainment purposes only. This story contains scenes of violence and non-consentual sex. These images may be disturbing to some readers, please refrain if you will be offended.

He called me 'Frail'. He used it like a pet name, not like he was describing me. But I felt it. Afterward, in the hospital, I felt breakable, broken, shattered. But not at the time. I don't know when he came into my apartment, I lived alone, and he could have been there for hours. I just remember fingers running through my hair, gently waking me from sleep. It registered, slowly at first, that I wasn't alone. Then I opened my eyes and saw a vague, large shape in my dark room.
"Hello, Frail."
When he spoke, it was in a calm, deep voice. There was no menace in the first statement. He continued to sift my hair with his hand. I turned slightly; I was afraid, but not frozen. I felt my nightgown fall over my shoulder.
'I must be dreaming,' I thought. I reached out my fingertips, slowly, and made contact with a solid mass. I drew back, then reached out again and discovered that I was touching the hairy chest of a man. It was no one I recognized. I shrank back and hit my head on the slanted ceiling of my room. He was real, and he was in my bedroom.
"What do you want?" I asked, he only chuckled and I felt his fingers close around my neck. I started to scream, but he tightened his grip just enough to cut off the sound. I remember clawing at the hand, feeling my nails dig into the skin at my own throat, but I just wanted to breathe. Then he pulled me forward so fast that my cheekbone connected with his chin.
"I won't leave a mark if you don't make me."
"Why?" I asked, "Why are you doing this?" I had enough air now to whisper. I could see the outline of him now. He had long hair and it flowed around his shoulders when he shook his head.
"Dunno, you made me feel like it."
"No, I don't know you." I said. "I can't even see your face." I willed him to understand that I couldn't identify him and if he left now, he'd be safe and he wouldn't have to hurt me.
"Don't matter, I won't be arrested anyway." The next few moments were dizzy. He picked me up by the neck and shoved me against the wall. My head hit the plaster and I saw stars. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, I'm not sure. He scratched down my front and my nightgown seemed to break apart like paper. The fan in my window blew cool air across me. I had an abstract thought; the sound of the fan must have muffled the noise of him breaking in. Then the thought was banished. His big palm was moving across my skin. He touched me with an odd hesitation.
The hand limiting my air was sure in its purpose, but the fingertips brushing across me were almost shy, like he'd never touched anyone before. I reached up and caught his fingers, clenching them tightly in my hands. I focused all of my energy into sounding calm and sincere.
"Please, don't hurt me." He paused for a moment; the hand at my neck eased and I gulped a mouthful of air.
"How 'bout I don't lay you open, Frail?" He sounded like a tough little kid, trying to puff himself up. But the reality was staring me in the face. He was seven feet tall, and could snap my neck like a twig. It also felt like he had claws that extended out of his finger tips. I didn't answer, I couldn't. He tightened his grip on my throat and leaned close, running his tongue over my lips, but not kissing me. I heard the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. I started to struggle.
"No, please," I begged. He just growled and then I heard the sound of a zipper being lowered. I kicked out at him and clawed at his hand.
"Stop fighting, Frail, and it'll hurt less." He sounded exasperated. I couldn't answer; I gritted my teeth and struggled. He didn't know me, he didn't know who I was; otherwise he'd never have said that. I felt a little better, for some reason, because he was so obviously a stranger; anyone who knew me at all could tell you that I never stop fighting. And I didn't. Not when he made five little pricks in my skin with his nails as he gripped my thigh, not when he pushed himself between my legs, and not when he rutted inside me, banging my back and head on the wall. I only stopped fighting when he squeezed too tight, when I felt him shudder and roar. I couldn't hear anymore, and my world went black as he spewed himself inside me.
I woke up in the hospital. Someone told me later that one of my neighbors had heard some thumping and crashing. Then she'd heard something like an animal scream. She'd put on her bathrobe and come to my door; it had looked like something had exploded outward. She found me on the floor and called an ambulance. I'd been lying on the floor unconscious.
When I opened my eyes there was a woman sitting in the room with me. I couldn't see her very well; my eyesight was blurry. She had long, red hair.
"My name is Jean," she said, coming to her feet. "I came as soon as I heard what had happened." She walked to the foot of my bed and reached out a hand. She rested it on the mattress. She didn't touch me. I felt the blanket move against my toe, and I was relieved that I could still feel my feet. I'd had a general feeling of numbness since waking and I now felt the sensations flowing back into my limbs.
My hands hurt, my feet were cold, and the muscles in my legs were lame and sore, I didn't feel anything between them. But I didn't want to feel anything between them.
"What are you doing here?" I croaked at her. My voice sounded like I had swallowed sand. It was almost nonexistent and I couldn't seem to clear my throat enough to talk. "How long have I been here?"
"I came to help you, and to try and capture the man responsible for yonjurnjuries." She paused, she was trying to be delicate with me, I could tell. "You've been here for approximately thirty-two hours."
"Have I been unconcious the entire time?" I couldn't imagine sleeping for so long. But then, I hadn't really been asleep.
"You came around a couple of times before your surgery, but you weren't coherent so you probably won't remember anything."
"Surgery?" The redhead, Jean, nodded.
"Your arm is broken and the doctors needed to put a screw in it so it can heal properly."
I looked down at my side. My right arm was covered from hand to elbow in a thick cast. I moved my fingers; they ached and looked puffy. My arm was broken; the bones inside me were damaged so badly I had to be nailed back together like a piece of wood.
"I don't remember breaking my arm." I said. A tear slipped out of my swollen eyelid. It stung as it traveled down my cheek. "I didn’t break my arm, he broke it." I tried to focus on Jean. "He broke me like a plate." My pain must have leaked out because Jean clutched at her own stomach and bent over slightly. I felt like doing the same thing. I was sick inside. Jean regained her composure and stood, wiping my tears away from her own cheeks. I don't know how I knew it, but she was really feeling my pain. I didn't mind sharing.
"I'm here to keep you safe, Jenny." She addressed me by name. "In case he comes back while you're here." My heart dropped though my back, and the bed, and onto the floor beneath my bed. It kept falling, through the cement floor and through the patient in the bed beneath me and through his floor. It kept falling till it reached the ground and began to bury itself in the dirt beneath the hospital.
"Why would he come back?" I asked her when my heart returned to me and beat again. "He said he wasn't worried about being caught."
"I know, but-"
"You know?" I asked. "How do you knw what he said?" Jean looked at the closed door behind her.
~Because I read your mind~ The words just popped into my head like she was speaking, but there was an echo around it, and it was familiar. I could remember flashes of this echo voice talking to me, and I think she was making me remember. I saw faces floating above me: doctors' and nurses', and hers, she put her hand on my forehead and everything went calm and blurry.
"I don't want to scare you." She said in her regular voice, "You weren't waking up and I needed to know if you were attacked by the same man tha're're looking for."
"Would you have left me here alone if it was some other guy?" Jean shook her head.
"I'd have done everything possible to help you, Jenny."
"Who is the 'We' you're talking about?" I wondered why I was so calm talking to a woman who'd read my mind. I think it was the drugs. They were probably giving me sedatives. Jean smiled; she was reading me again and heard me.
"You are medicated, and it makes your thoughts just sort of shout at me in a big cloud." She sat down beside me in the chair provided. "I can block you out if it helps." I shook my head because there wasn't a point. She'd already seen what I'd been though. It was better then trying to tell someone what had happened.
"Do you think he really will come here?" Jean didn't bother to hide from me. She sent me her emotions. She was worried, and confused.
"Sleep for now. There are others here who can keep you safe till you canmovemoved." She reached out for the tube attached to my IV. I didn't mind. I wasn't afraid, just numb.
I dreamed this time. Of big hands, whispered words, of a body against me. This time, something held back my fear. I mentally reached out for Jean and she held my "hand" as I probed my memories. We watched carefully as I pulled up the last few days before the attack. The tables I waited on at work, the people I saw, the places I ate dinner and bought toilet paper. Something stuck out to us both and we moved forward to a table in the back of my memory. It was stuck between the new release section of the video store and my conversation with the librarian at my college. We pushed closer. Jean's "hand" was on my shoulder, guiding me slowly. There was someone else behind her, with his "hand" on her shoulder. I couldn't see him, but he was her support.
I walked toward the table; I'm smiling because I always smile at work. He's a big man and he wears a hat. I see all kinds so he's not scary to me. I ask if he wants ce, he, he nods and I pour. He's got the menu standing up and his hands are in his lap. He watches me and I catch his gaze and smile. He looks startled and lifts his head. I "Jump" mentally and I feel the uncomfortable sensation of waking too quickly from sleep. Feels like needles running along under my skin for a few seconds. Then my eyes are open. Jean's a little pale. She looks at me, I look at her.
"All I did was smile." Tears squeeze out of my eyes again. She moves to me and strokes my hair. "I didn't treat him any different than any other customer."
"It's not your fault." She rocks me like a baby, but she's not much older than I am. "He's a sick man who can't handle any kind of normal contact. He only knows violence." I can feel her seg a g a soothing palm over my mind. I can also feel the other one.
"Who's the guy?" I look up, Jean smiles.
"I told him you were pretty focused and that you'd know he was there."
"So there wameonmeone else there?"
"Yeah, Scott. He's my anchor for when I go in to look for something…" she pauses, "emotional." I understand what she means. I wouldn't want to experience someone else's trauma firsthand without a base to hold onto.
"Is he at the hospital?" I am curious, but I don't want to meet him. I'd rather just stick with Jean. She and and sends me a mental picture of a good-looking guy in sunglasses, sitting in a chair reading a magazine.
"He's watching the hallway outside your door."
"How many people are here with you?" I'm curious but also wary. She sends me a couple of images, a young girl with a bright yellow raincoat, she looks younger than me, sitting in a car outside. I see a really cranky-looking man in a cowboy hat watching the outside of the hospital. His attention seems to be focused on a window on the second floor. Just a shot in the dark, but I'm thinking its my window. And last, a girl with brown hair that has white streaks in the front. She's near the back door, sitting in the waiting room. She looks a little nervous around crowds.
"We're all here to look after you." Jean says this so I'll feel significant. My safety is their priority. They want me to be protected. But I wouldn't mean as much to them if I hadn't…endured.
"Why do you think I'm different?" Jean immediately closed the link. She didn't want me to know something. "I can't be the only one, not if you came after you heard about me." She looks troubled. She always looks troubled, but this time she's more.
"He didn't leave the others alive." There, she says it. I'm lucky to be alive, and this is their one chance to catch him. Since he'll be back for me to finish me off. Because he doesn't leave them alive. 'm 'm going to be bait?"
"We were waiting till you could be moved." She looks to the door and the man appears. He's concerned. She steps oustide, but the link is down and I can't hear them. She's crying, I can hear it through the door. A few minutes later, the man comes in. Scott.
"We're taking you out of here tonight." He says it gently, but I can't help looking down. He's wearing snug jeans and I can see the outline between his legs. It's automatic. He has one too of course. I can't help but wonder if he's ever had it inside someone. Felt what the other one did. I'm embarrassed because Jean can probably hear me thinkinout out her friend's penis. I turn and look away. I look out my window. I haven't done that yet. Outside on the lawn I see the man in the cowboy hat. A gentle touch in my mind tells me that Jean is back. I can't help but think about what's inside Scott's pants, if it's been inside Je ~Ye ~Yes~ she says in my mind. ~But he doesn't hurt me when he does it~ It's odd for her to share intimate details, but it’s the only thing to offer comfort. I look back at the man outside my window. He's so far down; I wonder how quickly he could get to my room if I was in trouble. I try my hand at direct communication.
~Can you make me stop thinking about sex?~ I hear a watery chuckle, she's trying not to laugh and cry at the same time, she is back in the room and Scott is gone. She's tired from reliving my experience. It would be rough on anyone. I don't want to speak, but she underds. ds. I can't say the one word that will bring up too much pain to bear. I keep thinking about it in biological terms. It wasn't biologically different to when people like Scott and Jean do it. But I know that it's different. I can't separate the two of them right now. I wonder about the man outside and I can't see if he's wearing tight jeans or not. I don't want to wonder if he would be so h. h. I have no basis for comparison.
Jean knows what I am, or what I was before this happened.
"Can I have a mirror?" She reluctantly gives me one and I look at my face. My neck is red and scabbed over where my own nails dug furrows in my own skin. I have a bruise over my cheek and eye. I think it's from when I hit his chin. Then there's the cast; I don't remember when he did that. Jean thinks that he threw me when I lost conciousness, that I hit the bed and broke my arm. He might have punched me too. I can't remember, she says it’s a blessing. I don't know. It couldn't have been much worse and I think I'm upset, not knowing. My hair is dirty, I can smell the oil in it. I always liked to keep it clean. It lays in a brown, scraggly mess on my shoulders. I don't want to comb it. It would feel like him touching me again.
"Can you stand up?" Jean asks me, standing next to my bed. "We want to take you someplace safe."
"Don't you want me to be bait?" I don't have to show my emotions, she understands, I wouldn't be important to them dead. I wouldn't have been able to help them. Jean won't let me just lay here while I wait for him to finish me off. She lets me in and I read, or she sends, feelings that she felt for the other girls. She felt helpless and weak. She hated to imagine what they went through, but now she knows through me. She wept bitterly for them and I don't hate her so much. She's making me heal emotionally. She's hastening the process by giving me a bridge to my emotions. She needs me strong. She doesn't want to lose anyone else to him.
"Creed." Jeays ays his name. "Victor Creed." She brings up an image of him; I see his face
clearly, and I recognize him, his hair and his build from my room, but his features are from the man in the diner. He looks like something from wild kingdom. I understand that he stalks his prey before he attacks. No real pattern to his choices. He's not human, he's one of the bad mutants. I never hated them before, but now I want to. I know that Jean is one, and I guess that the others are too. I don't really hate them all. I'd rather hate, but the bridge makes me acknowledge and deal.
"Can't hate them all." I say, she looks pinched and upset.
"Some non-mutants do it too." I know this and nod. I try to get up and she tells me to wait a moment. She runs out of the room and I look at the man in on the ground again. I think again about how fast he can move. Could he get to me in time?
"How fast can you run?" I whisper out the window. He looks up just then, and I ime the that he can hear me.
"Really fast." Jean says it when she comes back in. "But no one will be here faster than I." She's carrying a set of surgical scrubs. She removes my IV and helps me dress. I don't look down at myself when I take off the hospital gown.
"What made you change your mind about keeping me here till I'm stronger?" Jean closes down; before I can protest, she speaks.
"I need to tell you slower than I can think it. And not till we're safely away." I wonder where we'll go. I see the man under my window is already moving toward the parking lot. My feet are bare; I set them down on floofloor and try to stand. Jean is beside me, I've been laying down so long that all the blood seems pooled at my feet and I can't stay upright. A feeling of lightness and my feet seem to lift from the floor. I panic. She sets me down on the bed. "It'll be okay." Scott comes in.
"I need to carry you downstairs." He says.
"Why not use a wheelchair?" I ask. Why does he need to touch me?
"Cameras in the elevators." Scott says. He doesn't look at me when he picks me up. He carries me out the door and down the hallway to the stairs. There's a car outside; the girl in the yellow jacket is driving. She winks at me; Scott helps me into the back seat. get gets in beside me. We drive away without the men.
I'm tired again. Jean tells me to sleep. I sleep.

I stick out in the mansion. I'm there for my own protection. Jean sI'lI'll be with people who are used to being different. But they all have something in common. They're all learning together in a place where their differences can be appreciated. I'm just there because a monster fucked me and broke my arm. Doesn't matter how quiet you try to keep things, I showed up with a black eye and a cast after an encounter with someone who usually only leaves pieces. Only natual that they figure out what he came after me for.
I'm the only non-mutant student here. Everyone knows that I'm under Xavier's protection. I suppose I'm lucky that he's putting so much effort into keeping me alive. He says its what they all do. They are protecting humans because they have the means. I want to scream at him that no one prote me me before Creed took an interest. It's been two months at the school and no one mentions him unless I ask. The people are friendly, but there's a wall between us.
I feel like a celebrity pariah. The other kids know that he might be coming for me. They all probably wonder. There wasn't an assembly or anything. But Jean took a few of the older students aside to talk to them about me. She wanted some people on my side. I know that she went for their sympathies first. She told them that Creed had followed me around for a couple of weeks. She told them I was lucky to be alive. I met some of the older girls. Jubilee had driven me to the jet. She knew everything and I stayed in a room with her, felt a little safer with a roommate who was like a human night light. She's a little younger than I am.
First time I met Bobby, I knew that he'd been told everything. He was nervous and immediately looked at my crotch. It's inevitable. Whenever someone mentions an injury, you immediately look at their hand or foot or whetever part had been hurt. So he looks down there, not at the cast on my arm. I know he's imagining it. I don't think about it. Jean doesn't read my mind anymore. She says I need privacy in my thoughts. The professor hasn't yet either. He only breaks the rule in emergencies.
The gdon\don't touch me, the older girls are overprotective. I don't know how to feel about it. I don't really want to be touched, and I can't help but be flattered that they want to protect me. I surprise myself by hoping they don't try to protect me from Creed. I get it that he likes to tear little girls apart. It's kind of his thing. I take walks a lot. I'm always watched so I get used to it. I'm only creeped out the first time I see a blue man watching me from a tree, trying to keep his distance but keep me in sight at the same time. I don't see the grouchy guy in the cowboy hat much. He's been gone for a few weeks. Looking for Creed. I know they call him Sabretooth, but I'd prefer to think of him with his regular name. Feels a little less like I was attacked by something at the zoo. I know all to well how human he is. No onee doe does. Almost no one.
I've taken the opportunity to thank everyone who came to my rescue personally. It's my baby steps toward acceptance and moving on. I'm told that Logan is in the garage. He got home last night. I talk to men alone during the day. I don't freak out or anything, I just prefer to see them when they're well-lit. I hear someone moving around in the garage, I'm glad he's alone now. I don't want everyone staring when I go talk to the man they all revere as a demi-god.
He pauses and turns his head slightly when I walk in. He turns around and eyes me oddly.
"Hi." I stick my hands in my pockets and lean against the doorframe. He doesn't look at my crotch, or my chest. He's looking me in the eye with a funny expression.
"Hi." He says. I blurt out that I wanted to thank him for helping me get out of the hospital and stuff. He nods silently, His nostrils flare and I get nervous.
"Well, bye." I wave and turn to leave.
"You know, don't you?" his voice is rough, he clears his throat and tries for gentle. "You know what's going on?" Logan steps forward and gestures vaguely at my lower body. He's not a very tactful person. He's also really uncomfortable. My heart feels like its falling through the floor again. My rear hits the steps. He jumps forward and reaches out, I can't breathe, but I bat his hands away. I can't breathe.
"How do you know?" I'm feeling light-headed. I think its because I'm hyperventilating. He squats in front of me. "How?"
"I can smell it." Somehow I'm not surprised. I am a little grossed out.
"Didn't they give you something in the med lab?"
"I couldn't keep it down." I say. "Nothing is 100% anyway. They teach us that in health class." He knows. He knows I'm pregnant. Suddenly I feel like a touch could shatter me into a thousand pieces. I feel frail.