Allwebco Web Templates · Build your own toolbar · Financial Data · Audio, Fonts, Clipart
powered by
bravenet.com
|
|
Pictures
of You
This is a
song fic inspired by The Cure’s Pictures
of You.
Summary:
Remy has lost his best friend and is battling the grief before the funeral.
Marvel
owns the X-men, The Cure owns ‘Pictures of You’. Go out and buy The Cure’s “Galore” CD that
has this song on it. It fits in so well.
Thanks to L.M.
for being an awesome beta reader for me! (I can’t say your name yet or it will
give me away!!!)
---------------------
“I've been looking so long at these
pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're
real
I've been living so long with my
pictures of you
That I almost believe that the
pictures are
All I can feel…”
The sun is
shining high this March morning and many cars are entering the grounds of the
school. The mansion is busy, friends and families traveling from all over the
world to be with each other at Xavier’s. If only they could meet under more pleasant
circumstances. It is a funeral that
brings them all together, mourning the death of a life that touched so many yet
had been taken for granted for so long.
Remy finishes
buttoning the collar of his gray silk shirt before he begins fussing with his
black tie. He never learned how to tie
one but Scott had been kind enough to do it for him 3 years ago. It never came untied after that, he just slipped
it over his head and adjusted it as needed.
He checks
his appearance in the mirror above his fireplace, making sure nothing is out of
place. He regrets it almost immediately
as his eyes fall on a picture on the marble mantle. A photo of him and Ororo. He thought he had
put them all away. They were too painful now.
It was a
memorable picture she had given him from years ago when they had returned to
In the
sepia photo, he is dressed in a pinstripe zoot suit, cigarette in his mouth and
a tommy gun in his right hand, a cocksure, smug smile on his face. She’s dressed in a dated dress that shows off
her cleavage and her neck is loaded down with pearls. A cream colored beret is tilted mischievously
on her white hair. She stands behind him, one arm wrapped around his stomach,
and her head peeking out from behind his shoulder, as her other hand is concealed in his front
pocket with an ‘O’ of surprise. ‘Bonnie and
She had
chosen the photo to keep while he was changing out of his gangster clothes and
he all but forgot about it until she handed it to him weeks later after they
had returned. The sight of it, her impish actions caught on
film, had brought tears to his eyes from laughter. Now it brings a different kind of tears. He
pulls the picture down and casually tosses it under the bed, its frame scraping
across the wood floor underneath.
“Best not
t’ t’ink about it now, I have t’ get t’rough dis.” He says out loud to himself.
A knock comes
at his door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Rogue. He’s devoted 3 years of his life to her and oddly, she’s the last person
he wants to talk to right now.
“Come
in.” The door opens, letting in
someone’s laughter from down below. He
doesn’t know how anyone could feel happy right now.
“Ah
brought you some orange juice, Tylenol, and a bagel. Everyone’s askin’ about you. I jus’ told them you’re not feelin’ too well.”
There’s concern in her green eyes and her voice is wavering a bit. She’s fidgeting with her black velvet gloves,
uncomfortable, but he can’t blame her- he’s been hell to be around the past few
days.
“T’anks.”
It’s more of a farewell than it is gratitude.
She takes
the hint and heads for the door. Before opening it, she turns and says, “Ah’ll
save you a seat. But if you don’t feel you can make it, ah’ll understand. We all will. Ah asked Sean to stand in for
you if necessary…” she was referring to him being a pallbearer.
“I’ll be
down fo’ de funeral. I owe her dat much.”
He had been asked to speak at her funeral originally. He didn’t feel he had anything to say,
nothing he wanted to share with anyone at least. His fondest memories of Ororo were
private. He would probably only end up
sobbing like a fool anyway.
Anna says
nothing else as she departs and closes the door behind her, leaving him to his
grief.
He listens
until her high heeled steps begin heading down stairs to join the rest of the
guests. It seems the second floor has
cleared out. He grabs his black wool
blazer from the armchair by the fireplace and exits his room.
He cast
quick glances down both ends of the hall, praying there was no one around to
bother him. The “how are you doing’s”
and “holding up ok’s” had gotten old by the time the 4th person
asked him. How the fuck was he supposed
to feel with his best friend dead? He
had retreated to his room before he actually said that to someone. Now, he was exposed to the world again.
He didn’t
know how it happened but he found himself standing in front of her bedroom
door. The only door in the mansion that
had an oak staircase behind it. The only staircase that led to the attic loft. The only room
that was completely saturated in her spirit.
He wanted to leave it behind, ignore it, and forget it even existed but
a tugging at his heart controlled his hand, resting it on the doorknob.
Perhaps…
this was a cruel joke… perhaps, she wasn’t dead. He would be angry at her for it, but he would
forgive her for just being alive. He
swallowed and wrenched the door open.
Pictures
of You
Chapter 2
“Remembering you
Standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your
fear”
The door
shut behind him, filling the room with an empty echo. He slowly climbs the risers, surprised at how
stuffy the room is. The windows hadn’t
been opened in days and the door below was shut, sealing the room off. The faint smell of rosemary and sandalwood
still linger.
He reaches
the top of the stairs, avoiding looking to his right, where her bed is, where
he had found her. Instead, he scans the
area to his left where her indoor garden sits, unattended, and showing signs of
neglect already. They’re illuminated by the sun filtering through one of her
many skylights, but they’re suffering without her. He drops his coat to the floor and goes to
them.
Mechanically,
he grabs the watering can, and begins to fill it in the wash-tub sink,
wondering what he’s doing but not caring at the same time. He waters them, lost in the sound of the
water falling like rain, resurrecting a memory he’s tried to quell…
Remy sat on the window ledge, lit
cigarette in hand, surveying the city below. It had been 2 weeks since he’d met
Ororo and although he hadn’t intended, she had grown on him. They had become their own version of Robin
Hood virtually overnight and he couldn’t help but feel relieved to not be alone
anymore, even if it was with an adolescent girl. She was the sister he never had yet, reminded
him so much of himself at her age. Though, something
he couldn’t pinpoint, she seemed older than her years.
Ororo tossed and turned in her
sleep, her brow furrowing in frustration, her body struggling against an
invisible foe. It was the same
dream. She’s so young, perhaps 5, out
picnicking with her mother and father.
Her father zooms her across the sky in his
arms, like she’s an airplane, the wind rushing through her ears. She screams to
go higher, higher, to touch the clouds above her. He finally collapses back on the picnic
blanket, into N’Dare’s lap. Her mother
tells her with a gentle smile to let her father rest a bit.
It is at that moment, her father’s grip
tightens on her wrists, causing her to cry out in surprise. She turns to ask
him what’s going on and it is no longer her father but the Shadow King! She
turns to beg her mother for help but she is no longer there, having been
replaced by the mechanical Nanny. Terror rips through her and they both grab
for her.
The wind picks up outside, created
by unseen hands and Remy looks over at Ororo noticing her struggles. “Merde…” he ignites the remainder of the
cigarette with his mutant abilities and tosses it out the window, it vanishing
in a puff of smoke, and treads carefully over to where she’s laying. “Petite… y’ ok?”
Those mechanical arms clawing at
her… so tight she can barely move while the Shadow King pulls her the other
way, straining her tiny arms… she’s being pulled apart! “Oh bright lady… please
make it stop!”
A slow, heavy pat begins on the
roof that swiftly builds into a deafening rain of hail. Lightning and thunder crash around the entire
city, and Remy is now trying desperately to shake her
awake. She’s starting to scream so he does the only thing that came naturally
and he grabs her to his chest and hugs her, trying to sooth her. “C’mon fille… s’ok… jus’ wake up an’ end
dis…”
He feels her body relax slightly
and the storm overhead passes. She grips
him and begins sobbing onto his shoulder, not able to speak, just
relieved. “S’ok
ma tempête… you’re safe now.” He kissed the top of
her head and rocked her until she cried herself to sleep and even then, he
dared not move her until morning.
Remy
realized he was still tilting an empty watering can over the garden. Exhaling
loudly he set the can back in the wash-tub and rinsed his hands. He goes over to the wall where the switch to
the skylight is, he flips it up and immediately, the mechanics of the window begin
to whir, propping the window up about 2 feet.
A cool breeze rushes in, refreshing him.
He looks
at his watch, noting the funeral is in 8 minutes. With a heavy heart, he grabs his coat from
the floor, dusts it off and begins to descend the steps. He decides he doesn’t care if he’s left the
skylight open as he closes the door behind him.
He just needs to survive the next 20 minutes and everything will be ok.
Pictures
of You
Chapter 3
“Remembering you
Running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and whiter
than snow
You screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your
courage
To let it all go”
The
funeral is being held outside on the back terrace. The sun is still shining, glowing with warmth
but Remy doesn’t feel it. If anything,
he loathes it. He would’ve thought
nature could’ve made a mourning appearance at her funeral, but he knows better
than that. She had made sure of it.
He
shudders.
Ascending
the aisle to find his seat, he only glances at the shining gray coffin,
refusing to look at her still form. Refusing to let that be his last memories of her. As angry as he is with her, and himself, he
will not do that. Instead, he focuses on
the flower arrangements provided by the guests.
He notices there are no orchids which is a shame because she once
claimed them to be her favorite.
He takes
his seat next to Rogue who reaches for his hand and he pulls it away. She gracefully places the hand on her lap
instead, not wishing to force him to anything right now. It pains her to see him hurting and refusing
her love but she tries to understand.
Although Ororo was a friend to both of them, Remy always had a
connection with her that appeared to rival soul mates at times.
He looks
at her, green eyes staring at a flower arrangement, deep in thought, and
wonders if she’s secretly glad Ororo is gone.
It was only upon Ororo’s death, when he admitted everything to the
Professor that she found out about him and her.
Rogue remembers
how she often wondered how she was chosen over the African goddess but he had
always claimed he loved her more than anything, even Ororo, when she had asked.
“Me n’ Stormy are
just friends, Rogue. She can’ touch what
we have an’ she don’ even try. Dere’s no threat, chére.” He
had said.
Storm had
even reassured her, “Remy is a great friend,
yes but he adores you. To be honest, I
wish I had someone who talked about me the way he does you.” It strikes her,
now, that Ororo had never denied her feelings for him.
Now she can’t
quite understand if he was lying the whole time or if he didn’t know how he
felt himself. Too many thoughts and
emotions confusing her now, she can’t decide to feel betrayed, sad or relieved.
It bothers her that she might feel assuaged so she pushes it away. No matter how much she loves the man beside
her, she would never feel joy at the death of a friend, even if she was a
rival.
Several months prior…
It was little past
“Bonsoir ma belle Stormy.” (1) He changed trajectory and
knelt next to her.
“Good evening. I have the most
tremendous headache.”
“Dat’s
cause y’ not havin’ fun.” He grabbed the book, examining the cover.
She glared playfully, “Not in the
sense you intend.”
“Dante’s good in ‘is own right, chére, but I guarantee y’ I’m much better.” He set the novel on the table next to her,
never breaking his charmer’s gaze from her blue eyes.
“As I said…” she chided. She
studied his s
“Oui. Just me,
Logan, and Bête remaining. Y’ wan’ join, neh?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I
have been looking for an excuse to go shopping, and your wallet just might
provide it.”
He stood and offered a hand to her,
which she took. “Dream on, petite.” He headed for the door outside to grab the
alcohol and something smacked him on the back of the head. He looked down and it was his worn leather
wallet. He picked it up, grinning at
her. “T’ief.”
“I realized my purse is upstairs. I’ll just borrow from you tonight.” She held
up several dollar bills, fanning herself with them.
“An’ I expect payment in full by de
end o’ de night!”
…
“’Ro’s joinin’
in.”
Ororo was greeted with surprise
but, to her relief, not hostility. She
didn’t know why she expected such reactions from her friends but she knew how
territorial men could get about their boy’s nights. She took her seat between
Remy and Beast, having to clear a few beer bottles off of the table in order to
have room for her cards. Logan sat back, cigar in hand while Beast had one hanging from his
mouth, each of them holding cards.
Remy went on to explain the point
they were at in the game, “Bobby ran out o’ money long time ago and Jean pulled
Cyclops out fo’ bed just when he took de lead, d’ough sometin’ tells me by her
insistence he ain’t gettin
much sleep.” He laughed at his crude assumption, joined in by the other two men.
“I’m sure. Poor
thing, having to fulfill the needs of a sensuous flame haired vixen rather than
looking at your ugly faces. I pity him.”
She was painfully aware at them
staring at her, stunned, until
“Don’ worry
‘Ro. That’s premium. I wouldn’t let you
lose your cigar virginity to no damn gas station stogie.”
Beast’s gentle baritone chimed
in. “Her cigar…
virginity? There’s a term for the books.” He took a swig of his
She put it in her mouth and was
about to ask Remy for a light when he plucked it out from between her lips. “Y’
don’ know much bout cigars d’ ya?”
“Well, as
‘Don’ worry, I’ll be gentle.” He
winked, bringing a grin to her face. “ First, y’ punch
a hole in it. Dis let’s de cigar get oxygen when y’
breathe in so it don’ go out, and if you don’ you’re just gonna
be inhaling against a solid wall o’ tobacco leaf anyway.” He handed the cigar to Logan who popped out
an adamantium claw and with precision, punctured the
top of the cigar and handed it to her.
“Now, de preferred method is a
match but since it’s yo’ first one, it might take
awhile. M. Bête, de lighter s'il vous
plait?”
“Affirmative.” Beast’s large blue hand deposited a small lighter in front of Ororo.
Ororo sat, holding the cigar
between her teeth, running the lighter over it, trying desperately to get it to
catch. “Ya gotta puff in
when you do it, darlin’.”
“But don’t insufflate!” Beast
warned.
It was comical, watching her faintly
flushed cocoa cheeks being sucked in as hard as she could, trying desperately
to get the cigar to catch but only managing to accidentally inhale the slight
burnt puffs from the end, making her cough.
“Good goddess, how is this enjoyable?!”
Howls erupted from around her, making her cheeks redden deeper.
“Give it t’ me chère.” She complied, handing over her cigar, it
mocking her in its un-smoldering state.
He took it in his mouth, placed a finger to the end of it and puffed on
it while turning it around, burning the edges evenly. Within 10 seconds, it was
smoldering and he handed it back to her.
“Dere. Don’ worry, dat’s not de initiation, you’re still good wit’ us.”
She wrinkled her nose in defiance
at him and took the biggest puff she could manage, blowing it back in his face,
“I don’t need your approval, Mr. Lebeau.
I’ll call for you when I need another cigar lit.”
“Move over, Doc
Remy just whistled at her comment,
and then proceeded to light a cigarette.
“Why don’t you have a cigar?” she
asked.
“Too sophisticated for him,”
“Non, too phallic fo’ my tastes.” He teased the
shorter man and only received a snort in reply.
“You know, Freud once said
‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar…’” Hank provided. “I like to believe a man
so fixated on the hidden sexual meanings of inanimate objects might hold weight
on the subject.”
Ororo looked at it thoughtfully,
“You know, now that you mention it… that could be why it’s so enjoyable.” She
puffed a few more times, enjoying the dizziness it brought to her and ignoring
the stares she was still getting. They
hadn’t seen anything yet. “What rules are we playing by boys?”
…
2 hours and four Smirnoff’s and a
glass of scotch later, Ororo was clearly toasted.
“I do say,
I do not know if you are being honest or setting me up for a hustle.” She giggled, placing her money on the table.
“I don’ cheat wit de ladies.”
“Maybe we can change that
tonight.” She bit her lower lip,
childish glee on her face at the sight of his raised brow from her obvious barb
towards his troubled relationship. She reached across and pulled his cards
away, tossing them over her shoulder. She
slid over on to his lap and straddled him, her legs hanging on either side of
him and she whispered into his ear, “Remy, let’s face it. I’ve won.”
He swallowed hard, the gravity of
the situation sobering him slightly but his indulgent side painfully curious if
this was just her flirting as usual. She
stared into his eyes, almost searching for permission and receiving nothing,
she kissed him. Softly at first, her soft lips massaging his delicately until
his mouth parted and she then indulged fervently, her tongue dancing with
his. He pulled her tighter, not really
understanding what was going on but not wishing for it to end either. She pulled away, lids heavy with satisfaction
at the shocked look on his face. “Now,
can I persuade you to forget about that little loan from earlier?” She licked
her lips s
“I t’ink so.” He said softly, out of breath.
“Good.” She again covered his mouth
desperately with hers, pulled him from the chair, onto the floor and on top of
her as she enjoyed his equal desperation.
It had been too long since he had been able to touch a woman he loved
and she felt the hunger in him, it fueled her.
For her, she had longed for this since she had regained her memories and
had been stuck in her accursed de-aged body. She had long wanted the courage to
initiate this moment and only regretted it took them both being intoxicated to
do it.
What they shared that night was difficult
to place. Not a careless affair, not
quite making love, yet nothing but love passed between them. Ororo knew exactly what it was and was not
ashamed to speak it, even if she hated the reality of it. As they lay there, naked, the cards all
around them, she had said, “I know this is only for tonight, my friend, but thank
you.”
She thought it would be enough to
have him one night, having reluctantly accepted she could never have his heart,
but slowly, days afterwards when he threw himself back into Rogue’s arms, the
love she had felt began to burn like a brand in her heart, poisoning her.
Footnote:
1. bonsoir ma bel = hello (good
evening) my beautiful stormy.
Pictures of
You
Chapter 4
“Remembering you
Fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark
Remembering
You how you used to be
Slow drowned
You were angels
So much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip
away quietly
Open my eyes
But I never see anything”
Rogue
elbows Remy out his thoughts and motions for him to meet with the other
pallbearers at the front. He realizes he
didn’t hear the eulogy but decides it doesn’t matter. He knows more about her
than anyone else here. The silver
coffin’s lid has been shut, sealing off his beloved.
Four days ago…
It was dreary out in the last
moments of evening, the sky overcast, threatening to soak the earth at a
moment’s notice but remaining content to hover menacingly. The air was damp and chill, just above
freezing, yet Ororo was outside in a pair of shorts staring up at the sky, chewing
on the end of a pen deep in thought. She
had a clip board in hand and had been making notes of which plants had begun to
sprout, which needed more protection, and also overlooking if her landscaping
from fall was going to pan out.
It was an annual ritual for her,
always choosing a different theme for the year that would wash the mansion in a
glow of color. No sooner had the spring
sprouts begun to appear, she was planning out the summer assortment. This
year’s choice for summer was Oriental Lillies. As she scribbled on her clipboard, the odor
of Gambit’s clove cigarettes reached her nose before she heard him. “What do
you want?”
He ignored her callous remark. She’d been touchy towards him lately. “It’s gettin’ dark, chére.”
“Yes, but this garden is not going
to plant itself.” She refused to look at him,
continuing to survey the area and making marks on her paper.
“It c’n
wait. Y’ gonna catch cold out here.” Cigarette in his
mouth, he drew his coat to him as the icy breeze blew through once again. She didn’t even shiver as her long white hair
whipped in the wind. Even if she didn’t
feel the entire cut of the cold, her immune system would and he knew it as much
as she did but she did not care.
A lot about Ororo had changed in
the past several months, most of the changes only noticeable to herself. She had lost most emotional feeling towards
those around her. She was frustrated
beyond belief with where she was at with her life, and had found herself
trapped in a stagnant pool of self loathing.
She began hating her friends in
private, resenting them for being happy when all was not right with her. She no longer felt bonded to them but rather
that they used her to make themselves feel better.
“Does dis
mean we c’n go in now?” He grinned, still quaking from
the cold.
She shook her head in minor
annoyance, saying nothing, and headed across the lawn for the French doors
leading into the mansion, him trailing like a puppy on a string. She held the door open for him which he
thought odd but stepped inside. The door
shut behind him and he realized what she’d done. He turned to see her through
the glass with a satisfied smirk before she took flight leaving him on the
ground. His offense was quickly replaced
with determination because he knew exactly where she was headed. And if not, it
was where she was going to end up and whether she wanted it or not, Ororo
Munroe was going to have company.
In the waning sunlight, Ororo
landed on the roof of the mansion, content with having snubbed her best friend
but not satisfied. It was the first step
she had taken to breaking away from him.
She had tried to long to conceal her feelings for him and now she found
the only way was to replace her love with anger. All the things she used to look forward to
about their encounters, the scent of him, his French sprinkled casually in his
verbiage, his arms around her… “If he enjoys heartbreak, far be it for me to
interfere.” She thought acidicly.
Remy watched from her bed as she
delicately slipped through the 2 foot opening of her skylight, balancing
precariously on the table that held her plants before swinging herself to the
floor, nearly losing her balance. She
looked at her hands and they were shaking in anger. Almost immediately she started rummaging
through the vanity dresser next to her, frantically searching for
something. “Fuck!” she screamed. He winced, debating on whether or not to call
to her.
She stormed over to her bathroom
and flicked on the light, illuminating her tear streaked face. He stood up and approached her in silent
horror as she began to break apart a shaving razor. She lifted her shirt and he saw a mess of
scars on her hips.
“Ororo, what d’ y’ ti’nk you’re doin’?”
She jerked up, snapped from her
trance, anger replaced with confusion and then, shame. Her blue eyes darted around the room
nervously.
“I’m just… just… Oh
Goddess!” She collapsed to the
floor, razor clattering several feet away behind the toilet, and she
sobbed. “Go away! I don’t want you
here!”
“Non.” He
reached for her and she swatted him away.
“Go away!!!”
His eyes narrowed. “I ain’
leavin’ y’.
I didn’ in Nawlins
years ago, I didn’ in de cold downstairs, and I sure
as hell won’ right now!”
She looked up at him with honest
blue eyes, tears staining her brown cheeks, hatred dripping in her words “You
left me a long time ago, Remy. You left me for her. And you never looked
back.”
She couldn’t have hurt him worse if
she’d hit him with lightning. He was at
a loss of words as thoughts and words flooded his mind, of the past, the present, and possible future. He knew in his heart she was referring to
that night they spent together after the poker game, even if she had claimed it
a one time thing.
She looked at him with disgust and
pulled herself off of the floor. “Exactly.” She began to search for the razor again. “Kindly leave. Do not think your being here
changes anything.” He regained control
of his senses just as her hand clasped around it and he pulled her out of the
small bathroom with a forceful jerk.
“Ororo, what de hell is wrong wit’
you? Why y’ carvin’
yo’self up? Y’
know damn well y’ ain’t alone here!” His words were of his anger but his red on
black eyes pleaded with her, trying to find her reasonable self.
“Isn’t it obvious? The past few years have finally caught up to
me and I’m just letting them out the best I can.” She pulled away from him
again and ripped her shirt off, exposing once flawless brown flesh marred with
a jarring criss cross mesh of cut patterns across her
abdomen. “This is what it is to be me, Remy. To
hide all your feelings, not just anger but love…” She whispered. “And you don’t
even know what it feels like on the inside.”
“What can I do t’ make y’ stop?” he
wanted to cry for her, for his ignorance of her pain. Cursing himself for
allowing her to shatter under his watch.
He had promised to never stop looking out for her and look what he did
to keep it. Long ago, in his eyes, Ororo
had been an untouchable force, a woman who stood against time, warlords, and
death- never faltering. Now, she was
fragile, a delicate flower that was wilting from the pain in her heart… he was
that pain. She was trying to cut him out…
Her hands dropped to her side,
tears glistening. “Too long ago I would’ve answered that question gladly. All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved but I
think it’s too late. There’s nothing for
me here.”
“I’m here.” He managed, weakly.
“You’re here for Rogue. You’ll never be here for me.” She said matter
of factly.
“How about y’ give
me dat razor, n’ y’ can have me?” He didn’t
understand the words coming from his mouth but what he knew was that he would
gladly cut off his own legs with Marrow’s dullest bones if it meant she could
return to normal.
“For always?” In her state, she turned to the ceiling, mulling over the idea.
“Oui.” She reluctantly handed him the
blade. No sooner was it out of her
hands, he charged it and it disappeared in a puff of smoke and he pulled her to
him, relief filling his heart.
Pictures
of You
Chapter 5
“If only I'd thought of the right
words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right
words
I wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you”
He desperately
ignores the hole in the ground, the one that is going to steal her away forever
and instead concentrates on Kurt’s words as he finishes the prayer for her soul
in his soft, lilting German accent, “…never faltered to bring happiness and
love to her friends in their most desperate times, it is heartening to see how
many people experienced the light that was Ororo Munroe. Lord, we commit our sister to you, trusting
her to your care and thankful for the angel you allowed us to witness. Amen.”
He doesn’t
even wait to take a flower from the arrangement on her coffin and instead,
makes an obvious exit from the group of mourners. A slight breeze ruffles his hair and he
scorns it as if it were her own hand. He rips his coat off and slams the front door
to the mansion behind him, its bang echoing
deafeningly through the foyer and he runs for refuge in his room. He locks his door and collapses on his bed,
still refusing with every fiber of his being to cry. After several minutes, his strength wanes and
he falls asleep.
…
He
awakens, groggy, head pounding, and glances at his alarm clock. It’s
He props
the picture up on his desk and fumbles for a cigarette in his drawers. He lights and inhales deeply, enjoying the
familiar burn on his tongue and releases a great cloud of smoke around his head
as he studies her mischievous expression.
How did he
let her slip away?
3 days ago
He left her attic that morning,
stealing away, careful not to wake her up.
It was now 2 in the afternoon and he stood, outside her door, afraid to
open it, his mind pre-occupied with the night before. They had ended up in her bed, just him
holding her, trying to keep her demons away.
Twenty minutes after he managed to reason with her, she looked into his
eyes and said calmly, “Will you smoke for me?”
It was an odd question and
rightfully caught him off guard. “Excuse moi? You hate dat.”
“I find it comforting.” She
admitted with a timid voice. “It reminds
me of
“O’ course. Just de two o’ us- Bonnie and
“What about as Ororo and Remy?” she
asked.
Smoke exited through his nostrils,
“Whatever petite wants.”
“These moments are what I want.”
She pulled closer to him, clinging desperately, not wanting to relax her grip. “What
would you do without me?”
He wasn’t stupid- he knew she was
speaking of if she were dead. “What do you mean?”
“Could you be happy?”
“It would be difficult.” He said
honestly.
“But could you?”
“I don’ know happiness wit’out you, mon
amour. Y’ my every’ting.”
“Your words are soothing, but
practiced and perfected.” She said calmly, even if it was a cold remark.
“Y’ know I don’ lie t’ you,
Ororo. Why y’ bein’ gloomy?”
She took the cigarette from his hand, inhaling deeply and then put it
between his lips.
“I’ve made a decision tonight, my
friend. I finally know what I want and
how I can have it.”
He eyed her suspiciously, noting
the calm demeanor she exhibited, “As long as it don’ involve hurtin’ yo’self no more. It pains
me to see ya carvin’ dat beautiful body up.” He realized too late it came across
as callous.
“Why, does it make me somehow less
desirable?” she scoffed, with a wry smile.
“Non. It
pisses me off y’ can’ talk t’ me instead.”
“Then take heart, because I’m not
hurting myself anymore. Tonight’s the last.”
“Damn straight.” He declared,
getting a slight laugh from her.
Now he stood outside her door,
wondering how much longer he would stare at the white paint before he would
face whatever was waiting on the other side.
It was only a half hour ago he felt something terribly wrong in his gut,
and that it was something with Ororo.
Reasoning with himself, he finally entered.
He couldn’t say how he knew, but
there was an unsettling calm in the room.
Each step on the risers was slow and his heart pounded in his ears. He was feeling the familiar pangs of
adrenaline in his veins, fear and panic. “Calm down.” He thought. He saw her
form through the gauzy curtains of her bed, sleeping and relief rushed through
him. “Hey Stormy, it’s time to wake up!
Y’ always sayin’ I’m lazy, I’ll never let y’ live dis down.” He said cheerfully, pulling back the curtain
only to die inside.
Pictures
of You
Chapter 5
“Looking so long at these pictures
of you
But I never hold on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be
true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of you”
Remy turns
on the light and enters her attic loft once more, not wanting to remember
anything else. He is clutching the
photo in his hand, still waiting to hear her call his name. It is abnormally cold. He looks up, noticing
the open skylight and shuts it to prevent her precious plants from
freezing. He checks them to make sure
they are not damaged in anyway and then turns to face what he had been so
reluctant to earlier.
He treads
the wood floor to her bed and pulls back the curtain, a flash of her in his
mind that immediately disappears as he’s filled with the vision of the empty
blankets. Sighing, he glances at her
nightstand, the empty bottle of sleeping pills mocking him. He grabs it in anger and destroys it with a
touch of his hand and replaces it with the photo.
He curls
up on her bed, breathing in her scent and stares at it, longing for the
memories. Wishing he hadn’t taken his
time with her for granted. He lashes out and the frame falls to the ground,
shattering. His heart begins to race and
he bites his bottom lip as he recognizes her delicate handwriting on the back
of the photo.
Gingerly,
he pulls it out of the glass, to read it.
“Dear
I
have long since resigned that we will never fully be like our
counterparts. Although the notoriety is
very real, I am waiting for your heart.
You have already stolen mine, I guess I’m not as good a thief but I will
try and wait for my moment.
Forever
and always yours,
Bonnie
PS- I know you can be dense and
this is from Ororo, ton amour.
Despite
the playful jest, he breaks down and mourns. Long quelled tears fall, great
sweeping sobs he’s helpless to hold back and he holds the picture to his chest. “Mon coeur c´est a toi...“ He
professes through his tears.
“My heart
is yours…”
“There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking
apart
All my pictures of you”
Fin.
ton
amour= your love
Mon coeur c´est a toi = ”My heart is yours.”
bravenet.com