Unspoken: Confessional

Confessional
by Victoria P.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: "Shifting so she was on her knees, she said, 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been ten years since my last confession.'"

Timeline: Directly after jenn's "Reaction Shot" and Min's "Trying"

Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. Props to Joss Whedon, I am once again stealing a line from him. And yet again, Prufrock refs abound. <g>

Date: September 29, 2001

Out.

She had to get out.

She pulled on some sweats, grabbed a bag and threw some stuff into it, not even paying attention. Slinging it over her shoulder, she rushed down the stairs and out into the night, uncaring if anyone saw or what anyone thought.

She didn't stop moving until she got out to the garage and remembered what had happened last time she'd tried to run away.

Fuck.

She couldn't even run away. God only knew if that Sabretooth psycho was still hanging around, waiting for a little revenge. This time, though, she wouldn't hesitate. The gloves would come off and she'd take the fucker *down*.

There was something to be said for kicking ass as comfort food. The vestiges of Logan in her head seemed to agree.

At least Logan wanted her. Scott *shriveled* at the touch of her hand.

How humiliating was that? He couldn't even stomach the idea of being with her, when it came down to it. He couldn't keep an erection. And to add insult to injury, he wasn't even *jealous*! That's how deep that red-headed bitch had sunk her claws into him.

Claws -- hmm -- she thought about going to see Logan, but knew he'd smell Scott on her. Bad move, that.

She flung the bag on the ground and kicked it. Then she kicked the nearest tire, and, like a switch being flipped, she was wrecking the garage.

All of Scott's tools, neatly laid out on the workbench? Overturned and scattered. The coffee mug he invariably forgot to bring inside to be washed? Smashed against the far wall of the garage, leaving her hands itching for more glassware.

Some part of her mind realized it was probably a good thing she wasn't in the dining room, with its china cabinets full of antique stemware and Limoges tea sets. She'd end up owing the Professor far more than the cost of a cheap coffee cup and some socket wrenches.

She didn't know how long her tantrum lasted, but it ended when the car pulled up. Immediately, she snapped back to reality. The red haze that had lingered on the edge of her vision since Scott's complete and utter rejection of her retreated, and she knew she had to do something.

<Hide. Don't let them see you like this,> she thought, scrambling madly into the shadows. She crouched behind the Rolls, holding her breath.

She heard the car door slam and even though she wasn't the least telepathic, she willed whoever it was to hear her thoughts. <Just go inside. Whoever you are, sugar, just head on into the house. Nothing to see here.>

She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt tears slide down her cheeks. Damn. She hadn't even known she was crying.

"Is someone there?"

Hank. Of course. He was due back from Switzerland this week. In the midst of her own personal drama, she'd forgotten. He walked around the car, peering into the darkness, and she prayed his senses weren't as acute as Logan's.

He shrugged and she thought she was safe. He turned and popped the trunk, pulling his suitcase out while whistling "Spring" from Vivaldi's "Four Seasons."

He made his way into the house and she sighed in relief.

She loved Hank, but she didn't think she could handle his in depth analysis of the situation. Not now. Maybe in the morning.

She took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and slipped back into the house. She replayed the events of the last two and a half weeks over again in her mind, not even noticing that the walk to her new room took her right past Logan's door.

Shit.

No doubt he could smell her out here. Probably thinking she'd just left Scott's bed after a nice roll in the hay. Strange, how she'd changed into the bodysuit after their impromptu swim. She flushed. She'd been thinking about sex, she could admit it. Hell, after seeing Logan shirtless, in those soaking wet jeans, what woman *wouldn't* have been thinking about sex?

She stopped at his door and raised a hand to knock. She stood like that for several seconds. "Logan? Are you in there? Look, I just want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough for you -- that I can't take the risk for you.

"I -- I wanted to. I really did, but... I really am just like Prufrock. I *don't* dare disturb the universe. Shit." She slid down to the ground, her back against the door, thinking of a hundred decisions and revisions she'd made in her own life, to keep herself safe, to avoid ever feeling like this. <And see how well it worked?> Suddenly, she couldn't stop talking.

"You showed up with Jean, and everything turned upside down. You were right, it was like," she snapped her fingers, "lightning in a bottle between them, and I just didn't want to see it.

"So I'm sorry for being blind. And for running away. You could have been killed trying to save me and I would never have forgiven myself for that. I'm not worth that, not when you could do so much good in the world." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But you touched me. Do you know what that means to me?"

He couldn't know, no one could, but *God*, how amazing it was to have a new memory of touch, one that wasn't at least ten years old and frayed at the edges from the passage of time? Lips and hands and oh, he wanted her, yes he did, even if he was confused about it. That thought sent warmth flooding through her recently rejected body, buoying her up until she recalled the way Scott had pulled away from her not twenty minutes ago.

And the rest, realizing that she could never have from Scott what she wanted, *needed* from him, and that it wasn't anyone's fault, not even that redheaded bitch's.

At that insight, she finally started sobbing in earnest, her words barely audible, "I just wanted to feel loved. I know I'm unlovable. I'm untouchable. A freak among freaks. A freakshow all by my very lonesome." She recognized that she'd ignored every sign, every hint over the years that what she and Scott had was only a pale imitation of true love, sweet and comforting -- "I just wanted *normal* and we worked so hard at being Mr. and Mrs. Normal, you know? *So hard*, but it wasn't real, it couldn't *last*.

"And so I suppose I should thank you. At least this all happened before we got married. Can you imagine if you and Jean had showed up *after* the wedding?" She gave a watery chuckle, her sense of humor finally reasserting itself. "Or better yet, *at* the wedding? God, we could keep the daytime talkshows going for years with this shit. Mutant love triangles and the idiots who can't see what's in front of their eyes." She hiccupped and sniffled. She looked up, banging her head against the door.

"God, say something, would you? Yell at me. Tell me it's going to be okay. Grant me absolution." She paused, and the resemblance was not lost on her.

Shifting so she was on her knees, she said, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been ten years since my last confession." She giggled a little at the thought of Logan as a priest. It was so incongruous, yet here she was, hysterical and kneeling outside his door. "I've been proud and jealous and angry, and I've coveted, oh, how I've coveted the things I can't ever have. But no more. No. This girl's turning over a new leaf. Abstinence. Asceticism. No more wanting what I can't have. No more pining for impossible love that consumes everything.

"Could you give me that, Logan? Would you?"

She hiccupped again and rose to her feet. "I guess not."

Picking up her bag, she continued down the hall to her room.

She never turned back to see him open the door and stare after her.

~*~

As the Mutant Turns: The Peanut Gallery Take 2 by jenn

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Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.