Revelations

(Is -this- what it's like?)

(This awful- no dreadful silence? So alone. So completely cut off. Cut off from them and from myself. It was just powers it was like a sense. It was part of me. I don't feel like me.)

Jean Grey looked over suddenly at the sleeping male figure next to her as he mummer something unintelligible in his sleep. She looked at her sleeping husband a moment. Even in the dark she could see his face perfectly. Dark hair cut to the nape of his neck, light skin, and faintly pink lips. Such expressions of ease even as he mummered so softly. Faint sarcastic chuckle.

(Sweet Dreams, Scott? Enjoy them. I can't find enough peace to even sleep. You would have know that back then. The link would have let you know I'm going crazy inside. You would have held me and comforted me and tried to help as best you could; but you don't realize it anymore. Do you? You don't. Betsy understands right now in ways you can't even. She can't use hers, and I've lost mine. You don't even realize I'm lost do you? No you don't, "my dear")

She shakes her head ruefully in her own anger and annoyance and then running her fingers through her long wild red hair, Jean slipped out of the bed, grabbing her robe off the end as she did. She puts the robe on herself over the white tank top and the black underwear, but leaves it untied absently. Closing the door behind her silently, she wandered the hallways till she found the living room.

(Is this what everyone's head is truly like? So alone? So like only a single candles flicker in a void? Was I like this before Anne? Oh, Anne, everything changed that day. You set off a chain of reactions inside me- events that would lead me to grand places and better things. To a fight worth fighting for, people worth loving and living for. Are they like this? Was I like this before that day?)

Settling down on the couch quietly, she looked around the room; only memories to keep her company. Memories of different times, when she was as it seemed- a different person.

(Oh, Anne, I can't hear it anymore. It's like a sentence; you can't have the end without the beginning. I can't have just the words, without the emotions and thoughts behind them. I can't hear the words anymore. It's like their lost, drown out in this silence inside me. It's so empty in there. My mind is so empty and my heart hurts. I feel as if part of me has been ripped away, like an arm or a leg.)

(How can you all live like this? This-this complete absence of it. I can't remember what it was like to think when I was 9 or 10, when I was like all of them. I must have been like them, before the car accident. I must have. But I can't remember it anymore. I remember everything after. I miss the faint voices in the back of my mind. I miss knowing the feelings behind words. )

She curled into the couch corner quietly, a small tear falling down her cheek silently. With a soft sigh, her finger fidgeted with her robe belt, and she lay her head on the arm of the couch.

(I want it back)

(I want my life)

(I want my freedom)

(I want my mind back)

(I want to be me again)