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Chapter Three: Grounded

Logan brought her to his room, pushing the door open to let her walk in first.

"This is my room I guess it's ours too but yea…" Logan dropped his bag on the hard wood floor as his wife looked around touching the corners and tops of things. It was the average guy room, big bed, massive TV, bathroom, dirty clothes and papers on the floor. She didn't complain, because she had seen far worse.

"It's not the Ritz, but at least you're not sleeping in the dirt."

The beauty stopped mid motion at Logan's rude comment. It was in his tone. She could tell he meant for the comment to be rude. She wanted to comment back to him, but it didn't matter. She would soon be gone and no longer have to worry or look over her shoulder in fear.

Turning her mind little of outside she could see through the blinds. Storm noticed the skyline was gray and nothing more. Not a cloud, nor a bird and no hidden glow of the sun. It was just gray and gloom. She sighed, because she really felt as the weather did.

"Make yourself comfy." Logans voice echoed as he walked into his adjoining bathroom.

Storm took a seat at the edge of Logan's bed after opening the window blinds. She stared at the gray sky which was blain and completely lifeless. Her misery was overcoming. Peeling off Logan's leather coat, she pulled his hooded sweater over her head. Her body was tight and throbbing, since they ran through the back towns in East African coast.

She sat at the edge of the bed naked and waiting.

Logan came out of the bathroom, his face wet, body immaculate and shirtless. He walked in and his eye quickly grazed her body, but he turned away.

"What the hell are you doing?" He faced his mirror and pulled a shirt out of his draw.

"My expected duties," Storm commented, facing the window. She didn't want to service him, but it was her job.

It was after all how they met.

"I didn't touch you when they offered you to me then, and I'm not going to touch you now," Logan said bluntly as if she was something beneath him. As if when they first met he didn't contemplate touching her or running his hands through her soft hair. He never once thought of touching the warm heat of her lips. He blocked those thoughts out of his head, burying them deep, for if he concentrated too hard on her ample bust or how amazing her long toned legs looked in his jacket, he wouldn't be able to hide the growth in his pants. Instead he opted for being rude.

"I don't know if you get the costumes here, but that hot red-head out there has been waiting for me. She's all I want."

Storm just nodded her head in a 'I see motion' bringing her legs up to her chest, scrumming to the fetal position. Her eyes drowsy bordered with tears she felt a draft run across her back. Unable to tell if it was cold her not, she knew she had officially become numb.

Yes, she might have been a forced into slavery performing sexual actions and being beaten by men daily, but the way Logan ignored her by passing over her very existence made her feel more soulless then any of those men ever did. He saved her from her life only to humiliate and scar her again.

Enslaved as a silent figure for the moment, all she could do is wait out the weeks, and suddenly time had becomes Storm's biggest enemy. Yet the day would come when she would walk out the front doors of the school and start anew. Logan was just a means to an end.

Logan couldn't stand her silence, and her rude jester of turning her back to him made him even cruder. "You don't need to that kind of stuff around here. No one is forcing you do anything…" He wanted say not even stay here, but he held his tongue for now.

Storm remained quiet, and let Logan continue his rant. "Dinner is at seven. I teach and train, so I'll be gone most of the time. Do what you want."

"Put some clothes before you do though." He was remembering the expression Jean had when she saw Storm's near naked frame for the first time. If he wanted to make a mends with her he needed to limit Storm's appearance.

"I don't have anything… it's all yours."

She was right. She came to Logan naked, and once even cared to asked where her clothing was.

"Here," he said and tossed her some sweat pants and a plaid shirt. "Now, you do."

Cold. Logan was callus toward Storm, so cold towards her like she had personally hurt him.

"You love her?" Storm asked. She needed to know why he had become so bitter to her, when she had only said a little more than three full sentences to him in their entire relationship.

"Doesn't matter to you?" He replied bluntly.

"I didn't force or even ask you to marry me."

"Was I supposed to let you die?"

"Oh, yes, because I'm so alive here…" Storm answered in low voice. If Logan didn't have sensitive ears he would never have heard her.

"Damn right you are and you don't have get on your knees or open your pussy here so show some fuckin' gratitude."

He was getting heated and needed to do a training session. Frustration building, he forced all the objects on his dresser. It led to glass breaking, papers falling and nose cracking. Running his hand threw his hair he grunted and left the room in anger, slamming the door the hardest he could.

Storm didn't flinch. She was not afraid.

The hinges of the door now cracked. Storm studied the broken door, debating what life was worse. Either way she was still being hidden, locked away in a dusty room.

The first night she made the mistake of waiting for Logan. She wanted to apologize. She was grateful but frustrated because she didn't know what she did to anger him so. She waited up all night and part into the morning. He came back eventually, returning to his room around eight that morning. She awoke to hear Logan stumble in, but only to go take a shower. She called out his named slightly to get his attention, but her masseurs failed. He ignored her and right after his shower, then he would leave again.

It was Storm's third day at the mansion, and she slipping into a furthering depression. Her body was comfy in its hibernating state, but she did nothing and the routine was the same. Logan would come in the room to use the shower or get a change of clothing. Not once did he acknowledge her, and she didn't acknowledge him. Storm would remain on her sides staring out the window watching the seagulls fly high. She wished with all her might she would grow a pair of wings and vanish in the still overcast gray gloomy sky.

It was few minutes passed eight when a firm knock came to the door.

"Anyone in there?" a flirty voice called out.

The sound made Storm jump, because she wasn't use to having so much privacy. Men barging through her door at their convenience had become the norm. She sat up in the bed and decided not to answer. Then she rolled over in the bed and closed her eyes. Three days later, and it was the first knock on her door. Humanitarians these people were not she concluded.

A minute later and knocking stopped. Replaced by a creaking nose outside her window, Storm sprung up posed alert to sound she couldn't quite place.

Two palms appeared on that window and slid the window plate to side. With a swift smooth motion a dark caped like figured jumped through the window sill.

Adjusting his shaggy hair, the figure pulled a small object out of his pocket. It turned a fuchsia pink. Looking up, Storm prepared to be captured. She wasn't going to fight. There was too much at stake.

"How the hell you see in the dark, chere?" Remy questioned to confused beauty.

He walked over and turned the light on. "Oh, maybe you don't understand this Cajun," he paused. "Name's Remy Lebeau." He bowed toward Storm on the bed. "Everyone around here calls me Gambit." He touched his chest. "GAMBIT," he said again slowly. "You understand, petite? Gambit"

Storm eased back in the bed. It was a strange feeling, but she knew he wasn't dangerous. Still weary, she studied him, eyes wide roaming his features and facial expressions.

"None of us have seen you around campus, so Remy thought he would see for himself what the locked away trophy has been up to." He smiled and his eyes poured deep into Storm.

An instant connection was made.

They both locked eyes and stayed that way for a moment, exchanging thoughts and stories.

Remy opened his mouth like he wanted to speak but didn't hold the silence for a moment longer. Storm broke away when Remy's eyes pressed deeper. It was his chance to get back to his original task.

"I brought you some food. I figured you were hungry and didn't eat this bland tasting shit." He pulled a sandwich wrapped in plastic out of his trench coat pocket. "Oh, and some water." He handed her a water bottle.

Placing them on the bed Remy pushed them closer to Storm, he himself taking a seat on the edge of the far corner of the bed.

Storm didn't touch the food. In truth she wasn't hungry.

"Mmmmhmm." Remy pondered thinking that Storm couldn't understand him. He tried signing to her to prove the food was safe. He pretended to be breaking off pieces of the sandwich and placing them in his mouth mimicking "Yummy. Good."

Being the persistent man he was Remy tried to pushed half the sandwich closer again to Storm. This time Storm caught his hand. Her black hair fell to side of her angled cheekbones. Her endless portals of black orbs were inches from Remy well sculptured face.

Storm lost herself in a new world in his eyes, never had she seen such a thing as those demon eyes, but his soul favored that of a saint.

"Your eyes are beautiful, Mister LeBeau."

"Mon Dieu! You can speak English?"

"Et en français..." (and French…)

Remy eyes got brighter filling with mischief, "Full of surprises, are we."

"Just one or two," Storm, snickered. It was the first time she had made accidental joke in over six months. Remy really was a saint in ways.





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