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"...I go all the time."


What was she accomplishing by coming out here? Maybe she was expecting some catharsis, but all she ended up doing was pulling up grass from around the grave, staring at a headstone, and getting nitpicky at the details. They'd put a silhouette of his face and Ororo was strangely bothered by it.

When she first visited his grave, she made sure to go at night. Sure, it was a little cliche but she didn't want to be seen. She felt... Wrong. The guilty part of her conscience told her that she didn't really deserve to go to his grave, but another part of her conscience-- equally confusing and doubly pronounced-- told her she needed to go; he would've wanted her to visit his grave. In the end, though, she always found herself sitting cross legged on the ground, staring at his headstone and scrutinizing the details in his face.

He was more wrinkled... Ororo didn't imagine him so wrinkly. She supposed he would always stay young... Well, young for his age.

She sighed and pulled up another leaf of grass and twirled it around. Ororo wasn't accomplishing anything, sitting outside in the moonlight. If anything, she was hurting her eyes... When was the last time she got her eyes checked, she briefly wondered.

"I think the last time was... In Africa?" she wondered aloud. She shrugged, not realizing she was talking to herself. "You know, before I went, I always thought Africa was either all pyramids, all deserts, all jungle, or all poverty. And I guess there are parts like that, but it's really just like everywhere else." Ororo flicked the leaf of grass away and hummed. "It was nice. I mean, there were some problems, but I guess that was to be expected." Ororo breathed a laugh and smirked.

For a moment, she stared at the grave. She didn't know what she was doing, but at least she wasn't sitting outside in the quiet and destroying the ground.

"You know, I never really expected to make it to Africa. After Louisiana--and really after Japan-- I was so broke. I never told you... Didn't want your blood money... But I really didn't know how I would get there. And when I finally did, I just got lost in the city." She smirked, remembering her past. "I put Remy's life tips to good use, if you know what I mean."

An indistinct memory came to her; she was hungry or bored or waiting and just pick pocketed a stranger.

"I wasn't over my rebellious streak. And anyways, I needed to be that way. I couldn't before..." Ororo trailed off, huffing hard. "I try not to get angry, but it still infuriates me. How dare you do that? How dare you treat a child like that?" She hissed. "How could you treat your daughter like that?"

Ororo waited, her nails digging into her palms. Her knuckles were whitening over, her lips in a hard line. She wasn't waiting for a response, she knew there would never be one. It made her angry, but not at him.

If it made any sense, she was angry at herself. She'd waited all those years to say something, and he'd died before she could be honest.

So it was now or never.

"I hated you," she bit, her throat tight. "For everything. And for all my hate, and for all your mistakes-- and there were many-- I think you were only doing what you thought was best," she whispered, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye before it could fall. "I was different; you didn't know what to do, so you raised me differently. You tried your hardest; I get it." Ororo wiped another tear, trying to keep her cheeks dry. "And it just makes me feel so guilty because... I still hate you."





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