She had awoken again, the nightmares still haunting her as if she were still there, in the past. But that’s all it was wasn’t it. The past. Though no matter how hard she tired she could still not escape it. She could not be touched, ever since it had happened she had been insecure, it was the thought of it happening again left her vulnerable, that had left her…like this.

When he had touched her she felt as if she were doing something wrong something dirty, but that’s what he was dirty, so she never told a soul. To her he had been this man was close enough to be an uncle, but had left her fragile and broken. His name eating her from inside, never leaving her-Forge.

He had been the source of this pain, her pain. She was only a child when it happened when he came to her, too many occasions to dare think of, to be remembered, but then again who would want to remember. THEY made her remember. Psychiatrists.

First it had been her parents, they died when she was five, a small war had buried them alive, though her parents had not survived the impact as she had.. It had left her claustrophobic, for life. However, unlike most street urchins she had found new ones, well a new father, Charles, he had always been good to her helped her when she needed it. He listened.

Nine years after Charles had found her it happened, she had been fifteen, and he had come to her, a man almost twice her age and in her he seek comfort, but comfort was not usually forced. She begged him to stop. He didn’t, he never stopped, not even when he saw she was broken.

A year went by and he still sought her out of the crowd, took her when he wanted to, damaging her further. She hadn’t been the first, and she knew that she wouldn’t be the last. He was wanted and she caught him, almost killed him. What else could she do? He came after her first, but she was the one who ended it, not knowing that her troubles had only began.

Ororo Munroe, a tortured, broken soul, one that many had tried to fix, but damaged even further. She was the untouchable troubled teenager, to find that life was hard as you grew up with scars as deep as hers, not to allow any one to touch her, unless she made the first move. A hug, a kiss, a simple brush from the tips of your finger tip was all in a handshake, only to the people she new and loved, but her trust in them was still little. For those of them that she didn’t know she would not extended her hand, she’d just mutter ‘goodbye’.

She had a routine, one was daily the other for weekends. She always went by it, unless it was a day like today. Her day had changed. something that she very rarely did, it usually involved begging, as in getting on your hands and knees, or ringing at every hour of the day. Only few knew that it was the only way to get on her nerves, and one of those few was Jean.

Jean was like a sister to her, the friend that reassured her of everything and anything. She had trained to be a doctor but instead ended up as a receptionist, at the very hospital her ex-husband worked at.
Her endless phone calls went deep into the night and started at early hours of the day, stopping Ororo of her work, her art. She had no choice but to accept her friends constant nagging.

Cancelling her weekly swim and visit to her shrink, Ororo could not back out now. The feeling that rose within her caused her body to shake. The mall was filled with people, people that suffocated her, touched her. But then it was all accidental, they were the unknowingly suspects that caused her mind to break.
Though at every touch she reminded herself, it was always like this, the pushing and shoving of countless people. Not matter how much she wanted to break down, she refused, trying to get on with her day, for Jeans sake.


“Ororo are you alright, you look a bit…well I don’t know…distracted?” The concern that was inked into her friends voice, forced a shy smile on her face.

“I’m fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.” It was barely a whisper, but the nod that she gained, made it clear to her that Jean knew what was wrong. How could she not know?!

“I shouldn’t have brought you here, should I?” Guilt was the last thing she needed, she would be fine, if Jean was.

“I don’t mind being here, I promise. Besides you needed the break.”

“A break from what? Me, Scott and the divorce? Yeah right! I’m fine, not wait, I’m better than fine. I’m free!” A smile escape her lips, Jean was free, but with Ororo freedom was miles away.

She knew now that she should have been looking where she was going, instead of thinking of freedom, but it was a question that had stuck with her for countless years. To her, it was fate, and there was no going back.

“Oh shit!” The voice was gruff, and rang out as shopping bags, scraps of paper and other objects were dropped onto the floor. An accidental push was all it was, and all she took it for.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there.” He said picking up the items that he had obviously dropped.

Hands out stretching, reaching for the shopping bags and other necessities. With a gentle touch of his hand on hers, as they reached for the same item, made Ororo shoot up straight, her breathing heavy. Another apology followed.

“Ororo, sweetie, are you okay?” No answer. Her crystal blue eyes not looking at her friends, but into space, in thought of what this man could possibly do, her brain telling her differently to what it actually was.

“Ororo, look at me, look at me, please. Breathe. Take deeps breaths. Okay?!”

She complied, smiling as a thank you.

He had watched in fascination, but also in remembrance, trying to figure out where he had seen her face before. Not wanting to say ‘Do I know you?’ because as always, she’d say ‘No’.

It was then that he remembered how he knew her, and where from. His past was somehow connected to hers.

It was then that he remembered how he knew her, and where from. His past was somehow connected to hers.


He got home that night, pulling out odd bits and bobs that he had kept from his past, somehow hoping that they would come in use one day. Some of these records were old newspapers that he had either written or helped to write, but he had long since given that up, writing articles about other people to him made it feel like he was, or had been intruding in personal matters. He felt similar in his task. But where the article was, he didn’t know.

It must have been ten years ago, in the autumn of ‘85. He would have been twenty, and in the start of his career.


“Victor where the fuck are we going?”

Victor Creed had been his guardian since he was about fifteen, they had been dumped on each other, as they saw it. But it was what happened when one becomes an orphan. Life before Victor had been great for him, he had loving parents and a little brother, half brother-the affair, his mothers first fault. Now however, they were all dead , killed in front of his eyes, though the killer didn’t notice the fourth of the Howlett clang. Little Logan, the wonder boy.

“You’ll see runt, just keep up.” So his chances of guessing weren’t limited, in all of new York there would have been many places to which they were going. But to where they did go, wouldn’t of been on his final list.

The story of the young Ororo Munroe had been on the news for weeks now. Flicking over channel to the next and the news coverage would be the same.

He sighed. His first day, and this was not how he had imagined it.

“Vic why are we here?”

“I have a friend who works here, he’ll give us an insider on this Forge geezer, so your first report will get you on top.”

“And your doing this for me because…?”

“Because my names going on that article too. Now will you stop asking questions?”

Hearing the name Forge, just stung him even more, he would have been the one to lock him up, and be there when he dies, but no that wasn’t going to happen, the Munroe kid got tabs on it first. She was the one that called shotgun, gave no one else a chance.

It wasn’t long before some security guard met up with them, and took them in. The three were soon in a room with, about fifty odd cameras.

“Securities tight, hey Logan” He laughed.

“Sure is.”

Looking around, searching each screens, something caught his eye. Leering in towards the flashing image, bile came up and lapped around his throat.
The screen flashed in different shades of blue, clearly showing the events.

The man he knew as Forge, was indeed present, as was a girl, a girl who’s back was faced towards the screen, though it wasn’t hard to know who it was.
Forge, or so he thought, was naked, he head recently stripped of all clothing, pressing himself against the glass that separated the two beings. She was crying, had to be, screaming for someone to get her out. No body came.

Each jerking action that Forge directed at the girl, made his hate for the guy thicken. The bastard licking the glass, and saying her name, his mouth moving on screen.

“Hey where is this?” He asked, no answer came, or was going to come. “Hey fuck face, where is this?” he hated being ignored, especially when someone was in a condition like this girl.

“Sector 7G, interview/observation room 2, why?” The guard moved around Victor and peered over Logan’s shoulder “Holy shit! Munroe!” His movements were fast, as he reached for the intercom, spreading the message for medical and security to check out Sector7G. It wasn’t long before Forges body went limp on screen, and Ororo was removed.

“Why d’you bring me here Vic?”

“Would you quit with the questions!” It was a demand not a question, one that wasn’t followed.
“Besides I all ready told you.”

“Actually no you didn’t.”

“Why d’you care anyway?”

“Excuse me! That mother fucker, killed my family, or did you just somehow innocently forget.”


The day had never been forgotten, both days actually. The day his parent were murdered, he hid in cupboard and watched as that bastard raped his mothers dead corpse, it was at that time when Forge became noticed.

It was a few days after the ‘mall incident’, as Jean had put it, that she found it, how it got there she didn’t know, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not ignore it. A pamphlet, advertising a group meeting for troubled beings. She thought things like that were a waste of time, that a psychiatrist would be able to do more within a year, than a bunch of people sat round telling others of their problems. But thinking of it now all the psychiatrists that she had seen had done nothing but forced pills down her throat, pills that she did not need or that did not work.

After reading it, she said to herself, “I could give it a go, no harm could come of it. Surely.”

But now that she was here, she felt sick, nervous, wanting to turn around and run but her feet thinking differently, taking her up the first steps, and into a white hall. The many doors seemed to cover every inch of the white paint. She took a deep breath as she located the right room, No. 106, so many stairs.

She knocked, there was no need to, but it was the polite thing to do, she didn’t want to go in, guns blazing, interrupting a conversation or what have you.

“Come in!” She recognised that voice, but from where. It was gruff, rough sounding, like sand paper on a hard wood or metal.

Taking another deep breath, she opened the door, slowly. All eyes were on her entrance, on her. She froze. It wasn’t the first time. The heated gaze of another watching her every move. Though in this room it wasn’t lustfully, it was curiosity. But wasn’t it curiosity originally that killed the cat?

“You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna take a seat?” She looked in the direction in which the voice came, her eyes locking with his. Her thoughts took over as she walked towards the spare chair. ‘Was he the same guy from the mall, no it couldn’t be. Perhaps, as I never really saw his face.’

She smiled shyly, as she sat. she hated this, entering a room, and having everyone look at her, taking her in. it was unnerving. She place her backpack on the floor besides her feet, in it contained her emergency cell phone, money, and her rain coat, knowing from experience that it would rain during the same minute in which this session would end.

It wasn’t long before, who seemed to be the ‘teacher’ started to introduce himself followed by everyone else. She hadn’t noticed when all eyes were on her again waiting for her introduction. She wasn’t focused, her mind again reeling with the idea of her not being alone. Maybe that was why she never thought of coming to these things, because she’d find others with greater problems than hers. Though, going over the information again, none of thee people had emotional problems that went as deep as hers, but yes, they still had problems, some of which were easily solved but proved hard in the process.

She sighed. Not long after realising that the room had gone quite. She looked up, and searched all the faces in the room that were along side her. Some of them were concerned, some of them just seemed impatient, waiting for her to speak.

“Sorry, my mind drifted there for a minute.” she said apologetically. She swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of her throat.

“That’s okay, just take as long as you want, collect your thoughts etcetera, etcetera.”

“Sorry, but…um…what’s your name again?” she was buying time, had to be, she was nervous. She had never been to one of these things before, not knowing what to say and how to say it.

He knew, of course, what was wrong with her, and why she had come. The pamphlet was something at last minute had come into his head after the bump in at the mall. He had gently folded it and placed it, unnoticeably, in her pocket. One of the many traits that you pick up as a reporter, able to sneak in and out without being noticed.

“Logan…Howlett.” He saw her nod, taking it in. breathing deeply as she had done in the mall. Almost as if her friend was with her this very minute.

Right of course, the ring leader.” she joked, some caught on, some snickered. She smiled, but as she spoke it slowly vanished, and her lips created a single line, a serious tone to it. Maybe.
“My name is Ororo Munroe,” She paused letting it sink in. the whispers that swam around her, made it obvious that some of the members had heard of her. “Some of you maybe aware of my ‘disorder’ as my shrink puts it. I am untouchable to anyone or anything around me, and I just want it to change.”

He came in the room following the weeping five year old boy. Why was he weeping? Because the child was at gun point maybe. HE just had to laugh. The boy was trembling, that’s how he liked them scared. Always. The boy lead him into the main room, where the whole family was, Elizabeth, John, and now John Jr had come to join them, he didn’t know about the fourth, the fourth member was hardly known, neglected in some way perhaps.

He had badly done his homework, obviously.


The forth was hidden, from an earlier game of hide and seek, but he knew that no one would come and find him, they never did, so he remained uncovered. A coward. But a coward would never be able to watch what was to come and not go insane.

The youngest, his brother he saw him, running towards the cupboard, screaming. The elder son shaking his head, ‘No’, not wanting to be found, not this time. The elder boy jumped. A gun was heard, half of his brothers face blasted off. His face was gone, it shattered into tiny pieces of flesh that splattered on the cupboard and on the face of the only survivor. The only remaining family member. James. A name long since forgotten.

He heard his mum scream, and his father protest, two more bullets rang out, echoing off of the freshly painted walls.


This was what he lived for, the fear of others. The plotting, the planning, and the day it would all be revealed, it was not his first time. He was smart, yet smart enough to make mistakes. And a most valuable mistake at that. His parents had died in a similar way. Shot by their only son, his mother raped by her only son, and hung when she was still clearly alive, only just.

He smiled at his handiwork. First the boy then his parents. So heroic the way that John had dived in front of his wife, not knowing that none of them were to survive. He kicked the dead father, his body going limp from the force of his physicality.

His gaze diverted at the female. Lizzy, Liz or Elizabeth. To be honest he didn’t care. He grabbed her by the throat and thrashed the dead body against the wall. Removing his pants in lightening speed. Thrusting into her, burying himself beyond her lifeless walls. Ripping her walls, shedding already cold blood. Losing himself within her, letting himself go. Emptying his seed into her, as he had done his mother. The thrill was always the same, he could never get enough.

Dropping the body on the floor, like the rag doll she was. She had lost her looks the minute he took her, the girls always did. He would have done the child too, and their poor pathetic father, but he didn’t have time. He turned to leave, but stopped dead in his tracks. The feeling that he had missed something boiled within him. The cupboard.

He walked towards it, slowly. A new feeling rising in his veins. He was just about to open the ajar doors. But he knew, he heard the sirens whaling in the background. His plan had gone perfectly. Calling the police before anything, just to see if they’d come. Again it was for the thrill, the idea of getting caught. It aroused him. So he left, the thought of missing something was forgotten. He was never seen in the house or neighbourhood afterwards, no pattern arose.


The boy that had hidden, was found, shaking violently, refusing to tell anyone of the events. He was too scared of what might happen to him. Would they really believe him? He didn’t seem to think so. No one had ever believed him.

They sent him away. His name changed , not for protection, but because he refused to give anyone his true name. James, the name his parents had given him. His surname he kept. Howlett. The name the orphanage chose stuck with him. Logan. James Howlett had died the day his parents were killed, murdered. Days after, Logan Howlett had been born, had been named.

“Ororo, I want you to cry for me. Your beautiful when you cry.” Her head was bowed to him, but she would not, could not obey. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t. No matter how hard the tears beckoned to be free. Her eyes burning. She looked away, and saw her naked reflection in the huge glass window. The city of New York, shown before her. The lights, the tall buildings. They stood majestically, like the way he felt. Was that why he had brought her here, to intimidate her.

“No!” She stared at him, matching his gaze. Showing no signs of backing down. Yes, she may have shorter than him, but at that moment for a second she grew. Loving the feeling that she would not be taken again by this monster. Not like all the other girls, who had been so petrified, that they let him have his way.

The anger twisted and deformed his rouged features. His eyes darkened, but she did not back down, maybe that was her mistake, she had grown to cocky, even if it had only been for a few measly seconds. Though it was enough to make him snap.

His fist connected with her face, blood trickling from her bottom lip, a single tear escaping her power.

“Cry.”

************

She woke. The first time she had ever gotten to look at her own face, contorted with pain. Feeling weak and helpless. Not able to stop it.
But it was not just the dream that woke her. Scurrying out of bed, removing her night clothes, and redressing into some loose trousers she made her way out of her room, and downstairs, still trying to pull her two sizes too big sweater over her head, and over her braless breasts.

Singing ‘Sister’s are doin’ it for themselves’ -Eurythmics, as she walked.

“Now there was a time when they used to say, that behind every - ‘great man.’ there had to be a - ‘great woman.’ but in these times of change you know that it's no longer true…”

She slowly made her way to the door, the bell ringing ferociously, hurting her ears. Who ever was ringing that bell was certainly impatient, and it wasn’t the postman. Who would be ‘calling’ at this time in the morning anyway?

“Ororo?” The voice came from the kitchen, and it sounded as annoyed as she felt. She had hoped for a lie in, spend time on her artwork.

“I’m on it, Daddy. Put the kettle on would you, I wanna pour hot water on whoever that is.” She said, with sarcasm hinted in her voice.

“Of course, but as long as I can watch.” Laughing she opened the door, her eyes widening at their visitor.


“Err, Mr. Howlett, how can I help you?” But what she really meant was ‘What the fuck are you doing here.’

Her heated gaze, made him slightly uncomfortable. Why had he come here? His thoughts lost at the sight of her, hair unbrushed making her look like she just escaped out of some mental institute, and in hiding, the clothes didn’t help either. The crazy look worked with her, he had to admit, made her look like the artist, she had said she was, or was hoping to become.

“Hello, anyone in there?” Waving her hand in front of his face, she couldn’t help it, she just had to laugh.

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ why you didn’t show up yesterday. You signed the papers, you attend meetings,” he said as he walked past her, as she let him in. She took in a deep breath, and sighed. "And please call me Logan, Mr Howlett makes me feel old." She giggled, she felt like that too, Miss Munroe-okay so it didn't sound as bad, but still...

“I know I didn’t come, and I’m really sorry, but I’m a little behind on my artwork and well…” she looked at him hoping he would understand. By his expression he didn’t.

“Well darlin’, we all have to make sacrifices but that’s if we wanna help ourselves, and looks like your art is the one that’ll suffer for a while, instead o’ you.”

Okay, she was slightly worried, to her normally, that would have made no sense, and meant no meaning, the strange thing was, it did make sense and it did help her she reason. Her art was her life, had been ever since…Him or since her parents, she never really knew.

It was the way she expressed herself. Her ideas, her paintings were of distorted or deformed images, a person or group of people, some were of simple objects. It was how she saw life through curios eyes. When she painted, she would think of how one would feel in certain situation, or by looking at herself in the mirror, throwing water on the looking glass, to see the image, to capture it. Like in that one scene in ’Gothika’, when Halle Berry tries to see what a patient sees. But Ororo always saw herself.

Her line of thought was broken. She had noticed that it had been happening a lot lately.

“Ororo, waters boiled.” She smiled to herself, it was followed by a small laugh.

“Put it on hold, would you Daddy.” She answered, shouting over her shoulder. Logan looked at her, confused or amused. “A small joke, nothing to worry about.”

“Right.”

“You’re a real chatterbox you know that!?” she paused looking at him, studying his features. “Tea?” she smiled again, as she led him into the kitchen.

‘One heck of a smile she got, huh bub? She should do it more often’


She hadn’t expected him to ever visit her house but here he was. In the last two month or so, she had been attending meetings, and already she was able to extend the time in which one of her handshakes could prolong for. It had been a simple exercise, all of the group had gone out to collect as many handshake as they could, for charity purposes, only thing was, there was a catch. Each member had a hand buzzer. So each person and the receiving end of the handshake got a small electric shock.

It had been good fun. But at one point she released that the people who she shook hands with seemed unaffected by the ‘prank’. when she looked down at her hand, the buzzer had gone, vanished caput. Logan and the rest of the group, stood in front of her, clapping and so on. Her hand buzzer was placed in between Logan’s fingertips. She had to laugh. It was the that she remembered that she had taken it off at lunch.

To her, this day reminded her of riding a bike, for the very first time. The parent or guardian would hold on, and told not to let go, and when you least suspect it, they let you go, but usually you loose balance and fall of.

However, she somehow kept on going.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Please review. Both bad and good, ways of improvement etc. thanks

It had now been five months since going to meetings, and in those four months, they had helped her, she could hold hands with someone, hold a hand out to someone, anyone. It was more than what under tens years of counselling and theory had helped her prove, or improve as some might have said or thought.

But she hadn’t just let physical touch into her life. She had being to feel on the inside, her heart beating faster, when he spoke, when he helped, or just the simple thought of him, any thought of him, of Logan. Then again what person in their right mind would start a relationship with some you couldn’t have sex with, or make love to, certain desires would have never been fulfilled. Not without time. But how much time, if it were to happen, would he give her. Days, weeks, months or years.

All she could do was wait. But all her life she’d been waiting. It was then that Anastasia came into her mind, that song, ugh. The same two lines kept repeating themselves, they were the only two lines she knew.

Maybe today would help her relax, help clear her mind.

“Hey ‘Ro!” He ran up to her, his strong legs moving swiftly, as each powerful stride was taken.

“Logan, I thought you weren’t coming tonight?” She said as her gaze left his and looked upon the group of people behind him, drinking an eating, having a good time. It was a beach party after all.
Her house a silhouette on the cliffs edge.

“Yeah I know, but I got home and found I had nothing to do, so I decided to come.”

“Oh.” He moved closer to her. She inhaled deeply. His hands found there way at the sides of her face, being careful not to touch her. “Logan what are you doing?”

“Sssh, just close your eyes.” She did, but for him she’d do anything, she figured. “I want to imagine that your blind.”

“Why?” Her breath coming out in uneven strides.

“If your blind, you’d have to use touch as your sight, instead of your eyes. If you had been blind when this happened to you, you would still need touch, otherwise you’d be helpless. Just think about it for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

“For a blind person a single touch could mean anything,” His voice was almost a whisper, “but no matter what it meant, you’d have to rely on it.”

“What kind of touch?”

“A brush to the arm,” He Moved his hand on her arm, “or to the face,” again he touched her skin, “A kiss.”
His lips touched hers, gently. She didn’t object, not at first, her tongue met his, her lips moved with his, to feel, to taste, to explore. She faltered, she stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m just not…ready. I don’t think I’ll ever get Forge out of my head.”

“I know.”

“How would you know? I mean you weren’t there, you-”

“He killed my parents ‘Roro, he killed them in front of me.” Shocked, she stared at him.

“Why, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to.”

“Then tell me now, please?” She took his hand.

“I was ten, he came in, following my little brother, John Jr. He ran towards me, he would have been five, his face it was just blown off, blood splattered everywhere. My dad was next, though I didn’t see it to well, same with my mom.” He paused, “He raped her afterwards, he killed all of ‘em, all of ‘em but me.”

“Why didn’t he come for Logan, you where there…”

“He didn’t see me.”

“How come?”

“I was in a cupboard, me and John had been playing hid and seek, he hadn’t found me ‘til then. It was the police that came to me. It was in the papers for weeks, boy who survived, ‘course like in a any soap opera, the have to kill of the survivor in order to stop the killer killing anymore.”

“You here though, your alive.”

“They changed my first name when they put me in an orphanage, it was James, hated it anyway, I wanted to keep my second name though. The police said that I died, that I was ill, they even included a picture of some kid in with the article.”

“Logan, I’m sorry, I…Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me, for sharing. For connecting us,” She smiled, “I now know someone that knows what its like not to have family.”

“Your welcome, I guess.” They were silent for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the time didn’t need to be filled with words, this felt right. “‘Ro, I really like you.” startled she looked up, ‘now that wasn’t something I was expecting.’

She stood there thinking of what words to say, but all that came out was…“Ditto.”

It needed to be done, anyone could see it, she even had confirmation “Will you kiss him already!” Jean.
He turned around to see the red head watching them. Not long after he felt to hands on his face, pulling him down, his lips once again meeting hers.

“I thought you said…” He said against her lips, as the various different people behind them shouted, some even screamed, like school children.

“Ignore what I said.”

And with that, his arms enveloped her, and drew her to him, in a web in which she could not, and unlike with Forge, did not want to escape.

Fin.