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FIC: (R) 1/3 Broken Mirror III - A Revelation To Death

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  • serleef@hotmail.com
    Broken Mirror III: A Revelation To Death - 1/3 By Kes Serleef Rating: R for some violence, and a PG-13/R for sexuality Warning: This part contains major angst.
    Message 1 of 1 , May 6, 2001
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      Broken Mirror III: A Revelation To Death - 1/3
      By Kes Serleef
      Rating: R for some violence, and a PG-13/R for sexuality
      Warning: This part contains major angst. Towards the end there is some
      violence, but it really is mild in my opinion. I would normally rate
      it a PG-13, however, I am not everyone, so I'm taking precautions.
      Characters: L,R,S,J
      Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the "X-Men" or any of its
      characters. That privilege belongs to Marvel, Fox, etc...no
      infringement on copyright is intended. Please don't sue me.
      Archive: Yes, but please ask me.
      Author's Note: There will be a happily-ever-after ending to this
      series, promise.
      Earlier parts of the series can be found on my site at:
      www.httpcity.com/serleef/index.html
      Summery: Marriage is bliss. Temptation leads to hell. Hearts are
      broken. Read on....

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Jean heard his door open and close.

      She laid sleepless and restless in a bed — in a room — that wasn't
      theirs, staring up at a shadowed white ceiling distorted by the blur
      of her tears.

      She was listening for signs that he was still alive and well.

      She laid there like she had every night for the past four nights —
      when her husband had discovered the events that were ravishing her
      life.

      Four days since the discovery, and just six days since she had chosen
      the path to hell.

      Six days.

      Which meant that just seven days ago she had been relatively happy —
      oblivious to what real torture was.

      She never saw him anymore.

      They lived in the same house, but she couldn't say what he looked like
      since that day when everything went to hell.

      They didn't speak. They barely even looked at each other.

      It ate at her like a cancer — but it was a cancer developed through
      reckless actions. So, if the pain was sometimes more than she could
      bare and made her question if she was losing her mind, she figured it
      wasn't undeserved.

      It's the only reasoning that let her survive in this state. She
      thought it was a fitting punishment.

      She sat up and shakily climbed out of the bed.

      She had to see him.

      In the face of his contempt — in the face of images and thoughts of
      his disappointment and anger projected so strongly it left her shaken
      and destroyed her ability to block them — she had to see him.

      She went to the closet and reached for a robe. As she turned to leave,
      she caught a glimpse of a shadowed reflection in the mirror,
      illuminated by the silver stream of moonlight filling the room.

      She turned away, too quickly for the image to fully register.

      She tried to avoid mirrors as much as possible these days. They were
      just too telling about truths that were painful to face at the moment.

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Scott was leaving.

      One day at a time, step by step — that's how he had been trying to
      live the imitation that had become his life in the last four days.

      He'd tried to get through this — but how do you get through something
      like this when the two who had destroyed your life were sleeping —
      maybe together — right down the hall.

      He'd tried to ignore their presence — but he was human.

      He couldn't.

      Not knowing that they both slept within reach and that he was impotent
      to kill and hurt in the myriad ways that ran through his mind a
      million times a day.

      There were thoughts that entered his head that left him sick, that
      changed his perception of who he really was — but just the same, it
      was getting harder not to carry them out.

      He was afraid.

      It was that simple.

      If he stayed any longer things were going to happen that he couldn't
      control.

      For him, it was a matter of control, and it was becoming a constant
      struggle to find it, and with every second that ticked by, he had to
      fight not to lose it.

      He couldn't just ignore the situation anymore.

      He hadn't spoken to either of them — hadn't really looked at them— in
      nearly four days.

      He couldn't. Every time he thought of the man who had fucked his
      wife, a red haze washed over him and he wanted to kill.

      As for Jean, he knew just one look — one real look — would unravel
      him.

      Four days...

      The wound was just still too raw. He had to leave.

      As he turned to leave the room he'd occupied since that day when the
      foundation of his life had deteriorated, he thought about the
      beginning that had led to the end.

      He smiled ironically, as he had many times since, at how the seemingly
      small things are the ones that can change your world in the biggest
      ways.

      It had started with something...

      ...So insignificant.

      Just a crumple ball of white behind the wastebasket of Jean's office.

      But something had made him reach for it — some instinct made him pick
      it up.

      Maybe it was because it was so out of place in the otherwise spotless
      room.

      Maybe it was because, on some level, he'd realized it was the remnants
      of the only evidence connected to whatever had kept Jean distant and
      restless those past two days...and nights.

      He'd wanted to know what had kept her down there in the lab rather
      than in their bed — next to him.

      It had been so insignificant, but something had made him reach for
      it...and then he'd wished he hadn't.

      Some part of him wished that he could have just ignored his curiosity
      — wished that he could have ignored those anal retentive tendencies
      that were so inbred in his personality — wished that once having
      picked it up, he could have just thrown it away.

      But he hadn't.

      Instead, he had held that crumpled ball of white in the palm of his
      hand and contemplated it for long seconds, afraid. Some buried
      instinct had known that the seemingly innocuous piece of paper was
      going to change things. He had contemplated it, letting the idea of
      his life somehow changing sink in, before resignedly unfolding, then
      reading the words that ended his life as he knew it.

      To this day some part of him wished that he could burn away the memory
      of words that were etched forever in his head.

      Some part of him wished….

      But another part, a self-destructive part, had rejoiced in the
      knowledge — that part was glad to know.

      He had suspected.

      He'd smiled then, as he did now, at the irony when he remembered the
      words she had written.

      Memories couldn't be erased.

      A part of him had been waiting years for this to happen. The other
      shoe had finally dropped and it'd made a hollow echo in his heart.

      He had waited for it to happen, and yet he hadn't quite believed...

      He remembered throwing back his head and laughing. His world had been
      broken in no more than a few minutes.

      All because of something so small and seemingly insignificant.

      He'd stepped through the door of Jean's lab that afternoon with his
      belief of all that was good in his world firmly intact. When he had
      left, he had no longer been the person he was just less than thirty
      minutes after entering.

      He had left that office a different person.

      He closed eyes hidden by the shield of red visors at the memory,
      shutting the door on a life he no longer recognized.

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Logan went to her that night.

      He went to her prepared to explain how he had taken those first steps
      on a path to hell — and away from her.

      He went to seek forgiveness for an act that had been unforgivable.

      He told himself that he was ready for whatever reaction he got. He was
      ready to see her hate, her anger...her hurt.

      He told himself that he was ready to look at a face more precious to
      him than his life, twisted with the bitterness of betrayal.

      He told himself that he was prepared for her tears, her accusations —
      her condemnation.

      He hadn't been prepared.

      He had been so far from prepared that it stunned him to the depth of
      his soul.

      He hadn't seen her in four days.

      She hadn't left their room since then.

      He'd tried to talk to her that second day, after everything had come
      to light, but she hadn't wanted to see him. She wouldn't let him come
      anywhere near her.

      As he stepped into the room, it hit him that this was the one time he
      couldn't just run. It would be so easy to pack-up a bag and leave, and
      he couldn't lie to himself, some part of him wanted to. But he
      couldn't.

      He had been running all his life, but for one of the few times that he
      could remember, his options were non-existent. He could face up to the
      consequences and try to salvage the broken pieces of his marriage or
      he could run and lose the only person who tied him to happiness and
      the life he had come to depend on.

      Either way, he was screwed and risked losing her.

      But he had to see her.

      He had made the wrong choice the last time; he wasn't going to again.

      He had chosen to run away from a commitment that would have bound them
      together forever, and he wanted to turn back time because he realized
      now that forever was exactly what he wanted with her.

      But he had run, even if it had been metaphorically, right into the
      arms of someone else — and for that act he was now going to pay.

      He had to face her. He couldn't let that go on any longer.

      He went to her that night — but he hadn't prepared himself enough.

      He hadn't prepared for the person who called herself Marie — who
      looked like her — but didn't act in any of the ways he had come to
      recognize in the woman he had loved for so long.

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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