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FIC:(R) 2/3 - Broken Mirror III: A Revelation To Death

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  • serleef@hotmail.com
    Broken Mirror III: A Revelation To Death (2/3) 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 (2/3)
      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....

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

      Logan closed the door as he stepped in the room and met a lifeless
      stare through the mirror that cut to his heart and reflected hell
      through the impenetrable coldness of her eyes.

      She was standing with her back to the door, staring at his reflection
      through the large mirror at the dresser.

      He saw himself reflected as when he twisted the lock, hearing the
      seemingly magnified click in the otherwise still room.

      He saw himself reflected through her eyes when their gazes met, and he
      saw his world fall through the abyss.

      She never turned to look at him as he leaned against the door and made
      his confession in precise, stark sentences. She just continued to
      stare at him through the mirror the whole time.

      It was a calculated move to strip away at his soul.

      It worked.

      It was a reminder of how it had began between the two of them —
      through the reflected depths of a mirror. It was a move that scared
      him more then anything else she could have done.

      "Is that all?" she asked when he fell silent.

      He didn't recognize her voice, and he could do nothing but nod, his
      heart stopping at her calm.

      He took those first tentative steps towards her in some vain hope of
      breaking through that calm. He took those steps hoping that he could
      put his arms around her and promise her the sun and the moon if she
      would just look at him and fight with him and forgive him. He wanted
      to be able to get to the real emotions underlying the calm.

      He took three steps to reach for her and didn't get any further.

      "If you come near me, I will kill you, Logan." Her words wouldn't have
      stopped him, but the look in her eyes did. "You know I'm not
      bull-shitting either, don't you?"

      For the first time that evening, he saw something in her face that
      made even him want to back down. For the first time that evening she
      turned to face him and the look she gave him was enough to send a
      chill down his back.

      "Marie…"

      "No. Don't. You. Dare..." She closed her eyes, and when she opened
      them, they were once again empty and cold. "I suspect you'll be
      leaving soon. I've done you the courtesy of packing you a bag, my mama
      having installed in me good manners and all," she said it
      sarcastically, with a mockery of a laugh that hurt to hear because it
      was so foreign from what he knew of her real joy.

      "I'm not going anywhere, Marie." He said it calmly because he believed
      it.

      She pinned him with her eyes, and the cruelest little smile he had
      ever seen on her face twisted her lips. "You're going Logan. You won't
      want to stay here after tonight — that's a promise." The threat wasn't
      even subtle. "It shouldn't take too long, you know. I'll talk to the
      Professor tomorrow morning about a good divorce lawyer...and then
      you'll be free, Logan."

      Free.

      He started to laugh. Couldn't help it. He saw her wince, because even
      to him the sound rang raw, bitter and painful to hear, but he didn't
      care. It stopped abruptly — before it could betray him and turn to
      sobs.

      "That's enough," he said, forcing anger to replace despair,
      subconsciously shifting into a fighting stance. "There's not going to
      be any goddamned divorce, Marie. You want to put a knife in my heart?
      You want to fight me? That I can handle, hell that's what I expected
      the minute I walked through that door, but this is too fucking
      much..." He stopped because he was losing control. He stated over.

      "You stand there telling me that you want a divorce, and I'm just
      supposed to what...say yes? Fuck that. I might be guiltier than first
      sin, but I'd sooner take a knife in the gut then let you divorce me,
      to let you give up on our lives. Do you hear me? Do you understand
      me?" He was shouting. It was a shout for reaction, because he couldn't
      see one in her eyes. It scared him in ways that he'd never known
      before.

      Then one of these smiles that he'd begun to hate twisted her lips
      again.

      "I understand you, Logan. I understand you so well." She turned back
      to the mirror and closed her eyes.

      He wanted to touch her, he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort
      her, and he fought the urge. She wouldn't want him to touch her, and
      he didn't want to make the situation worse, so he fought the urge. It
      seemed like he was forever fighting his urges.

      She must have sensed his struggle because she turned to face him. "Is
      that what it's going to take, Logan? Really? A knife to the gut,
      right? Is that how you want it?" it was asked mockingly, but there was
      no heat in her eyes. There was nothing in her eyes. And it was in the
      way she said it — the lack of light reflected in eyes that had never
      looked at him without emotion — that's when he knew that he was really
      losing her.

      Fear made his chest tight and his voice deep. "You don't think I know
      I've hurt you. I've hurt you. You think I'm here to try to make
      excuses for that. But I can't. I won't. Do you think I'm crazy enough
      not to realize that there isn't a word I could say to make this up to
      you?"

      "I've fucked up so badly, Marie…" He was as close to breaking down —
      to crying at her feet — as he had ever been in his remembered-life at
      the thought of losing her.

      "There are no excuses that can be made for the one stupid mistake that
      I would give my soul to take back. I'll do everything in my power to
      try to make this up to you…"

      Then he stopped fighting.

      He gave in to his urge and all of a sudden he was in front of her. He
      was in front of her on his knees. He was on his knee pulling her down
      to sink with him. He was pulling her down to look into eyes that were
      naked. They hid nothing from her — they were a reflection of his
      heart, they were a reflection of his soul, they were a reflection of
      her.

      He knew she could see him, all of him, the good and the bad, and he
      didn't care. A few months ago, a few weeks ago, that would have been
      unacceptable to him. In the three years of their marriage, he had
      never let her see him — not all of him.

      Not like this.

      It had meant too much to both of them to think of him as a
      larger-than-life hero. She had needed that, and it had been important
      to him that she never see the chinks in the armor.

      Now she was finally seeing him, and he was letting her. She had to see
      all of him, all the faults that made him just a man, not a hero.

      He just wanted her to see him. She was killing him in ways she had no
      idea of by not seeing him. She also had to see that without her love,
      he was less than nothing.

      "Marie..." he said her name like a prayer, "Do you know that it's
      tearing my heart apart to look in your eyes right now, to see nothing
      but darkness, knowing I'm the one who put it there?"

      He would have cried if he had seen anything in her eyes. But she knew
      how to hurt him, and she did, because after exposing his soul, after
      making himself more vulnerable than he had ever been with anyone — she
      laughed. It wasn't mocking or bitter. It was a real laugh, hurting in
      its humor, and he shook her until her teeth cut her lips — until it
      stopped.

      She wasn't laughing anymore. She just gave him another cruel smile
      that twisted her face and made him want to shake from existence.

      "I fought to be the kind of man who would never have to look you in
      the face knowing he had betrayed the one person who held his world in
      her hands," his voice broke, and was gritty and harsh when he spoke
      again.

      "I tried to be the kind of person who would be worthy of your faith,
      of all your trust. It use to kill me to think that I had it in me to
      betray all that goddamned trust — all that trust that would shine up
      at me through your eyes. I...you don't know how many times I had to
      fight the urge to wipe that look off your face."

      She lifted a questioning brow, a mocking look on her face, but it was
      his turn to smile that twisted little smile.

      "I use to want to shake you, to tell you that you had no right to look
      at me that way, like I was some kind of god on a pedestal. It's a rude
      awaking isn't it, Marie? To know that all your faith was misplaced."
      He released her suddenly and stood up, turning his back to her to face
      the door.

      "I should have shaken you. That's one urge I wish I hadn't fought. I
      should have let you know who I really was, then maybe those feelings
      of disillusionment that your trying to hide with those cold looks
      wouldn't be so intense."

      He turned back to her. She was still on her knees in front of the
      dresser, showing no reaction that he could see.

      Suddenly he was staring above her, looking up at his own reflection in
      the mirror over her head. He realized that his image was distorted. It
      was distorted with tears he refused to shed.

      His voice grew tired, resignation starting to set in. "I was all
      prepared for you wanting to kick my ass, for us to have a knock-down,
      drag-out — but I'm having a harder time handling this."

      Her laughter filled the room, but this time there was something to it,
      because it was just on the edge of hysteria. She kept laughing and
      laughing until his control snapped and he felt the burn of metal
      exiting the flesh of his knuckles.

      The laughter stopped abruptly.

      "I'm so sorry I'm not conforming to expectation, Logan." It was the
      first thing she had said since he began his little monologue.

      She looked at him from across the room from her position on her knees.
      She looked up at him and there was something almost evil in the depth
      of her eyes. Something he didn't recognize.

      Then she started to crawl to him. She crawled, slowly, measurably to
      where he stood, a mocking smile on her lips. "Tell me what to do and
      I'll do it, Logan. Should I throw myself on the floor and beat the
      ground in grief? Should I ask the heavens about the injustice of human
      frailty? What should I do?"

      She knelt there in front of him, looking up at him, and something
      shifted in her eyes, and it left him cold.

      If he hadn't known her any better he would have thought that the look
      in her eyes was one of seduction.

      But he did know better, and the look in her eye was a poor imitation
      of what he knew of her seduction.

      It was a stranger's seductive voice that spoke.

      On her knees looking at him, she moved in even closer, gloved hands
      resting on his upper thighs. "Should I get really dangerous and try to
      hurt you, Logan? Should I give in to the urge to really fuck you over,
      because it's there — the urge is so strong, Logan…" She leaned into
      him, and it seemed to him that her face was suddenly in too close to
      his...

      "Stop it." He jerked her to her feet, gripping her upper arms hard
      enough to leave bruises. He didn't care. He was too damned tired to
      play her game. He could have taken anything but her games. "Why are
      you doing this?"

      Brown eyes studied his for a long minute, and he couldn't meet them
      after a while. They were just too penetrating — could see too much.

      She answered his question in a thoughtful voice. "It occurred to me
      that maybe if I had gone down on you a little more, if I had let you
      fuck me like some whore against a wall, maybe you wouldn't have had to
      find one in the form of a certain red-haired bitch we both know."

      She jerked one of her hands free from his grip and slid it slowly down
      to the front of his pants. "Is that what you wanted, Logan...a whore?
      I could have been your whore, Logan. If that's what you'd wanted. If
      you had told me, I could have been anything you wanted me to be. I
      would have done anything you wanted me to do. So tell me what I should
      do now, Logan. Tell me how I should react to your betrayal, because
      right now I can't feel enough to do anything. So, tell me, what you
      want?"

      Her touch should have made him feel something, at any other time just
      her look would have been enough, but instead he felt a chill that left
      him numb.

      She pulled free of him completely and took her gloves off, exposing
      deadly skin. Her hands were red and raw. He wanted to ask her what
      had happened but was distracted by her words.

      "Would letting me hurt you make you feel better? Should I rake my
      nails down your cheek and call you a liar, or pick up something and
      smash it in your face?"

      Then her voice became a weapon against him.

      "Should I get on my knees and slid my mouth around your stick,
      condom-less and hot — put you in a coma for a few weeks, maybe even
      kill you? Would that make you feel better, would it make you feel less
      guilty? I'll do it, Logan," she said, walking to stand close to him.

      "I'll do whatever you want," she said, and pressed the fullness of her
      breasts against his chest before he could react. "I'll be anything for
      you, Logan. Just tell me how I should feel, how I should react, and I
      will, because I just can't feel anymore. "

      She looked up at him with an expression of almost child-like
      expectation, but her eyes were vacant — and that's when he knew he'd
      just lost her.

      One tear, just one — no more, no less — slid down his cheek.

      She had just sentenced him to death and she didn't even know it.

      Or maybe she did.

      She sighed, suddenly looking so tired. She walked away from him and
      left him standing in the middle of the room that had been theirs for
      the last three years. She turned to look in the mirror, staring at her
      own eyes. Seeing what he saw — an abyss that led to the path of hell.

      At that moment if the devil himself had asked for his soul, he would
      have given it up to take back twenty minutes six days ago.

      "I know you, Logan. I know that right now, guilt is tearing at you —
      and I'm just wicked enough to want you to continue to suffer," her
      voice was hollow.

      "I know you came in this room hoping for a big fight, for me to yell
      at you, to cry and scream. Maybe you thought that eventually, given
      time to make it up to me, I would come around and forgive you. Who
      knows, maybe it'll happen." Her voice spoke volumes, but she said the
      words anyway.

      "But right now, this minute, Logan, I don't think that's going to
      happen. I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel again, but what I do
      know is that if I do — I don't want you here. I can't be responsible
      for what I'll do. I want you to continue to suffer. I want guilt to
      continue to tear at your heart until it bleeds." She looked him right
      in the eyes through the mirror and got her wish.

      She looked him in the eyes as his heart bled.

      "I want a divorce, Logan."

      He wanted to be able to argue, he wanted to fight and tell her that he
      wouldn't just let her do this — end it like this — but there wasn't a
      point.

      He no longer believed. He no longer had hope.

      The finality of her look, in the way she had said the words, had
      killed hope.

      He turned his back on her. Turned his back so he wouldn't have to see
      through the mirror the shell he had become at her words.

      "I'll leave tonight."

      He walked to the door, grasping the knob until his knuckles turned
      white. "You know it was never a question of me loving you, don't you?"

      "Yes, I know," were the last words he heard her say before he took
      those first steps that would lead him away from her and the life they
      had built in three years of marriage and five years of togetherness.

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