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Fic: "Crashing Inside" R (1/1) [Scott, (others)]

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  • Nadja Lee
    Crashing Inside By Nadja Lee 25/08/02 English is not my native language. Please forgive me my
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 31 6:12 AM
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      Crashing Inside By Nadja Lee 25/08/02
      English is not my native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.

      Disclaimer: “X-men” and all the characters here belong to Marvel , 20 Century Fox and I intend no infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I make no money of it.

      Only the original idea contained within this work is the property of the author. Please do not copy this story to any website or archive without permission of the author.

      Timeline: Set before the movie or before the Evolution cartoon/comic

      Universe: Set before for the movie universe and before the cartoon/comic for the X-men Evolution cartoon/comic. It fits equally well in both I think though written with Evolution in mind.

      Pairing: None

      Summary: Scott finds that sometimes a journey into your own mind is the most dangerous thing you can do….

      Archiving: Want, ASK, take, have.

      Feedback: Yes, please. My e-mail address is nadjalee2000@...

      Rating: R

      Warnings: Mention of child abuse, rape, self-mutilation, suicide attempts, deep depression, drug use, anorexia…can’t think of more off hand but I’m sure it’s out there *EG*

      Author’s notes: I thought it was about time I tried to torture Evolution Scott since I’ve tortured all other incarnations of him; Ultimate, AU, comic, movie…….yeah, you can’t escape me anymore Evolution Scott *EG*

      However as this story is about Scott’s past it also fits the movieverse as the movie didn’t say how Scott’s past were (I’m as always ignoring that terrible excuse for a book they published with the film.)

      Thanks to Estelle for the Beta.



      * * *

      This is one of those days. One of those days when everything seems so distant, when the world seems to be going to Hell and when my head hurts worse than if someone had put a gun to it and pulled the trigger.

      Thank God it’s Saturday; I couldn’t have managed a day at school with all those people. I need some air; just to know that I’m not alone in this house makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

      I more or less run to the back of the garden, finally alone. I sit for a while, looking around and trying to remember why I’m here, why we fight…….trying to find hope and finding none. Life sucks, this sucks…….everything is going to Hell anyway.

      I pull out the small red notebook (well, at least I think it’s natural red but everything’s red to me) I brought from my room and softly caress it. Since my parents' death I’ve written bit and pieces in it, memories and thoughts about them. The first pages are written with a shaky, unsure childish hand just a few months after my parents’ death. After the plane crash I was in a coma for months and when I woke up my world had fallen apart. In this book I have tried to write down memories about my parents and the brother I thought lost but as time passes I begin to realise that I forget; I lose those memories. When I now try and read any of the things I wrote down as a child I can’t recall if they’re real or a figment of a child’s imagination.

      I should be used to be alone by now, I’ve always been alone. At the orphanage no one wanted me because I had suffered brain manage after the plane crash. Mention that and all would be foster parents were out the door quicker than Pietro can run. At first I was hopeful when I should meet new positional parents but as time passed and I was left time and time again that hope died and I began to wonder if it was my fault they didn’t want me. Maybe I wasn’t good enough? Maybe if I was the best they would want me. So I began trying hard at everything; from schoolwork to sports. I needed to be the best. I had no time for friends and they rarely wanted to play with the ‘brain case’ anyhow. Working hard became all I had; all I did. But no matter how hard I worked I was a small and skinny boy, I always have been. Though I had a natural talent for mathematics and physics I ran last in sports all the time and I hated those classes, I hated the smirk look in the others' eyes as if they said ‘knew you couldn’t do it, freak’. I hated when we played a team sport that the popular kids got to gather the teams……no one ever picked me, no one ever wanted me on their team. In the end the teacher had to say one of the teams should take me in and they always complained highly about that. Tears would burn in my eyes but I refused to let them fall; I wasn’t that weak, I couldn’t be that weak. I needed to win…maybe they would want me then? I trained as hard as I could and went to the local gym at five in the morning after having gone to bed at 1 after having done homework. The teasing was worse there but I gave all I had….and fell flat. John, a guy some years older than me let me know in clear tones that with such a skinny body that I had then I would never be any good; at least not the next couple of years. He did know a way, he said. He could help me. I was ecstatic. Someone would help me. He told me he had these pills that would make me stronger. I was suspicious but after some weeks with the teasing, occasional beating that the strong boys always seemed to think was in their right to give the smaller and weaker ones the choice was easily made. I took the pills and my life became a downhill spiral.

      I had never eaten all that much but now food began to seem terrible just to look at. I kept seeing myself as this fat boy standing over in the corner. I avoided any kind of sweets, I began to try and calculate how much fat each meal would give me and I found that even though the pills made me stronger the food would counteract that effect and make me fat and no one wanted a fat boy. I began to skip breakfast and lunch but I couldn’t get out of dinner so I would cut in the food, splatter it out all over the plate and eat as little as possible. After dinner I would try to throw it up; just the thought of all those calories, all that fat….I shuttered at the very thought. Just the smell or thought of food nearly made me sick; I found it disgusting.

      Time went by and nothing much changed. I kept being rejected and I grew more into myself. I began to think everyone was out to get me, everyone wanted to kill me, I could trust no one and I would suffer from fits of unprovoked rage quickly replaced by times of deep depression where everything seemed hopeless and the world was grey, dark and cold. When that happened I would go for a walk (I couldn’t go to my room because I shared room with three other orphan boys). There was a lake nearby where I went and thought everything through. At those times everything seemed hopeless and dark. I had lost everything, nothing I did was good enough or right…..I was lost, drifting aimlessly around and no one was there to guide me home.

      It was on one of those walks where I sat by the lake, ignoring the cold wind and the tears I cried where I first picked up a piece of glass. It lay there, right before my eyes. So fragile yet deadly, clean yet dirty. It was perfect. I picked it up; it was from a broken bottle. All the rage, all the emotions boiled up inside me, all the loneliness and confusion, my head aching like someone was stepping on it, my eyes burning and tears falling down my cheeks….suddenly it was all too much and I rolled up my sleeve and with morbid fascination, my tears stilling, I cut a deep line in my right arm from my elbow to my wrist. Blood began to peep forth and I stared fascinated at it as it ran from my arm to drip unto the cold ground. So controlled, knowing just what to do….blood is unique. I sat for a while and found that some of the overshadowing darkness in my mind had been lessened by the cut. With a small smile I picked the piece of glass up, put it in my pocket and reluctantly went back towards the orphanage.

      I didn’t think it possible but things could actually get worse. The headaches intensed, the pain in my eyes got worse, my vision would get blurry and reddish for a few seconds…..I felt like screaming and never stopping. It lasted for months. I told the teachers but they were sure I was exaggerating and being troublesome and sent me away, saying it would pass if I ignored it. I tried to ignore it but the pain was so intense. It was hard for me to concentrate, to do anything. Then suddenly one day at dinner when I looked up to answer a question a teacher was asking me red light left my eyes and blasted all the way through the orphanage. I quickly closed my eyes again as confusion, screams and chaos broke out. Someone grabbed my arm and dragged me outside and gave me a slap in the face, yelling panicked and angry at me……a woman’s voice filled with fear and disgust saying I might have killed some of the children, saying I was a monster. I cried but no tears ran down my cheeks. The pain in my eyes and head wasn’t so intense anymore. She released me when she heard sirens and said I could stay put. Panicked, images of death in the electric chair, beaten to death by an angry mod and worse raced through my head and I ran off, my eyes still closed, as I by memory was able to reach the lake.

      I sat by the lake, shaking and crying for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. I was sure I should die, so violently I cried but I didn’t and found no comfort in that. I was a freak, a killer, an outsider…..I would be hated and despised everywhere I went. If my future had seemed hopeless before it was now unreachable. With shaking hands I found the piece of glass in my pocket where I always carried it next to my red notebook. Who cared anyway about me? No one. Who loved me? No one. Who wanted me? No one. I had been deceiving myself. No matter what I did I would never be good enough. I brought the glass down to meet skin and cut a deep line across the veins in my right wrist and yelled out loud at the pain; it hurt more than I thought it would. I wondered how much blood there would be. I wondered if it was still red, if it still ran in such controlled and fine lines, always knowing where to go. Or if my blood was now black……or green…some freakish colour……

      I began to feel light-headed, my right wrist felt so hot and pumping, I fought the instinct to cover the wound with my other hand. A brief moment of panic eloped me; I didn’t want it all to end before I had had a chance to even begin but it quickly passed….I had no future anyway. I tried to remember my parents and my brother but their faces were blurry and got lost in the chaos of my mind. Then all went black.

      I thought I would wake next in Heaven if I had even thought that far but a slap in my face awoke me. A deep and hard voice warned me against opening my eyes, ending his sentence with ‘freak’. The next two years when I lived with him he would end all his sentences with ‘freak’, ‘outcast’ or something like that. I got used to it; that was what I was now. He explained that he had found me, that he knew what I was and that I apparently couldn’t do anything right; my cut hadn’t been deep enough and he had stitched it up, the burning pain in my wrist telling me it hadn’t been done in a hospital. He let me know that his name was Jack and that he owned me now. He said he would protect me from people and the cops who he said wanted me dead for killing ten people at the orphanage. All I had to do in return was to obey him. I saw little other way, I was happy for this offer and accepted.

      The next two years I would regret that bitterly but when ever I tried to smuggle a knife, piece of glass or another sharp object into my small room, Jack would take it from me, yell at me and beat me….He liked to do so with his belt, demanding I stripped naked first and turned my bare back to him. The first time I thought I should die, it felt like I was being cut in two. The burning rage I had felt over such humiliation, my eyes as always closed, a white band over them, I felt very valuable and humiliated but that quickly passed as the first blow and then the next fell. Mostly he wouldn’t hit hard enough for me to lose consciousness but if he was very angry then it did happen.

      Time passed and all those high standards and noble ideas were forgotten. Fear is never forgotten when beaten into you and I dared not defy Jack, I feared the punishment too much even as I hated myself for my cowardice. The first jobs he got me to do wasn’t that bad; begging, spying….hiding things from someone running past me. Jack had a whole lot of business going down and none of it was legal; his world held no kind hand or face, no loving words…….it was as dark as the darkness I now lived in. I had no one to talk to, to tell about my fear...I felt so alone and valuable never knowing from where anyone came from. In the end I actually began to look forth to it when Jack spoke to me even if it was harsh words because then at least I wasn’t ignored……at least then I knew that as long as someone spoke to me I wasn’t dead yet.

      While with Jack I suffered severe withdrawal symptoms from the pills I could no longer get. I never knew their name but I began to shake, throw up and feel a burning need to get some more pills. Jack was furious, as I had to stay in bed for several weeks; too weak to do much of anything. He did teach me a lesson about ever taking drugs when I was well enough to feel it; letting his fits and belt do most of his talking.

      The next two years were pretty much the same until one day….

      It hadn’t crossed Jack’s mind, I could hear the surprise in his voice. He hated me too much to ever think of me that way and now knowing what it’s all about I’ll take hate over lust any day. It was an accident, it should never have happened. I had come back too early, now able to go from the spot where I begged and back to Jack alone while he had had to take me back and forth in the beginning. It’s one of those things, those moments you wish you could do over. His name was Nick and I’ll hate that name till the day I die. He spotted me that day as I tried to go to my room unnoticed, trying to avoid both him and Jack who I could hear he was talking to. Too late; he had seen me and called me to come forth. I hesitated but Jack’s angry and demanding voice made me quickly do as told, fear making my hands sweaty. What had I done now? I tried to think of something I could have done which could have angered Jack but found none out of the ordinary…not that that was any comfort. Sometimes I was sure my very existence angered him. I expected a blow and tensed. I hadn’t thought I would feel a hand caress my face. I drew back as if burned. Then the blow came, slapping me across the face and a hand under my chin held my head in place, as someone looked me over. That hand wasn’t Jack’s. I knew Jack’s hands well; he didn’t hit like that. This was the other man. They began talking about me as if the man who Jack called Nick was to buy a piece of meat. They were arguing about how much Jack wanted for Nick to borrow me for a night. Shame and humiliation coloured my cheeks red hot. For a night…..? I wasn’t stupid; I knew where this was heading. With a yell I tore free from Nick and ran towards where I knew the door was. I didn’t get very far before someone caught up with me, a hard blow to my head made me fall to the floor and as I fell down I hit my head and lost consciousness, my last thought the urge to try and get away, my last feeling one of fear.

      When I woke again I was tired with handcuffs to a bed, my hands above my head. I tore all I could but I couldn’t get free. Tears sprung to my eyes but never fell down my cheeks. As I turned and tossed on the bed I felt I was naked. Had he…? Was I…? Oh, God. I felt like throwing up but the handcuffs held me in place, lying on my back so that wouldn’t be such a good idea; I would probably drown myself and wouldn’t that be a dignified death? Suddenly I felt like laughing hysterically. A noise stopped my laughter. Someone was in the room! I tensed, instinctively trying to cover myself but the best I could do was to turn so I crossed my legs to the side. I tore all I could at the handcuffs. Such fire, someone said. I froze. It was his voice. Nick’s voice. I yelled, I pleaded but to no avail. He came closer, his hands all over me.

      I don’t think I remember anymore at least not now. Next thing I remember is Jack being unusual gentle with me as he uncuffed me, saying something about it all being my fault anyway. Why did I have to look like a poster boy anyway? I didn’t think I looked like that at all but I hadn’t been able to see myself in a mirror at all for years. I felt like I was far away, I didn’t even flinch when he touched me to draw me up from the bed. He told me to go watch up and go to my room but it was like I heard him yet I didn’t. I was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. He slapped my face, telling me to snap out of it but I didn’t react, didn’t even feel the pain. A flowery garden…..I smelled flowers…and sunlight. Again he was unusual gentle as he lifted me up and carried me to the bathroom where he washed and dried me before he carried me to bed before he left, during it all not saying a word. Strange but that memory, vague as it is because of my state of mind at the time, still remains one of my best memories. I had forgotten that such kindness could exist.

      Several days passed, Jack never spoke to me as I lay emotionless in my bed, didn’t speak as he helped me to the bathroom...strange that his touch didn’t make me draw back…didn’t react at all. Then after five days I awoke one morning, it was like it had all been a bad dream and yet not. My mind was a confused mess and I was sure I couldn’t recall what had happened……….I didn’t want to remember. I bathed for hours that day before I went out to work. Since then I’ve always bathed at least once every day yet I always feel dirty.

      I’ll never know for sure but something in me tells me that it was Jack who drove the car that speeded past me and hit another car right before me. It was again one of those things, accidents, moments that built up our life. The police came and needed witnesses for the accident; I had tried to leave but had been held back by do-gooder citizens. When I refused to take off my eye band one of the officers got angry and tore it off, the suddenness making me fire my blasts. Luckily up into the air above his head. I was brought to the hospital where all were afraid of me and didn’t dare to be alone with me. That was where Xavier found me and rescued me. He did what I thought I would never live to see; he adopted me and with doing so, with his faith in me, he gave me back hope. He brought me my glasses and gave me back my eyesight, even shades of red is bliss after so long with no vision at all. I owe him my life, I owe him everything and from that day forth I vowed I would do my best to be everything he wanted me to be.

      The professor took me home and I had to admit to him that I might have accidentally killed several children at the orphanage. Xavier had smiled at me and reassured me that no one had been killed, some had been injured but none had been killed. Jack had lied to me but I couldn’t find it in me to hate him. Something had changed those last few days. I know he had been the one to sell me in the first place but his touch, the kindness…with that I can forgive anything. I still don’t know why Jack saved me and took me in; maybe he was lonely, maybe he wanted a worker…..maybe it was just one of those things you can’t explain. What will always puzzle me is his kindness in the end and why he let me go because I’m sure it was he though it could be me trying to make someone want me just a little. Maybe he didn’t like what Nick had done, maybe it had reminded him of something…maybe he really was that kind or maybe it was all in my mind because I wanted to see it….maybe it was another of those things I’ll never understand.

      Xavier also told me that my powers made it impossible for me to cry and explained that I was a mutant, that I could do great things. It didn’t seem possible but he insisted it was true.

      I was the only child at Xavier’s school for almost a year before Jean came and shortly thereafter all the others. At first Logan didn’t like me much but I had trained hard before and did so again and proved to him that I wasn’t totally worthless. Ororo was a beacon of light, always smelling of summer and flowers, always kind and gentle. She was the first to see the scars on my back. I felt so embarrassed and humiliated when she did but she insisted it was all right, it hadn’t been my fault. I don’t know if I believe her, even today I’m not sure but it was nice of her to say so. Xavier knew as it apparently stood in my medical file from the hospital. The tiny scars on my body from the glass where I had used to cut, the scar on my right wrist….it all stood in the report. Xavier tried to be compassionate and talk with me about it but it’s hard to explain feelings if the one you’re talking to have never been in that dark Hell your own mind can create.

      In the hospital file it also said that I was malnourished and most likely suffered from anorexia so he had Ororo play private chef and therapist to me, explaining why it was important that I eat correctly. It was first after I passed out during a training session from sheer exhaustion and Logan had to save me from a almost too well programmed Danger Room that I realised that I would be endangering everyone. Slowly I began to eat again. Sometimes the feelings of displeasure and disgust towards food and the urge to throw it all up again return and probably always will but it’s better now.

      For months after I had arrived at the school I suffered from terrible nightmares that I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) remember when I woke up. It was affecting my grades and my training, as I didn’t get enough sleep. Xavier promised not to look at my memories as he went into my mind and put a mind block on the memories generating my nightmares. What I remember of it now I watch it as I do a movie; images with no feelings attached. On occasion a memory, a flicker of something will resurface but I fight it back. I remember more than what I want to, I don’t need that as well.

      Then there are days like today. Days when I can’t see any light. When I feel the old feeling of depression watch over me. I will not cut, I gave Xavier my word that I wouldn’t do it again but at times like this, an invisible pain, agony burning inside me I wish I had never given my word. Sometimes when it’s at its worst I feel like crying and never stopping...I feel like dying. If only I could recall more about my parents, maybe that would soothe me…

      Wishing brings me nothing. I’ll stay here, alone and think. Remember. In time it’ll pass. I just need……I just need some time. I’ll be all right tomorrow. I’ll be strong, I’ll be hopeful, I’ll be everything Xavier wants me to be so just for tonight…..let me be alone, myself, let me be Scott and not Cyclops…..let me tend to the wounds I won’t let you see I carry with me. You have no idea what goes on inside my mind but sometimes…sometimes your own mind is the worst place to be and sometimes…. it’s your only escape.

      Crashing…..crashing inside……..how I wish I could cry. Just for tonight.

      I’ll be okay tomorrow.

      Just for tonight…let me cry, let me let go…..

      The End
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