The Wrong Direction
by
Diebin
Disclaimer: Everything is owned by it's owners, of which I am not one.
I've gotten soft.
That slimy little tree hopping buddy of Xavier's nemesis nearly crushed my skull a few days ago, flinging himself out of nowhere and taking me down a set of stairs. It wasn't much of a fight after I got my feet back under me--but it never should have happened to begin with. I should have smelled him coming a mile away.
But I've gotten soft.
Trouble must be brewing down there. And it's disgusting that my first instinct is to go back and make sure she's alright. I used to have my survival instincts intact. I knew what those do-gooders just don't get--when you see trouble, you run the other way. They're always running in the wrong direction.
And now I want to run in the wrong direction too.
I wonder what Toad wanted me for. It certainly wasn't as a hostage. I can just see that--they hold me up and cry, "Stop, or the mutant gets it!" And good ol' One-Eye just feels relief that he won't have to be the one to do me in.
Maybe they just need an expensive can-opener now that their metal-lovin' boss is locked up.
Ha. Guess my sense of humor took flight at the same time as my good sense.
I can feel her in my head, disapproving. She doesn't seem to like it much when I make fun of myself. And that scares me. Either I'm crazy--and I wouldn't doubt it much, since I'm convinced that there's someone in my head telling me to be nice to myself--or I'm possessed.
If only that didn't sound so good . . . being possessed by my girl.
Shit. There I go again. My girl. Disgusting.
I'm definitely getting soft.
And I've been moving East for the last week now. I think that scares me most of all--but I can't help it. She's pulling on me, the pull getting stronger every day. Sometimes I'm convinced I can almost hear her talking to me in my head. Murmuring wry comments that I can't quite make out--but I can feel the sound of her low, drawling voice in my bones.
In my bones. Right. I know damn well what's in my bones, and it sure as hell ain't some girl's voice. She needs me like she needs poison. What am I? A lover? I could be her father. A friend? She's got those in plenty--ones her own age. Ones who don't have as many scars as I do.
And what does that leave? Her protector?
Any girl who can kill with a touch is fine without some hulking brute hanging around to watch her back.
And yet--I can't shake the feeling that I should be going to her. To protect her. To be with her. Maybe it's that imaginary voice in my head. Maybe Xavier's playing with my thoughts. Maybe I really am crazy.
Maybe I'm just lonely.
East. It's the wrong direction. If the other side's men are out trying to kill me, there has to be something going on there. And here I am, driving into danger like it's a damned picnic.
I haven't just gotten soft--I've gotten dumb.
Ahh, there she goes again. She doesn't like it when I call myself dumb.She's got that motherly disapproval thing now. If she here here, I'd half expect her to turn me over her knee and spank me.
I really am a sick old man. Soft, sick, and dumb.
And happy. For the first time in so long . . . I really do feel happy.
I can't help but smile the farther East I go.
I'm going the wrong direction--but I'm going to see my girl.
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