Hurt Me
by
Elizabeth Wilde


DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters. They are all copyright... Marvel and/or Twentieth Century Fox and possibly even other places or people. Point is, not mine. I make no money from this site and I don't have any to give, so there's no point in suing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song is "The Kiss" by The Cure. The fic is dark and freaky, and I really have no clue what twisted part of my brain came up with it.

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Kiss me kiss me kiss me
Your tongue is like poison
So swollen it fills up my mouth

I learned how to control my powers almost a year ago. God, just a year. It feels like for-fucking-ever. I feel a million years old, and I only just turned twenty. Logan came back just over a year ago too. Just after I learned how to touch without killing, without taking anything. There he was standing the doorway smiling. I ran out to him and gave him a hug, then I held his hand with no gloves. I thought his jaw was gonna fall off.

He seemed so happy for me, and I thought maybe it was because he felt happy for him too, that maybe, just maybe, he felt a little bit about me like I did about him, that he'd spent at least one night dreaming of me the way I did him. I don't just mean the nightmares, either. In my dreams, he could touch me. And he did.

We spent time together. I watched him watch Jean every time she walked by. I felt a little stab of pain inside every time he did. But I didn't say anything, because friends don't get jealous like that. And he was my friend. I thought I was his friend.

Then one night he came into my room and grabbed me, pulled me tight against him and kissed me like there was no tomorrow. I'd never been kissed--not like that anyway--and it was even more amazing because I was being kissed by Logan. By the man I loved. His lips were warm and soft and his kisses were possessive, and I could feel myself drifting on waves of pleasure and contentment. He pushed me back against my bed and started stripping off my clothes and I thought all of my dreams were coming true and then some.

But he pulled back a little, just enough to get a better angle at unbuttoning my blouse, and I saw his eyes and I knew he didn't love me. He just wanted someone. And I was just dumb enough not to care, no matter how much the revelation hurt.

Love me love me love me
You nail me to the floor
And push all my inside out

Logan fucked me. It was good. Damn, it was good. Even though it was the first time and there was blood and there was pain, there was so much pleasure in it that I almost couldn't take it.

And he came back. And every time it hurt just a little more to know he didn't really want me at all. But I let him come and I let him fuck me. Hell, if I went a few days without him coming, I went to him, stripped myself naked and laid right down in his damn bed and begged him. I wanted him that much.

It was never sweet or beautiful or loving. It was hard and rough and sheer animal instinct. I was usually bruised all the hell over inside and out by the time we were finished. It hurt like hell, and I loved every second of it.

Bobby was the first one to notice. Sweet, beautiful Bobby who watches over me and takes care of me no matter how bad I treat him. He was reaching over to brush something off my shirt one day and saw the finger-shaped bruises on my arm, then noticed the tooth-shapes ones on the side of my neck. I don't think I've ever seen anybody look that hurt. But maybe that's how I looked when I realized Logan didn't love me at all.

The part that made me feel worse than anything was how he didn't say anything. He just looked at me with those big damn innocent blue eyes and then asked, "Are you okay?"

Of course I told him I was. I was just fucking fine. Just losing my mind. Just having my soul fucked out of me. I was perfect.

Get it out get it out get it out
Get your fucking voice
Out of my head

Having Logan back in the flesh has brought him out inside me too. I thought those last little traces of him had flown away, that I'd lost them along the way. But the minute he kissed me it was back.

He's always there with me, whispering, forcing me to know everything I don't want to know at all. I want that voice up there to tell me how much he loves me, how he's wanted me since the first time he saw me. At the very least, how much he cares about me, how it kills him to use me like he does. How he just can't help himself.

But I don't hear that. I caught myself watching Jean walk down the hall the other day and then had to go to my room to cry. I cried until I ran out of tears and I thanked God that I've had my own room since I turned nineteen. I wanted Jean when I was watching her. Of course, what hurt was that it wasn't me wanting to grab her and fuck her until she screamed my name and came in my arms. It was Logan.

Now at night I don't dream of him. I dream of her. I know exactly what he wants to do to her, and I wish to God that he wanted to do it to me.

I never wanted this
I never wanted any of this
I wish you were dead
I wish you were dead

I keep swearing I won't let him in again, that I won't go to him next time. I always go. If I don't go, I end up going to Bobby's room, end up crying myself to sleep on his chest and wishing I could really tell him what is happening. He knows, I suppose. I doubt anyone else does. But I've come to Bobby bruised and beaten and needing someone to hold me too many times for him not to know. He never asks me.

I wish with more passion than I knew I had sometimes that he had never come back. Hell, I wish that I had never found him in that damn bar, never stowed away in his trailer. I sure as shit wish I hadn't fallen in love with him.

That's why I go. That's why I let him cover me in bruises and touch me the way I've never let anyone else touch me. I love him. I was to be his. I want him to possess me completely. I want him to take me. I want him to hurt me.

I love him.

And I hate him for destroying me.

I never wanted any of this
I wish you were dead
Dead
Dead
Dead



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