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How you make your fact just like a wall,
How you take your heart and turn it off,
How I turn my head and lose it all.
How just one move puts me by myself,
There you go just trust someone else.
I'm guessing I should have seen it coming. I mean, look at Marie and then look at me. How long can that really last? I'm the goof off, the class clown. I'm not the hero. I'm not the guy who gets the girl. So I didn't.
That doesn't make it easier.
When she told me, y'know, that it was over, she came into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed, and I knew right then. Marie has these eyes that you can see everything in, these big, beautiful brown eyes, the kind of eyes you could drown in, but you know you wouldn't mind drowning because they're so gorgeous. You know it would be warm and soft.
Anyway, she sat down and I could see in those eyes that she didn't really care about me. Oh, I'm her "friend," alright. But that's all. And I know it must have been there all the time, but I didn't want to see it. The only reason I saw it then was because I wasn't bothering to hide it. Or maybe there wasn't anything left to hide behind. So she says, "Bobby, you know I love you. I'm just not in love with you." And that accent of hers sounded as good as ever, and it took just about everything in me to hear what she was saying and to realize what it meant.
I mumbled something about it being okay and she smiled and hugged me and left. "We're still friends, right?" Yeah, sure, of course. I'm friend guy. Great.
What gets me is that not a week later, I went into the library and she was in there. Not studying. Her and that freaky-eyed Cajun were in the corner whispering and giggling. It made me sick. Then he took her hand and kissed her palm through the gloves just like I used to. When he did it, though, she giggled and smiled and gave him the sort of look that I would literally kill to have directed at me, especially from her. He kept running his fingers through her hair, whispering in a way that I knew meant he was probably reciting poems about how beautiful she was.
The whole time, I was standing there wondering why I hadn't done that. Why didn't I bring her flowers everyday? Why couldn't I make my voice sound all deep and seductive and stuff? Why couldn't I be the hero for once? Or the mysterious, glowing-eyed stranger.
I'm not saying
There wasn't nothing wrong
I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me.
I'm not saying
We ever had the right to hold on
I just didn't wanna let it get away from me.
So I knew right from the start that someone like Marie couldn't stay with someone like me. I'm boring. Too normal. Or something. I mean, I'm a mutant. How normal can I be? When I get nervous, I freeze anything I touch. I could kill someone doing that if Iím not careful. I try hard to be careful. But I'm too normal. I'm not exciting. I don't ooze danger and mystery. Like Gambit. Or Logan. I'm not her type.
I knew that from the beginning. I asked her anyway. I couldnít not ask. Sheís Marie, and I loved her the minute I laid eyes on her, from the moment she looked at me with those eyes and drawled her name. And she went. We went to the movies and out to eat and sat around talking. She was my best friend and my girlfriend all in one, and it was amazing. It felt perfect being with her. So we couldn't make out like other couples? So what! That's why God made those nice, thin nylon scarves. You just have to be creative-and careful.
And saying that makes me wonder just how "creative" she's been with the Cajun. I don't like the thought of him touching her, but he obviously is. If all that fawning they were doing in the library is how they act in public, then what the hell are they doing behind closed doors? I never pushed. I never pressured. And I never got anywhere. And I didn't care. I still don't. I'd rather spend my time talking to Rogue and holding her hand than groping with anybody else.
I miss her the way I'd miss my arm if it got chopped off. Maybe more. I mean, you can always use your feet to write or whatever. There's no substitute for Marie. Wow, nice pity party I'm throwing for myself. Too bad nobody else came.
But if that's how it's gonna leave
Straight out from underneath
Then we'll see who's sorry now
If that's how it's gonna stand when
You know you've been depending on
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out
I'm not doing so good without her. But how can she do without me? We talked about everything! When those nightmares Logan gave her got bad, we'd sneak off into the living room and talk until she got tired. Or I'd just hold her. Once she even talked me into singing her a lullaby. It was painful, but she said it helped. And I'll be damned if I wouldn't do anything for her.
She has to miss me at least a little. "We'll be friends" apparently means that we won't ever talk and will try like anything to pretend we've never met and don't live in the same school. We aren't even acquaintances. Forget friends. And I miss it. I miss her. I want things to be the same. Even if we were still together, though, they wouldn't be the same. We'd be awkward and embarrassed (or at least I would be), and it would still be different.
So I watch her. I try to tell myself it's because I'm protecting her, but that's dumb. Besides, Logan is around again now, and he does enough protecting for a small army. I don't think he likes Remy either. That's probably the one thing old hairy and I have in common. Sometimes when I'm watching her, I see him doing the same thing. Sometimes I wonder if he does it for the same reasons I do. Maybe he's in love with her too. I can't see how anybody in their right mind wouldn't be.
She was outside the other day, walking with him, and the sunlight was catching her hair just right and it looked like fire sometimes. I never realized how much red there was in it until then. It was beautiful. And those white streaks were flashing bright and pure like snow. And that bastard saw me watching them and he smiled at me. And I wanted to challenge him to a duel or something, fight for her honor. Yeah, Marie would've loved that. It annoys her coming from Logan. She would have killed me.
So that's all. There ya go, Professor, I wrote in the damn journal! This is how I feel. I hate losing her, I hate him for taking her, and I hate myself for not being the man she wants. Mostly, though, I just miss her.
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