It was only about 8 but I also wanted to check the new room out and make sure it didn’t have any memories to haunt me. It wasn’t too big and the bed was a single this time, which suited me fine. There was a large wooden dresser instead of the rather modern laminated piece in the other room and opening the drawers of dark reddish wood, I found most of the clothes that I had earlier as well as a few more T-shirts and the other pair of jeans the girls had bought me what seemed like a life time ago. Pulling out one of the T-shirts, the largest I could find, I stripped out of the jeans and big smiley face shirt I was wearing and slipped on the shirt I had grabbed. It was pink. I’m not a pink person, but for a night shirt it would do. It had a large pink rose on it and underneath, it said, ‘A Touch of Class’. Like I said, for a night shirt it would do.

Sliding into bed, I closed my eyes and after a few seconds, I was out like a light. And I slept like the dead. I had been close enough to it to have a good idea how the dead sleep.

Waking up in the morning, I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink and it felt like I had just put my head to my pillow. Looking out the window I was facing, I realized the only reason I was awake was the sun shining in my eyes. Getting up and tweaking the curtains closed, I crawled back into bed, and went back to sleep for another few hours.

***

Next time I didn’t get off so easy. Hank was pounding at the door. He might have started soft, but I guess not getting an answer prompted him to pound a little harder. Finally he poked a head in and asked if I was awake. Mumbling from under the covers was taken as a yes, because the next question, was to see if I was decent enough for him to come in and check my arm.

Dragging myself out from under the covers I waved him in, sat in a chair by the dresser and let him poke and prod the stitches in my arm once the dressing came off. The gash was a little inflamed from banging it yesterday, but Hank said I could get the stitches out in a few days and that other then that I was pretty much fine. But he wanted me to come in for a blood test tomorrow.

Still not really feeling like I was alive, let alone human, I got on some jeans, eased the ‘Kiss Me I’m Italian’ shirt on and threw the old jean shirt on over the mess. I had to be careful, because I’d left the bandages off my arm. It had been four days, even if I was only awake for one, and it needed to breath.

Finally making my way to the kitchen for breakfast I realized I might as well call it lunch seeing as how it was 2:30. Pulling out some bread and making myself a sandwich, I watched in fascination as Gambit, in a really scruffy robe, hair completely disarrayed and unshaven, literally stumbled into the room. I have never seen Gambit stumble. He managed to stay on his feet till he got to the fridge, then hung on the door, as he studied the contents.

"Want a sandwich?" And I thought I was jumpy. He mustn’t have seen me when he came in cause he just about leaped out of his skin. I guess I wasn’t the only person who doesn’t like mornings.

By the time he landed and gathered his wits: "What kind, petite?" That’s the second time he called me that.

"Mystery meat sausage and mustard. Lettuce if you want it?"

A nod in my direction was the only answer I got, as Gambit had discovered the coffee pot and was trying to pour a cup. Having fortified himself with two cups and his sandwich now ready we sat down at the table and in a companionable silence, ate.

***

A week later, I still wasn’t all that happy with myself, but I was feeling a little better and after a long talk with Hank about that weird chemical in my blood, at least I knew I was feeling like a manic depressive for a reason. And I had a number of people behind me, cheering me on.

Metaphorically speaking of course.

I spent about an hour each afternoon talking with Xaviar and sometimes some extra time doing a little exploration of my particular mutation. Evenings I usually spent not doing anything memorable, just lazing around and watching the people around me. Nights were still hard. One night, every time I closed my eyes, all I saw where faces, each one with a name and a story, each one looking at me with accusations buried in there eyes. I spent most of it wandering the empty halls after everyone had gone to sleep. I was still up by the time Gambit came in and we sat and talked for a while. Not about anything important, but I don’t think he was in too much of a hurry to get to bed that night either. I guess we all have our demons.

Mornings where Hank’s domain and usually started with him dragging me out of bed at ten. Once the stitches were out and the cut on my arm was starting to heal enough to give a semblance of movement without threatening to do more harm, he had me doing some basic exercises. And we can’t forget the tests to determine how many nerves I destroyed with the paring knife. My left arm had a numb streak that ran down from the cut, and extended into my palm and fingers. My index and middle finger are rather sensitive to cold, aching something fierce when I grab something from the freezer, but the numbness itself isn’t really all that noticeable. Just don’t ask me to do any brain surgery. My right hand was perfectly fine though and that’s the one I use the most.

I’ve just started a little sparing with Logan again, and Scott, being over protective, insists on watching to make sure I don’t over-reach myself too soon. I guess he’s feeling guilty about Jason, so I don’t mind. It’s good to stretch out, even when muscles I haven’t used in a few months start to complain. I still have to take down Logan once though. I came pretty close today, when I managed to trip up his legs once he got me down, but he still managed to flip over and land back on his feet. I figure I’m not doing too bad, cause we’re both breathing hard by the end and I had to be careful for my arm so I have an excuse. Honest!

Afternoons, when I wasn’t working with Xaviar until supper, Rogue, Storm and Jean took me shopping. I finally got some plain ordinary T-shirts with out any weird crazy sayings on them, or Bright Yellow Smiley Faces, but Rogue insisted on a bra with Bugs Bunny. Since no one was ever gonna see it, I figured what the heck. Not to mention the one bra I had, was about to fall apart. I also got one with Daffy Duck to complete the set. I drew the line at Elmer Fudd though. I also ended up with a few other essentials, that I’m not really gonna go into, a jean jacket for the coming winter, boots, running shoes, a few denim shirts to throw over everything, a sweatshirt with some hockey team logo, I wouldn’t know which one, and to top it all off, a hat. A Harley Davidson ivory baseball cap.

My mom had one like it that she used to wear when she went out and hadn’t brushed her hair. I saw it in the display window and I remembered life before the cult. Mom running around trying to get the house clean before my father showed up, playing in the yard with a few of the kids who lived in the same complex. Mom hauling me back inside, to dry off after playing in the spring slush. On impulse I bought it while the other girls were oo-ing over a little black dress across the way. It would be nice to have some happy memories mixed in with the bad.