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You woke, tears dried on your cheeks. It was too much. You’d passed out, emotionally exhausted. Wade had left around 10pm, after you convinced him you were ok. He’d gone back to the mansion begrudgingly, eyes full of concern and a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. You’d told him that if he kept frowning his avocado face would turn to mush, and he’d chuckled quietly before patting you on the back and leaving you to yourself.
It had taken an hour for you to return to your previous state of emotional wreckage. You’d sobbed, pulled at your skin, thrown yourself at your kitchen wall headfirst. Anything to stop the pain, or create a diversion from the emotional torture. It was wrong, and it felt like a pit inside your stomach that was swallowing you up with every moment. You’d turned on the TV, loud, and locked the doors and windows before cracking open the six pack of lager you had stashed at the back of the fridge. You knew you shouldn’t drink when you were sad. You knew it was a form of self-harm, but come tomorrow morning nobody would know any different to Wade and in your fucked-up mindset that made it okay.
6 lagers later, you found yourself sat in the bath with the shower pouring lukewarm water over your fully-clothed body. It washed away the immediate stinging of your knuckles where they had connected with the tiled walls, washed away the blood that was trying to form a scab over the marks on your legs you’d somehow inflicted by kicking the wardrobe.
You thought it would be fun. He was so… intoxicating. He made you itchy inside, made you want to cling to him and drink him in to relieve the itching. His laugh… that deep grumble he reserved for you, and occasionally the X-force. His groans… God, his groans reverberated through the headboard, down your spine whilst you writhed and arched your back under his calloused fingers. He was like a pill. You could breathe when he was around, you could relax and laugh and joke. Whenever he left you felt like there was a hole in the room. But he wasn’t making you better, he was making you ill.
Neena had begged you to stop seeing him, or whatever you called it. He wasn’t interested in you, he was interested in the immediate gratification that came with fucking you face-first into the nearest mattress. He wasn’t a bad man at heart; he didn’t know how you felt. How could he, when you made damn sure nobody else did? You barely even recognised the feelings yourself. On what planet, past, present or future, would a man like him be interested in somebody like you as anything more than a fuck buddy? For fuck’s sake, he was married. He was older, much older, had just hit 50 and you were essentially still crawling round in diapers in his eyes. He could have been your father, but jesus if that itself wasn’t a turn on. He knew it too, knew you loved it when he groaned filthy things in your ear about how he was your daddy, how he would make sure everyone knew it. Wade had always called him metal daddy, but you bristled whenever he did so now. The marks around your neck from his heavy, cold, metal grip proved he was your daddy, nobody elses. You caught yourself; he was whoever’s he wanted to be. He was Hope’s husband, he was his daughter’s father, and he most certainly was not yours alone. It wasn’t fair of you to feel like this. It wasn’t fair of you to make him into the bad guy, when he had done exactly squat to deserve it. Neena and Wade knew which way it would go, which way you would choose to take the relationship and the inevitable outcome. They knew he would blow you off, tell you that you were being ridiculous and making things complicated. How could a man from the future start making commitments? It had ended with you crying, calling yourself stupid and his strong, gentle grip on your shoulders bringing you back to reality. Of course it couldn’t be anything more than it already was. You were both just getting your rocks off.
So he’d taken you to bed, your… not yours… addictive fuck buddy, and ploughed into you, telling you all the right things and making you scream his name. He finished with a deep grumble, and pulled out of you. With that, he stood up, and handed you your clothes. He helped you get dressed, ran a hand through your hair, down your back, and then used it to guide you out of his room. He was still stark naked, so you made your own way out of the X-mansion, and hitched a ride home with Dopinder.
That led you to now. Running from yourself, tears stinging with fresh tears, that familiar itch settled into your entire being that could only be sated with him. You were pathetic. Disgusting, snivelling in the bath tub, your body exhausted and bruised. You weren’t going to be able to see him for at least a fortnight whilst the marks faded. He’d know immediately. You took too much. It was fun, you were right, but you took too much of him. You developed a tolerance, your body no longer satisfied by being in his proximity, you had to be with him, touching him, even just a glancing brush of his hand on your arm. It was like withdrawal, your body trying to remove any last traces of him whilst also trying to cling desperately to them. You hadn’t felt like this in forever, and nobody had driven you to this point.
It was a passing thing. You would heal, you would hurt, and you would manage. He would continue to feel nothing, and you would have to stop the relationship in its tracks. Cold turkey. Anything except this nauseating pain. You were strong, you’d faced bigger things than this, but the whole situation stank of self-hatred, of your pathetic nature, of everything you were afraid you were.
You would make sure no one had to deal with it anymore. Nobody needed to see you like this, and you were embarrassed Wade had seen you in that state. Sitting up in the tub, you gently wiped your stinging eyes and turned off the water. You slipped out of the sopping wet clothes, stepping out of the bathroom fully naked and walking to your bedroom.
It was going to be okay. Wade had fixed the watch, and… he… would go back to his wife. His daughter.
You filthy homewrecker. You shook your head, building your resolve back up and slipping on your dressing gown. You smiled sadly, walking around the apartment and gathering the broken furniture, lager cans and smashed glass into a bin-bag. No use moping around.
You would manage, you would heal, and you would sure as hell not let any of your friends worry about you. You grabbed your phone, speed-dialling your favourite X-person.
“Hey Neena… you guys fancy a sleepover?”