━━ HEARTS, HEADS...

PEOPLE OFTEN SAY THE WORLD is quiet at night. 

They complain about the silence, about the world gone still as dusk reaches over their heads. These people usually sleep well, finding solace in their dreams and fantasies. They can rest easily.

But everyone who's ever had a nightmare knows that night is the loudest part of the day.

Shaw has never been this angry before.

I sit on the edge of the uncomfortable couch, my hands placed courteously in my lap. There are bandages encircling my stomach, and my back throbs. There are bruises running up my leg from where Shaw's kinetic energy has become too much. Tear-stains line my cheek, making permanent rivulets along my cheeks.

They have left me. Azazel, Emma, Riptide, all thrown out by Shaw. I can still see their faces, stricken and slightly cautious. When the door closes, and the world becomes utterly silent, I hold in a whimper. Shaw turns back around, and I could have sworn for a moment, his eyes flashed red.

Shaw stalks over to the couch, and I look away. There is a window on the other side of the room, a wide one with white curtains that drape to the floor like a satin waterfall. Light streams in from the slit in the center, and I can see the other large buildings towering above us. This apartment building is new, completely refurbished and empty thanks to Shaw.

The last apartment was not, the one where I tried to escape.

A mistake I will never make again.

"Leena." I swallow thickly, my throat clenching at his voice. The sickeningly sweet, honey-tinted voice. It sounds as if he's speaking with a toddler, a little baby, cooing and whining and entirely his. He sounds like he's talking to a dog, to something he owns. That something is me.

I want the glass to break. I want the curtains to fly away, for the air to stream in and carry me out of this place. I would let it guide me, not fighting where mother nature wanted to take me. Just anywhere but here, please just anywhere but here, with him.

I wish I had wings. Then I could go wherever I wanted, to whomever I wanted.

There was a kind lady a couple weeks ago that called the police as Shaw and I walked down the street, seeing the bruises on my neck. She had a smile that made me feel safe. We left before they arrived. Maybe I could go to her, maybe she would take me in.

Or the man from the marketplace. We were in Russia, and Emma took me to the market while Shaw stayed behind to deal with business. The woman was strong, dragging me through the place, smiling at the men with weird grins and flicking her hair back when one of them whistled. I will never forget the hungry stares of those men, and how after taking a good long look at Emma, their gazes landed on me.

I'd been at the mercy of devouring hearts and heavy hands before, within the confines of this very apartment, but the way those men looked at me, it made me unravel, falling to the floor in pieces I don't think I can ever pick up again.

But there was one man in that square who didn't have frightening eyes. He was selling plums, buckets upon buckets of delectable plums, bright purple and glistening despite the lack of sun. Emma wanted to eat them, but I just wanted to look at them. They were beautiful, the loudest burst of colour I'd seen in a long time.

I don't think it was just the plums themselves that made me want to go closer, however. It was the man selling them.

He was old, older than Shaw definitely, with wrinkles lining his weathered face, dark skin and drooping eyes. He had a smile that slightly fell to one side, giving him a melancholy look, like he wasn't quite happy, but not sad either. That feeling radiated off him, darkness pooling near the edges of his mind.

It was the first mind I had ever seen where the energy had been tinged in white.

As Emma tried to seduce her way into getting the plums for free, I watched the old man. The idea of plums were forgotten, and instead I scrunched my eyebrows and cocked my head to side, peering at the flashes of black and white swirling together around the man's head.

Why was it white? Why did the wisps feel less cold as I reached to them? Why did I want to stay with this man?

"Leena." Emma's harsh tone had cut through my thoughts like a knife, but I realized it was also because she'd been reading my mind. Her diamond touch hurt, like a hammer hitting the core of my head again and again.

I'd winced and put my walls up, but it was too late.

"What's wrong, child?" the old man's voice was so raspy I could barely make out the words. I glanced up instantly, my eyes widening. My mouth opened and closed like the fish in the tank back at the apartment of that time. My throat closed up, and I shook my head instantly. The man frowned, clearly seeing past my reluctance.

The thing is, that was the first time someone had spoken to me directly in years. I'd been confined to the houses Shaw brought me to, and each time I was only ever in contact with him or the others in the Hellfire Club.

But this man was speaking to me. He was concerned for me.

Emma reached over and gripped my forearm, putting on her best smile and turning back to the old man, who looked at her wearily.

I gulped.

I don't quite remember what Emma did or said after that, all I remember was the weight placed on my chest as she dragged me away from the stall, from the purple plums and haloed old man.

I remember the pull of her hand, the hiss of breath as she flung me back into the car and drove me to the apartment. I remember the three days and three nights Shaw spent trying to get me to bring the white energy into my hands. The hits, the torment, the cries of pain.

When he finally stopped, relenting that I couldn't bring out the white energy, he'd shut the door on me, taking away my books, and I went hungry for the next week.

"Leena." he says, and it drips off his tongue like sticky tar. I hate the way he says my name. I hate the way he says anything. I don't know why, and I'm not sure I want to.

"Yes?" I ask, my voice meek, and the movements near me cause my head to snap back to reality. I turn, but don't have enough time to react before his hand comes up and across my cheek. Weightlessness overtakes me and an all too familiar burn, blazing bright across where his hand touched me.

I'm sent flying backwards tripping over the chair to land hard on the ground. I cry out as my arm crumples beneath me, hair falling over my face. I curl my little hands into fists and twist onto my back. I try to crawl away, but Shaw is there in an instant, his hand is again on my cheek. All the energy drains away from me. My veins turn black, and I shriek, my voice ripped away from my throat. Shaw gasps and pulls back, and I lay my head against the carpet, choking out a breath.

But Shaw is not done. He never is.

"What did I do?!" I cry out in a weak voice as his hand grips the front of my shirt, pulling me to my feet. His eyes are crazed, blazing with anger I've never seen before. "Please, stop!"

"Everything." Shaw says, not seeming to hear me. "Everything I've done. For the world, for this life, for you." My eyes widen as his grip turns to iron. Tears form in my eyes.

"Do you know what the world hates most, Leena?" Shaw continues, and his eyes are glazed over, not quite here. "Determination." He smiles, and I swear his teeth are as sharp as fangs. Please don't devour me, I think. I'm not ready to die.

Instead, Shaw merely laughs, and he throws me to the ground again. I crumple against the floor, exhaustion weighing me down. I'm waterlogged, senses foggy and limbs burdened by a weight I can't see.

"Determination," Shaw continues. "To do what's right. To fix this broken world." he's kneeling down now, pinning my arms to the floor, hands pricking into my flesh. I bite my tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of my pain.

There is silence, and Shaw's eyes bore into my skull. I turn my neck, whimpering to the side.

I can still feel his smile.

"Give me your power." he says, whispering close to my ear, hot breath on my skin. "Give me your power, Leena, and we will show them all true determination."

"No," I say, "please, stop!"

He doesn't. He never does. The blood rushes through my veins slowly, veins growing thin at the weight of his hold on me. I should be used to it, the pain, the exhaustion, but every time Shaw gets angry, it catches me by surprise. I think, somehow, I'm still hoping one day he'll wake up and see me. Truly, irrevocably see me. He won't find an asset, a weapon, a puppet, but a little girl with scars crossing her arms and back, tear-stains permanently finding a home on her cheeks.

I should stop hoping. It's never going to happen.

"Give me your power." His voice is smooth, and I curl away, wanting his eyes to focus on something else. "Give me your power, Leena, all your power, and we can change the world."

"No!" I cry, my voice hoarse and pleading. "I-I can't!"

Shaw's eyes darken. "That is why you're weak."

And then his hand raises to my cheek. White hot agony pulses through my body.

I scream.

The jerk of the car brings me back. I've been staring motionlessly out into the fields beyond for what feels like hours. The nightmare I had on the plane is still fresh in my mind, and I run my fingers sub-consciously across the soft skin of my wrist. There are scars there, pink and raised and healed over, but I can still feel his grip on the flesh, the twist of his knuckles and his hot breath on my neck.

I shudder, turning away. Logan is in front, driving with one hand on the wheel. Hank sits beside him and Charles is in the back, not looking at any of us. He fiddles with his hands, face grave, and he looks about as bad as I feel.

I slept for most of the journey back to the manor, huddled in a corner with a blanket that provided no warmth slung over my shoulders. The air was tight, solemn, and dark as Hank flew us back over the sea. None of us spoke, none of us even looked at each other. At one point, I think Logan tried to get us together, to make a new plan, but Charles shot him down, and I couldn't bring myself to back the time traveller up.

Erik is gone. Raven is gone, and we all know that the government now has her blood from the gunshot in her leg.

The sprawling green estate rises up to meet my eyes, and I turn back to the front of the car as we pull into the driveway. The moment Logan turns off the engine, Charles is already opening the door, as if staying in the car any longer will bring the death of him. I don't say anything, knowing what that can feel like, but Logan and I share a look as I exit with him and stalk up towards the front door.

Charles enters first, and Logan let's me pass.

The moment we get into the main foyer, I'm stepping back quickly as Charles cries out. His hand rises to the small of his back, and I instantly do the same, a strange sensation taking over my body. The world seems to tilt, and I realize all too late that both he and I are falling to the floor. One hand goes to my head, to the side of my temple, where the whispers grow to screams. My back spasms, and my foot goes numb.

I gasp out, strong arms pulling me back as Charles kneels to the floor, his face twisting. Hank is moving down to help him while Logan hoists me up. I grit my teeth and let the shadows converge at the small of my back, warm against my skin.

The pain eases, and I look up to him, letting out a breath, but then the voices scream again.

"What happened?" Logan asks.

"Come on, up." Hank tells Charles, not listening to Logan. I pull away and put my hands over my ears. Logan looks concernedly between us. Doom, doom, doom, I close my eyes, breathing out deeply. Doom, doom, doom. Hank props Logan against the pillar of stone. Charles' eyes widen, and I cry out again.

It's too painful, all of it, the voices, Erik's betrayal. The whole world careens, the hinges breaking. For the first time in my life, I wish for night to come, to be thrown into a nightmare. At least in the dreams, I am watching the past. But now, we are dealing with a future unknown and perilous.

My legs shake, and my hands quiver. Fear. I know the symptoms all too well.

"Can he walk?" Logan asks.

"He needs his treatment." Hank says, moving back. I'm on my knees again and Logan places a hand on my back. I shrug away, trying to quell the longing, the burst of lust on my tongue for the serum. I need it, I need to end this, along with Charles, I need the sweet nothing once more. Please, please, please.

"Hank, I can hear them." Charles calls out, and I look down, gasping.

"I know. It's okay." Hank says, ever the caregiver, ever the saviour.

"Make it stop." Charles cries, and I lurch forward, forcing myself to stand beside Logan. He walks up to Charles, who's shaking, sweat beading on his brow. I stiffen, trying to keep from falling once more to the floor. My hands slip to my side, and the urge to pull them around my scarred waist is all-consuming.

"I'll go get it." Hank says, pulling back. As he turns around, our eyes meet, and the moment my eyes, swimming with unshed yearning, finds his own, his gaze turns to the floor. My lip quivers. As his footsteps recede up to the staircase, I force my head back to Charles, teeth biting the inside of my cheek. It's to keep from screaming.

It's always to keep from screaming.

"Hey, hey." Logan says roughly, tapping Charles' shoulder. "Pull yourself together, it's not over yet." My gaze sharpens, and I suck in a breath. It's not over yet. How many more times, how many more months or years will the fight last? How long before we can all finally rest?

Charles gasps sharply, two fingers latching onto his temple, and his bright blue eyes find Logan's. "You don't believe that." The air is sucked out of the room. I look at Logan, and he's frozen like an ice sculpture.

"Logan..." I say hesitantly.

"How do you know?" Logan asks Charles, not hearing me. I shake my head, trying to get the weight off my throat. It closes around me, tightening against my skull. Hopelessness, defeat, all emotions I've felt a hundred times before, but never this potent, never this real.

Charles moves an unsteady hand down to his bent legs. "As these go..." he then gestures to his head. "This comes back." his face darkens. "They all...come back."

I lean against Logan, my eyes trained on Charles. "Stop."

"They come back."

"Stop, Charles, please." I say through sobs.

Doom, doom, doom.

Logan places a hand on my forearm, trying to be comforting, but it only increases my shame with his own. Darkness springs from my hands, slapping him across the knuckles. The man pulls away sharply, eyes wide. I can't look at him.

Logan stalks forward slowly, then turns to both Charles and I, drunk on and tortured by our own minds.

"Look, I'm..." Logan starts, features softening. "I'm still here." Charles goes to remove his jacket, opening up his sleeve. "And she's still out there." I want to do the same, I need to do the same. "But we need your help, Charles. Not like this. I need you." he points to me. "She needs you." There is a slight pause in Charles' frenzy, so indistinct I wonder if it even happened at all.

"And we can't find Raven, not without your powers." This makes him freeze. Hand curled upwards, Charles pauses, not looking at Logan, I realize, but at me. I gulp, turning away. That's when I see Hank, walking down the steps, a single needle in his hands.

"I, uh, added a little extra because you missed a dose." he says, walking up to Charles. Charles lets out a sigh of relief and takes the needle hurriedly, then stops midway and turns back to Logan and I.

"Charles..." Logan says, and I can't speak, my throat thick with shadows that snuff out my voice.

Charles doesn't listen, and takes the needle into his hands, placing it delicately over his protruding veins. I close my eyes for a second, remembering how many times I had to do it for him, remembering how many times I had to do that to myself.

The pain was never an issue, as long as it always worked.

"Charles." I find my voice, small and weak, as if I'm fifteen-year-old Leena again, fragile and made of shards of glass. "I need you." It's so tiny, a whisper, a phantom of a sentence. But it makes Charles pause. He looks at me, and it takes everything within me not to turn away. I keep my jaw locked, determined to make him see reason.

I can't do this without you.

Charles grimaces, but the needle moves away from his skin, falling to the floor. I let out a breath, eyes trailing over the drop of serum falling to the cement ground. I look away. It's in the past, a relic of a time I want to forget. I can't take it again, not with everything that's happened.

Charles sighs, and Logan's shoulders relax.

The reformed telepath looks to Hank, his face grave. "Uh, Hank, do me a favor." I stand straighter. "Would you help me to my study please?" Hank doesn't hesitate, looping an arm under Charles' and lifting him up. Together, they limp into the other room.

I halt, my feet sliding across the tile as if I'm walking through cement. To my left is the serum, still sitting on the concrete, and I walk over to it, picking it up. It's light in my hands, but I almost drop it.

I peer at the crystalline liquid. The slosh of it running through my veins fills my mind. The peace I had afterwards. No more voices, no more screams. Just silence.

"You're doing good, kid." Logan's soft voice causes me to turn.

I smile, but it's hard to move my lips upward. "Doesn't feel like it."

"Believe me." Logan says. "I know what it's like, to have no one." my bandaged hand curls to a fist. "It's a deep pit, ready to swallow you whole. You gotta keep yourself strong enough to stay in the light."

I can hear Charles' grunts from the study, and Hank's murmurs of encouragement. Logan tries to give me a reassuring look.

"That's the thing, Logan." I tell him as I turn back around. "I've never been in the light." 

AUTHOR'S NOTE...

yikes, wasn't that dream sequence horrible? I swear I'm not trying to make Leena suffer each chapter, it just is what it is, I'm sorryyyyy. 

ANYWAYS, what did you think of this chapter? Did you enjoy the dream sequence? What did you think of Leena's conflict involving the serum (that's gonna come up next chapter as well)? What did you think of Charles' choice kinda being about Leena? As always, don't be afraid to comment, vote, and follow! 

Love you, Mel (yes I changed my pen-name)