I inhale once more, and put out the cigarette. What the hell am I doing out here, anyway? I’ve only been here, what, two weeks? And I’m already trying to get my groove on with one of the locals. Shit. I should just go back inside, and go to bed, because the workout in the Biosphere was pretty tiring, and I’m just kidding myself with Cam. But he is kind of cute. I like his hair. And his body. And he’s got the most adorable dimples I’ve ever seen. And I haven’t even been on earth all that long, but I understand people, and culture, and Cam is special. He can have a conversation about something other than himself, and he really is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.
And are you really thinking this, Angel? What reasons would this guy have to want to be with you? I tell my mind to shut up, because he is sort of flirtatious, in a subtle, very charming sort of way. He has a wild side which is evident, but he’s so innocent. And I don’t want to taint that. I light yet another cigarette and bring it to my lips again. Inhale, exhale, sigh. Cam and I talked earlier, he told me all about him and his life. He told me about how he missed his father, and how Rogue had become like a mother to him. He told me about his real mother, who was a whore, literally. A once beautiful woman who’d let herself go. She’s been very thin, with too much make-up and frizzy red hair, which Cam’d thankfully had not inherited. Remy had been heavily drunk when he paid her to do her thing, and she got pregnant. One day the woman dropped Cam, who’d been named by his father, off on the Weschester mansion’s front doorstep. She said that she didn’t want Cam she didn’t care what happened to him she was moving to Florida California or maybe Georgia and if they needed anything not to call her.
But Remy loved his son all the same, and each and every one of the X-Men had their own part in raising him up. Remy didn’t care what happened to the prostitute, because it wasn’t like he loved her or anything, and frankly he couldn’t remember her name. But Cam was his son all the same, Remy was responsible for him. And then Gambit disappeared, supposedly killed at the hands of Sinister, and Cam wished more than anything that he’d got to know him better.
And then he asked me about me. So I told him all I could, which wasn’t much, and some-- alot -- of that wasn’t even true. We talked about our classmates, our classes, our teachers. The whole school program, and before I knew it three hours had gone by, and he wasn’t boring me at all. I flick my cigarette and watch the ashes flutter away in the faint wind. I sniff instinctively, and catch a scent. Sweat. And hair gel, it’s Cam. I pretend not to know he’s coming up behind me, and when he steps on a twig, I twirl around and feign surprise. “God, Cam. You scared me,” I say. He smiles, he bought it. I’d like to think all the little people I had to step on to get this Academy Award.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I shrug, and ever so coyly I reply, “It’s a forgivable sin. So what brings you out here tonight, sir?”
He hesitated as if trying to find the right words, and I want to laugh and say, “It’s me! It’s me, isn’t it?! You’re out here to see me!” but I keep my silence, and finally he says, “You actually. Is this seat taken?” He gestures with his hand towards the empty spot on the bench next to me.
Wow, that’s another point for me. “Nope.”
He sets down beside me, and I take another drag of my cigarette. He smiles again, and I know God must be a woman, because she sure had him in mind when she thought of dimples. “You do know those things will eventually kill you, don’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know,” I say.
“I think you’re very pretty, but you probably knew that already.” I feel the blood rush too my face, and I try not to think of what shade of red I am. Where the hell did that come from, anyway? What do I say? I look at him, and his hazel eye catches mine, and I wonder how hot you actually have to get before your brains start to boil.
“I-- uh... thank you.” Thank you!? Damn girl! You were supposed to have some sort of witty comment prepared, and where the hell did it go? You should at least compliment him back, cause I don’t want to look like a fool, now do I? “You’re very pretty too,” I hear myself say. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT! You just called him pretty! Do you see that expression!? Damn. I stutter, “N- no, that’s not what I meant.”
He reaches over and takes my hand with his large callused ones. Long fingers, I notice. SHUT UP! “I know what you meant,” he says. God, his hands feel so good. Oh no... I just remembered Cam’s a telepath. What if he’s hearing all my thoughts? But he shouldn’t be able to, I have enough mental defenses prepared. But just in case, I create a mental image that involves Cam and a container of whip cream. He doesn’t even flinch. Whew. I’m forgetting to talk.
“So how’s the cut you got this morning in the Biosphere?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from my sudden driveling idiot routine. Earlier during our workout session he was attacked by a training robot that slashed his arm open.
He pulls back his sleeve and I see a red stained bandage wrapped around his forearm. “I haven’t looked at it, really. You probably don’t want to see it.”
“No,” I say, “I’d like to. See if it looks like it’s getting infected or something.” Just call me Worthington. Doctor Worthington. He unwraps the bandages, and I see probably a red gash a little over two inches long. I place my hand on the opposite side of his arm, to lift it up slowly. I realize I really only did this so I could touch him again. He doesn’t even cringe. “Doesn’t it hurt?” I ask.
“Nah, I can, like, mentally cut off the nerve endings there or something. Mrs. Summers showed me how to do it. I’m not really sure of the specifics, but basically I cut off the pain feeling part of my arm.” I run my fingers along the outside of the cut, careful not to get any of the blood on me.
“Well, it looks clean. You might want to change the bandage, though.” I redress his arm and pull his sleeve back down. “You should live.”
He smiles again. Damn. I feel my insides liquefying. “Oh, good,” he says with mock relief. Angel, you’re falling for him. I just now notice that I haven’t taken one puff of my cigarette since he sat down, and it’s completely burned out. I subtly look around to see if any of the ashes landed on my dress, but I don’t see them, they must have blown away. So I flick the butt into grass. This has really been angsty chit-chat up till this point, and now it’s on the verge of awkward silence. “Can I kiss you?” he asks politely.
All of the sudden I feel like I’m not even there. Like I’m watching this on the television. I start to just make a noise, struggling hard to vocalize an answer. I see his expression start to drop, like he thinks I’m going to say no. “Yes,” I finally get it out. He wraps his fingers around my hand, leans forward, closes his eyes, and I feel his lips on mine. He isn’t forcing them on mine, no, it’s soft and sweet. I feel like I drank a bottle of wine, smoked a really good joint, skydived without a parachute, and ran ten miles in a row without stopping, all at the same time.
I pull back for some air, and actually giggle. He has the same satisfied feeling on his face. He leans in to kiss me once again, and I feel the same fireworks. God, I really am falling for Cam. Hard. He obviously feels the same way, or he wouldn’t have wanted to kiss me again. Suddenly, I think of something, and I know it’s none of my business to ask, but my mouth is faster than my brain, and I hear myself say, “Cam, are you a virgin?”
Oh damnit... that’s right, Angel, let’s just scare him off why don’t we!? I look him in the face to see his response. Now it’s his turn to blush. He slightly smiles, more of a smirk, and he looks at the ground. “You don’t have to answer that,” I tell him.
“No, it’s okay. I’m, uh, not a virgin,” he confesses. I can’t tell whether or not it surprises me.
“Someone at the school?”
“No, it’s no one you’d know. It was, um, it was a prostitute in Boston, like, last year or so,” he says like he should be ashamed. I’ve done worse in comparison. I didn’t think it was any of my business to ask why he would hire a prostitute.
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at my feet, “It was really none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” he condones, but I don’t look up. There’s a pause, and then he brings his head down, and back up on my lips. I sigh inwardly, and savor the taste of his warm, soft lips resting on mine. I bring a hand forward and I rub lightly up and down his neck, and then into his hair. He pulls back slowly.
“And how was that? Compared to the prostitute?” I hear myself ask. Why, WHY would I be asking this? I have officially gone insane. This probably isn’t even happening. I’ll bet I’m sleeping.
He lightly licks his lips and says, “Better. Alot better.”
* * *
We set there and talk for at least two more hours, and by now it’s almost midnight. We say a few things that sound very meaningful for probably no reason, and then we kiss. And then more talking, followed by more kissing. We stand up and walk slowly around the campus, arm in arm, for what could have been forever, but felt like mere minutes. We walk into the mansion and all the lights are out, and most everyone is asleep. We tiptoe up the stairs as silently as possible, and walk right past the doors to our rooms. We keep walking down the long corridor until we come to an old, thick wooden door.
We both know without speaking what’s going to happen as he opens the door for me, and we slowly walk up the painfully noisy stairs. Thank God no one’s heard us. By now I feel like I’m not me. Like this is a movie, and I’m watching myself go up into the musty old attic with Cam from somewhere else. It’s dark up here, but there’s just enough light from the moon shining through the window that we can make most things out.
I see the bed clearly in the dark, and I know he does to. There’s a horrible feeling that I should run, that this isn’t right. Are Cam and I ready for this? Of course not, we haven’t known each other for terribly too long. But somehow I slip out of my dress, I see his eyes momentarily graze the tattoo, and then back up at my eyes. There’s no questioning in the large pools of hazel, and I just want to kiss him, and hold him, and never let go. He turns around, and lights a candle on a musty old table. He lifts off his shirt with his back still to me, and I feel like fainting when his muscles flex.
I walk forward, and he holds me against his slender, strong body. I breathe him in, and close my eyes. I feel his cheek rest on my forehead. Time stretches out slowly, and stands still. I don’t remember lying down on the bed, but the next thing I know, we both are. We’re without any clothing, the both of us, and he’s still holding me hard against himself. His lips lightly press against my nose, my cheek, my lips. I hear him unwrap a condom, and I don’t know where it came from, he looks at me, and his eyes ask me if it’s okay to proceed. I nod, and his fingers nuzzle my face and his lips still pressing lightly against me. I close my eyes again, and exhale, and I feel him enter me. We touch each other, and flow against each other in fluid movements of beauty and passion. He leans in and whispers my name into my ear, “Angel... Angel...” he draws out each aspect of the word, until it sounds like a faint breeze. And I murmur back to him, “Cam... Cam...” Our lips meet again, and I cry out, as my body explodes from the inside.