By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own. Rogue angst, slightly weird and also slightly funny depending on your sense of humor. R/R.

My head's an awful noisy place most times. Sometimes it gets too loud and I can't do anything, can't concentrate or think or move. It's all the voices; they love to compete for attention. There are too many people inside my skin and none of them are the person who should be in it. They fight all the time, with each other and with me. They all want to be number one, the only one. They all want to be the star, the main event. They all want to be me. Why they would want that I have absolutely no clue. It's not like my life is anything more than a nightmarish disaster. I guess I should feel pretty lucky. Usually movie stars only get this kind of attention, this kind of envy. Yeah, lucky me.

I roll over in my bed and stare across the room. Actually the room's not completely mine, Kitty lives in it too. Can't really get any privacy around this place. If it ain't a real person buggin' me it's one that's stuck in my head. Nope, no peace and quiet for me. Having all these personalities is like the ultimate invasion of privacy. I know everything about some people right down to the scary things they'd never tell another living soul. I know everything about everybody else but I don't know a damn thing about me.

I shake my head to try and clear some cobwebs. Everybody else is asleep; it's pretty late or early depending on when you think a day starts. I'd sleep too if I could but every time I close my eyes the voices get too loud and I can't think straight enough to relax.

I look at Kitty. She looks kinda cute when she's asleep, all peaceful and innocent. She's cute period. At first I thought she was an airhead but she's just so much more than that. She's got these eyes that sparkle like clear, blue water and a smile that's wonderful. She's so perfect, so beautiful, so . . . so. . .

Dammit, Lance! Why the hell do you have to be in my head? I mumble a few curses directed at no one in particular. I do that a lot. I just lose myself in someone else, someone I've touched. This time it was Lance. He loves Kitty so much, with all his heart. Sometimes I wish someone would feel that way about me. Let's get things straight here though, I don't love Kitty. Nope, no sir. There's absolutely no romantic attraction to my roommate whatsoever. Besides, Jean is much better lookin' than Kitty. She's got grace and style and that gorgeous red hair. She's so self-assured and confident. She's perfect, perfect in every way and I . . .. Dammit to hell, Scott! Just get over it and tell her you love her already. God, we can all see it. Note that by "we" I mean me because everyone else in the entire world lives in my brain. Maybe that's true. Maybe the whole world is just inside my head.

I get up out of bed and head out the door. I need to get away. Kitty or Jean? I'm torn between them. Which one of them am I in love with? They're both so wonderful. Wait a sec, they're girls. I don't like girls that way. Do I? Do I even have a say in anything anymore? Is there a voice or a thought in my head that's still me? If my voice is in there it's very quiet. It probably doesn't have much to say anyways. I've never been much of a talker.

Yep, time for a bathroom break. I manage to escape into the bathroom before the Lance and the Scott in my head start to argue the Kitty/Jean debate. I wish they'd both shut the hell up and leave me alone. I wish I could be alone, really alone where there's no one real or in my head around at all. The bathroom door shuts behind me a little louder and more forceful than I meant for it to. Suddenly I'm almost thrown off my feet by a flashback.

I'm very small now and also very skinny. My arms and legs are thin and gangly like a scarecrow. There's a smell from somewhere, a repulsive smell that I somehow know is coming from me. There's noise outside this dark room I've been locked in. It's people, a man and a woman having sex. I feel dirty listening to them. I am dirty. I'm filthy and disgusting and no one loves me. I want my momma but she doesn't love me either. I. . .I. . ..

The flashback ends and I shudder. Cold sweat almost drenches me as I whimper softly here in the sterile, white tile bathroom of Xavier's mansion. I have to literally repeat it to myself over and over again to keep from getting sucked into somebody else's past. I'm at the mansion, I'm at the mansion. That wasn't me in that closet, it was someone else. It was Todd's memory. His mom would lock him in the closet when he was little. She didn't want him around when her boyfriend came over and they were doin' it. She didn't want him around period.

I feel angry now and a little bitter too. Stupid whore, see what happens when I lock her in the damn closet. I'll make her scream and cry and beg. I'll kill her if I ever find her. I stop for a second. Do I even know who this woman is? I realize the anger is Lance's or maybe Todd's. Pietro's in that mix too because he knows what it's like dealing with shitty parents. He's studied with the master. How do I feel about it though? How do I feel about anything anymore? I shake my head. I need something to take everyone's mind off of things. I need an escape.

I wander over to the sink. Someone left their razor on the counter. I stare at it. The voices never stop.

'That's mine,' states Jean. Whoop dee do, I'm sure no one cares. I stare at it as I turn it over in my hand.

'Are you sure?' asks Kitty, 'Like I thought that was mine.'

'Yours is the same?' asks Jean.

'Gross,' whines Kitty, 'I like used that one this morning. I think it is yours.'

"You'll live," I say aloud to nobody else in the empty room. It's hard for me to remember that despite what's going on in my head I'm actually alone in the room. I stare at the razor again. Jean's razor? The perfection queen has to actually shave? I figured she was just magically endowed with hairless legs. Lord knows she's endowed with everything else.

'So true' says Pietro, 'Plan on doin' anything with that razor, Roguey?' Why does he have to be so damn annoyin'? It was bad when I lived with him but this is worse. It just never stops sometimes. They all fight and argue and make little comments about what's going on. I just wish I could go some place where they all didn't exist.

'You got a first class ticket right there,' says Pietro as he directs me to the razor, 'Go on, try it out.'

'No!' orders Scott, 'Don't listen to him, Rogue.' I almost believe him. Scott's a stand-up guy, a boy scout most would say. He knows what's right and he sticks to his guns. I love that about him.

'Me too,' agrees Jean, 'It's just so honest and genuine.' God, I wanna kill her. I could maybe stand to have the others in my head for the rest of my life but she's too much. I can't even be sure of who I love anymore. Is it me that loves Scott or is it just too much of perky Jean rubbed off on me? I don't think I'll ever know for sure.

'Razor,' suggests Pietro devilishly, 'It feels really good. The best part is the more you do it the better it feels.' Another flashback. Hot blood running down my arm. A huge gash on my wrist. So much red, too much red. Pietro cuts himself sometimes. He likes to feel the rush it gives him. I crave it now too. So quick and it'll feel so good. A little nick at first, just a small scratch. But it won't stop at a small scratch. It'll turn into big, long cuts and gashes. And then people will start to wonder and ask questions. I can't make up excuses forever. Blood's so icky too. Wait a sec, did I just actually use the word "icky"?

'Rogue,' warns Scott, 'you know that it's not right.' The lines are drawn now. Scott doesn't like it, neither does Jean. Kitty thinks it's pretty gross and I'm sure that if Kitty doesn't like it then Lance won't either. Pietro's cheerin' me on and a few others in there I don't recognize. Why can't they all just sit on the damn sidelines and watch for a change?

I try to block them all out. What do I think about this? I know I can't go on living like this. The more people I touch the worse it'll get. I'm not sure if Rogue's still in there or not. I try to think back to my childhood, see if I can dig up some of her memories but everything blurs. I played soccer when I was a kid, didn't I? No, it was baseball. Did I grow up in Mississippi or was it Chicago? It was Eastern Europe, right? My favorite food is strawberries. No, strawberries give me hives. Or is it chocolate? I thought I was just allergic to dust and pollen and stuff. I like cats but not as much as dogs, which I like less than bunny rabbits and more than I love frogs. When I grow up I wanna be. . .I wanna be. . .. God, please help me, I don't know if I can take it anymore!

"What's my favorite color?" I ask the empty, darkened bathroom.

'Red,' says Scott.

'Silver,' replies Pietro.

'Green,' pipes up Toad.

'Pink,' declares Kitty.

"No," I tell them, "What's MY favorite color. Where's Rogue? Let her tell me." Nobody says anything. For once in my life I hear absolutely nothing either with my ears or inside my head.

"She's not in there?" I ask desperately. She can't be lost. If she doesn't at least say something how am I supposed to believe she's still in there? My question starts a flurry of arguments and debates. Where did Rogue go? Who saw her last? Did she leave a message saying when she'll be back? Is she coming back at all?

"I'm through with this," I tell them all as I grip the razor tightly. I don't really know who's making up my mind but it's made up. As I bring the razor to my skin another argument explodes inside my brain and I'm so disoriented I'm completely paralyzed. They all start yelling at each other and me and I can't do a damn thing to stop it. I feel tears start to come. Are they my tears? Nothing feels like it's really mine anymore. There's no me to own anything.

'If you do it they'll go away.' The voice is quiet, almost silent. There's an unmistakable Southern drawl to it. It's very pretty. It's also very right. It's then that I realize it's my own voice. I'm still in there somewhere and the me in there somewhere says that this is the way to end my torment. They need me to exist. If I go away then they will too. Then I'll be free.

Amidst the cacophony of conflicting personalities I slash my wrist. No small scratch, just a big gash. I feel the blood begin to pour. That's right, MY blood. MY blood is coming out of MY wrist just like MY tears are coming out of MY eyes. It's all mine, mine alone.

'Eew, that's so gross,' whines Kitty, 'You're totally in major trouble for this now.'

'No,' replies the me inside my head, 'She'll be alright. She just needs some privacy.' I smile as I fall onto the tile floor. My vision gets a little blurry now. All the voices go away. My head feels completely empty and hollow. For once it's quiet. It's nice and quiet. I'm alone now, truly alone. I never thought dying could be so wonderful.