Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Marvel does.
A/N: Writer's Block Buster. Move, Block. Dammit. T.T
Rating: Er...T. Implied rape. Nothing explicit.
The first time Alex Summers heard the word beautiful, he was five years old, sitting on the giant white swing on the giant white porch of his giant white house.
His father was looking at his mother in a way that made Alex both warm and squeamish - with wide adoring eyes and a goofy smile that spread over his lip like butter on toast. He had his hand on her face, thumb brushing against her pale cheek that Alex knew for a fact was smooth, and was whispering "beautiful, beautiful, beautiful" in a way that made her eyes water and sparkle and made giggles escape her throat. "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," his father continued to chant, laughing with her, and then Alex started to say it too, because even if he didn't know what it meant, that warm feeling was suddenly bursting joy and he knew that if anyone felt like that, was beautiful, it was his mother.
Things had been simple then. Easier.
He heard the word several times after, especially when his little brother was born ("what a beautiful baby!", "look at those beautiful eyes!"), but while it always brought a small smile and an echo of a happier time, they never recaptured the exact same feelings as before. And as time went by, and life became harder, Alex grew into an angry and bitter teenager. It was just a natural progression, his parents said, even though he ended up butting heads with them more times than not. Something inside of him was just filled with fury, a burning ache of rage he didn't know the source of.
When devastating blasts of red light erupted from his body in a fit of temper and destroyed his home, killing his beautiful mother and leaving his family in shattered pieces, he found his way to prison and forgot the wonderful feeling all together.
But while the feeling was gone, the word remained.
"Beautiful", in prison, was like a nick of a blade against your neck - a warning. Alex was sixteen when he was locked away in a facility with criminals who killed by intention, twice his age with crueler eyes and an urge of hunger he had never tasted. He was young, slim, blond, and traumatized - never said a word and never looked anyone in the eye. He was easy. And the next time he heard "beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," spoken in a mantra, it was in the shadow of an unmonitored shower, accompanied by endless sharp bursts of paced pain and pleasure that felt like a slice to his soul. The warm feeling was replaced by a foul stench and a nightmarish memory that made him feel ruined and weak and angry.
He deserved it.
His body trembled with past and present pain and he watched the blood trickle down his ankles and heard the heavy satisfied breathing of the other and knew.
He deserved it.
Solitary confinement was a God-send. Two years of silence. Two years where beautiful did not exist but fear did and where his nightly screams were heard only by the four walls that surrounded him. His own personal cell in Hell where nothing behind the door could touch him.
Where everyone was safe from him. And the image of his mother's ruined body could freely haunt his sight.
Where he could have his pain. And pretend the dull scratches on his arms were bleeding.
But then the door opened.
Okay. At the moment ... this is just a two-shot, because I want to incorporate this idea into a different fic. However, I digress, if you like it ... this could be a prologue to a longer story. I suppose. (the small amount of Havok/Beast multi-chapters kill me *dies*). I have so many. ...Suggestions are welcomed, but regardless...
Let me know what you thought? :)