Chapter Twelve- Sinking Downwards
A/N: Hey! This chapter picks up on Lance and Pietro eight years later (so Lance is 28 and Pietro is 27). Also, Wanda makes a bad choice… Enjoy the chapter and review at end! ^-^
Lance stared upwards at the motel ceiling, studying the water stains and cracks that were webbed over in mildew. Turning over in bed, he stared at the empty hollow where Rachel – he thought that was her name – had been sleeping. She’d apparently gotten up earlier than him and was now showering. He could hear the water running in the bathroom.
Staring over at the clock, he saw it was already one in the afternoon. How late had the two been up? He could remember vague details, but the specifics were lost on him. Lance knew he should get out of bed and put on his clothes, but he knew he’d get reminded of his hangover the moment he moved.
He’d met Rachel at a bar last night. The two had shared drinks, then shared a couple more. Then they’d gone to Rachel’s motel room. They’d had sex at least twice, though he couldn’t remember if it was good or not. Considering how plastered they’d both been, it probably hadn’t been too great.
With a painstaking groan, Lance managed to sit up, then reached over and took the remote off the nightstand. He turned on the t.v. The jabbering voices and moving pictures whirred dizzily in his head as he yawned.
Just then, Rachel emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. "Oh hey, you’re up." She said when she saw Lance.
"Yeah. Hey." Lance stared dully at the brown-haired woman as she changed.
"You can take a shower if you want." She said as she pulled on her shirt.
"Yeah, I will." Lance stared back at the t.v., then looked over at her. "What time are you leaving?"
"I have to get to the bus station by three." Rachel bent over her boot as she tied the laces.
"You have two hours."
"Yeah, well, I have to check out here by two though." She looked up at him. "You might want to shower before you go. You still smell like beer."
Lance uttered a short laugh. He’d spilled at least several drinks over himself at one point in the night. His chest was still sticky. "Yeah, you’re right." He got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Turning on the water, he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he waited for the water to heat up.
He looked like shit. If the guys back home ever saw him, they probably wouldn’t even recognize him.
He’d turned twenty-eight two weeks ago. He’d completely forgotten, but he’d called Todd the day after – he usually checked up on him and Fred about every other month – and Todd had reminded him of that. Then in a harsher voice, Todd had reminded Lance that he was nearing thirty and it would probably be a good thing to settle down and think seriously about his future.
"You can’t spend your whole life thinking ‘bout her, man." Todd had said. And Lance knew his friend was right. The years of roaming, seeking out women in bars and clubs, in hopping from city to city, had all been subconscious efforts to seek out Rogue. He finally let himself think her name out loud.
And it was time to let her go. Her and this life he was living. He was once a guy that had put responsibility on his shoulders and carried it. Now he went around sleeping with women he didn’t know, a subconscious part of him childishly thinking that they all represented some part of Rogue. It was embarrassing to admit to himself in the daylight. The thinking didn’t seem so bad at night, when he had a few drinks and all the lights were out. Then he could pretend that the women in bed with him were actually Rogue.
But who was he kidding? Lance sighed as he stepped into the shower. He was coming home now. He’d called up Fred and Todd and said he would be coming back soon. He’d already arranged to stay in the extra room – his own old room – at Fred’s house until he could find a job and afford his own apartment.
Lance lifted his chin and let the hot water slide down his neck and chest. The times of aimless roaming and fruitless searching were over. The stronger part of himself that had once watched over his family and taken care of it had resurfaced. It was time to go back home.
* * *
The club was a melee of lights and bodies. The throbbing music was infectious to its dancers and Pietro felt it pulse through his system, right in rhythm with the pulsing feelings of warmth that made his way down his throat and through his body. He set down the shot glass on the counter and looked over the dancing crowd.
Colored lights swept over the people and illuminated the dancing cages suspended in the air. Scantily clad women holding glow sticks danced in those. The bass beats resonated steadily and Pietro turned his head to look at the other bar patrons. He caught the eye of a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. He’d noticed her looking at him before and took the time to study her again. She was about twenty, maybe a college student. A pretty one as well. And alone. Pietro stood up and made his way toward her.
Years of living in the fast life had miraculously left him with few side effects. His abdomen was free from a beer belly – he credited this to his mutant powers. His looks were still in good tact, despite the fact that he did nothing to preserve it. Eight years of continual partying and danger and he still looked good enough for all the young girls to stare at him. He didn’t really care what happened as long as he could still pick up girls and keep with his partying ways.
Approaching the blond girl, Pietro leaned over the counter and called to the bartender. "I’d like two drinks. One for myself and one for this pretty lady." He grinned down at the girl. "What’s your name?"
"Natalia." She giggled and flipped her hair over her back. "What about you?"
"Pietro." He told her. The bartender approached with the drinks and he gave one to the girl. "Do you come here a lot?" He asked.
"I go to school in the area."
"Oh really?" He humored her. "Majoring in what?"
The girl giggled again. "Undecided."
Pietro leaned in close to the girl so that his lips brushed again her ear. "Do you want to dance?" He whispered.
The girl smiled. "Okay."
Pietro took her hand and led her out to the dance floor. He turned to face her. She moved in close to him as he put a firm hand at her waist. Then the girl started swaying her hips and he followed her movements with an animalistic grace. They kept this up and Pietro felt the girl relax against him. "You’re a good dancer." She told him, looking up into his eyes. Pietro could tell that the music and alcohol was putting her in a trance-like state.
When the beat changed to a different song, Pietro started leading the movements as the girl followed him. He moved in closer to her. His hand that was at her waist slowly started massaging the spot, then running up and down the area. At the same time, he moved in closer so that they brushed chest-to-chest. She responded by moving in closer as well. She moved her lips over his lower neck while her eyelashes fluttered against his chin. He kissed the top of her forehead while his free hand started to roam deliberately across her body, stopping at certain spots to massage those areas. The girl gasped, then began moving her hands across his body as well, though more clumsily and awkwardly.
Pietro felt himself getting aroused, and he knew the girl was as well. "Do you want to go to my apartment?" He whispered into her ear.
The girl stared up at him. "Yes." She whispered. Pietro slowly pulled away from her, though he didn’t want to. The girl didn’t either, but he pulled away and put an arm behind her back to support her. She was about ready to fall over.
"Come on." Letting the girl hold close to him, he led her away from the dance floor and toward the exit.
"It’s not too far away, is it?" The girl murmured. Her hands were still groping him and Pietro wished she would hold off until they got to his apartment. He wouldn’t be able to drive like this.
"Just a short drive." He told her. Looking over at the pretty blonde girl, Pietro felt another wave of arousal. They had a good night ahead of them. He led her out of the club.
* * *
Wanda folded another towel and placed it on the pile at the kitchen table. With a sigh, she leaned against the back of the chair. She glanced at the timer clock on the stove. Evan should be home soon. She would have made dinner already, but their stove was broken again. The landlord had promised that it had been fixed this time. So much for that. Wanda wasn’t sure what they would do for dinner now.
Since leaving Bayville eight years ago, they’d lived in New York and Cincinnati. For the past four years, they’d been living in Detroit. They’d moved into this apartment after leaving the last one, which had been so noisy that it had been impossible to get a good-night’s sleep. Not that this one was much better.
With a groan, Wanda stood up from her chair. As she did, she felt a kick in her stomach and immediately cringed. The baby. She was about five months pregnant now. Wanda stared down at her belly. She was starting to show a little now.
The pregnancy had been unprecedented. In the beginning, Wanda and Evan had talked about having a baby. It had been something to look forward to. That was when running away and eloping had first seemed so romantic. The baby had been planned for the future and came with the package of blissful love. Eight years later, it wasn’t the same. Wanda had never felt so scared.
She walked slowly down the hallway and toward the second bedroom. That would be the baby’s room. Wanda stopped inside the doorway. The walls were unpainted and the blinds on the window were loose. Evan had bought a second-hand crib and dresser for the room. But they’d yet to buy sheets, diapers, blankets, clothes, or any of the things a baby might need. All they had was a ragged teddy bear – which had been Rahne’s – and it stood alone on the naked mattress. Wanda had gotten a book at the public library on child rearing. She hadn’t realized there was so much responsibility. She’d had very little interaction with children, and none with infants. Evan was at her same level.
How could they possibly raise a child? They could hardly take care of themselves. They made enough to keep the apartment, but it was hard for Evan to get advancements since he only had a high school diploma. The dreams of attending night school had never manifested. They’d had so many plans and ideas in the beginning. Eight years later, they lived in a cheap apartment with nothing between them but each other. And soon a screaming, crying, puking baby would be in their midst.
At the thought of the baby, Wanda grimaced. The feeling of another life growing within her was disturbing, to say the least. In theory, the idea had been so romantic, but how could she possibly raise a child? It was so much responsibility that she wasn’t ready for. She couldn’t feel love for what was growing within her. The child that moved and kicked in her felt like something that didn’t belong and Wanda hated to feel it move. It weighted her down and she felt it in the thickness of her ankles and the bloating of her midsection.
While their life was nothing close to Heaven, Wanda also worried of whether this child would come between her and Evan. The two had never made outside friends and the only people they really knew was each other. It was hard to call their relationship love, with the way they clung so desperately to one another. But while neither Wanda nor Evan was happy, at least their life – poor as it was – had some sense of stability to it. The baby would change everything, and after living so long a repeating, dismal experience, she wasn’t ready for what this change – be it better or worse – that would come.
She also felt that Evan was tiring of her. The pregnancy had brought many emotional swings that made her more sensitive than usual. Her face had also changed. When she was younger, she’d had a frailty that some could perceive as beauty. She was like a porcelain doll left on the shelf. She’d never been radiant, but her beauty was apparent. Now, the years had brought down her face so that she looked perpetually tired and her waif-like body, once delicate, now just seemed brittle and old. And she was only twenty-six years old. This life in the city had worn her.
As Wanda turned to leave the room, the baby kicked again. She sucked in her stomach and cringed as a wave of nausea hit her. Every time the baby moved, it was a reminder that something that didn’t belong was in her body. "Oh!" Wanda grabbed at the wall as a second wave of nausea hit her and she felt something sour in her mouth.
She ran for the bathroom, but tripped and fell. The contents of her stomach spewed before her and from her position on the floor, Wanda was too tired to attempt to get up. She felt a wave of tears start and let herself cry. Her life, her existence, this apartment. It was all so abysmal. Why couldn’t Evan just come home? Why wasn’t he home yet? Shouldn’t he be here by now? Where would he go after work? Suddenly, the thought of Evan going somewhere without her made her ill again. She puked for a second time.
Fighting sobs, she stumbled to her feet. She could hardly move because of the thing in her stomach. Evan had seemed so much disinterested in her lately. Was it because she was getting fat? Her face seemed to be getting more bloated since she’d gotten pregnant. Suddenly, Wanda found herself worrying over if she was too ugly for Evan. He was still good-looking, what if women looked at him while at work? Or after? Was that why he wasn’t home now? Was he with a woman?
She couldn’t stop the irrational thoughts from running through her head. Her naturally unstable and insecure disposition was worsened by the pregnancy. She couldn’t have this baby. Maybe Evan had never wanted it. He’d seemed so drained when Wanda had told him she was carrying his child. How could he possibly support a newborn life? How could they put up with its cries and screams? The noise would drive her insane. She had to get rid of it. She had to.
With her mind suddenly made up, Wanda raced toward the front door of the apartment. She remembered how she’d fallen before. It could have hurt the baby, what she did. She went out into the hallway, then made her way to the stairs. Would this work? She stood at the edge of the top step. The distance from the top to the midway landing wasn’t large. Suppose the fall wasn’t enough? How many times would she have to do it? When would she know that it had worked? Could she really kill the baby?
She gritted her teeth. "I have to do this." She whispered to herself. She didn’t want the baby. Its presence was driving Evan away from her. It would be the best thing for them. And that’s what everything was about. Keeping things okay between her and Evan. Their relationship would always come first.
Balancing on the edge of the steps, Wanda leaned forward, holding onto the railing so that if she let go, she would fall. Maybe this isn’t the right choice. You’re not thinking clearly right now. She shushed the rational part of her mind as her more emotional side took over. For Evan. For us. Taking a quick breath, she let go of the railing. As she pitched forward, she heard – as though from a different presence – a part of her telling her this was wrong. And from her own voice, she found herself screaming, "No!" much too late. Then she hit the steps and felt painful jabs of pain as she rolled down them, too disoriented to try and stop herself. Then everything became silent.