Sleep is impossible, almost as impossible as not thinking. I try my hardest to just shut my eyes, to count sheep, to sing a song... but no, not a thing works. Inside my head, all I can picture is the moment Jean told us that John had left to join The Brotherhood – out enemy's; those that want to kill all humans.
It had been the worst moment of my life. John hand left us... left me. I felt broken, my heart had wrenched inside my chest. I hide it from the others as best I can but as soon as Bobby looks at me, I know he can see my pain. I could see his too.
Three nights have passed since John left us, Jean died and Scott lost his mind with grief. Three nights and days of pure, agonising torture – of picturing that moment again and feel my heart being ripped out again and again.
I try again to close my eyes and sleep. I know I need it – I've barely slept since that fateful night. No more than six hours most. My body continues to protest, not food, no sleep – but I can't rest, I just can't.
I attempt to control my breathing, making it deep and slow but then my chest and throat begin to constrict so I stop. I swallow and my mouth grows dry so I push my blankets away. My skin feels warm, too warm and I can't help but fidget and twitch; uncomfortableness and unease mixing. Heat reminds me of John.
Not just his gift of manipulating fire, but of the hear he always brought when he touched or kissed me. Our kisses could never last long, they were always short – but insanely intense. We tried to work around my... 'gift' but it's always been impossible. I just found myself wishing more and more every day that I could touch him like any other girl could.
I stand, unable to think about heat and warmth any longer. Instead, I walk across my window and open it. I close my eyes as the wind blows over my skin – the breeze is wonderful.
Something touches my cheek, something burning hot and my eyes shoot open in surprise. John – Pyro – standing directly in front of me.
For a second, I'm so confused that I forget to be shocked. He hasn't learned to fly has he? But no, he's standing on the top part of the window below me. He looks as good as ever.
"J-John?" I whisper, realisation seeping into my skin. I should be running, warning the others.
He smiles flashing those white teeth of his. "Hey babe." He says cockily.
He always calls me babe, he knows I've always hated it, so he calls me it all the time. Funnily enough, I don't mind so much anymore. Though I prefer it when he calls me sweetheart. His eyes go soft and warm, his voice grows gentle – but it's only when we're alone.
He swings a leg over to come inside and I snap out it and place my hand on his leg, stopping him from coming in. I can feel the heat of his skin burning through the material of his dark trousers and it brings back painful memories of him.
"You can't come in." I whisper, my voice raw with emotion.
He doesn't move, despite the fact that his leg must be beginning to ache. Instead he reaches a hand forward and grabs a fistful of the material of my pyjamas. Which is just one of his shirts... I kept all his clothes when they wanted to throw them out – this is just one of many but in a sense it's my favourite because he let me have it ages ago – it's the first. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the material, eyes thoughtful.
Then his eyes move to mine and I feel myself melt inside, an internal flame igniting just from that look. "You still have this?"
I nod my head, unable to find words.
He uses his former shirt to pull me close. He stops his lips from touching mine and his eyes are dark and warm.
"Come away with me." He whispers.
His lips press against mine before I can respond and tell him no. My mind shuts down entirely and every argument and response in my head flies out my ears. I know I shouldn't – I really shouldn't, but I can't fight it, I can't fight him.
My fingers dig into his leg and my other hand reaches up to stroke my fingers along the skin of his neck. I don't want him to go, to leave me again. The thought is too painful to continue with.
I feel a familiar tingle beginning through my body and pull away from him reluctantly before I can do any damage.
His face is slightly paler than before and his eyes are wide as he gasps for breath with difficulty. His eyes continue to rest against mine for a moment as he gathers his wits. He leans closer and presses his lips to the corner of my mouth, a soft and silent goodbye.
"Think about it." He breathes.
He turns and jumps. I gasp and lean out the window to watch him hit the ground with ease, completely silent and as stealthy as a cat. For a moment, I stare after him as he runs.
Think about it? Think about it?
I've already thought about it.
I bite my lower lip, want it to bleed. I want him to kiss me like that again so badly that it's a physical pain. But I know that the next time I see John Allerdyce – it'll be in battle.
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