prompt fill; hurt
title; i knew love wouldn't last
word count; 542
rating; PG
prompt; hurt
“What if he doesn’t show up? What if he does show up? Ah ain’t sure this is right, Ah dunno if we should. Oh, Gawd, Ah can’t take this, Ah need air, Ah can’t breath, Ah can’t breath.”
“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay, here, here’s a bag, deep breaths, you can do this.” The hand on her back was comforting, stroking over the smooth silk of her dress as Rogue took the deep breaths like she was instructed and tried to calm herself down. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Except that right then, the door opened, and there stood Mark, in his tux, all sharp and proper with Merc in his arms and Rogue just stared, all the while breathing into the paper bag, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but everyone’s getting a little restless and I think Rogue’s mom is about to kill something.” It only served to make Rogue hyperventilate again. “I’ll be outside.”
“It’s okay; he’s just late, just a little late.” Even as Ric said it, Rogue glared. He was thirty minutes late, not a little late. Everyone was getting restless and if Mark was right, Mystique was getting ready to kill someone. And Rogue could guess who.
It took a few more deep breaths before Rogue lowered the bag, taking slow breaths without the aid. “He’s not coming.” She wasn’t sure what hurt more; the fact that he wasn’t coming, or the fact that it didn’t surprise her. Turning the small ring over on her finger, Rogue stroked at the small diamond carefully. “Ah guess Ah should tell everyone t’ go home.”
“No, you don’t. I will.” Rictor ran his hand down the back of Rogue’s hair, kissing her temple softly without care, which he was only able to do thanks to the inhibitor around Rogue’s neck in a carefully constructed necklace, and then he left the room. Leaving Rogue to her thoughts.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, but she’d hoped so dearly that he’d come, that he’d make it and she wouldn’t be left standing at the altar; figuratively speaking since she hadn’t even left the fitting room. Standing, crossing to the mirror on the wall, Rogue stared at herself in her dress. It had all moved too fast, that’s what it was. They hadn’t had the time to get there on their own and rushed into it too quick. He was still a good Catholic boy at heart, she knew that. So when she’d dropped the news that she was expecting, that they were having a child, she’d just gone along with it all, like it was some fairy tale.
She should’ve known better.
Stroking a hand over her rounding stomach, Rogue sighed softly, “Guess it’s just you an’ me, puddin’.” Not that she’d mind. Really. She could cope on her own, she was sure. Except she didn’t know anything about raising a child, and she didn’t know how she’d handle if something happened. She didn’t even notice the tear running down her fact until it was wiped away.
“Don’t worry, Ruby. You’ve still got us, you’ll always have us.” And it was the tiny arms around her legs that made Rogue choke on a sob as a five year old Lucia hugged Rogue’s legs.
word count; 542
rating; PG
prompt; hurt
“What if he doesn’t show up? What if he does show up? Ah ain’t sure this is right, Ah dunno if we should. Oh, Gawd, Ah can’t take this, Ah need air, Ah can’t breath, Ah can’t breath.”
“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay, here, here’s a bag, deep breaths, you can do this.” The hand on her back was comforting, stroking over the smooth silk of her dress as Rogue took the deep breaths like she was instructed and tried to calm herself down. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Except that right then, the door opened, and there stood Mark, in his tux, all sharp and proper with Merc in his arms and Rogue just stared, all the while breathing into the paper bag, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but everyone’s getting a little restless and I think Rogue’s mom is about to kill something.” It only served to make Rogue hyperventilate again. “I’ll be outside.”
“It’s okay; he’s just late, just a little late.” Even as Ric said it, Rogue glared. He was thirty minutes late, not a little late. Everyone was getting restless and if Mark was right, Mystique was getting ready to kill someone. And Rogue could guess who.
It took a few more deep breaths before Rogue lowered the bag, taking slow breaths without the aid. “He’s not coming.” She wasn’t sure what hurt more; the fact that he wasn’t coming, or the fact that it didn’t surprise her. Turning the small ring over on her finger, Rogue stroked at the small diamond carefully. “Ah guess Ah should tell everyone t’ go home.”
“No, you don’t. I will.” Rictor ran his hand down the back of Rogue’s hair, kissing her temple softly without care, which he was only able to do thanks to the inhibitor around Rogue’s neck in a carefully constructed necklace, and then he left the room. Leaving Rogue to her thoughts.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, but she’d hoped so dearly that he’d come, that he’d make it and she wouldn’t be left standing at the altar; figuratively speaking since she hadn’t even left the fitting room. Standing, crossing to the mirror on the wall, Rogue stared at herself in her dress. It had all moved too fast, that’s what it was. They hadn’t had the time to get there on their own and rushed into it too quick. He was still a good Catholic boy at heart, she knew that. So when she’d dropped the news that she was expecting, that they were having a child, she’d just gone along with it all, like it was some fairy tale.
She should’ve known better.
Stroking a hand over her rounding stomach, Rogue sighed softly, “Guess it’s just you an’ me, puddin’.” Not that she’d mind. Really. She could cope on her own, she was sure. Except she didn’t know anything about raising a child, and she didn’t know how she’d handle if something happened. She didn’t even notice the tear running down her fact until it was wiped away.
“Don’t worry, Ruby. You’ve still got us, you’ll always have us.” And it was the tiny arms around her legs that made Rogue choke on a sob as a five year old Lucia hugged Rogue’s legs.