Running for Home - 11. September 8, 2021

September 8, 2021

Emma’s such a total bitch sometimes. I know I haven’t been here long, but I’ve had enough meetings with her now that I can say that without reservation. We actually seem to be getting along quite well, overall, but there are these moments where one or the other of us starts getting incredibly pissed off. It’s mostly just clash between Emma’s controlling CEO side and my rebellious streak, but sometimes I feel like she’s mothering me and that gets under my skin like nothing else. Today Emma’s decided that I’m too waifish. She had the gall to say she was surprised that I didn’t smoke or have an addiction to heroin, coke, or meth. She laughed in my face me when I gave her a death glare, and then told me if I’m going to live here I need to hit the gym, hard.

I mean, what the fuck? I told her that if she thought I was going to join the goddamn X-men she must be the one who’s smoking some pretty ridiculous shit. The way she narrowed her eyes at me when I said that was a bit disconcerting, but then she sighed and said they have a few students with discipline problems that they are trying to sort out. A few of them have borderline if not full-on super-strength so it behooves all of the teaching staff to be in peak physical condition in case of an emergency. That, and the fact that the Brotherhood, anti-mutant groups, and even the government get stupid ideas in their head about coming here and messing things up every once in awhile. It’s fucking annoying, but she’s right. I don’t give a fuck about the losers in the Brotherhood and all that since I’d just let loose on them, no holds barred. But as far as the students go, not every kid here is going to be scared of me and my power, even if that’s complete idiocy that would get their face melted off. But I can’t go around seriously injuring the students, even if they are total shits, not unless my life really is in imminent danger.

Anyway, they are giving me access to the subbasement training facilities, away from the gym upstairs for the general student population. That includes access to the Danger Room, I might add. Emma apparently thought I might want some time to practice some of the more destructive applications of my power again, among other things. I still am totally confused by her sometimes. She might not be an idealistic fuck like Xavier was, but some of the things she does honestly makes me want to question her judgement.

Whatever. If Emma wants me to buff up in the gym, fine. I’m single and it will do me some good to increase my hotness factor for whenever I decide to get back on the horse. As a bonus it might get my female students to pay a little more attention to me, and some of the guys as well. I’m not into jailbait, fuck no, but I’ll take any goddamn method I can use to get fucktard students to listen to me and not constantly waste my time. And if Emma wants me to blow their money destroying half of the robot AI’s in the Danger Room on a regular basis, that’s her problem. At least she didn’t tell me I was fat.

Dom did, sometimes. Call me fat.

I never fucking got that, though. I mean, he was the one who started developing a bit of a gut in the last couple years. I guess I put on a little weight after I quit smoking, but it was only ten pounds and quitting was as much about saving money as it was for the sake of my goddamn health. It would help with the bottom line, considering what little work he was doing. Fuck, and he was frittering away most of what he did make in bars and gambling. I also got tired of constantly hacking up a lung, and honestly what was the fucking point? The only reason I started in the first place was because it was something I thought fit the image I wanted as a badass fire starter that didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything but the Cause while I was in the Brotherhood. I was an idiot teenager, what can I say? Afterwards, it was just a habit I never bothered to let go.

Quitting sucked for the first while, but once I got through it I actually started to feel better. More energy, better erections too. Dom kept smoking though. He didn’t make it easy for me, not one bit. Kept tempting me with them, even blew that shit in my face sometimes. Called me fat for gaining the weight. Told me I’d better not turn into a fucking cow, ‘cause he could easily get whatever he wanted somewhere else. Well, I didn’t turn into a cow but that didn’t stop him from cheating on me. Bastard.

He was second time I made a best friend, you know? We stuck together for a long time, he and I. First in the Brotherhood, then Project Freedom Force, and then those years afterwards. I still can’t believe he was stupid enough to carjack that rich fucker in his BMW so soon after we got our pardon. I mean, we didn’t have any money at the time, but fuck… Why was that something that seemed even remotely feasible in his mind? He couldn’t even last a year, trying to find good work. I guess he felt like he needed to act tough, to show that he was still a man with superpowers and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. I thought he wanted me along for the ride so he could show off, show how he’d take care of me after almost losing me. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t actually think he was going to do it, especially without me there. Maybe I was just too stupid to see that he’d become warped, that criminality was just so deeply ingrained in him now that he didn’t know how else to live. I’m just glad I wasn’t a retard and chose to go to work my shift at that diner instead of going along with him. I don’t think he ever forgave me for it, actually. When he came out of jail, he had changed even more.

I’ve wondered, sometimes, about what would have been had I gone with him. We’d either have succeeded in getting away with it or at least both gone to jail. Could things have been any different? Could we have worked out in the end, and he wouldn’t have walked out on me because I was bitching him out for not working, for not fucking contributing, for just being an overall lazy bastard that last year and a half who didn’t do anything, not even clean around the fucking apartment. All he did was eat, sleep, fuck, and get drunk either at home or out in the bar scene. With or without me. Without more often than not over the last year. Fucking bastard.

Apparently this is becoming a pattern with me. Make a friend, a hot one. Like them enough to start opening up. Get involved, get in their space, into their life. Let them get me hooked. Fall in love with them. Let them use me, with them never actually reciprocating or feeling the same. Then get screwed over, abused, abandoned, left behind. Spiral into anger, self-loathing, deep depression. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I wonder who it will be next time?

Yeah, fuck my life.