Project X [18+] [Fanfiction]

Chapter VIII: Three A.M.

I was starting to learn to appreciate things more. Small things; things I had completely overlooked. While I was out in the field working with the X-Men, I typically remained focused and efficient, but in my off hours I was starting to find the time to allow myself to enjoy tiny details. At no time was this more true than in the hour before I would go to sleep at night.

Before, my motions were mechanical and structured, nearly timed down to the second. A shower, a change of clothes, and into the covers without any hesitation or pause. There was no joy in the experience, no appreciation. While I understood the physically therapeutic benefit of a hot shower, I failed to understand the ability it had to dissolve stress or ease a worried mind. Since my 'sexual training' began with Shifter, I was learning to be more open to those small moments that others seemed to embrace, and through that openness I was learning more about myself.

As soon as I'd retire for the evening, I'd lock my bedroom door and relish in the privacy of the moment. With no others around, I was free to let myself fall into the still silence of my quarters. My classmates typically fell into two categories; those that were afraid of me and insisted on keeping their distance, and those that were so eager to show that they weren't afraid that they became obnoxious and irritating. Very few fell outside of those parameters, very few were willing to accept me as just another mutant with her own unique history. A history that I was neither willing to embrace or completely reject. I was not comfortable with those absolutes.

After a moment of relishing in the peace, my first departure from my old routine came in the way I stripped free of my clothing. No longer did I remove everything in methodical fashion, putting it directly in my laundry to be cleaned. My boots kicked off casually on my way to the bed, and by the time I had sat on the edge of it my shirt was already half off of my body. I would casually toss it to the laundry basket, but whether or not it actually made it inside, it would remain there until the next day. I'd snap my belt free of my pants and similarly toss it aside, and after another moment in which I relished in being alone, I would finally make my way to the bathroom, leaving behind a trail consisting of discarded pants, gloves, a bra, and a pair of plain black panties.

To some, the discarded laundry would not be significant. To me, it was a clear proclamation that I was ready to live with an excitement I had refused myself before.

There were nights that I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror, watching my naked form and trying to come up with answers. I knew enough to realize that men found me attractive, though I had never fully embraced it just as I had never embraced knowing myself in a sexual fashion. In my time before the mirror I would toy with my appearance much like a normal teenage girl; lifting my hair in facsimiles of various styles, or seeing what I would look like with my chest more pronounced and pushed forward. Sometimes, I would let my claws slide from my fists, and compare the glossy appearance of the adamantium against my own pale flesh.

There was a time in my life when I would use the blades to wound myself; to scratch open a bleeding track and then allow my healing factor to quickly knit it together. It had become such an idle addiction that even now I could feel a small, nagging part of my mind encouraging me to draw the blades of one hand across the forearm of the other. I resisted it, in part thanks to a much more pressing matter that required the use of my claws.

Posing.

One arm thrust forward, with my face sporting a growl that bared my teeth. Then both hands raised before my face, my claws crossing to form two metal X's just before my eyes. My back turned, with my head coyly looking back at the mirror, my arms bent upward at the elbow and displaying my built-in weaponry. In the privacy of my bathroom, I allowed myself to play. My naked body would stand there for almost twenty minutes on some nights, going in between practicing "sexy" looks and trying to perfect my heroic, yet feral growl. If there was one thing that Shifter and Headmistress Frost had taught me, it was that I had an appealing physique. It was not merely a weapon; and killing was not its only talent.