Stary-eyed Boy

“Subject O-48957,” the voice went interrupted.

“Ciaran. My name is Ciaran.”

The eyes could be felt staring through the two-way mirror, as if Ciaran hadn’t figured it out. “Yes, of course. Shall we start for the day?”

Ciaran didn’t respond, of course he wouldn’t, but he would answer when he wished it so.

“Moving on.” The voice was cold as always.

The cold--something Ciaran had become well-acquainted with. This drew him back to Emma. He allowed his eyes to close and he wondered at what point the love had died on her end. Was it the day he left for home? Perhaps when she had died herself, or maybe it was when they lost their child. When they lost Megan, or Malachai, whichever it had been. Had she still loved him through the pain. He knew he still loved her till this day. “Emma...”

“Have you finally chosen to answer me?” The voice questioned.

Ciaran blinked and looked upwards. Clearly having not heard the question asked.

“I asked you what triggered the sudden change in heart. You were a good student once.”

Ciaran chuckled. “Emma. Emma Frost.” Without a thought he disclosed her name, a well known name at that. “She changed it, but I thought I was changing her.” Ciaran huffed as he sat back, at least this was something he could talk about for hours without problem. As opposed to continual questions of his sister and family life.

“Continue.” The voice pressed.

“Emma Grace Frost.” Ciaran began. “She really was the start of it all. Her confidence and aura reeled me in. I followed her almost religiously. She thought I was annoying at first--a few hookups later and I had proven myself to her. I don’t like to say that I am a helpless romantic, but I do enjoy the idea of having someone around. I used to anyhow. I bought her small gifts, meaningful items. I would bring her flowers, we moved in together--sort of at some point. We drank, kissed, held hands, made love. And yet for the longest time she and I never used articles. We simply existed alongside each other. We just were. I never complained, I loved her,” he paused. “I love her. But that’s not what you want to know, you want to know the turning point, what made me who I am today. Well I’ll tell you. Emma and I were expecting a child, and for months we’d prepared. I’d protected her from the onslaught of assholes around the campus and the people who didn’t support her decision, our decision. Our love for the unborn child grew and I thought I had convinced her that the child was something that she would love and care for. That against all odds she would be a good mother, a great mother in fact. None of my praise could have prepared her or myself for what was to come. Emma came under stress, rather the child or from the rude comments she heard every day, things I couldn’t save her from. I tried everything I could, but she couldn’t take it. She began leading a team of gifted children she knew could do good, and though I tried to slow her down she just wouldn’t listen. Her stubborn attitude, something I loved about her, was the end of our child’s life and even nearly her own. I remember we laid in the hospital bed for hours, I just held her, and when the tears finally subsided we moved her back to the dorm. She stayed in bed for days, weeks at a time. She began working again to keep the pain at bay, she insisted she was fine, but the light was gone from her eyes.  got her a dog, Malachai. He was the saving grace in our small lives, and somehow we began to heal. That’s when I got the call from home. My grandmother, the woman who raised and loved me, was diagnosed with cancer. I wasted no time flying home, leaving a note for Emma, and I was gone.”

The air thickened and the voice spoke through the silence. “Did this change you?”

“Of course it did. Grandmother got better, but I got worse. The guilt ate me away, and as much as I wanted to call Emma, tell her how much I loved her--I couldn’t drag her into this. If Gran was going to pass, then I needed to be there for Carrie, I needed to be there for me. Emma had found a new love in training the kids, in going on missions that she couldn’t tell me details about. I was going insane being there. I was going insane feeling alone. I felt isolated and I needed so much more than that, I was hurting too. So leaving was what felt like my only choice.”

The voice stopped him. “So this is what led you to--”

“Becoming the bad guy? Yeah I guess it is, but all I wanted to do was stick up for my family, for the person I loved. I just wanted the world to stop making a monster out of someone who was really an angel.”

“I think that’ll be all for today Mr. Doherty. Someone will escort you back to your room.”

Ciaran's mind was drifting, something he couldn't have possibly seen coming. He did his best to nod in response and let Emma know that he was still paying close enough attention. She took a step towards him and his hand instinctively moved up so that his fingers brushed against her skin. "Go ahead and input it, I'm goin' to take a moment to breathe while ye do tha' and I'll go. I'll see you soon." He smiled before moving into where he had to stand, arms relaxed at his sides while he awaited the simulation.

The room cut to darkness, and all at once he couldn’t hear or see Emma. He turned frantic on his feet, that was when he heard the voice. It was small,. broken, and familiar. “Carrie..?” The name was spoken softly, but was overcome by the sound of screaming. “CARRIE!” He took off in a bolt, a large gust of air blew him back onto the floor and he regained himself with haste. A light flickered, blue in hue and resting on a small body that stood. A flash, the body was closer, another flash and she was nearly atop him. He knelt up, “A simulation...” he muttered to himself in desperation of keeping his wits to him.

Caireann stood over him, long dirty blond hair left in a ratted mess. He nearly chuckled to himself. He used to brush that hair, a daily routine. Something, however, was different. The color slowly darkened, and Carrie cried out again. His hand moved on it’s own, it touched her, and she felt so real. Wetness over her hair. His hand recoiled slowly and he saw her eyes well with tears. The warmth on his hand was sticky, and smelt heavy of copper. Blood. He glanced back at her and she fell to the ground, Ciaran’s arms outstretched to catch her.

“Shit.” He held her. “Carrie, baby girl... Carrie?” Her voice was sudden and came as a grand surprise. “Kee.” Her nickname for him fell from plump purpled lips.

“Carrie, baby, what happened?” By this point he had lost himself to the fact of it being a simulation and found himself trapped inside his head. The girl sat up at once and cried softer. All at once she vanished from his arms and his surroundings brightened. He was--home? The familiar staircase sat in the distance, the set of wooden steps that led from the family room up to the bedrooms. He heard Carrie scream out once again and forced his feet to carry him to the base of the stairs. His father’s angry tone came next.

“You’re just like him aren’t you?!” Him--like Ciaran... But Carrie wasn’t a mutant--was she? “Bloody awful children ye’are.” A resounding slam came from what he knew was Carrie’s bedroom. Ciaran couldn’t move, but his fingertips grew warm. He felt fire pulse through his veins and he watched as the dirty blond hair blew past and she was stopped in front of him. “Kee!” But that was all she managed before she was grabbed up by her father’s hand. “You.” He grumbled, breath smelling heavy of beer. Father never dank before, and surely never laid a hand on his children. Carrie cried out, but the only response given was a harsh slam of her head against the wall.

“NO!” Ciaran yelled out and the flaming stars burst forth. His father’s face twisted into a sickening smirk. “This is why, Ciaran, don’tcha get it kid? I have no normal children, ‘m stuck! Stuck with you--you FREAKS!” His father reached out with a fist, but Ciaran grabbed it in his own hand.

Carrie was breathing, to his relief, but she didn’t move. “You--sickening excuse for a father. Do ye see what you’ve done?!” He refused to hold back his anger and let his hand clench on his father’s own hand. “You’re the freak.” He stated and forced his father to the ground at the base of the steps by his own feet. Stars burst forth from his hands and engulfed the air. His father moved to stand.

A low chuckle resonated. “Ye think it’ll be that easy kid?” Ciaran stopped. “Ye can’t do a thing ta me, and ye know it. I’m yer own flesh ‘n blood. Ye can’t hurt me if ye tried.” His father stood mere inches from his face. “Yer a freak Ciaran, always have been, always will be.” The word resonated within his body and played on repeat in his mind. FREAK FREAK FREAK FREAK! “NO!” He fought back, taking a few solid punches from his father.

“Yer gonna kill ‘er! Yer only daughter!” He aimed back at his father with twice the force. “Ye want me dead yeah?!” A flash came forth and his father’s back hit against the wall, pushed back with the force of Ciaran’s mutation.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened, and he inched to the un-moving body with caution. He wasn’t breathing, no pulse. Quickly he raced to Carrie, but just as he reached her it faded, and he was back in the danger room. He fell to his knees and strangled a cry.