DISCLAIMER: All characters are trademarked and copyrighted to Marvel Comics. They are used without permission, and no money is being made on this work.

Special thanks to queenB and Tina Sennvik for pointing out my mistakes and saving me, and this story, from my horrid spelling and my more horrid doubts that this was too weird for anybody but me.

I can remember . . . I can't remember myself.

I sit and stare for hours, wondering when I had become so totally lost, so utterly fallen from grace that I became a stranger, but the answer never comes. I lost my way, and I cannot find where I left off. That path has disappeared, and I can't go back. Ever.

Forever.

Warren watches me while I do this, his eyes following every movement I make, no matter how slight. I can sense what he is feeling, and I know what he thinks, the fear he feels as I slowly slip away from him. He's too afraid to say anything, terrified I might lash out at him.

Again.

How many times has it happened? Once? Six? Or more? Will I call him names this time? Will I scream and cry as I blame him for everything that has happened to me? And will he take the abuse without a word like he always does?

When Sabretooth ripped me apart, I thought I would die. He tore me apart while I just stood there, not fighting, not hitting back, just standing there. It happened so quickly I think there was no time to react. I think.

I cannot look back to find the truth anymore.

I stand slowly, brushing past him as he pretends to read a book. I know he pays no mind to the words before him and is instead concentrating on me, on what I've become, on the guilt he feels because of it.

He did this to me.

Did he realise that when he fed my soul to the Crimson Devil this is how I would return to him? Does he understand that he gave me away when he did it? Can he grasp that I have been lost forever because of him?

It was his love that allowed my soul to be submersed in the vile liquid. His love. Lust, I think, lust is what he felt then. He couldn't have loved me. I wouldn't have allowed it. To be loved by him would make him dependent on me.

Or I reliant on him.

He does not know that he is my only link to this bright world. The shadows scream for me to return to the nest, to become what I am now destined to become. They want me to be one of them, an undercloak, but I will not allow it.

I can scarcely remember who I am, and to accept what they ask would destroy the last of those few and precious memories I hold of what I was. But the screams are always in my mind, especially when dark is nigh, begging me to return to the warmth the cold can bring.

Would it be so bad to take their gift?

No, no, I will lose myself then, lose Warren, and I can't bear that anymore than I can bear death or suffering. I want neither to happen. I want to be real and whole. I need Warren for that. He owes it to me.

He owes me everything he took with his childishness.

So innocently he sits, so completely unknowing of my thoughts when I hear every single one of his. I hate him for it. I hate him. I wish he knew my suffering. I wish he understood he has damned me.

Damn him. I hate him.

He looks at me. Does he sense my thoughts? Does he realise I want him dead? If he only knew, but I don't think I'll tell him. It would crush that frail shell of his, destroy him. But maybe I want him destroyed.

Destroy him.

I bring my hands to my head, shaking at the cold words. I did not say that, think that. Something's here, something's in me, growing like an embryo. I fight it, I fight it, but it always grows and grows until it becomes almost too much to contain, but I contain it, I have contained it.

Until tonight.

Sinking slowly, I fall into the shadows, letting the dark energy weave its way through my being. I love it, the ecstasy, the pain, the sex, the hate, the joy, the love, the birth, the death, the kill, the life, the sadness, the sorrow, the blackness, the abyss.

I love it.

"Love me," I murmur, sinking and falling uncontrollably through it. It is like making love, feeling a warm body against mine, feeling the possession, the surrender, feeling Warren and his love. Feeling him as me, as one. "Save me."

"Save me!"

Does he hear me? Does he know I call him? Why won't he answer? Why must I always be alone? Why does he hate me? Why can't I ever be whole? Why am I so lost in myself?

Are there no answers?

Hate. Hate is all around me. Hate and darkness. I'm so afraid of it, of becoming it. I hate myself. I love myself. I hate him. I love him. I want to die. I want to live. I want this. I want to be free.

"Free me!"

He's here, somewhere near. I can't see him, but I'm sure of it. His breathing and his heartbeat, they reveal his hidden form to my blind eyes. Is he here to help me? Are you here to help me? Answer me, Warren, answer me.

Please.

I am lost. I am lost.

No, I feel him on me, touching me. Is he raping me? He hates me so much. Is he helping me? I know he loves me.

Kill him.

No.

Kill him!

Never!

But my mind has no control. My body wants it, the thrill of the kill, the blackness of death, so I tear into him, digging my dark nails into his chest, drawing blood. Is he in the shadows with me? Or have I been freed? Am I blind?

Again.

And he's still here, bleeding and trying to escape but still holding on, to me, to some ideal I can no longer find. I lash out again, hitting him, drawing more blood from some wound I have inflicted but cannot see.

His blood is on my hands.

I reach out again, grabbing hold of something wet and warm, pulling and tearing my way through it. Is it him? Or am I hurting myself and simply cannot feel the pain? No, there's pain, somewhere, either his or mine, I can no longer distinguish between the two of us.

He is in my mind!

"Betts," the wind sings in my ears, caressing my face with its ethereal touch, "Betts, you're letting it get to you. Don't let it win, you can't or you'll be lost. The shadows are not you. They're not, I know it. I've seen your soul. It's beautiful. It's not this."

Kill him!

Live him.

Kill him.

I will not. I am free, do you hear me? I am free of you, shadow. You are not me; I am not you. I want to be free. I want freedom from you. Let me go. Warren, hold me, break me free. I can't do it on my own. I'm so weak.

No. I am strong.

I don't want any of this. I never wanted any of this, and I remember how I used to be, how free, how utterly and incredibly myself! I will not let them take that away from me, not again, not now, not ever. I do not need to be saved.

I can save myself.

And then I'm back in the real world, alive and whole, saved by the sun. How long have I been sitting here? How long has he been holding me? It's morning now. It must have been hours, hours when it only seemed like minutes. I have been freed.

I am free.