His dreams have kept him company every night since the time that he was changed - an awakening that kept him on the run for so many years. Life was bad enough trying to live in a prejudiced society that shunned him for being genetically different. Then, they altered him – made into an even larger freak of nature with an unnatural skeleton. He was made into a living weapon – a monster with unmeasured healing abilities and alloy claws – and by people he must of at one time trusted.
Trust. He has buried his ability to trust. Living amongst people who hate and fear him – how could he trust? The animal lives on instincts to survive and that is how he lived 15 years of his life. Only recently has he let his guard down to a few people. They have touched a part of him and reintroduced him to trust.
A sense of fear sweeps over him – a fear to sleep because sleeping brings the dreams. Many a night he has awakened from the dreams soaked with sweat and having impaled something with the claws. He has lost count of how many bed sheets, mattresses, and other objects have fallen victim to his restless nights. Because of this, he has remained isolated at night never sharing his bed with anyone for fear of the injury he could inflict on an innocent soul.
There is recollection of when an innocent fell victim to his nightmares. It happened maybe four years ago now. She was an innocent bystander only wishing to help him escape the dreams. Lucky for her that she was a mutant and made use of his healing ability, or she too would have been counted with the many bodies that have fallen prey to metal claws and a berserker rage. His guilt-ridden conscience still blames himself for that night.
He pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the floor of the room he has called home for quite some time – considerably longer than any other place he has resided in - this school for mutants in New York. He has not forgotten how long he has been an on and off resident here. He takes in a deep breath and prepares to close his eyes wishing silently the booze would knock him out long enough to get a few hours of rest.
As his brain drifts into sleep, the images begin to taunt him again.
Anger. Pain. Rage. He finds a hidden strength deep down inside in a place he didn't know he has and breaks the bonds that hold him. He is free. The animal is free. The mutant man is free. The water drips down his naked body, and he quickly pans around summing up his situation and searching for a way to escape. Faceless man after faceless man try to capture him. He runs as fast as his wet bare feet can take him. He senses danger in all directions.
Fear – he is being hunted. The animal runs again but is cornered. Instincts tell him to fight. He must fight or face being captured and tortured again.
The raging animal turns towards his captors. Metal blades cut flesh. He sees and smells blood again. He tastes blood. This time it is not just his own. His skin turns red from the shower of blood from his victims – his captors – his torturers - they fall one by one as he fights for freedom.
A touch – a gentle caressing feeling on his naked shoulder from delicate fingers tracing circles on his skin. The alloy is piercing his knuckles. He hears a soft voice calling him back to consciousness – leading him out of the darkness to the light. He rises with a fury and prepares to strike. His breathing comes quick and short. Lightning fast reflexes take the would-be victim out of harm's way. A hand holds his outstretched arm strongly.
Fingers on his flesh again trace circles. The touch soothes him – the voice calms him. He feels the warmth of someone nearby. The feeling of rage slowly lessens.
He is drawn back to reality – the soft sweet compassion in her voice brings the animal to rest. He begins to give her his trust, even though he has only known her a short time. Somehow, he feels a connection with her – her mutation is the same as his – her feral personality like his.
The touch – he feels like he is in a trance and powerless. The softness of her fingers making circles on his shoulder commands his full attention. She doesn't fear him – she doesn't shun or hate him –for she too is like him. In fact, she is him in so many ways. He glances silently into her eyes. There is an understanding there – an understanding unparalleled by even the innocent girl who melded with his mind or the telepath who tried to.
Silently he looks at her. Her fingers run through his soaked hair. His eyes close as a sense of relaxation falls over him – something he has never experienced before – at least, for as long as memory serves him. Slowly, he lies down under her silent order.
She lies in bed by his side telling him she will stay until he falls asleep. There is no fear or hate - just compassion, understanding and a gentle touch that makes him relax. She shares her warmth and gentleness. He gives her his trust closing his eyes with the belief that she is there to help.
A touch – a gentle touch of circling fingers on slippery flesh. A touch – fingers run softly over his lengthy sideburns. A touch – fingers slide down his neck slowly. A touch – fingers trace circles on his shoulder. A touch – his soul calmed by a soothing voice telling him everything will be all right. A touch that opens his heart. A touch that comforts his frightened soul and gentles the
raging animal.