Today I came across a draft of Part Three. I had run out of pages in my chemistry notebook and was looking through some empty workbooks which were not empty after all. It's been so long since I wrote in an actual book, before typing became my norm. I read it over and decided it was not so bad. It's evocative in its own way. Here is the draft in all its roughness, pieces that came together in different ways for the story.
They brought her in about suppertime, but something was not right. Piotr ran to the door, but Remy had kicked it open with the heel of his boot.
And in his arms, Kitty Pryde dangled.
"Fainted," Remy briefly explained. Piotr would have offered his bed if Remy had not been way ahead of him. Piotr hung back, unsure of what to do.
Tabby's voice cracked though the silence like a chisel. "I knew this would happen. I told that girl to eat--she hasn't eaten well for months--I knew she was sick."
And at that moment, her eyes struggled to open, her head turned to face his.
"Lance?" Piotr took a moment to realize her confusion and decided not to take it personally.
"Kitty, it's me. It's Piotr."
"Piotr." She rolled her it strangely, as if tasting wine. "Oh, it's you. I remember you. I haven't seen you in awhile." Her voice was weak, strained almost. But she seemed glad, happy even, to see him. "I was wondering what happened to you."
...
There was another time, when Piotr had fixed lunch that she told him about men. She didn't trust them any, and that the last patron set himself on fire.
She fit into his arms very neatly. They glided and danced, her hand in his, the other at her waist, in perfect time.
She told him, over raisins, that she never felt so good in ages. And he showed her the print in the paper.
"I want you to eat. So you can go home. This place is keeping you sick. You got to go home." She stared at her own picture for awhile. "They want you back." He wanted her to live.
In your arms, I was more than a miner.
...
She laid her head on his shoulder. "You're different from them, Piotr." Her voice hummed. "You're so different, we're almost the same."
