So maybe she was being over the top and dramatic, but why wasn't he being understanding? He had met her parents, right? They were starting to really pressure her, reminding her that she wasn't getting any younger and that they had made arrangements at the Boston Opera House and The State Room, slowly but not at all tactfully pushing her hand. Frankie loved Jackson, and there was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to marry him, but when she was getting emails from designers that went to finishing school with her mother in Paris asking for her measurements, it was becoming overwhelming.. like she was no longer in control of her own life.
"What the fuck is your problem? I told you to drop it."
She said hateful things she didn't mean, temper flaring and clouding her judgment. Her anger was directed wrongly at her fiance, but the bottle of wine she'd thrown in his direction wasn't. Planning a wedding shouldn't cause two people this much anguish. There was something wrong, clearly, but Frankie snapped first, not wanting to discuss her parents or wedding plans.
She'd thrown the bottle of wine, immature and childish, so Frankie put herself in a time out in the guest room, her vision becoming blurry and her head pounding viciously. Images of the dozens of dresses she'd seen and of the moment Jackson proposed and then her parents' disappointment and before she knew it, she'd fallen asleep with her anger pulsing through her.
She only knew that from the shout of her name, realization dawning on her almost immediately, like getting hit with a train full of memories. It made her sick, and if she had time, she might have rode the feeling out. But the panic from the familiar voice downstairs made her jolt into action, sprinting down into the living room to realize that she wasn't the only one who had made a sudden entrance into the world. Scott Summers and his optic blast made a statement, a very large, burning one, through the living room wall and floor, angry marks and holes left in his wake.
"We just.. need to find your glasses." Emma said slowly, obvious as it was, but she didn't want him to know just how much damage he'd inadvertently caused. What sick person would give him his optic blast without the glasses he depended on? The worry and the complete confusion she had were overwhelming, and again the objects in the room around her floated on their own. She couldn't center herself and despite being one of the greatest telepaths trained, Emma could hardly reign in her powers. It was like when she was young and the headaches warned her about upcoming overload of energy, manifesting in accidentally reading someone's mind. But this came out of left field and she was way out of practice. She was out of control and nothing seemed to be going right.
"Shit," she swore as chairs and the dog's bed came thudding to the ground, "I can't get my telekinesis together." Explaining the sounds to him would probably be better than having him take a peek, anyways. So she carried over the bottle of wine and two in tact glasses, enough that could take the edge off.
"Who would have thought we'd find each other again?" It was undeniable that they were themselves, but what did it mean for the pair they'd left in the dust? Frankie was going to freak when she saw the state of the wall.
Storm welcomed them to the mess and was kind enough to talk Emma down from her insanity spiral, explained that they could visit the place they once called home. Emma packed them each a bag faster than she ever had before and before she knew it, they were at the mansion and left to their own devices. Thankfully those devices included time in the Danger Room where they could each safely let out that pent up energy and aggression. She knew how desperately Scott needed it, and spent that time searching for the glasses.
Being able to walk the halls with Scott on her arm felt like a strange dream, like the realest form of deja vu, and it solidified that this was really happening. Seeing Scott in their room was enough to remind her that it was, indeed, real. The walls felt as if their history was ready to pour out and had been anxiously waiting this entire time.
"We'll figure it out. It'll all be okay," she repeated over and over into his skin until she could believe it as much as he did.
She scrolled through her text messages, trying to determine if they had a massive party with their friends from college or Jackson's law firm or maybe the princesses over for a rager. There was a text message, the sender "EF" had sent a text in all caps that said "READ ME WHEN YOU WAKE UP." Instead, Frankie left it for a few days, deciding that she would rather deal with things head on and not read mysterious text messages from random intitials.
Frankie dealt with the land of make believe on a daily basis, but suspending her reality for a text message like this one didn't seem plausible. It didn't stop the uneasy feeling that crept up, but she chose to ignore it completely.
"Frankie; I apologize for the mess, that is entirely our fault. You and I share this body, and apparently this life. If this week is fuzzy, it's because I took over for a little while. I am Emma Frost, once the leader of We can communicate through these text messages.
PS, lighten up with Jackson. You don't realize how good you have it.
Until next time,
SENT 4:00 8/12/16
SENT 4:00 8/12/16