The X-Project

To: Sefton, Amanda
From: Madrox, Jamie
Subject: Bet this is the last thing you thought you'd see in your inbox today.


So here's the thing. Doc Samson keeps nudging me to think about talking to you, and I've sort of gotten to the point where I think it's a good idea. I think, actually, he had in mind after you got back, but the thing is, since basically everyone I care about here isn't mad at you, and just about everyone I respect is willing to give you a second chance, it's getting awfully hard to hold onto a grudge. And, to paraphrase something I read once, any suggestion worth following is a suggestion worth exceeding.

You don't have to reply to this e-mail, or read any further than this, if you're not ready to talk to me, that's completely up to you.

The first thing I have to say is, I'm sorry I called you a twisted bitch. That was out of line. I'm not sorry for being angry, but when I posted that, it wasn't . . . okay, let me back up. The first thing I did after I was sure the potion wasn't working anymore was track down Kitty, and she'd locked herself in her parlor, and . . . what it was, was, both of us thought that what we'd done was bad enough that the other one wouldn't want to be with us anymore, but we got that straightened out and we kind of hid out the rest of the night there, and fell asleep.

And then the next morning, which was the day I made that post, I woke up--I just about always wake up before she does--and saw her sleeping there, so peaceful, and I hated myself for ever believing she'd turn on me like that . . . and then I did what Doc Samson calls transference, because I wouldn't have doubted Kitty if it hadn't been for the potion, which you'd made, and it was a hell of a lot easier to hate you than it was to hate myself. I'm not very proud of that, but that's why I said what I did.

But what I'm trying to say is, I don't hate you anymore, and I haven't for a while. There's the thing I said before about everybody I care about, etc., and you helped save 'Yana while I was conked out from that stupid cold, not that I could've done much anyway, and then there was finding out that the potion would either have been dumped safely or it'd still be in Doug's desk drawer except for that Kwannon thing, which is partly my fault, and just . . . y'know, I got three sentences into replying to some of your comments about Doug and Angie before I realized who it was, and that was just weird, because I was thinking the same things?

So. This isn't forgiveness. I can't do that right now. Whether or not you ever intended anybody to use it, that love potion was just by definition a nasty piece of work, and for all I know you could just be talking a good game about getting better, because I don't get how standing naked in a stream in the middle of March and drinking nasty herbal crap is supposed to fix that, unless they're telling you that if you do it again, you get more ice-water baths and herbal crap. I don't get this magic stuff. It feels like, I dunno, cheating on reality.

Maybe we can talk forgiveness when you get back, if this magic camp thing actually takes. I don't know. To me, forgiveness means saying I trust you again, and I'm not sure I can do that. But what I can do is, I can send this e-mail, and apologize for the things I think I need to apologize for, and tell you I don't think you're scum, and . . . just leave the lines of communication open, I guess, because even if we're never going to be friends, we can at least act like two people who go to the same very small private boarding school and see each other in the halls and at meals and in the laundry room and stuff. Or not, because you're not here, but you know what I mean. Civil conversation. Maybe the occasional joke. Teasing mutual friends. That kind of thing.

I guess the next part is up to you.