11Action, here we go.
The Decemberists – The Mariner's Revenge Song
We are two mariners,
Our ship's sole survivors
In this belly of a whale.
Its ribs are ceiling beams,
Its guts are carpeting;
I guess we have some time to kill.
CHAPTER THREE – Privacy
Naturally, I hadn't thought about what I was going to do once I ran from Xavier's. It had been a typical knee-jerk reaction to leave without thinking about it at the time, and I was still just as clueless as those months ago. I'd lost count how many. All I remembered was leaving in September and everything seemed to blur from then on. Calendars weren't commonplace anymore, especially for someone like me who didn't interact with any other human, or mutant, being.
Well, except for one I suppose. Logan. Wolverine.
I turned my head to the left and just gazed at him for a bit. I liked to do that with him. We didn't talk much, and neither of us really complained about it at all. I mean, what was there to talk about? Not much. It was either our impending deaths in discussion, or our increasing differing personality traits.
I kind of surprised myself by liking him so much. I mean, he was a little grumpy most of the time; snappish, abrupt, blunt, and very, very aggressive. Kind of the opposite to little old me. I mean, I didn't consider myself the best person by any means, but I at least had tact, didn't get angry easily and was probably the definition of a submissive. At least, in theory anyway. Sometimes I shocked myself with my outlandish statements and rather bold opinions. I tried to keep it inside most of the time; I didn't want to clash with anyone.
But he was not someone I would have seen myself having anything in common with when I was Xavier's, let alone being comfortable in complete silence in some dingy red truck that was almost like my new home. But here I was, in the passenger side of Logan's dingy red truck, in companionable silence and reminiscing on the fact that I was starting to like Logan a whole lot more than I would under any other circumstance.
I had a feeling it was because he was Wolverine, and holy hell he was big and muscular and attractive and had this protective instinct that I'd witnessed over the past few days. And we didn't even really know each other, despite the fact that I'd probably call him my best friend at the moment… though the term didn't seem to quite fit what we had at the moment. Protector and protected? Father and daughter? Brother and sister? Dominant and submissive? Nothing fit, and it rattled my control freak mind because I needed to put stuff into categories – to associate things so that I was sane and my mind was ordered.
Obviously my stare was getting to be a bit too much for Logan to handle because he was fidgeting a little. Not anything too noticeable, but for some reason I picked up on it almost instantly. He was rubbing his knuckles lightly, slowly – and I knew he did that when he was uncomfortable or thinking particularly hard. I was a bit surprised he hadn't caught me out yet. He was so straight-forward that normally he didn't spare me any embarrassment.
"Kid, what is it?" he asked in a clipped tone. I visibly started, and quickly looked away, out the window into the pouring rain. It was beating down onto the car and I couldn't hear much apart from the heaters, which were struggling to provide any warmth at all, and a low rumble of the engine. I was jiggling my foot, and its tapping could be heard throughout the car.
There was the slight rustle of wind from outside to be heard as I tried to think of something to say that didn't sound at all creepy.
"I…" I struggled, and Logan wasn't helping. He was just looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, and I nervously picked at my gloves – black, woolen things that I hated but they were a necessity. I wanted to throw them out and get some leather ones, because woolen was not at all practical in this weather, but I hadn't had the chance, being on the run and all. "I was just thinking."
He grunted, though I wouldn't call it one, really. That was probably the easiest way to describe it, though. It was sort of an exhalation of breath, but one so heavy and full of unsaid words that it rumbled through his chest and came out deeper, huskier, more like a grunt than anything else. I stopped short at the thought. What was I doing, analysing a simple sound of Logan's and trying to break it down into something of depth? Dear Lord, I had more issues than I thought possible.
"You're always thinking, kid." There it was again. Kid. This was going to get old pretty quickly. But I suppose I didn't mind too much. I had never really liked Marie. "What are you thinking about?"
There was a pause as I thought of something to say, yet again. So I talked and talked around Logan, but there was also another issue – half the time he just left me speechless and scrambling to put a sentence together. I wanted to slap myself in embarrassment. Would this ever end?
"Well, the thing is… I-" But I never got to finish my sentence. Not because he interrupted me, or because I stopped myself, but because a freakin' tree just slammed onto the already dented bonnet. Logan was not gonna be able to leave that as it was after this. It was funny, because that was the only thought I could maintain before I was jolted forward, adrenaline already running through my veins. My skin buzzed, and suddenly I was hotter than was comfortable. I felt the urge to rip off my gloves for some reason, but ignored it. Now was not the time. As we came to a screeching halt, swerving, I realised now was definitely not the time. I couldn't quite find it in me to scream, but a strange strangling noise came from my throat, and I thought I heard Logan swear as he tried to take back control of the vehicle. My seatbelt dug into my chest and I knew I would have bruises to show for it in a couple of hours.
My brain felt like it was rattling around in my skull as we continued turning, albeit more slowly as time stretched on… it seemed, for an age. Suddenly, I was flung back as the back end of the truck fell partly off the road, and I felt myself flattening against the back of my seat. I saw a thick piece of dashboard break off, and as if in slow motion it collided with my forehead. My vision was slowly fading, and I fought to stay conscious.
"Logan-" I mumbled, but it was no use. I was out.
When I woke, it was to a stinging pain in my temple and aching limbs. I couldn't move my legs, but I wasn't really worried about that at the moment. I reached up with a hand to touch the point of pain on my head and came away with blood coating my fingertips. That didn't look good. I winced, trying to sit up as I was slouched down low in my seat. My forearms throbbed in disagreement but I managed to right myself in the car seat. I looked to my left, and saw Logan, taking off his seatbelt and turning toward me.
He started beating at the dashboard, denting it so that my legs were beginning to be freed. It had bent toward me, the dashboard, and it was now so fully deformed that I didn't think Logan would be able to rectify his beloved truck. Somehow, though, no matter how long he'd had it, I didn't think he'd be too upset. There was that quality to Logan… he didn't seem to care for much. He'd accepted that things came and went in life and he didn't mourn or desire them. I was almost envious.
"It's not safe here." Logan growled, beating at the dashboard more furiously than I thought he was capable of. Then again, I suppose he was capable previously of a hell of a lot more than I thought ever possible. This was obviously no exception.
I smiled tiredly, a tad confused. "What? But it was just a fallen-"
"Nothing's just a fallen tree, Marie. We need to get out of here." His confidence rattled me, and I suddenly panicked. I couldn't go back to those camps. I couldn't become some sort of mutant exhibit again. Not there. Anywhere but there.
"I can't," I cried, lifting my head and looking around wildly.I tried to help Logan, pulling at my legs to get them out from under the dashboard. Suddenly I realised I couldn't feel much down there. "Logan, I can't go back!" I exclaimed, crying now. I was tugging my limbs relentlessly but it seemed like no use.
"Fuck, I know, I know." He grumbled, hacking away at the dashboard. With one large swipe, I was abruptly free. Despite my numbness, I was determined to leave the truck and wrenched open the door. Logan was doing the same on the other side, and I hopped down, biting the inside of my cheek in agony as my right foot jolted. The numbness was gone in a second and I was left with a stinging, excruciating pain centered on my ankle. The rain was pelting down and I was soaked through within a minute. I saw Logan pulling my duffle and his own belongings angrily from the truck, and I squinted through the rain to see if he was talking to me, because I certainly saw him mouth moving. I heard a weird splash ten feet away, behind the truck. I snapped my head towards the direction of the sound, and couldn't see much. But suddenly, as if it had appeared from nowhere, a figure came through the thick sheet of rain, dark and tall and moving ever so closer with each step. My hard grip on the truck tightened, and my knuckles were straining with the force.
"Logan," I called, almost as if it were a warning. He hadn't heard me, and was still rummaging through the truck hastily. The figure kept approaching slowly. I staggered back, still clutching the hood of the truck desperately. This couldn't be good. No figure comes out of the pouring rain like that without dishonourable intentions. If they were friendly, they would have said so, surely. I spat out the rain water running down my face in torrents, and couldn't decide what to do. I… I could use my skin. But did I want to? Did I want this creep in my head for roughly twenty-four hours?
"LOGAN!" I screamed through the thundering rain as I turned toward him, and I wasn't sure whether I was still crying or not. It was hard to tell, obviously, given the rain. I saw the recognition on his face as he saw my frightened glance to the nearing figure in front of me. He dropped our stuff, and I almost reached for them to avoid getting them soaked but realised they most likely were anyway without the aid of puddles on the ground. Logan climbed on top of the bonnet, and jumped to my side. His claws came out with a snikt, and he stood in front of me, menacingly staring down the figure.
I wasn't sure whether Logan did confrontations. But I just knew, somehow, that the Wolverine did. And that was bad. Very bad; because in times like this, where if you drew too much attention to yourself you might be looked into, confrontations were very bad and drew too much attention. I couldn't take them normally, but this supposed human versus mutant conflict (though it wasn't that black and white) had meant I avoided them at all costs, even if they weren't necessarily the worst thing that could happen.
So, I started to yank on Logan's arms.
"Let's go. Come on, run." I said, loud enough that he could hear me. I don't think the other person, guy… mutant, whatever they were, heard me. The rain was just too damn loud. I was relying purely on Logan's really good hearing, because over the past few days I'd noticed he heard things I didn't really want him to hear. But that was okay, because I was over that stage in my life when privacy of the utmost importance. It was war right now, and war meant privacy was pretty much non-existent. Survival meant privacy was non-existent.
I was pulling him back now, slowly. But he was big, and strong, and he stood his ground. I was pulling to no avail, really, given my dodgy ankle. I was desperate, though. We needed to get out of here. This confrontation was not good.
"Fucking hell, Logan, we have to leave or we're fucked." I seethed. Yeah, I swore when I got angry. It was totally not my style normally, but I just couldn't help it. It just came out.
The Wolverine seemed to be weighing up his options. After a moment, which seemed to be fifteen minutes but was in actual fact most likely a few seconds, he grasped my upper arm and flung me, so that I was hauled awkwardly and painfully onto one of his sharp, muscular shoulders. And then he ran, collecting our bags on the way. Jesus, he was strong, because he was holding me, holding our heavy, mud-soaked, water-sodden duffles, and sprinting faster than I ever could. My stomach was getting constantly throttled, and I was winded over and over again. I struggled for breath, let alone the ability to speak, but I somehow managed over the rumbling rain.
"Where are we going?" I yelled, my voice hoarse. My hair was stuck to my face and my neck, and I was trying to avoid skin-to-skin contact with Logan. If he touched me, then he could fall unconscious and then I'd most likely get hurt and this weird stalker would capture us both and receive some massive bounty and then we'd be screwed. So it was imperative that I didn't touch Logan with my skin right now.
"The hell if I know." He panted it out, but he didn't seem to be faltering in his step. "Next town is ten miles over. We're going to have to leg it from here, kid."
He didn't mention the fact that my ankle was busted and that he would be carrying me, but I got the sense I didn't need to explain or plead my case. He knew I wouldn't be able to get on without him at this point, that I was vulnerable. And somehow, although it was comforting, it was also disconcerting. I'd just acquired this independence, had a couple of months, and then it was taken away again, just like that. I didn't want to depend on anyone, or need anyone. That wasn't me. But I guess, right now, that was all I could do.
All of a sudden, a gunshot could be heard and Logan grunted in pain. I saw the laceration on his left arm from where a bullet had skimmed it. Although it was shallow, it looked like it hurt and I winced in sympathy. But then, as if like magic, I saw the cut disappear before my eyes, as if Logan's body was on fast forward. I frowned, eyes now wide, and stared until my eyes burned. What had just happened?
We turned, and Logan was now ducking, trying to avoid cover but it was failing a bit given the fact that I was some mound on his back. The branches were scratching my legs, and whipping back into my face as we passed them. I didn't complain, because I knew as soon as I did that he would dump me on my ass with no qualms.
It was a few minutes before Logan seemed to think it safe enough to travel along the roadside. I was a bit more cautious, and kept watching behind him for any oncoming foreigners. I was trying to decide whether we were currently being hunted by humans or mutants. On the one hand, the guy who came after us was flipping huge. On the other hand, guns, with normal bullets and no cure injections, were being flung about and used in a way that suggested we weren't to be killed, but to be injured and incapable of fleeing. Which meant capture.
It must have been an hour, maybe a little more, before we reached anywhere that resembled civilization. I had kind of zoned out a bit, not really paying attention to anything after the first ten minutes of running. Logan seemed to be holding up well, but I didn't want to bring it up in case he made some scathing comment that would put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. He hadn't spoken since the car, and in a way I was comforted but in another way I was seriously disturbed because not talking in a situation like this wasn't exactly the best thing. I mean, we needed to strategise, we needed to sort out where we were going, what we had, and what we needed. But apparently we didn't need to do those things because Logan wasn't interested. I felt a sense of dread creep up on me.
I was put down, and I flinched as I landed, just barely avoiding hitting my ankle against the ground. His arm was still around my waist as we neared entrance to the busy part of town. We wouldn't be accosted so close to a town, despite the locations of certain camps near country towns. But this was Pennsylvania, and as far as research proved, there were no camps in this vicinity. They could've built new ones, though. Damn. I hadn't thought of that before. Now I was getting scared.
He was pulling me along too quickly for my liking, but I didn't want to complain because I thought the pace was entirely understandable. If the roles were reversed, I would probably have been pulling him along even more quickly.
We parked ourselves outside one of the dodgier motels, and internally, I cringed at Logan's taste. One day I'd have to change that… that is, if I spent a long period of time with him at all. I really had no idea at the moment, and I couldn't believe I was thinking about this now. Focus!
He made me lean against the wall of the motel, and I watched him as he went through my duffle.
"Hey! What're you doing?" I asked, a little frustrated, through the rain. I could taste the rain, and it had a gritty taste I'd never encountered before.
"What do you think I'm doing, Marie?" He was annoyed now, and I blushed in response. I didn't mean to be so stupid, not really. I was just a little offended that he thought he could go through my things. Then again, privacy was privacy and I didn't have any. "We need money and at the moment we'll take everything we can get."
"But what happens after? What are we gonna do when we have nothing left?" I asked, with a patronising tone. I felt bad, kinda. But I mean, I was just worried. I didn't want to have to turn myself in, if it could be helped.
"I have a plan."
Fuck this, this was ridiculous. I could feel my ire rising but I couldn't control it, and my skin started buzzing again in that way that confused me. I pushed the thoughts about skin into the back of my mind and focused on Logan's scruffy, chiseled face.
"Oh yeah? Is it just like your other plan that nearly got us killed? Or, worse, possibly captured?"
He just looked at me like I was an idiot, and I blushed after a moment of realisation. Of course. This was Logan. He didn't have plans, and when he did they were generally sketchy and short-term. I sighed, muttering an apology and just hoping he'd stay with me. Even though I wanted to deny it, I needed him.
He found some cash at the bottom of my duffle that even I didn't know I had. Combined with his meager savings, we managed to acquire a small room with only one bed. Resigned that one of us would have to sleep on the floor again, we were both in dire moods as the single employee working that night assessed our attire, lack of belongings and transportation, and my obvious ankle injury. She looked particularly worried when Logan steered me away rather aggressively. Honestly, I needed to talk to him about this – I didn't want to seem like the victim every single time. What was keeping everybody from thinking that maybe Logan was the hostage, and I was the criminal? Then I looked at Logan and knew why the thought would never cross their minds. It just wasn't plausible, in any lifetime, in any universe. No. Way.
"Come on." he whispered, almost tenderly – although I didn't want to give that adjective to anything Logan said to anyone. He helped me to the stairs and, after a few long minutes, decided to carry me up the stairs to our room impatiently. I hid my face into his chest to hide my embarrassment. Why? Oh, why?
Soon he had placed me on the bed, and I was a little delirious as the mattress soothed my aching back. I hadn't realised how tense I was until that moment, and I melted into the bed, relaxing fully now that the most immediate worries had disappeared. He was mulling around me, turning on lights, closing blinds, and unpacking his duffle onto the desk. Our cash was almost gone, now – I think we had about thirty dollars left – and I knew we'd have to earn soon or resort to stealing. I didn't like thieving, but sometimes it was necessary. Unfortunately, it also meant you could be caught out and therefore draw attention to yourself. Completely not what I wanted and definitely something I avoided at all costs. Hate confrontation, remember?
I looked to Logan sleepily and he searched our stuff for something which I had no idea about.
"You didn't tell me you could heal." I stated, almost in wonder. I was so tired now, my thoughts were slowing and I was becoming increasingly happy. I had this mood right before I fell asleep. It was a bit carefree, and I always felt like I was high on something. Usually, it evoked amusing comments in the presence of others, but with Logan… well, apparently it was causing me to be especially straight-forward, almost perceptive.
He continued with his searching for a moment before he turned around to look at me fully. I could only imagine what he was seeing: me, in an awkward position laying soaked in my own wrinkled clothes on top of a small double bed. I'm sure it was most charming.
"You never asked." And the way he said it, it was almost like he'd avoided telling me, like if I found out I wouldn't want to travel with him anymore. I had no clue why he would think that and decided to just stay quiet and wait for him to say something else that actually made sense.
It came to me then, that maybe I could heal myself. I hated this feeling of neediness, dependence, that came from hurting myself to the point where I was disadvantaged. If I could heal myself, I wouldn't be a burden, I wouldn't be abandoned, and everything would go back to normal – well, at least as normal as things could be. I looked to Logan then, slightly more awake, and contemplating whether telling him would be the best idea. I mean, I could tell him and he would refuse and I'd be cranky for a while to come. Or he could agree, but then he'd know what my mutation did, and I wasn't sure whether I was ready for that. But then again, I could keep it from him, heal myself, and try to explain why he'd been knocked out for a while. That could end badly, and he would probably never be able to trust me again… if he ever had. I sighed to myself tiredly, sick of the complicated nature of things. Sometimes I really wished I was a child and everything was so black and white and I wasn't a flipping mutant.
My ankle was throbbing slightly, and I inhaled deeply at a sharp pain that ran through it upon movement. I didn't know whether it was broken, or I'd torn a muscle or a ligament or what. All I knew is that it hurt and I really wouldn't be able to get proper medical attention for a long while, if ever. It seemed I'd made my decision.
"Logan, I-"
He waited, looking at me, as I decided how to go about this. I knew Logan would appreciate the truth, but saying it outright would inevitably end in me saying the wrong thing and ruining any chance of healing this God damn ankle.
"I need you to heal me."
"What?" he said immediately, and I was surprised. Didn't people normally have those dramatic pauses, as if to think about what I was really saying? Well I guess Logan knew exactly what I was saying because he was glaring at me for all he was worth. I gulped nervously.
"My mutation… I can borrow your power. You heal, and if I touch you then I can heal."
"But that's not all you can do." It wasn't a question, but I suppose it should have been, because he was looking at me as if I should explain all the details about my skin. I looked away from him. I hated talking about this. It was just really uncomfortable and always made me the centre of unwanted attention. Then again, this was just Logan. He constantly gave me negative, unwanted attention.
"My skin sucks your life force. As a mutant, it sucks your power first. It doesn't steal it, but it can copy it, take it for its own use. If I pull away in time, all you'll be left with is the feeling that you've been winded, or hit hard on the head. That's all, I swear." I sucked in a breath sharply, waiting for him to agree, hopefully. I'd just told him what my skin did, and if it was for nothing then I lost a serious advantage if he ever turned out to be untrustworthy.
"Alright."
And that was that. Simple. Agreed. Consensual. And now my mind was in the gutter and I literally had to yank it out of there.
He walked over to me and sat down heavily at my side. I realised this wasn't really the best position when he was likely to collapse, but I didn't say anything. Was I a masochist? He took my arm carefully, making sure to touch my shirt-covered flesh. Then, slowly, almost painstakingly, he pulled off my soggy woolen glove and threw it onto the floor. And without further hesitation, he covered my small, dainty hand in his own large, tanned one. I felt the pull of my skin, the way it buzzed now like it had before, and how it almost thrummed with the newly acquired mutation it was replicating. Logan looked pained, and almost as if he would topple over at any second.
I pried his hand off of my own, quickly retracting the bare one and cradling it to my heaving chest. I got a rush of memories, a sweeping sensation that left me feeling nauseous and dizzy. I breathed out raggedly, trying to digest all the new information. Experimentation, pain – lots of pain; loneliness, and most of all, anger. Anger so unbelievable I didn't think I could take it anymore–
His hand was in my hair now, slowly and softly massaging the stabbing pain of my headache away.
And suddenly, I realised, my ankle was fine. There was nothing coming from there that was worrying me – no numbness, no pain, no odd feeling that normally indicated some serious nerve damage. I smiled in thanks as I looked to Logan. He was frowning, confused, with his hair slightly mussed. I smiled wider, but he ignored me.
"You didn't mention the fact that you see some of my memories."
I'm sure my eyes bulged out of my head for a second before I laughed nervously.
"What makes you say that?" I inquired, because no one had realised I did witness memories until I told them.
"Because," he started, looking at me as if he were trying to figure me out, "I saw memories I'd never seen before."
I hadn't realised it before, but I'd just totally and completely invaded Logan's privacy. And memories he'd never seen? What, did he have amnesia or something?
I sat up slowly, and he shifted accordingly to my own position. I noticed this and factored it into my mind for later analysis as I frowned.
"What do you mean?" I asked, and the question seemed to jerk Logan back into the present because just as soon as it had come, his hand was gone from my hair and his presence missing from beside me. He was across the room and slamming the bathroom door in a second, and I sighed wearily. I sunk back down into the hard pillows and wished for a moment when things wouldn't be this way, when things wouldn't be this hard.
But, secretly, I knew – there would never be a time like that.
"No. No way, absolutely not."
"It's not a question of permission, kid. I'm telling you what's happening."
"I can't let you!" I exclaimed, gripping Logan in what must have been a painful way, but he didn't do anything but brush me off. I was a little offended, but got over it quickly. To him, I was just some little teenager that was too clingy and needy and definitely all-round too girly. I could be manly… really. I just had to prove it to Logan sometime. But not now. Now I was going to be the rational, careful female because heaven knows Logan would never be entirely rational in any situation.
"Do you want money, or not?"
Well, that silenced me. But he couldn't really expect me to sit by and watch this?
He got up from our small table at the stingy bar across the road from the temporary motel we were staying at. Obviously he could expect me to sit by and watch this. Oh God, I really didn't want to. I couldn't even stand it when I got hurt, let alone other people. This was going to ruin me.
"Logan," I went to say as he walked further away from me, but he didn't hear (or at least, that's what he was pretending), and I was stuck, alone and cradling a drink on the rickety table we'd first sat at an hour ago. He'd already entered this morning, he told me. It had certainly answered the question as to why he hadn't bothered to start packing or even to think about what we were going to do next.
I watched as some greasy, buff guy announced the arrival of Wolverine, the new contender, and I watched as Logan stepped into the cage, throwing his flannel shirt into one lone corner and I knew I was worried because I hadn't even taken the time to appreciate his muscular shoulders yet.
His opponent was cocky, anyone could see that. The smug smirk plastered on his face and the relaxed stance he'd taken showed everyone that. But the way his eyes flickered slightly at the sight of Logan, and the way he unclenched his fists, told another story. Logan was serious competition, and suddenly the guy sobered up almost immediately. I was proud of Logan in a weird sort of way, but stopped myself from thinking further on that. It really wasn't a good path to go down right now.
I wasn't really listening to anything in particular. In fact, I was steadfastly ignoring everything but the sounds of the fight now taking place in the cage. Logan had told me he'd done this millions of times before, so many times that he couldn't remember half of them, just that he'd won. I was slow to believe him – after all, he was a guy and guys tended to exaggerate their more manly achievements. But this was Logan, and he was so full of attitude and a calm confidence already that I doubted he would do such a thing. And I was right, because in the cage, he was amazing. The funny thing is, half the time he was losing, but it was completely intentional. Don't even ask me how I knew, I just did.
It was forty-five minutes later, and I was a little bored, because I have to say the fighting didn't really excite me like it did the other bikey kind of girls. Maybe I was just too conservative, or too Southern, but it was just… boring. Aggressive fighting kind of boring. But Logan had just won, and when I saw the big wad of money he was given, I whooped for good measure. He glanced at me for a moment before taking the money, leaving the cage, and sitting at the bar. He pulled his shirt back on, left it unbuttoned, and downed a shot. I saw him whip out his cigar and lit it quickly, breathing it in like it was oxygen. I admired the way his muscles bunched at his shoulders as he moved, and the way he demanded attention, even when trying to get himself pissed silly.
I walked up to him, demurely pulling my top down over my butt. It was way too short, something I'd worn when I was fourteen and pre-pubescent. Now… it was one of the few tops I had that didn't need to be cleaned of mud. However, it was way too provocative for my taste, and so I'd been struggling with it all night. As I sat down, I resisted the urge to cringe as I felt the material of my top nearly expose some of my back. Exposed skin – not good, not good. I grabbed Logan's flannel from his back, and removed it from his person before shrugging it on to my own frame. He looked at me for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the bar to order another drink of God knows what. He knew he couldn't get drunk, so what was the point?
Wait… where had that come from?
Oh, whatever, I give up trying to figure things out.
"Hey, little lady," I heard the voice before I saw the person, and I turned around in my bar stool to look at the guy who'd just spoken to me. He was, overall, a very average kind of guy. Not too muscular, but not scrawny. Not that tall, but not short. Clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a non-descript t-shirt, and looking at me as if I was a piece of meat. I shuddered internally and replied in a way that I hoped would repel him.
"Um, hello." I said softly, and turned to Logan. He didn't seem to be listening, though, and I was definitely going to berate him about this later. Although, I suppose, he didn't have any sort of responsibility over me, so he didn't need to save me from this situation.
"So, what are you doing 'round here?"
I tried not to cringe at the way he expected me to reveal that I was some lonely little girl waiting for a big bad man to take me to his room and take me. I coughed slightly as the drink I was sipping went down the wrong way. Way to laugh at my own joke.
"Look, uh… I'm not… well, that is to say, not really… in- … terested…" I stumbled over my words and hoped this guy wasn't going to gut me in two for being so seemingly naïve. Okay, this would be a really good time for Logan to come in and say something scathing to get this guy away from me.
"Well I'm not asking if you're interested, honey, I'm asking you what you're doing 'round here." He left his sentence hanging, as if he still expected me to answer the question. I hesitated, not sure how to go about this. How to reject, but not condemn one's self to death in the process?
"I'm-… I'm sor-"
"She's not interested."
The comment seemed to come from nowhere, but I knew that voice and I knew that a confrontation was about to take place and the inner me screamed and screamed and felt like she was going to go crazy if she went through with this.
"I didn't ask for your opinion, alright, buddy?" the average guy stated, and I didn't want him to continue, I just wanted him to shut up and stop talking and just leave, because I couldn't take this.
"I'm just sayin'," Logan shrugged, spreading his hands like he knew what was to come. I could see his knuckles whitening, and knew the claws were itching to come out. God, how had it come to this? Why did I let this go this far? No, this was not what I had planned at all. Shit.
"You don't have any sort of claim over her, so maybe you should stop talking."
I wanted to slap him. No, I wanted to slap myself.
"Well, yeah, I do," Logan turned toward the two of us now, shirtless, and muscles tensed. His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me to him. Suddenly, we were all standing now, and I was doing my best to stop my skin from coming into contact with Logan's. Did he have no fear at all? Jesus.
However much I may have resented Logan for doing this, there was a part of me that reveled in it, in the way he was holding me close like it was only natural. I shivered involuntarily, and then scolded myself for it. I couldn't take joy in this – it was only encouraging it. A pair of elbow-high gloves saved my hands from sucking the life out of Logan, and instead made it possible for them to rest safely on his chest, slightly curled and secretly wanting to feel him up. God, I had to stop.
"I see."
"Yeah, you do – and now you're leaving."
The average guy slinked away, sulking at the hit to his pride, and I looked up to Logan who was staring him down. I didn't really know what to do apart from stand there and act like a movable doll. I felt Logan's cheek, with stubble, graze my own, and his mouth was against my ear in what was to be seen as an intimate gesture to our audience. I swallowed heavily and tried to slow my racing heart. If he asked me later, it was the argument that got it going.
We turned, heading out the door together and across the road to the motel room we shared. The employee at the desk eyed us weirdly before going back to his paperwork. It was late, I supposed, but still.
Logan didn't let go of me until we were in our room and the door was locked behind us. I ignored the pang of disappointment that went through me at the way he so quickly extracted himself from the embrace and moved about the room as if nothing had happened.
I cleared my throat.
"How are you feeling?" My voice wavered a bit, but it was so small that I hoped he hadn't noticed it.
"Fine." He said gruffly, and I sighed. He made his way to the bathroom, and I followed in a daze, not really knowing what I was doing but hoping to apologise for whatever I'd done wrong which had caused him to react this way. I was such a pushover. I couldn't handle him being angry at me.
At the doorway he stopped suddenly, and I walked into him, my lips brushing against the middle of his back by coincidence, but I froze. Did he think I did it on purpose? If so, what would he do? Was he going to ignore me now, or abandon me? And did I really do it by accident? Oh, I really know anymore. I just stood there, waiting for him to react. But he didn't. Instead, he'd just abandoned the notion that he needed anything else and slammed the bathroom door in my face.
I exhaled shakily, leaning against the door frame. I got the feeling I'd just dodged a huge bullet.
And I had no idea why.
I'm not sure how I went with this. Anything wrong?
P