I should have known.

I should have recognized it when it first happened.

But I didn't.

I didn't have a fucking clue.

When Logan began drinking constantly, I should have known something was wrong. I should have realized something wasn't right when Logan stopped eye contact with me.

But I didn't.

Then today I woke up and I couldn't take the silence anymore. His voice in my head refused talk to me. I couldn't face his awkwardness around me anymore.

I had to know.

So when I was passing him in the hall, I lightly touched his hand with a gloveless finger and I knew.

The memories rushed to me. Logan's thoughts and actions poured themselves into me. My knees wobbled with realization.

Red hair, brown eyes, touchable skin, noises that sent shivers down my spine. With one touch I realized what he'd done. I'd been to fucking stupid to understand what he'd been doing with Jean.

I ran to my room. My heart was broken. Everything Logan meant to me had been flipped around. He wasn't in love with me like I was with him.

I found a used razor in the trash can. The blade was jagged and worn, but it was still sharp enough.

I cut though my skin, blood flowed over my hands to the floor. Both of my wrists bled, and I lay on my bed and cry, awaiting death to come to take me away.

Logan burst into my room and grabbed me. His power surged into me and my wounds began to heal.

"No!" I screamed, tearing him away. I starred at him. My wrists continued to heal. I reached for the razor. Logan caught my hand.

"Let go, Logan!"

"Marie!? What the fuck are you doing?!"

I pulled free and slit my right wrist again. Logan grabbed my uncovered hand and held me tight.

The wound healed.

"Goddamn it, Logan! Let me go!" I cried.

Logan growled, "No."

He held me. The thoughts rushed into me and the wounds on my arms healed. The blood dried, caked all over my body. He held me until his grip grew weak, and I laid in his lifeless grasp and cried in his chest.

I hadn't understood at all.