Her knees hit the hard tiles on the bathroom floor and she winces before smiling up at him. Bobby always said that Logan wanted her on her knees and no matter how she denied it at the time he wasn't wrong. She will have bruises in the morning but she doesn't care. Bruises last longer than kisses and pain lasts longer than pleasure. If she had learned nothing in the past year she had learned that. Even though her happiness had been short lived she didn't regret a moment of it - but she can't stand to remember it.

She just wants to forget.

She wants to forget the look in Bobby's eyes when she said yes a million times and he could only stop her with a kiss. Planning out baby names and imagining a little girl with his eyes and her hair. His hands spinning her around the dance floor dressed in white lace and satin and laughing until she cried at John's toast. Watching him walk away with the growing fear that this was the last time she would see him, so she had pressed her face against the window memorizing his walk and the sound of his voice bouncing off the hollow hanger deep in the mansion. She remembers him laughing at her fear.

She tosses her veil and her dress, that black monstrosity, to the corner seeking to forget its meaning and the events of this morning. She doesn't want to cry anymore carrying around primroses and Logan means to comfort her in the only way she will allow. She leans into his hands and turns the lock on the door.

When he calls her, "Kid" and "Girl" she hears "Love" and "My little wife." She closes her eyes against his face seeing another. When tears come to her eyes Logan understands.

She wants only to forget.

He understands too fucking well that fate is a spiteful bitch and tries not to note the ring that had been on her finger for far too short a time has moved to a chain around her neck.

He remembers the light in her eyes and the confidence in Bobby's stance as she flaunted the ring before his eyes and he joked how it would blind the whole city. He remembers how he and that kid were almost becoming friends.

Some friend he is, fucking the man's wife on the day of his funeral. Twenty-two is too young to be a widow but then twenty-two was too young to die.

He tries not to notice that she smells like marigolds and salt and instead stares into the darkness of her eyes, her eyes that look vacantly at everything but him.

And he knows that it's better to remember. So he takes her on the cold hard tile but never in a bed because he knows what this is and won't make it anything else.

She gets to forget and he gets to remember a time when it was him she longed to forget.