Kitty reads these horrible romance novels that are all about how the protagonists are just destined to be together. It makes love sound like one big cosmic match game. God, or whoever, putting us together before we're born and then just letting us figure it all out. That's bunk, if you ask me. If that were the way it really was, no one would ever find anyone else.
I have to admit, though, when I used to let myself daydream about such things, I thought Logan might be meant for me. It wasn't readily obvious to anyone else, I know. I was seventeen then and he - Lord only knows how old Logan is. I was fairly innocent then, despite everything that'd happened. Logan was - is - as world-weary as they come. But he was so kind to me, so considerate. And he saved my life. And, well, I loved him. Or thought I did, anyway. Who can tell?
The problem, of course, was a pretty big one. He didn't love me. Logan, as far as anyone could see, loved Jean. I knew it; Scott knew it; everyone knew it. It wasn't like Logan was subtle about it. You didn't have to be telepathic to see what he was thinking when she walked by.
And Jean. Well, she didn't encourage it, but she didn't so much put a stop to it, either. His flirting, I mean. I think she liked the attention. If she weren't so nice, I'd be angry with her. Because she gets enough attention as it is. She doesn't really need it from Logan.
I wonder if Logan's gone back to his old ways. I've only really talked to him once since he came back, when he caught me in the study. Afterward, I scurried away because -- God, it really hurts that he still thinks of me as a kid. I wasn't a kid when he left, much less now. But he thought I was. Still does. Maybe he always will.
I saw him one other time, about a day later. I was going down to the kitchen to get a glass of water and he was there, eating from a cold plate.
He was standing by the window looking out. His back was turned to me, so he didn't see me right away. The moonlight was shining on him and it hit me again how beautiful he was. Really beautiful and powerful. He was only wearing his jeans. He looked so comfortable standing there, barefoot and bare-chested. I envied him, a little. All that skin. Usually, that makes me uncomfortable and I have to turn away from such exposure. But right then, I just stood there and admired him.
I don't know how long I stayed that way. A while. When I finally went to get my water, he must have sensed my movement because he said, "Hey, Rogue", without turning around.
I remember thinking how glad I was that he didn't call me "kid." I stared at his back as I drank my water. Finally, after I rinsed the glass, I asked, "What are you doing up so late?"
He turned around then, and the look he gave me made me realize how little I was wearing. I mean, I'm usually very careful about covering myself up, but since I got my own room, I haven't had to put on so much to go to bed. No problems with running into someone in the next bed as you get up, or anything like that. When I went to get my water it was two-thirty in the morning, so I figured it would be pretty safe to go without my robe.
People don't really look at me. I mean, really look at me. I get glanced at, acknowledged, but no one takes the time to see me. I never paid much attention to that until the moment Logan looked at me then.
I don't know what he was thinking. I mean, I could take a guess, but I might be wrong. Still, the way he was staring at me was definitely unsettling. He wasn't looking me in the eyes, either. In fact, he was looking everywhere but my eyes. Then, when his gaze settled right below my line of vision, I remembered I wasn't wearing a bra; that my gown was very sheer and that he could probably see right through it. Self-consciously, I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing him to look up.
He looked a little angry. Putting his plate down on the counter, he finally answered the question I'd forgotten I'd asked. "I was hungry." I muttered something incoherent, upset that he had me babbling like a fool.
He didn't say anything, instead picking up his empty plate and carrying it over to the sink, right by me. As he washed his dish, I was very aware of the proximity of his bare arm to mine. No more than a foot separated us. I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
When he was finished rinsing, he moved right in front of me and gave me a little half-smile. "Shouldn't you be going to bed now?" he asked, his head bobbing closer to mine as he spoke.
"Probably," I whispered, and cursed my own voice for sounding so weak in his presence.
He moved back then, not smiling anymore. "Go to bed," he said, a little forcefully.
He was being authoritative and stern, so I replied, "You're not my father."
I said it playfully because, in my mind, Logan was nowhere near a father figure.
"Go to bed, kid."
I flinched at the words. Slowly, I turned around and started walking away, because I didn't want to say anything I might regret. Just as I reached the doorway, I heard him say, "Wear your robe, Rogue. You'll catch your death walking around like that."
I half-turned and replied, "It's not cold."
For a second, he looked like he didn't know what I was talking about. Then he said, "Wear it anyway." And before I could respond, he walked out of the kitchen, almost brushing against me as he did.
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