The world is upside down. My worst nightmares are popping up all over the place. The Professor sent the team to pick up Carol and bring her back here. Logan won’t speak to me, yet again. The students are whispering about me, yet again. I destroyed the Danger Room. I gave Pete a concussion. Remy is avoiding me. And the cherry on top—I lost my favorite pair of earrings. What have I done in my short life to deserve this? I really don’t care if I’m whining without just cause. I’m being repeatedly screwed over, and it’s not fair! I was always nice to the other kids in school. I went to church every Sunday. I said my prayers and cleaned my room. I honored my father and mother. I didn’t steal, and I haven’t committed adultery…yet. So, why is everything going so badly?
The part that bothers me the most is Logan. I haven’t had a chance to resolve anything with him yet. He’s off with Storm and Scott in San Francisco. What the hell did he mean? He’s addicted to me. He hates me… He hates himself. Or does he hate everybody else and he loves me? How can he love anybody? He’s Logan. Logan doesn’t do love. Hell, I don’t do love. We hardly know each other. I probably completely misunderstood his intentions. I felt wrong. Is there even a wrong way to feel something? Well, maybe for power-absorbing mutants there is. I care about him…I think? I do. I care for him a lot. We have a connection, but it’s been quite lousy ever since… Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something. I told him to piss off, kind of, but I left the door open, too. I don’t know what he wants! I really don’t. I don’t understand him, and I can’t just ask him to explain his logic. Our relationship probably makes perfect sense to him, but I’m left in the dark. I’m having such a hard time finding myself, and it’s like he’s aiming to make things more difficult.
I can’t even talk to him when he gets back, because there will be a big commotion over Carol. Oh God. Carol is coming here. How am I going to face her? Maybe I won’t have to. I heard she’s in a pretty nasty coma. I did that to her. I took away her memories and happiness. I destroyed everything she was. Why does the Professor want her here? I understand his need to help people, but can’t he do the whole long distance thing? Doesn’t he know how hard this is going to be for me? I know I’m being self-centered, but come on. I have been through a lot.
They should be here by now. It’s almost nine.
She’s down the hall. In a bed. Unconscious. If I walk to the staircase, I’ll go right past her room. I considered my options—I could climb out my window, swing, hook my legs onto Logan’s balcony, jump onto the trellis, slide down the vines, and break into the kitchen. But, I don’t want to do that every time I get hungry. I feel like I’m sleeping near a cemetery. It’s creepy. I thought Professor Xavier would keep her in the sublevels, but no. He was feeling particularly hospitable and thought: why not a lovely room on the third floor, right next to Rogue? I managed to avoid her arrival. I stayed here on my bed with my door locked, just in case they tried to force me to pay her a visit. But I don’t know how long I can elude an encounter.
11:45. It is entirely too early for bed, for me at least, but everything is dead downstairs. Sunday nights usually are no matter what time it is. I’m so bored. I feel the urge to paint and to cook and, hell, even micromanage my sock drawer—anything to ease this awful restlessness. I have been staring at this magazine page for a half-hour. It’s a stupid love advice column. Maybe I should write to them. “Dear Ramona Romance: There is a loutish, scruffy Canadian man of indeterminate age with whom I have a complicated situation. What is going through his mind? Sincerely, Utterly Muddled Mutant in NYC.” They’d probably tell me to just get over him and set my sights on a guy my own age. Even that’s hard, because the other man in my life is currently hiding from me.
I need to talk to Logan. The only way I’ll be able to move on and get my act together is if I tell him everything that’s on my mind. Hopefully, he’ll give me something in return. I toss the magazine to the floor and grab my purple fuzzy sweater, slipping it on over my green cotton nightgown. Cautiously, I peep into the hallway. I know it’s not like Carol is going to be standing right outside my room, but still, it bugs the hell out of me. I flit across the carpet, pausing at the next room.
Logan opens his door before I can even knock; he’s dressed in workout clothes—sweats and a t-shirt. He looks like he’s about to go for a run. “Oh…” Wait, he’s going running right now? Then again, does anything he chooses to do make sense?
“You need something?” I swear, one minute he’s tender and fragile; the next, he’s a complete asshole. Maybe I shouldn’t make such a snappy judgment, though. The mission he had today was stressful. He’s probably feeling considerably strained.
“I just wanted to talk to you.” I figure I should be honest. “You know, clear the air. But, you’ve got plans, so I’m going to go back to my room now. ‘Night.”
“Wait.” He grabs the nappy fabric of my cardigan. “I’m listening.”
Uh…is that my cue? He focuses his weight on his left foot and braces himself with the doorframe. He wants me to spill my guts in the hallway? “Can I come in?”
He doesn’t answer me. He strolls into his room, assuming that I’ll follow. Stepping into his lair, I nudge the door and it shuts with a soft click. It’s so quiet in here. I hear the tick of his clock and the singing crickets in the bushes outside. “Slow down, there. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
What? Oh, he’s being witty. “You know what? Don’t. I hate it when you do that, Logan. You spoil every earnest moment with your stupid sarcasm. I hate a lot of the things you do, come to think of it.”
“Kid-…” he turns in my direction, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, but I cut him off.
“You said you were listening, so you’re gonna listen to me! Sit down, shut up, and let me talk.” He leans against the maple wood desk and tosses me a look of astonishment. “And stop calling me ‘kid’. We’ve slept together, Logan, remember?” Wow, it felt really good to say that. “Okay, I’m just going to give it to you straight. I hate that you confuse me. I hate that you make me feel like a crazy person. I hate that you expect so much of me when I’m struggling so hard to understand everything right now. I hate that you have the mood swings of a hormonal teenager. I hate the way you look at me. I hate that you think it’s okay to treat me with such carelessness. I hate that you expect me to forgive you all the time. And I hate that you’re trying to control me.”
He rises to his full height, and he looks royally pissed off. I feel my nerve scurrying away like a spooked horse. “Hormonal teenager? Look who’s talking!”
He did not just say that to me. Okay, Marie. Just take a deep breath and try not to tackle him to the floor. “You owe me an apology, Logan. Truthfully, you owe me a very long and very detailed explanation for your…your…capriciousness.” Okay, that one must belong to Carol because I have no clue what that word means. I was never much for spelling bees.
“That’s a big word.”
What the hell is his problem? “Is that, like, your defense mechanism or something? Acting like a gigantic prick? Grow up, Logan. Stop avoiding this. Just tell me what the hell you want from me! Give me something to work with here, because you’re killing me!”
“Stop yelling. The walls are thin—I don’t want everyone knowin’ my business.” This man is going to give me a heart attack. He knows how to push every one of my buttons.
“It’s our business, Logan. You and me. Us. And you know what? This business sucks! I quit! I do not like feeling so dependent all the time. I have my own issues to sort out, and I’m not going to let you be my problem anymore. I walked out once, and I swear to God I’ll do it again.” It seems that angry threats are the only way to infiltrate his walls. I push on even further, fighting fire with fire. “And you know what’s the clincher? You’re such a pathetically proud egomaniac that you won’t even try to stop me. You’ll sacrifice anything just so you don’t have to confront your weaknesses.”
His eyes narrow and it sends a chill down my spine. “You done? Did that little speech make you feel like a big girl?” My insides feel like a complex knot. I can’t back down, though. “You think you’re so ready to delve into this shit, but you’re not.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you fucked me! After all, I’m just a hormonal teenager, right?” This is going to get very ugly.
“You came to me,” he shrugs. He shrugs, like this is casual.
“You should’ve said no! Then none of this would have ever happened.” I regret everything I am saying, but I can’t stop. This is my fault, too. “Like a decent, respectable man, you should’ve enforced the boundary. Now, everything is fucked up and it’s all up to me to fix it!”
“Nobody ever said I was respectable,” he sneers. “Don’t blame this on me. I warned you.”
“What? That you’d marked your territory? No, Logan, you scared the hell outta me. I thought it would end up being a secret—just a memory. Something I’d think about one day when I’m at the altar getting married; something that’d make me blush and laugh; a story to tell my friends or my daughter. But you turned it into the worst mistake of my life.” My voice is quaking with passion and fury.
He leaves me hanging and walks out to his small terrace. What do I do? Am I supposed to go after him? No. I always go after him. For once, I want him to come after me. So why are my feet moving toward him? Why am I reaching out for his shoulder? He hooks his thumbs into his pockets and severely inhales the sweet night air. “I can’t tell you want you want to hear, Marie.”
Marie. My name awakens butterflies in my abdomen. “You don’t know what I want to hear.”
“You want remorse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for robbing you of everythin’ that made you clean. You’re a cynic because of me. I took your innocence, confidence, happiness…you name it. And believe me, I wish I could give it all back.” Wow, I didn’t see that coming. “The big fucking irony is that I’m draining the life from you.”
What am I supposed to say? I think this is as candid as Logan is ever going to be with me, and I’m dumbstruck. There are a million things I want to tell him, but I can’t remember any of them. “Logan, I just…I want to understand.”
“You won’t. Nobody can.”
I step around in front of him and meet his eyes. “Try me?”
He’s fidgeting, like someone who feels pressured by time. He kneads the stubble on his chin and dodges my gaze. “No, Marie.”
“Logan, please!” The desperation in my tone is foreign to me. I’ve been reduced to begging. I take hold of a patch of his soft jersey shirt and wind it between my fingers, a feeble attempt to manipulate him. “I’m a River Rat…I don’t take kindly to bein’ told no.”
“What do you want?” he sighs with fatigue. “You should know already. You felt me, earlier.”
“But that just confused me even more.” I’m really being aggressive here, and I can only hope that it doesn’t chase him away.
“What’s so hard for you to comprehend?” he retorts, wrenching himself from my command. “Every minute you spend here, I’m dying. Every minute you spent away, I was dying. I can’t get you out of my fucking head. My hands? They itch and they burn—not from my claws, but because I want to fucking touch you all the time. But I can’t! I try to restrain myself, but I’m failin’ miserably. I’m hurting you, and you’re scared shitless of me, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I want you. I crave you. I can’t sleep because you’ll be there in my mind; I can’t stay awake because you’re still there. I look at you, and I feel guilt and loathing and addiction and rage and jealousy and lust and repulsion. I want to show you that you’re mine—you belong to me. That nobody else can ever have you, and no one will ever make you feel the way I do. But I can’t let any of that happen because I couldn’t live with you hating me.” He’s panting like he just ran a marathon.
“Logan…” I reach out to caress the pain from his face, but he retreats abruptly. The primordial instinct kicks in, and he flees. The dark sky illuminates with lightning, and ear-splitting thunder cracks in reply. I feel like I’m in an episode of the Looney Tunes. Vicious raindrops assault my hair and skin. If I look up, there’s probably a single gray cloud parked over my head. The wet wind is slapping me across the cheek. I hurry inside Logan’s room, shivering. My legs glisten with dew, and my thick brown locks stick to my neck. I slam his French doors and roughly draw the curtains. Screw April. Screw the showers. Screw life.
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