Marie reached out and grabbed my arm just as I thought I’d made it safely out of the mansion without a witness. I couldn’t stand the look of pity I knew I’d find in her eyes if I turned to look at her. Instead I jerked my arm from her grip. I could feel her hurt stare burning into my back.
“Listen, it’s easier this way. You know it and I know it.” My voice was gruff and a little more emotional than I’d have liked.
“What should I tell people? They’re gonna ask questions.”
I didn’t look at anything but the seat of my motorcycle. Even the worry and sorrow in her voice couldn’t make me look at her. Hearing her voice hurt enough.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something Marie. I can’t stay here and watch you with him.”
“Logan, I-” The hitch in her voice had me glancing back over my shoulder, but not at her. I focused at a point on her shoulder.
“Look, it doesn’t have to be difficult. Just do me a favor. Tell them anything you want to; just don’t tell them that I’m running from you.” By this time I’d trudged over to my bike. I strapped my bag on and gave one long mournful sigh. Still the seat of my bike was a safer place to focus my attention. “Just don’t tell them all the truth, that I still need you.”
The roar of my bike sounded behind me as I tore off into the night.
*****
It was easy to imagine what Marie was telling everyone. I sank lower into the cheap hotel easy chair, and took another pull from the bottle of tequila in my hand. Maybe she’d tell everyone I was on vacation? Visiting friends in some far off unreachable region in Canada, drinking and having a good time and I hadn’t called in a while.
I let myself pretend.
I imagined I was sitting surrounded by friends, having a beer with my closest of the bunch. I was an often indulged in fantasy, a friend I’d known since I was a toddler. The band played in the background and some guy told a raunchy joke. The snow fell outside and one of the guys mentioned how lucky I was. Not everyone had a girl like mine, who brought me beer and tolerated a bunch of guys taking off to the bar for drinks and carousing. Just then a familiar satin covered hand set a fresh beer down in front of me and a pair of lips pressed a kiss to my beard.
I jerked myself from the make believe realm I’d created when she appeared in the daydream. Everything came back to her. The dingy hotel room came back into focus and I drew long and hard on the cigar in my hand. Quickly it was followed by another pull on the bottle.
It wasn’t easy to drink myself to sleep, but I did it.
*****
The next night was marginally easier. I resumed my drink of choice, Jack Daniels tonight, and nursed a taking-it’s-sweet-time-to-heal broken arm from the fight I’d won earlier in the evening. Apparently when you spend every night drinking yourself into a stupor healing is a bit sluggish on the catch up. I didn’t mind it much; it meant the pain was a constant so I didn’t have much time for thinking of any other type of pain.
I wondered again at how healthy it was to pretend nightly that I was living out another well thought up excuse for my reason for not being around. Maybe she told them I was in Cali. Soaking up the sun and dry as a bone, a place I’d never have to worry about snow again.
I let myself slip down the rabbit hole.
The sun was hot on my skin and the sand was smooth beneath my feet. The rushing sound of the waves met my ears and there wasn’t anything for miles around. It had taken an hour to get to the remote corner of the beach, but I’d arrived and found it worthwhile. In the spirit of the day I’d brought along a mixture of frozen beach drinks. Fruity shit filled with alcohol that I wouldn’t normally think of imbibing. Like Peach Schnapps and Spiced Rum, and something blue.
But I was relaxed and in the spirit of things. I was completely content to sip my girly froo froo drink in peace; until a smoky southern drawl from my right teased me in low tones about having ‘something else that was sugary sweet’ for me to indulge in.
It was harder this time, to pull myself back from the fantasy and I cursed Marie with a string of words I’d never have let loose in her presence. She invaded everything, even my feeble attempt at pretending I was on the beach drinking myself into a stupor.
Suddenly she was everywhere around me. I could feel her breath on my skin, her satin covered fingertips barely grazing me, slipping though my hair and down my back. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. That was a mistake and the vision of her sleep tousled and smiling filled my field of vision.
I was scrambling for the bottle of whiskey before I knew it, the sweet burn coursing its way down my throat and into my stomach as I reacted on instinct to fight the pain. Would she tell them? Would she tell them what she knew? That I was really hiding out in shithole after shithole motel room, crazy and strung out over what we didn’t have anymore? Would she tell them I still loved her and couldn’t handle not being with her?
I pushed the question out of my mind and chugged the rest of the bottle, hoping the slide into dreamless sleep would be an easy one.
*****
I drove through Las Vegas, wondering idly why I couldn’t lose myself in gambling. Maybe she’d tell them I was here? It would be as good a lie as any, only Marie’d know that I wouldn’t risk things that way. I pointed the tires toward the desert.
I had to drive a little longer that I wanted to find a hotel, but it was perfectly deserted and flawlessly undermanned. Perfect for the possibly destructive mood I was in. I hauled my bag over my shoulder and stomped into my rented shithole.
My bag fell to the floor and I reached down and into it to retrieve another bottle of liquid poison and a semi-clean pair of jeans. The stink of alcohol, body odor and road rolling off of me wasn’t improving my mood any. I carried the things into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The open bottle of vodka joined me. My mind drifted back to the serene place I’d been the night before.
The hot water cascaded over my while I played make-believe.
I imagined myself forgetting her in a cloud of dust, chasing a band across the country. They’d be gritty and real and rock with a tinge of country. They’d play sad songs and angry songs and songs about sex. It wouldn’t be long before Marie’d bring me a beer and make some offhand comment about my taste in music and I’d smile indulgently at her.
I brought the vodka from my side and took a long drought, washing away the imagining and focused on my real live gypsy trail and scrubbed the dirt and sweat from my body.
Afterward, with a good buzz making me a little introspective I pondered myself in front of the mirror. The man who stared back at me was a stranger. He was too thin, as if he’d been existing solely on liquor for way too long. The dark circles under his eyes and hollow look on his face bespoke of heartache deeper than any I thought I’d known. He was a pitiful, sack of shit, so much a waste of space that he couldn’t even stand up like a man and face the real world with fire in his eyes and a snarl for any who spoke to him. I told him so.
The words I hurled at myself had little impact and eventually, as the vodka took its course, I retreated to the bed. The damn hotel didn’t even have a chair to sit in. I stretched out onto the grisly bed cover and propped myself up with the two flattened pillows and my old leather coat. Eventually the vodka was mostly gone and I was slipping into a catatonic slumber.
When I awoke the next morning, a pair of big brown eyes were burning into me from across the room where their owner had settled Indian Style on the top of the dresser. She’d pushed the TV all the way toward the end of the dresser and the thing was teetering on the edge, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t bolted down.
I blinked rapidly at her, waiting for my nightly dreams to vanish. When she didn’t disappear into a haze of sunshine and dust motes I sat bolt upright in bed. The glare I shot her should have singed paint, but apparently it either fell wildly short or she didn’t know she was supposed to be burnt.
“What are you doing, Logan?”
“Get out.”
“I won’t.” The girl was going to make me lose my mind more than she already had.
“Just go.”
“Logan, what are you doing to yourself?”
“How did you find me?”
“Easy. I followed the trail of broken bottles and pieces of dignity I found along the road from New York to here.” This time she was adequately aware that she was supposed to be burnt and reacted properly.
“Why are you here?” It was a pointless question, we both knew her reasons.
“I want to help. Logan, this is no way to live.” I grew angry, and hurt. She’d made me this way.
“Listen, Marie, forget the pieces of me you found along the way. You’re the reason I’m broken to begin with. What did you expect to happen to after you shattered me? I was lucky I didn’t fall apart where everyone could see it. Get out.”
She was hurt, I knew it and didn’t care. It made me break again, into another little piece and I instinctively looked around for another bottle of something to drink. I grabbed a warm beer from the box at the foot of the bed and twisted off the top. Half the thing was gone before she hopped down from the dresser and headed toward the door.
I caught myself reaching out and grasping her arm before she made it the whole way. It was a gruesome role reversal that had me avoiding her eyes again.
“Don’t tell ‘em what I’m doing out here. It’s better if they don’t know. If you ever loved me, please have some mercy on me. Tell them anything you want to; just don’t tell them all the truth.”
She nodded, pulled her arm from my grasp, and stepped out the door. It shut violently behind her. I moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside, watching as she climbed back into the beat up old Ford she was driving. I took a moment to memorize everything I could about her. The sassy sway of her hips, the way her soft boots molded to her calves. The layers of clothing she wore couldn’t hide the lush feminine form beneath it all. Her eyes, angry and dark chocolate stared out over the hood of the truck, her hair fell in waves about her face, the stark white strip screaming out at me.
I noticed then that she was wearing my old tan cowboy hat and wondered why I hadn’t seen it before. She gripped the steering wheel with leather covered fingers and met my gaze. Sorrow warred with the anger there. I let the curtain fall between us.
“I still love you.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
I'm not going to be doing a sequel. I think that this one speaks for itself. *grin*
What I finished a chapter fic? Shut it.
Also, I'm thinking of bringing the PETS (People for the Ethical Treatment of Scott) back. Are there any charted members around so I can pay my dues?
What I finished a chapter fic? Shut it.
Also, I'm thinking of bringing the PETS (People for the Ethical Treatment of Scott) back. Are there any charted members around so I can pay my dues?
Chapter End Notes:
Jason Aldean 'The Truth' inspired fic. There's quite a few more too, but I can't remember them all.