Desperation. Pure and simple desperation was what I had seen reflected in Logan’s eyes. I released the handle of the steering wheel and tucked a wayward strand of hair back under the cowboy hat on my head. Logan’s hat. I fought the urge to turn the truck around.
There was a time, I told myself, that Logan was all I’d ever needed. As much as it hurt me to see him this way, as much as I cared, as much as I still loved him: he wasn’t everything for me anymore. I ignored the part of my mind that told me it was in everyone’s best interest if I just left him to deal in his own way. The idea of letting him hurt for years over me was gut-wrenching.
But it wasn’t just the end that made him like this. My treacherous conscience seeped the truth through the chinks in my armor and the holes in my walls and I all but winced. No, Logan had been ok until I’d brought him home. The phone rang.
“Hello?” I asked when I pulled the car to the side of the road and flipped the phone open. My brain was distracted enough what with the internal argument taking place, I didn’t need to run off road and into an oasis.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
I sighed. The urge to snap at him and yell was a little overwhelming; oddly I remembered the weight of the hat on my head and measured my words. With Logan, my quick temper and emotional disregard had always made things worse before they got better. I wondered if we’d be in this place if someone other than Logan had been the one to teach me that particular lesson.
“Rough,” I caught myself. My promise to Logan was still ringing in my ears. “He’s having a great time, no gambling, Logan doesn’t go for that, but we’re taking in the sights. There aren’t many sights really, so that consists of trying to find little hole in the wall bars.” Which, coincidentally, was one of the first things on my list when I got back to the hotel so it wasn’t even a lie. Check to see if they’ve got a seedy little bar.
Once I finished my soul searching drive. I stifled a groan.
“Good. Give me a call in the morning. I’ll let you go; don’t want to intrude on your time. I know you guys are still close.” It was so true. He really didn’t want to intrude, he totally wasn’t threatened. The amount of unwavering trust in us and me and what we have is fundamental to the inner workings of our relationship. Again, I found myself wondering how things would have gone if Logan hadn’t been the one to help me make that discovery.
“I will. Love you.” I told him.
“Love you too.” I hung up the phone.
The truck didn’t move for at least another hour. The urge to take page from Logan’s book and drown my feelings in a bottle of alcohol eventually won out over my misgivings and I drove back to the hotel. The clerk who’d given me access to Logan’s room earlier set me up with a room of my own and I was distressed to learn he’d placed me right next door. And they didn’t have a seedy little bar to lock myself in.
I hoped he wouldn’t realize it was me next door. But I had to have been kidding myself. This was Logan. Who could, and did, track me during Mardi Gras when I’d gotten drunk and lost and saved me from a couple of hormonal college boys.
I fingered the sparkling and shining glass beads on a keychain I always carried. He’d bought me a string of multi colored glass beads that broke within half an hour of wearing them. I’d scooped them up and dropped them into my pocket and later strung them into a short loop and attached them to my car keys.
They reminded me that I needed a strong man, because I was reckless and impulsive and sometimes drank a little too much. They reminded me to either be safe, or cut back. I opted for safe and stuffed them into a pocket on the backpack I’d brought in from the truck.
I heard a stumble, crash and shatter in the room next to me and was flying out the door and over to Logan’s before I had the time to question whether it was the best idea or not. It was probably a bad idea to leave the impulse dampening keychain stowed carefully in my backpack, but the urge of my conscience to go and retrieve it was quickly drowned out by the sound of my fist hammering feverishly on the door.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Ok. You all suck and I hate you. Here’s another part. *grumbles at how little resilience she has.* Are any of you really surprised? It’s shorter than the rest.
Chapter End Notes:
I’m working on the next part now.
This was inspired by a 'Back of the Bottom Drawer' by Lee Ann Womack.
This was inspired by a 'Back of the Bottom Drawer' by Lee Ann Womack.