I know all kinds of things about Logan. Probably things even he doesn't know I know. Little things, big things… It's all rattling around inside my head along with a ton of other stuff I probably don't even know I know. It's not just because we touched, either. Although, I've got to admit that does give me a definite edge in understanding all things Logan.
And I don't mean the stuff everyone knows. Stuff like he's growly. That he swears a lot. That he likes his cigars Cuban, his whiskey smooth and his hockey a tad on the bloody side. It's not like he hides who he is. It's pretty much out there… if you know how to look. Hiding what comes naturally to him just isn't in his nature. He likes what he likes and he doesn't apologize for it.
Just watching him can tell you a lot. Although watching him without him being aware you're watching him? Definitely NOT gonna happen. The others might know some stuff because he lets them see things from time to time, but those are outside things. I'm the only one he really talks to, the only one he shares inside things with.
I think I'm pretty lucky that he shares those things with me especially after all he's been through. Inside, he's this whole other person. He has fears and hopes and dreams the same as any other man. Honestly, I can't believe that person he is inside is still there, still capable of giving and receiving love after what he endured. He's the strongest man I know… and the most gentle. He would disagree with me, but I know the truth. I feel it every time he holds me when I cry or rubs my back and whispers against my hair when he rocks me back to sleep after the nightmares come.
I'm always humbled when I think about how much of himself he's shared with me. I know so much about him. Things that make my heart smile and things that make it ache terribly. Big things, little things, things nobody would ever guess about him because of the way he looks or how he acts when he knows other people are around. He might be reckless and irresponsible with his personal safety but he'd kill or die to save any one of us. He's a hard man but he's not the animal he thinks he is or a killing machine or even a tool to be used in the pursuit of some impossible dream just because he heals.
He's simply a man.
I don't know why it's so hard for people to understand that. I guess they just don't see him the way I do. They don't know him the way I do… and that's just as much because they don't choose to look as it is because he doesn't share inside things with them the way he does with me.
I know little things nobody else will ever know. He likes wildflowers. Not for the flowers for themselves, really, or because of the way they smell, but because of the colors. He spent so long running wild in the forest where everything was a shade of green or brown, that the difference in the colors really fascinated him at first. I know his favorite color is royal blue. He never told me why, but my guess would be that because true, vivid blue isn't a color one usually finds in nature, he probably didn't see it for the first time until he left the forest. I think it reminds him he's a man not a beast.
I wear blue for him a lot. The same way Jean wears red for Scott. It's such a small thing, but it's also kind of a big thing too. And besides, I like seeing the smile it always puts on his face when he thinks nobody's looking.
I know other things that might surprise some people. He likes sunsets better than sunrises. He sleeps on his back. He snores quietly sometimes… that's how I know he's sleeping deeply, peacefully. You'd think I'd find it irritating or that it'd keep me up at night when I sleep over, but actually I like hearing it. It's comforting in an odd sort of way and I miss it when I'm sleeping alone. He likes to sleep really close at night. He'd deny he's a snuggler but that's exactly what he is. He likes to bury his face in my hair or against my chest and breathe me in while he sleeps. It's not sexual. It's just intimate. I like sleeping with him that way too. It's comforting for both of us, I think.
He's also a cover hog but he makes up for it by being the equivalent of a human furnace. It's kind of funny, actually. He'd much rather be cold than hot, yet he radiates enough heat to keep me plenty warm even when he is hogging all the covers. He's always extra growly in the morning, especially if he has to get up early and I know he hides his head under his pillow and growls when I sing in his shower. That's why I do it. I like hearing him growl… and I like teasing him. He grumbles, but I know he likes it too.
Even though our sleeping together isn't sexual - yet - I know he gets hard sometimes. Actually, it happens a lot. He's never tried to hide it, but I know it used to make him really uncomfortable to have an erection around me. In the beginning, it used to make me nervous too, but we're long past that now. It's just something that happens. He can't control it any more than I can control my body's reaction to him.
Up until recently, we've pretty much just been ignoring it. Intimacy is hard enough for us both without it being sexual in nature. We both pretend not to feel that part of him trapped between us when we cuddle at night and I pretend not to be aware of the erection he has every morning on the way to the shower… just like he pretends not to notice my body's reaction to it.
Actually, when all - well, ok, most - of the sexual awareness is removed, morning wood is kind of funny. I'm so glad I'm not a man. For all the embarrassment and discomfort we had to work through in the beginning, it's nice having that intimacy with him now. I feel completely safe and comfortable with him and I know he feels that way with me too. We've worked hard to get to where we are and I know that when we're finally ready to have sex that it's going to be good. Not perfect. Not magical. We're both too damaged for our first time to be anything but awkward… but still, I know it's going to be good. Full of pleasure and tenderness and maybe some laughter if we're lucky.
I know other things too, everyday kind of things. He keeps his room immaculate. He's kind of a neat freak except for a few notable exceptions. He almost never hangs his towel up after he showers. He always throws it over the shower door instead or if I've slept over, he showers first and then hands it to me as I'm on my way to shower so I'll hang it up for him. Hey, it's a fair trade. He makes the bed. All kidding aside, I don't mind at all - and not just because I feel indebted to him for taking care of me or because between time the towel comes off and the clothes get put back on, I see a whole lot of naked Logan… it's because he trusts me enough to be vulnerable with me.
There are a few other exceptions to his neat freak-ness. He doesn't ever hang up his jacket. He always throws it over the back of his chair instead. He never puts the cap back on the toothpaste either and he's the absolute worst about putting a new roll of toilet paper back on the roll when the old one's run out. Neat freak or not, sometimes he's such a man.
In his defense, though, he can make a bed perfect enough to bounce a quarter on. Believe me. I tried it once. I should have known better than to bet him on something like that. I wound up having to make his bed for an entire month and he smirked at me every damn time too, because no matter how hard I tried, it never looked as good as when he made it. Show off.
That's another thing people really don't know about him. He has a pretty interesting sense of humor. It's really dry and definitely warped, but it's in the mix for sure. He doesn't show it to very many people. Actually, I was kind of surprised that he could be so light hearted at times considering all he's been through, but he has his moments. They are few and far between but he definitely has them… and he's damn sneaky to boot. He's found some other more, um… creative uses for those enhanced senses of his than just hunting, tracking and fighting.
Honestly, the man's a menace.
Poor Bobby gets blamed the most often. I think Charles and Scott suspect that Bobby isn't quite sophisticated enough to pull off half the things he gets blamed for doing but I also think they know that Logan has precious little to laugh about in his life so they don't begrudge him a little fun every now and again. Personally, I think they enjoy it as much as Logan does.
Well, almost.
There are other things, too. He has a sweet tooth. A big one. Not so much for cake and cookies; it's the more concentrated things. A generous dollop of honey in his coffee, a truly frightening mound of sugar on his cereal, a piece of hard candy. He also has a thing for wintergreen mints. It makes me just shiver thinking about his mouth tasting like that. I have a thing for wintergreen too.
I try not to think about it too much, especially after the time I teased him about how all those cigars and candy pointed to a serious oral fixation on his part. He just raised an eyebrow at me and smirked but his eyes were absolutely on fire. I got the message loud and clear. I do have him in my head, after all. That was the last time I teased him about that particular topic. Just because he had a hard time letting go with a woman didn't mean he didn't enjoy giving pleasure; and that was clearly his favorite way to do it. I still smile when I smell the scent of wintergreen on him, though. It's as much a smell I associate with Logan as I do the rich scent of cigar smoke and leather or the fresh crisp smell of the outside that always seems to linger in his hair and on his skin even when he's been inside for hours.
That's how I knew he was the one who'd been stealing my truffles. The lingering scent of wintergreen gave him away. Hey, come on, at forty-six fifty a pound, you'd notice if one was missing, too. I know he liked it because a few days later another one went missing. When the third one disappeared, I took matters into my own hands. Nobody messes with a girl's chocolate stash, especially when it's Godiva. He isn't the only one who can be sneaky. I knew he'd deny liking something so 'goddamn girly and freakin' overpriced' so I found a way to feed his little habit and keep him out of my stash without him being any the wiser. Or so I thought.
He doesn't get much in the way of mail and he was pretty surprised when the first gift basket arrived at his door. It had all kinds of stuff in it. Gourmet cheeses, beautiful apples and perfectly ripe pears, prettily wrapped packages of nuts, several varieties of bite-sized cookies and one small box of Godiva truffles. I think he was a little embarrassed by the whole thing and it bothered him that he didn't know where it came from. He doesn't like feeling indebted to anyone… so I made up a story about entering his name in some contest… I knew he'd probably smell the lie on me… but if he did, he covered it really well. He just smiled a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and he gave me a hug before disappearing back into his room.
The next morning, the basket showed up in the staff kitchen - minus the box of truffles. It cost me a pretty penny to have one of those delivered to his room every month, but it was definitely money well spent. Each month he'd take out the box of truffles and the card with his name on it and bring the rest down to the kitchen for everyone to enjoy. Nobody ever knew where it came from and I surely didn't mind that he wanted to share it with everyone. Actually, I kind of thought he might do that. He's just like that, wanting to share (albeit anonymously) when he has more than he needs. It worked out well for everyone, though… because that way I got to taste some of the goodies in it too… well, that and he now had his own chocolate stash to raid when he felt the need.
There are other things I know about him. Things you wouldn't expect. He reads voraciously. He loves music - all kinds. He knows more than you'd guess about fine art and fine wine - although he still prefers an ice cold Molson and the Sunday funnies. He loves driving too fast but his favorite isn't the bike. Oh, no. Logan has a serious weakness for fine German automobiles and precision engineering. Charles once told me he'd considered giving Logan his own set of keys to the black Porsche he always, um… 'borrows' when he's in the mood to really put some highway behind him but he said that for Logan the 'borrowing' part was half the fun. Logan's taken me driving before.
Charles is right.
And so is Logan. The Germans make some damn fine cars… cars that can really move with the right man - or woman - behind the wheel. God, you should have seen the look on his face when I put that car through its paces. Makes me laugh even now when I think about it. He shouldn't have been that surprised. I learned it from him, after all… albeit indirectly. It was the first time he really got that the things I'd absorbed from him were a part of me now. He might have been shocked at first, but by the end of the ride he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
And so was I.
I know other things too. The kind of things that don't seem big but really are. Logan likes listening to the rain falling. Not misty rain or really hard rain - but gentle rain. He likes hearing it fall on the roof, especially when he's in bed at night curled up under a soft blanket with the window open. I think it's because he likes being reminded that he has a warm dry place where he's safe from the elements. I also think that the soft rain is kind of like a release for him - the tears he can't and won't shed for himself.
That's another of the small-big things. He might have a biting sense of humor and a wise-ass answer for everyone, but he acknowledges the really deep, important things with silence. I really like that about him - that stillness, that quiet. The voices in my head are never completely silent. I love that he shows how he feels with actions instead of words. With all of the people I have inside me, I hear enough meaningless words to know that actions speak far more than even the prettiest words. Logan might not be a big talker, but he speaks more eloquently to me than anyone else ever has, even when he says nothing.
That said, I still cherish our talks, especially the ones about inside things. I like sharing my inside things with him too, but we still haven't told each other everything. It's a little different for him because I have him in my head. I sort of know about the things he doesn't want to give voice to. I've never said anything about it and I'm pretty sure he knows, but we all have things we'd rather not share so I don't push him about it. He doesn't push me about the things I haven't shared either. He knows I haven't told him everything. Honestly, I don't know that I ever will. I think there are some things he's probably better off not knowing.
I did tell him about the wasps and about why I left Mississippi, but he doesn't know the whole story. I didn't tell him. Not because I was embarrassed or because I thought he'd turn away from me in disgust, but because I know him. I know he wanted to kill them for what they did to me and I know he would kill them if he knew the whole truth. I don't want that for him.
I know what you're probably thinking. They didn't rape me - at least not with their own bodies. I think they were too scared a condom wouldn't protect them from the girl with the poison skin. It didn't stop them from using other things though. The doctor I saw afterwards said I'd probably never be able to have children. Now, Logan knows about that… but he thinks it's because of my mutation. I let him think that because he carries enough grief on his shoulders already. Too much.
There are other things I haven't told him. Bad things. He knows when we're eventually ready to have sex he won't be my first. He's lived on the streets. He knows what happens to little girls with no street smarts and no one to protect them. I'm sure he has a general idea of what happened and quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to tell him that I sold my virginity for thirty bucks and a trip through the McDonald's drive-through.
I'd been on the road seventeen days and hadn't eaten in five. Hunger was my constant companion in the beginning. Sure, I'd been hungry before but never like that - willing to do almost anything to make my stomach stop feeling like it was eating me alive. It was one of the first hard choices in a long line of tough decisions I'd have to make.
Sell myself or starve.
For all my worrying over my skin when my mutation manifested and what it would mean for my sex life, in the end it wasn't really all that hard to get around. I left most of my clothes on and he used a condom. I think he got off on the thrill of making it with someone who could very possibly kill him. Sicko. He made me give him a blowjob first… something about a 'fuck-me' mouth and that I had to 'make it up to him' for being untouchable. I cried the whole time. It took four days for the pain between my legs to go away and even to this day, I still can't bring myself to eat at McDonald’s.
Looking back on it, I'm disgusted with myself. Do you know how stupid that was? How stupid I was? Only an idiot starves on the streets, especially in the city. I was just too dumb to know any better back then. Shoplifting food, stealing lunches, eating out of trashcans… the possibilities are nearly limitless and I've done them all. You can't fill a stomach with dignity or pride.
I kept track. It's morbid, I know, but I did it anyway. 257 days on the road. Thirteen blowjobs. I sold my body six times. Four for food in those first two months I was on the streets and twice for a ride and a warm place to sleep when I was in danger of frostbite after I'd made it into Canada. You think that trucker gave me a ride to Laughlin City out of the kindness of his heart? Hardly.
Six times. That doesn't count the rapes. There were two of those. Only two. Word gets around. After the second one died, nobody wanted to take a chance on the girl with the poisoned skin - at least not when she was unwilling. Both of the guys who attacked me knew about my skin beforehand. I guess they thought raping me would be some kind of ultimate test of their manhood or something. They were bigger and stronger, but I won in the end. It's hard to concentrate on pinning a person's hands when you're having an orgasm. Both of them forgot that for a split second. That was all I needed.
I didn't feel guilty for killing either of them - only guilty that I enjoyed it so much… until the nightmares started coming, anyway. It wasn't so much fun after that. Eventually the pain and bruises faded but the scars never did. Not the ones on my skin or the ones inside my heart. They didn't fade from my mind either.
Unfortunately, neither did the memories of the seven other people I drained until they were dead. Nine people in all, dead because of me. I'm not sorry. They deserved it. I'm just sorry parts of them are still stuck in my head. I don't think I'll ever be able to tell anyone here about that. Maybe someday I'll tell Logan… when we're both stronger. We've both managed to reclaim our minds but we're both still kind of working on reclaiming our bodies.
I know about his past and how afraid he was of being touched even when he craved the comfort and pleasure he knew it could bring him. I've known since I touched him the night he stabbed me. It's one of the things he doesn't like to talk about. Mostly I know about it from the things my skin pulled from his mind that night. It doesn't surprise me that he won't talk about it. He knows I know and that's enough. I know how much it frustrates him that he can't let go with a woman and I know how angry he is with himself for that perceived weakness. I also know what a big deal it is that he touches me willingly and that he accepts my touch in return.
I don't think he's any less of a man because of it. I know better than anyone that the worst scars are the ones you can't see. Doubly so for him, because he doesn't have any scars on the outside to show he's been through hell and back. It's like the pain he endured can just be swept under the rug, dismissed, because he has no scars to show for it. I see them though, just like he sees mine. It's been a long painful road for both of us, but slowly, surely we're reclaiming ourselves.
I lived here more than a year before I started touching myself again. Yes, again. I used to do that before - back in Mississippi before all of this started. I mean, come on, I was a normal sixteen-year-old hormonal teenager back then. I did it. I liked it. It used to feel good. Anyway, after what happened with the wasps and then selling myself… well, I just kind of stopped feeling anything anymore. Not physically, not emotionally, not anything. I just wanted to be numb.
It was a long, long time before it felt good again. It's still the best in Logan's bed, cozy and safe, surrounded by his scents - tobacco and wintergreen and something that's just elementally him. I don't do it when he's in the bed, of course. We're not ready for that just yet but I think maybe we might be soon.
I know he does it too, almost every morning in the shower. Usually more than once on the nights I sleep over. It's kind of nice knowing I have that effect on him. He doesn't try to hide it from me. He isn't really loud or anything but he doesn't try to stifle the low growls he makes when he comes. I like hearing him. It's incredibly intimate and it's a big step for both of us - especially now since he's been leaving the bathroom door open just enough so that I can see his hazy shape through the frosty glass of the shower if I want to.
Usually I finish before him but sometimes we finish together. I like that, too. I know he can hear me. I'm pretty quiet but he has enhanced hearing and his growling is always louder when I pant his name. Even if he couldn't hear me, the scent gives me away every time. He likes that I do it in his bed… likes smelling me on the sheets and knowing that I'm thinking of him even if we're not actually touching. He never says anything but he always grins at me really big when he comes out of the bathroom. I never say anything either but I always smile back.
We've pretty much gotten used to each other's bodies, too. We take turns wearing something to bed when we sleep together, but both of us prefer to sleep naked, or at least we do when we're sleeping alone. That's sort of how the whole seeing-each-other-naked thing happened - you know, by accident. I have my own room now. I'm really thankful for that because the last thing Kitty and Jubes need is an eyeful of half-naked Logan storming in to wake me up from a bad dream. Anyway, my new room is right next door to Logan's and it's easy to hear each other through the thin walls. I wake him from his nightmares and he does the same for me. We were bound to see each other naked eventually. Somehow, when the person you care about more than your own life is shaking and throwing up and scared beyond comprehension, nakedness kind of takes a back seat.
Both of us are more concerned about taking care of each other at times like that. I could care less if he saw a flash of my breast or if I saw his penis. To tell you the truth, I really don't give it a second thought. It's all about giving and receiving solace from each other. His body is just a shell. It's the person inside that I love. Those nights, I'm not really even aware of him as a man or of me as a woman, for that matter. At times like that, he isn't a scary naked man to me, he's just Logan, just my best friend who's scared and hurting and in need of comfort. Believe me, there's nothing sexy about it. God knows my nakedness is the last thing on his mind when he's holding my hair back as I'm retching and it's certainly the last thing on my mind when I send him to the shower while I remake his bed with fresh sheets.
We've sort of worked out a system. We just leave clothes by the bed in case of emergency so whichever one of us gets up can just throw on something and be out the door when the other person needs them. Well, that's how it works when we sleep apart. Now that we sleep together more often, we take turns wearing something to bed. It's a small price to pay for the comfort of being wrapped around each other every night.
Last night was his turn. He wore sweats and a top but we both wore gloves. That's something new. It's one of those small-big things. It means we're both planning ahead in case we want to touch each other. Things have been going pretty well for us lately. The nightmares, the really bad ones, are much less frequent. We're both healing, becoming more comfortable touching each other. We're slowly starting to share sexual kinds of touches. That's new too. It's always tender, always gentle. Before each other, the only kind of sexual touch we knew was rough and impersonal. We're never like that with each other. I think it kind of surprised him that he could enjoy a sexual touch that wasn't rough and hard or had a violent edge to it. I know it surprised me that I could find pleasure in a sexual touch after all I've been through.
Last night was kind of special for us. I was touching him gently through his sweats. I always talk to him when I'm doing it so he knows how much I like touching him, that I take as much pleasure in touching him as he does in being touched. It's important he knows that. He hardly ever talks back to me but that's ok. He doesn't need to. I wasn't trying to force a response from him, verbal or otherwise. I'd never do that. It was only about making the person I love feel good. I think he was even more surprised than I was when his body got all tight and his hips arched up off the bed as he panted my name and came against my palm.
For a moment, he had the most amazing look on his face - part ecstasy, part wonder and part disbelief. I think he'd given up on ever sharing that part of himself with another person. Even before his hips had completely stilled, he'd buried his face in my neck and made a sound low in his throat not unlike the whine of a wounded animal. He held me so tight it was difficult to breathe. He never made another sound but I could feel hot tears trickling down my neck. That was the only time he ever let himself cry for him - for the things he'd lost and the things he'd been afraid he'd never find again. That night he didn't need the gentle rain. I held onto him as tightly as I could and just let him heal, humbled beyond tears that he could let himself be that vulnerable with me.
I think of all the things I know about Logan, the thing I love the most is that he lets me carry him too, lets me be the strong one sometimes. I need that, need that give and take, need to know that he doesn't always have all the answers and that I'm not just some basket-case he holds together with duct tape and a prayer - that I help him too. He isn't too proud to lean on me when he needs to. I'm strong enough to give him that and the reverse is also true. He's always there when I need him to carry me. No matter what.
I'm not naïve enough to think he can always protect me from what comes and I know I can't always protect him either… but we'll do our damnedest to try and no matter what comes our way, we'll always be there for each other. It's that trust, that loyalty that makes the rest of what we have possible. For me, it's knowing the only man I want in my bed and inside my body is the same man who holds my heart in his hands, protects it with his life, and trusts me enough to give me his heart to hold and protect in return.
He's really fond of saying there are no princesses and no princes, no riding off into the sunset on a white horse. He believes there are no fairytale endings for people like us. After what we shared together tonight, I'm not so sure about that. You know, laying here next to him and hearing his soft even breathing, I think maybe he's wrong. I think maybe someday this broken princess and my battered prince might just get that ride into the sunset after all.