FIC: Pyromania (Veronica/Logan) (20/?) (R) (WIP)

[vanessagalore]

TITLE: Pyromania (20/?)
AUTHOR:

vanessagalore
CHARACTERS: Veronica, Logan, Keith
WORD COUNT: 6,931
RATING: R for this chapter
SUMMARY: Sometimes it's best to just get the hell out of Dodge. Set right after 'The Bitch Is Back'.
SPOILERS: Spoilers for the whole series, especially season 3.
WARNINGS: Cursing. Adult content.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars. This story is written as a tribute only. Beta'd by zaftig_darling. Thank you, zaftig, for all your help and support. All remaining errors are my responsibility.

 

1~Precipitation 2~Precarious 3~Paranoia 4~Prevarication 5~Probation 6~Predicament 7~Paradox 8~Please 9~Perilous 10~Palpitation 11~Precipice 12~Perspiration 13~Peregrination 14~Pursuit 15~Plexus 16~Pier 17~Perception 18~Phantasm 19~Phantasm

Last time on 'Precipitation': (Highlight to read ~OR~ click here to skip directly to the new chapter)

Veronica gets a job at J. Crew and Logan starts transcribing the Castle confessions, and the three of them settle into their new life in Chapel Hill. She secretly purchases a wireless modem, but hesitates to disobey her dad's orders not to access the Internet. Her nightmares continue and she clings to Logan at night, but she doesn't initiate sex and he doesn't try anymore.

Veronica finally tells Logan the substance of her nightmare—the imagined interrogation by Gory and Jake Kane, mixed with real-life details from the shooting in Chicago, her rape, and Mercer's attempt to rape her. Logan pushes her to tell her dad about Shelly's party and the nightmare. They argue, and Veronica shows Logan the modem, declaring that she's going to find a way to get their old lives back. He accuses her of going back to her old risk-taking ways and of not loving him enough to accept the safety of this new life, and the fight escalates. She escapes the apartment, trying to dissipate her anger by going for a run.

On her run, her emotions overwhelm her; it begins to rain and she turns into a sodden mess. She encounters a police car and imagines that they've identified her as a fugitive.

She stumbles back to the apartment and tries to be vulnerable to Logan, vowing that she'll tell her dad 'everything'. Craving his touch, she tries to cue Logan that she's finally ready to be intimate with him again. At first he resists, frightened that some of her distress is because she's still blaming him for her rape. But as she surrenders to him, completely exhausted both emotionally and physically, he takes care of her, and they tumble into bed.

---

I spend my shift at J. Crew stewing about talking to Dad. Logan had hugged me and sent me on my way without fussing at me, but it was clear to me that he expected me to keep my word. To my shame, I consider welshing on my promise to tell Dad everything.

Ashley, my supervisor, notices my foul mood and asks if something's wrong. I blame it on PMS, and ask if I can do inventory and stay off the floor today. Since nobody likes to do inventory, she's only too happy to agree. I grab a clipboard and head for the back of the store.

Jeff, another salesperson, takes my solitude as an opportunity to try to cop a feel. He's been paying me way too much attention since I started working here. I've been very tolerant when he 'accidentally' brushes against me, gritting my teeth and acting like it doesn't bother me. But he doesn't seem to discourage easily, and now I've been separated from the pack.

Every ten minutes, he comes back to where I'm working, pretending to need something right above or below where I've stationed myself. The second time his hands glaze over my ass, I retort, "Watch your hands or you're going to lose them."

"Aren't you adorable? Come on, Ashley's busy with a customer. Take a little break—she'll never know. Let's get to know each other, what do you say?" He produces a baggie with what looks like a couple joints. "You wanna get high?"

I try to keep my voice firm and calm. "Not really. Jeff, I've told you several times that I have a boyfriend and I really need this job. This is the last time I'm going to warn you to leave me alone."

He chuckles, refusing to take me seriously. Ashley is calling his name so he disappears to the front of the store again. If I had my taser, Jeff'd be getting to know Mr. Sparky. Keeping my head down like this completely goes against my nature, especially on a day like today when every nerve ending feels raw and irritated.

Inventory is mindless. Although I'm glad I don't have to put on my perky smile for customers, this job doesn't do much to occupy my thoughts. So I go over what I'm going to say tonight. Dad, about three years ago, there was a party... Dad, the first thing I want to say is that I'm okay... Dad, you know that chlamydia diagnosis? Dad, Logan wanted me to tell you something...

They all suck. They all make me feel like I'm going to puke.

I try to reassure myself that at least Beaver's dead; at least Dad won't be flying off the handle on some crazy scheme for vengeance. Until he finds out Logan was at the party.

Oh shit.

All right, I can do this. I'll say that some kids brought GHB to the party to get high and there was a mixup with the cups.

Dad's voice, thundering, 'Didn't I tell you to always watch your drink being poured?'

He won't yell. He won't be mad. Besides, how many times have I asked myself that question?

That's why you hate Madison so much. Because you fucked up. You fucked up. You. She's the walking, breathing embodiment of how stupid you were that night.

Deep breath.

Forget about Madison; she's an insect, an annoying skin rash, that black gunk on your shower curtain that never completely goes away.

There's no need to say that it was Logan who brought the GHB. If Dad presses me, I'll say I'm not sure how it ended up in my drink. That's not too big a lie, right?

And the salt lick? Oh no. No. Never happened. Let's just say that I don't remember most of the evening.

Dad won't be mad. I'm sure he won't be mad. No, of course he won't be mad. He'll pull me onto his lap and rock me.

And then he'll ask why I never told him. He'll be hurt, because he always thought we were so close. And what do I say? I don't know why, I don't know, I don't know.

And what do I tell him about Duncan? My not-rape. My first time. My real first time. Oh god.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't hear Jeff sneaking up behind me until he's placed both hands on my shoulders, massaging the tight muscles. I whirl around and knock him backwards, grabbing one of his arms and twisting it behind his back as painfully as I can. Jeff is propelled around and his torso hits the shelves with a loud bang. My clipboard clatters to the floor and papers scatter all over. "I told you to leave me alone," I hiss.

"You psycho bitch, what the fuck!"

"Yeah. I am a psycho bitch! I've been on good behavior for a really long time, and I'm itching to revisit my true self."

"Wha—? What are you talking about?"

"Jeff, I've been really patient with you. I've explained to you that I'm involved with someone. I don't get high. I need this job. I'm having a rough day, and you're pissing me off. You really don't want to make me your enemy." I pull hard on his arm, using all my body weight to wrench his shoulder in an unnatural direction.

"Ow! Let go! I'll stop, I swear."

"If you ever get within two feet of me again, I'll narc on you. I'll tell Ashley to make you do a urine test. You know, that possibility of random drug testing you agreed to on your application form? That shit stays in your body for ten days." It's a lie. The last thing I want is to rock the boat here by getting involved in employee drama. J. Crew is a decent place to work, and Ashley is a nice boss who appreciates me. But Jeff picked a bad day to aggravate me.

I let go of Jeff's arm, and he turns around gingerly and backs away from me, his expression clearly indicating that the world is insane and I'm Queen Bizarro. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll leave you alone."

Suddenly I laugh. Welcome back, old Veronica. Jeff looks totally freaked at my laughter and hustles back onto the sales floor.

Problem solved.

If only all my problems were that easy.

*****

It's still raining when my shift ends. The bus ride is over in a flash and like a zombie I find myself knocking on the apartment door, saying 'Honeybun'.

Every cell in my body screams "run", but there's nowhere to run to. Behind this door is everything I've got left in the world.

Logan opens the door, a tentative smile on his face to match mine. He kisses me dutifully on the cheek, and then, apparently emboldened, his lips find mine and he kisses me hard until my knees sag.

"Um, where's Dad?" I gasp, when he finally lets me go with a hint of a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I sent him out for ice cream."

I realize that something smells good. Chicken, I think. I flash on my mom preparing Thanksgiving, and suddenly I feel overwhelmed with missing her. Is she worrying about us, following the story in the papers? Or maybe Mom's lying drunk in a ditch, body rotted and ravaged from cheap booze, and she couldn't give two shits about us. Yeah, that's probably more likely. Forget about her. "Well, aren't you Suzy Homemaker. What's for dinner?"

"Roast chicken with stuffing, peas, and a surprise."

"A surprise?" I realize this is all for me, a good meal to prop me up so I can face the music later tonight. And I'm furious at his manipulation. "Sounds good," I manage.

He must notice my lack of enthusiasm. Logan cocks his head and says, "I thought maybe you'd be starving after I ravaged you this morning." A finger reaches out and smoothes my hair behind my ear. "No one's going to make you do anything, okay? If it feels right...you know...to talk to your dad—"

"I know." My voice is too harsh. He's trying really fucking hard here, and I'm being a bitch. I inhale and consciously modulate my tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Tell me more about this surprise." Ostentatiously, I sniff the air. "Garlic."

Logan puts his air around my waist and escorts me to the kitchen, where he lifts a pot lid. "What was your favorite thing on the Neptune Grand room service menu?"

"Ooh, garlic mashed potatoes?" I smile, despite myself.

"With lots of butter and salt. Comfort food at its finest."

The Betty Crocker cookbook I'd found for him at the garage sale is open on the counter, with a large stain covering the page and the binding's edge a little singed. The floor is sticky underfoot, and I'm betting there were a few disasters involved in the preparation of this meal. I resolve to enjoy every mouthful, no matter what. "You're the best. Thanks for remembering."

"Of course." He pulls me into a hug and whispers, "I'm trying to take care of you. If you'll let me."

"Yeah, I know." There's a knock on the door, and I go to let Dad in. The code system we've worked out is cumbersome, but we're getting used to it. We've made a contingency plan to contact each other through the casual encounters section on New York City's Craigslist if we ever have to split up.

Just a random thought about something going wrong—splitting up and maybe never seeing them again—and my heart starts pounding and I'm hyperventilating. I turn away from Dad and sit down on the couch to conceal my discomfiture.

"Good eatin' tonight," Dad announces as he puts the ice cream into the freezer. "Julia Childs here has been slaving over a hot stove all afternoon."

I snark, "Um, he shoved a chicken in the oven, they're frozen peas, and it's stuffing from a mix."

"I peeled the potatoes," Logan protests from the kitchen where he's stirring the pots. "That's not nothing."

"You took the giblets out of the chicken cavity, right?" I ask.

"The what? Crap. There was something inside the chicken?"

Dad chuckles. "He's kidding. I made sure he took them out. You know, he won't tell me what the occasion is."

"We're okay, that's the occasion. Isn't that enough?" I say, with a little bit of an edge to my voice.

Dad looks at me. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Well...you know that guy at work who's always bugging me?"

Logan turns and frowns. "You mean Mr. Grabby Hands?"

I nod. "He snuck up on me and started massaging my shoulders. He wanted me to smoke a joint with him and 'get to know each other'." I make air quotes and roll my eyes. "I was startled and I pinned him up against the wall—twisted his arm behind his back. You know. I, uh, I overreacted. Told him I'd narc on him if he didn't leave me alone." After our little scene, Jeff had avoided me, but I'd worried about it the whole afternoon.

Logan says, "Good. I hope you hurt him." A serving spoon clatters to the floor, and I wince as Logan wipes it on a towel and puts it back in the pot.

"Not good," I reply. "He's going to remember the girl who was a little too expert at self-defense moves. I could see it in his eyes."

"What choice did you have?" Dad asks. "You couldn't let him harass you forever."

"I should have done what a normal employee would do—talked to my supervisor. Now she's going to wonder what's going on, why he's avoiding me. What if he tells her what happened, and they start checking me out and looking at my bullshit resume?"

"I think you're worrying too much, honey," Dad says. "Try not to think about it."

"And it felt good to fight back. I'm tired of keeping my head down."

Logan's eyes meet mine, and I see that he gets it. That I'd been a tightly wound spring this morning, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. A condition that he's very familiar with. Logan says, "I think it's okay. Just be polite and businesslike with him in front of your boss. So that he'll look like he's the crazy one if he complains about you."

"He's right, honey. Jeff will probably do something stupid and get fired before you know it," Dad concurs. "Come on, let's eat. Everything'll seem better after a good meal."

The chicken's a little dry, but the stuffing is awesome, with lots of monosodium glutamate and salt, and gravy from a mix to boot. It's pretty hard to screw up peas with butter, so they're good too. And though the potatoes are not quite up to Neptune Grand standards, the Neptune Grand chef never made love to me, so I declare guilelessly that they are the best I've ever had.

Logan knows me very well. By the end of the meal, I'm relaxed and comfortable. Fortified. And after we've stacked the dishes in the sink, he sits beside me on the couch and clasps my hand. He's ready...the question is, am I?

Dad grabs the remote. "There's a Braves game on. What d'you say?"

"Maybe...we can talk for a little bit?" I say tentatively. Logan's fingers squeeze mine.

Dad replaces the remote on the table, a little too gently. "What's going on?" His eyes flick from my face to Logan's, and then to the kitchen, and I see that he understands, that there was a reason for the special dinner. "Talk to me, Veronica."

"There was a party. Sophomore year." Dad's face is puzzled. He doesn't get it. I take a deep breath. "It was a few weeks after the recall election. You were in Vegas, on one of your first skip traces."

"I'm sorry, honey, I don't understand."

"Somebody slipped me something during the party, and I, um, I woke up the next morning. I don't really remember anything about the party after getting there. And, uh...jesus." Logan's thumb strokes my hand. "The next morning, my clothes were, well, my dress strap was broken, and my underwear was..." I can't say it. I won't say it.

Dad's in shock. "Are you trying to tell me you were..." He can't say it either.

"I was roofied and raped." I'm stuttery and tremulous, all my strength and resolve ebbing away.

Dad stands up, his face white. "Veronica! Are you...are you okay?" He squeezes next to me onto the couch and hugs me with all his strength. I can feel him trembling.

"I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. I swear." It's like I've transferred all my nervous energy to Dad; I feel like a dirty sock—no, a used condom—and now he's the tightly coiled spring that's going to explode.

Dad pushes off the couch and starts pacing around the room, all impotent fury and vengeance denied. There's a terrible silence sucking all the air out of the apartment. "That's when I got the chlamydia," I rush to say. "I hated that you thought I was sleeping around when that juicy fact came out at Aaron's trial."

I've never seen this expression on his face, his jaw clenched and his eyes smoldering black with rage. There are new worry lines on his brow, and I wonder if I've scored his flesh permanently with my revelation. "Who did it? Veronica, who?"

I look at Logan, and then back at Dad. "Um, it's complicated. I didn't know for a long time, and then I found something out about a year after, and..." My voice fails.

I can't do this.

I can hear Dad's agitated breathing. He caught my glance at Logan, and now he's stopped pacing and stares directly at him. With a nod of his head, he barks, "Who was it? Was it him?" Dad's voice is menacing and suspicious beyond bearing. He must never find out that it was Logan who brought the drugs to the party.

"Dad, no! It was Cassidy, and... And then Duncan."

"What?"

I can see him picturing me being passed around in some sick gang rape, and I hurry to clarify. "Dad, it wasn't like a crazy orgy. Give me a chance to explain what happened. Someone brought the drugs to the party, and...they didn't mean to give them to me, but they were in a drink that someone handed to me. I know I shouldn't have taken that drink, I'm so sorry that I did that, you'd told me over and over again not to do that, please don't be mad at me." I'm babbling. I hate the way Dad's looking at me.

"Veronica, it's okay," Logan murmurs.

My dad finally perceives my turmoil through his own rage. With great effort, he calms his voice. "Veronica, I'm sorry. I'm not mad. Please tell me what happened after you had the drink."

I taste blood—I've gnawed a chunk out of my lip. Carefully choosing my words, I continue. "I was really out of it, and somehow I ended up in one of the bedrooms. I don't know if someone took me there or if I stumbled there myself and passed out. I guess Beav— I mean, Cassidy found me there, and..." I breathe for a few seconds. "Later, well, Duncan had been dosed too, and you know that sometimes those drugs make you a little..." I exhale loudly. "Eager. I guess Duncan thought I was into it and we...uh, we had sex. Even though I don't remember it."

"Don't you dare call it sex," Dad says angrily. "You couldn't give consent."

"But neither could Duncan."

"Why didn't you report this?" I don't respond, and Dad repeats, "Veronica? Why didn't you go to the sheriff's department or the hospital?"

"I tried to report it. Lamb didn't believe me." Dad gasps, he actually fucking gasps. This is news to Logan as well, and his hand crushes mine. "He told me, 'Is there anyone in particular you’d like me to arrest or should I just round up the sons of the most important families in town?'" My sarcasm is withering. As soon as I say the words, I regret them for the way that they destroy my dad. A little euphemism here would have sufficed. He'll never be the same after hearing what Lamb said to me that day.

"That fucking son of a bitch! I'd kill him with my bare hands if he wasn't already dead. Veronica, why didn't you tell me? I would have gone with you and insisted that Lamb investigate."

"You were already in a war with the '09ers. Can you imagine what they would have said if I'd claimed to have been raped? By one of them? It was all '09ers at that party."

Dad frowns. "So that means you were there," he says, turning to Logan. "Why didn't you protect her?"

I squeeze Logan's hand with a warning, but he ignores me. "I wish I had. God, you have no idea. I wish to hell I'd swooped her up and gotten her out of there when I saw that she was bombed. I was furious with you, for that vendetta you had against the Kane family, and pissed at Veronica for taking your side. I'm eternally sorry for this, but I made Veronica's life hell that whole year. My friends too; we mocked her and tormented her, and I think that's why she got raped that night. Because I took out my rage at you on her."

"You prick. Your rage." Dad's acrimony is awful and terrifying. "You motherfucking asshole! Why didn't you do something when you saw that she'd been drugged?"

I interrupt. "Dad! It's complicated, you've got to calm down. Logan was fifteen years old and he made a mistake. And we were all grieving for Lilly. All of us were pretty screwed up at the time."

Dad's still fuming. "And that kid Cassidy—wasn't he your best friend's brother?"

I protest, "He didn't know what Cassidy was doing. No one did." Feeling Logan squirming beside me, I add, "Logan, please, let me tell it." I put my arm on Logan's, and his eyes meet mine.

"Hold on a second," Dad says, his eyes narrowed as he watches my interaction with Logan. I feel like a suspect, hauled down to the station for questioning, and I shrink back into the couch cushions. "What don't you want Logan to say? What did he do?" He turns to Logan. "What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Logan takes a breath, and I rush to say, "Daddy, he didn't do anything. He just gets upset when we talk about it."

Logan shakes off my hand clawing at his arm. Staring at my father, his eyes steady and his face grim, he says, "I didn't give the drugs to Veronica that night, but I'm the one who brought the Liquid X to the party. Not to hurt anyone, but because we wanted to have fun, like a rave fun. I gave it all away, I swear to you—I didn't know she'd been dosed."

It's my turn to gasp. "Logan, no!"

Dad grabs Logan's collar and hauls him to his feet. Logan's got six inches on my father, but Dad's ruthless, a monstrous avenger, with Logan cowering from his fury. I'm on my feet, without realizing that I stood up. Futilely, I pull on Dad's arm, trying to get his attention, attempting to stop him. I've never heard Dad's voice sound like this, an inferno of hatred and retribution. He growls at Logan, "Wait a second. Are you fucking telling me that you brought date rape drugs to a party, and you didn't keep track of them? And then my daughter ended up raped, twice, because of it? Because of you?"

I see what's coming; there can be only one result of this anger. "Daddy, no!"

And then Dad punches Logan in the face twice, once for each rape, I guess. Logan falls to the floor, and Dad pulls him up again. There's a whine to Logan's words, and I have a fleeting thought that this is how Logan sounded when he begged Aaron to stop. "I'm sorry...I've tried to make it up to her every day."

Logan doesn't protect himself, and Dad slaps him, openhanded. I try to push myself between them, snot running from my nose and my eyes blurred with tears. Dad shoves me aside and hits him again, and again, before he finally lets Logan drop to the floor and walks away, his body shaking with the wrath that still courses through his body.

This is how it ends. This has to be a heart attack, this cramping pain in my chest and not nearly enough oxygen in my lungs, because Dad's going to send Logan away, and Logan's going to get arrested and killed in prison. That's if Dad doesn't actually kill him in front of me.

All because I couldn't deal with my rape. Three, no, three and a half years ago; it's ridiculous to be such a mess. You don't even remember it! How can you be so stupid? Stupid Veronica, it's all your fault. Stupid weak bitch cunt loser.

I want to run. Run. Run!

....The smell of gasoline and sounds of a scuffle. Crashes and grunts; there was no way to tell who was punching who. I pounded on the walls of my dark prison, scrabbling for something, anything that would release me. Dad had come to my rescue, but it was too late, too late, and the fire would consume me. Veronica Mars, extra-crispy recipe. 'She's in the fridge, Keith. You might want to check up on her.' A cautionary tale, you got that right. Everything was burning, incendiary: gasoline-fueled flames leapt into the air. Dad, his arms and back on fire. The scream of searing skin, and the odor of charred flesh and singed hair....

I'm in the dark, hunched into a ball, rocking, rocking. My head's going to explode. My lungs hurt. I'm cold, so cold, shivering, trembling. Cool tile all around me, frigid porcelain leeching away all my body heat. How did I get here? When did I get here? Where is here? Rhythmic tapping. No, knocking. Probably Jake Kane coming to kill me, the man who would be my daddy, except he's not. He's not. Dad is my dad. Daddy, on fire. My daddy walked through fire to save me.

"Veronica, honey, can you unlock the door?"

He sounds rational. Calm. He doesn't sound like he's going to pummel Logan into the ground. But you never really know.

"Veronica, I'm so sorry. Please let me in."

"No," I whisper. I put my hands over my ears; I don't want to hear it when he kills Logan. All my fault. All my fault.

Scratching noises, and then a bang, and the door flies open. I shriek, and cover my head with my arms, pulling as far away from the door as I can. Murmured voices. Talking about me, they're talking about me, they're going to do something to me. Strong arms grab onto me, and I fight. I slap and kick and punch, but they defeat me, they control me. Struggling against their grip as they carry me to the bedroom...got to get away, got to get away.

Shh...shh...shh.

Imprisoned in a hug. What's that thing called, Stockholm syndrome? It feels okay to be hugged, but that's how you know you're really screwed...

Shh...shh...shh.

...even worse than the first time...

...exhausted since she got here...

...panic attack...

It's okay. Shh. It's okay.

...maybe we should take her to a hospital...should have told me...

...I've been really worried...too frightened to sleep alone...

It's okay. Shh. Shh.

...a hell of a black eye...

...it doesn't matter...

...the cupboard above the refrigerator, behind the box...

I'm eased into a sitting position.  A glass is placed against my lips; horrible, awful Scotch whiskey. I sputter, but a few drops go down.  "Try to drink a little, honey."

'Cowboy up, Mars.'

I cough and take another sip.  It burns, alcohol flames licking at my throat.  A hand smoothing my brow, that's— Logan? Logan's still here?  And Dad. That's Dad cuddling me.

I see a woman in the cheap mirror above the bureau. Not me; I don't have auburn hair. The image is distorted, and the glass of the mirror has black speckles where the backing's worn off, almost like the woman's been singed by fire.

That's some strange-looking chick staring back at me.

"Veronica, Logan told me a little bit about what's been going on. That you've been having nightmares every night."

I tense. My nightmare. I remember wanting to control that information, to massage it into something that I could handle.

Dad sighs. "I'm sorry I hit him. I understand that you were all kids at the time. I wish it hadn't happened the way it did, but I believe him when he says he's sorry. I shouldn't have hit him."

There's sludge in my throat, from tears and whiskey and stress. I swallow a little, but my voice is still husky and thick with emotion. "Logan's okay? He's— He's still here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

I turn a little and see his face. Cheekbone reddened, eye swollen half-shut, a little blood on his lip; a scruffy beard and close-cropped hair, but still Logan Echolls. I think about how he'd taken care of me today—how good it had felt to surrender to him. I think about Dad, and how I need to fix this, to rehabilitate Logan. And suddenly, the answer's as plain as the fiery mark on Logan's cheek. "Logan, can you get me some water?" I cough and try to get my voice under control.

"Of course."

Once he's left the bedroom, I say it. "Dad, you realize that he's exactly like you? When I need to be rescued, Logan's right there, even if we're fighting. When he finds out that someone's hurt me, he punches their lights out. Even if I push him away, he's there for me."

Dad scoffs. "We're alike?"

"In all the important ways. Give him a chance to grow up." And all the tension, all the doubts in me slip away, because Logan's figuring this out, just like I am.

"Why couldn't you ever tell me what happened at that party?"

"I just kept thinking, 'no good can come of it'."

"You know it doesn't change how much I love you."

"I know."

Logan returns with water for me, and I sip it dutifully. Dad says, as casually as he can, "Maybe tomorrow we can talk some more. You know, about Chicago, maybe about your dream if you feel up to it."

I look at Logan. "You're awfully chatty today. Is there anything you didn't tell him?" Some buried instinct tells me to load my words with sarcasm, but I'm just too tired, too wrung out, and I let the words float out without anger.

Logan scratches his head; he seems befuddled by my equanimity. "Go ahead, get mad at me if you want. But we were trying to figure out if you needed a doctor. Maybe a hospital. You scared us." His eyes slide away from me.

"A hospital?" I start trembling. I'm more fucked up than I thought if they'd even considered a hospital.

"Shh. It's okay. You're going to be fine." Dad hugs me a little tighter. "How 'bout you guys take the bedroom tonight?" At my look of disbelief, he nods. "Logan said you slept better when he was with you."

"Yeah. What about—"

"I trust you to be careful."

"You're not mad at him? You're not going to...?"

"I'm not. Give me a hug, and then I want you to get some sleep."

Dad embraces me tightly, and I whisper, "I'm sorry I never told you."


Continue reading...Prognosis