FIC: For The Good Times (1/2) [L/R, NC-17]
- Title: For The Good Times
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Rogue can touch - so what's with the angst?
Disclaimer: Sooooo not mine. Even the song ain't mine. It's by Kris
Kristofferson, but the version I'm using is the one *sung* by Al Green,
'cause that man rocks my world. :)
Dedication: This bunny came straight from Diebin Farms. She grows some
huge, tenacious suckers out there! ;) Thanks for being my partner in
LoganTorture, Tyler. You always hurt the ones you love. So sayeth the
Thanks: To Gowdie, Nancy, and Jengrrrl, who all helped me figure out how
to complete this never-ending monstrosity. ;)
Author's Note: Look, whatever you do, don't stop reading after you see the
song lyrics. LOL They'll depress you anyway, and you may as well give me
a chance. Oh yeah, and the end has not been betad. I just want to get it
the hell off my hard drive before I lose my mind. Its been there for,
like, three freakin months. What was my point? Oh yeah, if it sucks, the
fault is entirely mine. Fully. Totally.
Read on. <grinning>
don't look so sad, I know it's over
but life goes on and this world will keep on turning
let's just be glad we had this time to spend together
there's no need to watch the bridges that we're burning
I'll get along, and I'm sure you'll find another
and I'll be here if you should ever find you need me
don't say a word about tomorrow or forever
there'll be time enough for sadness when you leave me
lay your head upon my pillow
hold your warm and tender body close to mine
hear the whisper of the rain drops flowing soft against the window
and make believe you love me one more time
for the good times...
It happened because Rogue was distracted.
She was sitting in the library, working on a few of the meditation
exercises Professor Xavier had given her. She barely noticed when her
Persian kitten, Jasmin, nudged the not-quite-closed door open and padded
inside. Then the cat jumped onto her lap. Rogue was so relaxed that she
was only dimly aware of the new weight on her legs.
But It made her think of Logan. Yes, she was thinking about Logan. With
a smile, she recalled the day that Jean and Scott had given her the tiny
kitten. Logan had tried his damndest to look horrified, but after five
years of living inside his soul, Rogue wasn't so easily fooled
anymore. She knew that he'd lost his heart the moment she had, when the
tiny ball of smoke-grey fur had opened her blue eyes and meowed plaintively.
Five years, and they seemed like mere moments. She grasped at every day
that passed, not wanting to let it go. Five years, and Rogue had never in
her entire life been happier. She had Logan. She had love. And he didn't
care if he couldn't touch her skin. He still cherished her, still held her
closer than skin. In his soul.
She smiled, and didn't notice that Jasmin had left the warmth of her lap
and begun to claw her way up Rogue's shirt. Then she felt it, the delicate
touch of a soft paw on her cheek. Startled, Rogue gasped and began to jerk
away when it hit her.
It hit her.
Jasmin wasn't hurt. She merely sat there, perched on Rogue's shoulder,
with one paw on the woman's face and her pink tongue curling out with a
She wasn't hurt.
Jasmin yowled as Rogue bolted up from the wing backed chair, panting. "Oh
God. Oh my God," she whispered aloud, watching her cat stalk off, annoyed
at the sudden movement. "Oh God "
She burst out the door, nearly knocking over a student in her haste.
He called after her, "Miss Gordon Whoa, are you okay?"
Timmy, the boy's name was Timmy. The knowledge was a vague pulse in
Rogue's mind as she stumbled. She tried to respond, then shook her head
and dashed down the hallway, intent only on reaching the Professor.
He was alone in his office when she came crashing through the door, chest
"Rogue? Good Lord Has something happened?" The fear on his face made
her shake her head wildly in negation.
She began to babble incoherently. "No! My I touched Oh God, Professor,
I *touched*--" She broke off suddenly, waving her hands madly around her
head. "Just look," she begged.
Touched? Who had she touched? With panic threatening to break his
control, Charles Xavier reached out with his mind and found the younger
woman in turmoil. Her thoughts raged around his, and then he focused on one.
[...touched Jasmin--she's fine didn't hurt her--oh God, she's FINE--]
"Rogue, calm down," he commanded. "Rogue!"
Finally, she collapsed into the chair he indicated. "Professor, have I
"I'm going to summon Jean," he murmured. "And Logan. If we should need to
further test this, he's the ideal candidate for--"
"No!" she interrupted, unyielding. "Not Logan. Not if it's not true,
Professor. It I can't let him think it if it's not true." The look she
cast him was pleading. "Please."
He nodded. "Very well, then. Just Jean. Perhaps she'll be able to shed
some light on this."
Rogue sat on her bed, unmoving. Across the room, Logan slept peacefully,
unaware of the fear and conflict raging inside her.
Twelve hours. It had been twelve hours since Jean had smilingly touched a
bare hand to hers, telling her how happy she was for her. It seemed unreal
now, as Rogue stared down at her hands. She could touch others. Neither
Jean nor Professor Xavier could offer any explanation, though Jean had
tried valiantly. She performed on Rogue every physical test at her
disposal, but nothing about the young woman's body had changed. None of
the results were different.
But she could *touch*.
The Professor had been so proud of her. He sat silently by, smiling,
watching Jean work. "You've done it, Rogue," he'd said later. "We may
never know how or why, but you have done it."
She had begged the Professor and Jean both to keep it to themselves, told
them that she needed time to come to terms with the sudden change. They
simply smiled benevolently and assumed that she wanted to tell everyone,
especially Logan, herself.
But she'd told no one.
She came to her feet, padding wearily across the hardwood floor. Her
lover's bare skin, silvered by moonlight, was a Siren call, and she had no
choice but to heed it. Her shaking fingertips touched the slope of his
shoulder, and she bit her lip in an effort to keep from crying out.
She could touch him; why hadn't she *told* him?
He shifted unconsciously into her touch, sighing softly, and Rogue drew
back her hand, chest heaving. She was scared out of her mind, and she had
no idea why. Was it the fact that she'd lived for so long, seven years
now, without naked touch? Or was it something else entirely that kept her
Was it the depth of her feelings for the man on the bed before her?
It was more than a little ironic that she and Logan had ended up
together. He was pure animal energy, and she was untouchable. He walked
around glaring at the world, daring it as a whole to take him on, while she
hid behind layer after layer of cloth, constantly shrouded in a barrier of
Rogue forced herself to admit that, at times, Logan overwhelmed her. He
made her lose control. She, who always had to be so careful, completely
lost it whenever he was within ten feet of her. It had been that way since
the moment she'd first seen him, standing unbeaten in a metal cage; he was
so powerful, so primal, so
Rogue shivered. If he could affect her body so compellingly through the
insensate clothing she continuously wore, how quickly and deeply would she
fall apart when bared to him? Would the thin veneer of restraint she
maintained disintegrate under his naked fingers like so much dust, leaving
her scattered to the winds, helpless in his arms?
Yes, she would lose herself in him. That frightened her more than it
should, and more than she would ever admit.
Rogue sighed in confusion and returned to her bed. Curling into a
protective ball under the comforter, she resolved to sleep on it and figure
it all out in the morning.
The next morning stretched into afternoon, and still, Rogue had no idea how
to tell Logan that no walls remained between them, that nothing could
physically keep them apart.
Rogue had morning classes to teach, but had a hard time focusing on
literature and history. She let her last class go nearly half an hour
early, stunning and pleasing the students. Then she reported to the
medical bay, as ordered, where Jean insisted on running more tests. She
spent a large part of the afternoon being poked and prodded and jabbed as
Jean mumbled hypotheses under her breath and jotted notes in her file.
"I don't get it," Jean finally pronounced. "Everything's normal, which
answers the question, I suppose, of whether your mutation is controlled
physically or mentally." She blew her bangs out of her face, then grinned
as she hopped up on the table next to Rogue. "So How'd Logan take the
news? I heard him whistling over breakfast this morning and almost busted
a gut trying not to snicker," she teased, elbowing her friend lightly.
Rogue froze, guilt painted across her face. "I didn't tell him," she
admitted quietly, toying with a thread on her sleeve.
"Rogue " Jean seemed stunned. "Why?"
She struggled to find the words to express her fears to Jean, but all that
came out was a bald-faced lie. "I I didn't want to tell him without
bein' sure. You know, in case this was just a fleetin' thing."
"I see," she mumbled, and her tone told Rogue that she didn't see, not at all.
"Jean, don't tell anybody, please. Not yet. This is gonna take some
gettin' used to, this touchin' thing, and " Rogue's eyes met
Jean's. "It's a little scary."
She smiled. "Don't worry, Rogue. This secret is yours to
tell. Just Don't wait too long, all right? It's good news, and it
should be shared. When you're ready," she added, sliding off the
table. "Now, how does dinner sound?"
"Better than stickin' around here with you and your needles, that's for
damn sure," Rogue retorted, grinning at the redheaded woman. "And
"Hey, is that you, darlin'? There aren't any clean towels in here "
Rogue kicked the door shut, then dropped the wicker laundry basket onto the
floor and grabbed a folded towel from the top. "That's 'cause I just did
all our laundry this evenin'," she informed Logan, nudging the bathroom
door open and holding the towel out to him. "You weren't at dinner," she
noted, trying not to stare too blatantly at his wet, naked body.
Logan rubbed the towel vigorously over his head before wrapping it low
around his hips. "Aw, I'm gonna grab something in a minute. I was in the
Danger Room." His arms shot out, snaking around her waist, hauling her up
against his damp chest. "Worked up quite an appetite, too," he growled
against her shoulder.
Rogue stiffened slightly at the contact. "I'll bet you did," was her
Frowning, Logan released her. "What's up, Marie?" he asked, dropping a
kiss to her gloved wrist. "You coming down with something?"
She flinched away from his concern, walking out of the bathroom.
Logan followed, confused by her distance. "Marie "
"I'm fine, Logan," she lied, dropping onto her bed. "I just I'm a little
"You sure?" At her nod, he moved to the dresser. "'Cause I want you to
talk to me, you know. If you need to."
At his words, her eyes shot guiltily to him. Had someone said
something? But when he turned back to her, his eyes were clear, guileless,
and she sighed in relief at his easy smile.
She had to tell him and soon, or she was going to go nuts.
"Actually, Logan, there is somethin' I need to talk to you about," she
corrected herself, sitting up as he pulled on his clothes. "Somethin'
His smile faltered for a split second, then he shrugged, sitting on his own
bed across from her. He rested his hands on his knees and cocked his
head. "I'm listening," he said hesitantly.
The words wouldn't come. Rogue's throat worked, and her lips moved
soundlessly. Her gaze dropped to her entwined fingers and tears welled
up. She could barely breathe, much less speak. "Logan--" Her voice
cracked, and she cleared her throat. "We've been together for a long time."
Again, his smile faded for a moment. "Five years," he noted, then smiled
softly. "I didn't forget our anniversary or something, did I?"
"No, it's nothing like that," she assured him, shaking her head. "Five
years." Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, then looked at Logan once more. "Why?"
"Why what, baby?" Confusion and a little fear twisted his mouth,
compressing his beautiful lips into a thin line.
Tears jeweled Rogue's lashes, and she breathed raggedly. "Why do you love
me?" At the last words, her lips began to tremble, and she sighed shakily.
Logan's eyes narrowed, and he moved to sit beside Rogue, pulling her close
to him. "Hey, hey What's this all about?" he demanded, wrapping one of
her hands in his.
"Why do you love me?" she repeated, upset but immovable. "I need to know,
Logan. I need to know why."
"Jesus, Marie. I love you 'cause you're you. My Marie. That's it." He
squeezed her shoulder.
Her eyes touched his face, searching for uncertainty, for doubt. "And my
skin?" Her voice was low, pained.
Logan tried to choose his words carefully. Sometimes, when she was in
these moods, it seemed like nothing he said could make a difference. It
was almost as if she couldn't believe that he loved her in spite of not
being able to touch her skin.
He understood the feeling. There were still moments when amazement
overtook Logan, and he wondered how a woman like Marie could see something
in him worth cherishing.
Finally, he spoke. "We've always been pretty good at getting around that,
Marie. And besides, I'm not in love with your skin, gorgeous as it
is. I'm in love with you."
Her shoulders sank, and she turned and buried her face against his
shirt. "I love you, Logan," she choked. "I don't know what I'd do if I
lost you " Her breathing hitched and he could smell the salty tang of tears.
"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he assured her quietly, leaning back until
he was lying flat on the bed with his lover cradled in his arms. "I swear
it, Marie. You're not gonna get rid of me."
She cried for a long time. Logan continued to speak softly to her until
she quieted and sleep claimed her. He was left holding her slumbering body
to his, wondering what in hell had scared her so badly.
Ororo sighed as she climbed down from the library ladder, brushing dust off
her palms onto her jeans. "That's the last of them," she noted, turning to
Rogue and smiling. "Next time, make sure you sweet-talk Logan into
handling the new book shipments, hmm?"
Rogue's answering smile was weak, and Ororo frowned. Rogue had been acting
strangely for the past few days, and it was beginning to concern her. She
cocked her head as she studied the younger woman's tense face and sad eyes,
and she wondered yet again what was wrong.
"Rogue? Are you all right?" she asked, wading through the emptied
cardboard boxes that surrounded them.
"I'm fine," she answered quickly, and Ororo knew that the response had been
"You don't look fine," she persisted, still moving toward Rogue. "You
look--" Her words cut off as the heel of her boot snagged on the edge of a
flattened box, tripping her.
"Ororo!" Rogue cried out, reaching to catch her falling friend. "Oh my
God, are you okay?"
Ororo clutched Rogue's arms, laughing softly and righting herself. "I'm
fine, I just tripped " She trailed off and her eyes shot up. "Rogue?"
A sick feeling twisted Rogue's stomach as she looked down, realizing only
then that Ororo was gripping her upper arm, bare between the top of her
glove and her sleeve.
"Nothing's happening," Ororo whispered, shocked. "Rogue, your
power--" She stopped short and sucked in a breath. The face she stared
into was absent of surprise, bearing only guilt and pain. "You knew?"
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "It's been four days now," she
confirmed. "I'm sorry, Ororo."
"For what?" she grinned, pulling Rogue into a hug. "This is fantastic,
Rogue! How? How did it happen?" she demanded, dragging her to sit on a
"I don't know," Rogue confessed unevenly. "It just *did*."
"You've worked for so long, Rogue. This is wonderful for you." Ororo's
smile broadened and she laughed. "You and Logan must be absolutely thrilled."
Rogue glanced away, then back at Ororo. "I haven't told him yet," she said
in a rush. "Please don't say anythin' about it, Ororo. Please."
The easy grin slid from Ororo's face, and she sat, silent. "Is there a
reason why you haven't told Logan?" she inquired gently.
Rogue stared at the rug beneath her feet for a long moment. "I'm scared,
'Ro," she admitted shakily. "What if "
"What if what?" Ororo asked softly, shifting closer to Rogue and sliding an
arm around her shoulders. "Talk to me."
"What if--" Rogue's voice broke, and she laughed tearfully. "When we
first got here, Logan and I Well, no one's gonna argue the fact that he
wanted Jean. Beautiful, *taken* Jean."
"Yes, but that changed, Rogue. Then he wanted *you*, and he still does."
"Then he wanted me," Rogue repeated in a whisper, nodding. "Yeah." She
turned tortured brown eyes to meet Ororo's concerned ones. "And Logan
would be the first to say that he's always loved a challenge." She closed
her eyes, and the tears that had been welling in them flooded down her
cheeks. "What if--if that's what I am? What if that's *all* I am? An
Ororo shook her head vehemently. "Rogue, you know that's not true," she
insisted, raising her hand to the younger woman's cheek to wipe away her
tears. "He loves you, and that's not something that comes lightly or
easily for a man like Logan." She smiled as she brushed a stray lock of
hair from Rogue's face. "He's going to be so happy. So happy."
Rogue shivered. "I don't know how to tell him now, 'Ro. It's been days,
and he'll want to know why I waited, why I didn't--"
"You must tell him, Rogue, and soon." Ororo's face was grave. "The longer
you keep this from him "
"The more it'll hurt when I finally do tell him," Rogue finished, wiping
Ororo grasped Rogue's hand with her own and sat silently, not voicing her
other concerns. Foremost in her mind was the knowledge that Xavier's
school was not a large place, and Rogue's newfound control over her
mutation could not forever remain a secret. If Rogue did not tell Logan
herself, then he would find out elsewhere.
A cold knot formed in Ororo's stomach. Something told her that hearing the
news from anyone other than a joyful Rogue would hurt Logan beyond anything
It was only later that she would know how prophetic that thought had been.
Logan stood aside as students streamed out of Rogue's classroom. A few of
them stared at him warily, and some with blatant curiosity. He merely
stared back, waiting until the last of them had passed.
"You done freakin' my students out now, Logan?" Rogue called laughingly
from the front of the room.
He ducked inside the room, grinning as he watched her erase the blackboard
and put her chalk away. "Nah, I must be getting mellow in my old age," he
told her, levering himself to sit on a table in front of her desk. "I
didn't even growl at any of 'em."
She feigned a pout as she moved to stand between his spread knees, placing
her gloved hands on his cheeks. "You still growl at me," she pointed out.
He smirked as she rubbed a thumb across his lips. "Yeah, but only 'cause
you like it." He grasped her hips and let a growl rumble up from his
chest, noting with satisfaction the sensual widening of her eyes. "See?"
"A very valid point," she agreed, smiling.
Logan was glad to see her looking so happy and light-hearted. She'd been
in such a weird funk for the last week or so that he was starting to get
seriously worried. But she seemed carefree now, and he wondered if maybe
she really had just been tired. "Hey," he said. "It's Friday."
Rogue's brow creased in confusion. "So it is."
"So Whaddya say we take the weekend off?" he suggested. "I don't think
the school's gonna fall apart while we're gone," he added, nipping at her
finger. "We could go camping or something. Just you, me, and more stars
than you could ever count."
She let her eyes drift shut at his words. "Mmm, I love the way you think,
Logan." Then she sobered and moved her hands to his shoulders. "But I
think we should talk first. Logan, there's somethin' I need to tell you."
His fingers tightened on her hips as fear edged back into his
chest. "Okay, Marie."
Rogue hesitated, then whispered, "Somethin' has happened, Logan. Somethin'
that could change everythin'."
He stared at her, waiting for her to continue, then laughed
painfully. "Are we gonna play twenty questions, or are you just gonna lay
it on me?"
Rogue was a bit taken aback by his rough tone. "Logan, it's--"
"Rogue!" Scott stood in the doorway, leaning in. "Can I come in?" he
asked, and she broke away from Logan.
"Sure, come on in," she invited, casting a sidelong glance at Logan, who
looked extremely irritated at the intrusion.
Scott grinned and walked toward her. "Jean just told me the news," he
announced cheerfully. "This is great, Rogue."
"Oh God," she whispered. "Scott, I--"
Before she could speak, he swept her up in a huge hug. "No, it's better
than great," he corrected, ignoring Logan's glare. "It's marvelous." He
pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I can't tell you how happy I am for you."
Rogue stood, frozen, as Scott released her, laughing. A look at Logan
confirmed that he hadn't missed the kiss and the weight it carried. He
looked betrayed. And angry.
Scott also caught the murderous expression Logan wore. He held up his
hands and chuckled. "Whoa, relax, Logan. I'm not trying to move in on
your girl, or anything. I'm just--"
"Get out, Summers." The words were flat and harsh.
Scott lowered his hands. "Logan, what--"
"Out." Logan punctuated the word with the release of his claws. "Now."
Scott frowned. "Rogue?" he questioned, looking at her.
She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Go, Scott. It's fine."
He glanced between Logan and Rogue once more, then turned and walked out,
closing the door behind him.
Logan retracted his claws, jaw clenching with quiet fury as he advanced on
Rogue, grabbing her arm and dragging her glove off. He stared at the
exposed skin of her wrist for a moment before wrapping his fingers around it.
"How long?" he rasped, fighting to ignore the sparks of sensation that shot
through his nerves at the feel of her bare skin against his hand.
She shuddered and shook her head. His eyes were unreadable, and she was
nearly sick with fear. He would never understand now why she hadn't told
him. He would never be able to comprehend the fear that had gripped her,
the insecurity. He couldn't, not after finding out like this.
"Tell me, Rogue."
She nearly cried out, hearing that name fall from his lips. He never
called her that, not even in his angriest moments. "Nearly a week," she
Logan exhaled shakily, snatching his hand back from her wrist, and Rogue
reached for him. "Logan, please. I was--"
"Save it," he spat, turning on his heel and stomping out.
Rogue watched him go, then closed her eyes against the pain washing through
her. All of her fears seemed so stupid now, so foolish. And now she'd
screwed everything up, made her very biggest fear a reality.
She was losing Logan, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Logan skidded the bike to a stop outside the tiny, rundown building that
housed Reggie's Bar. He'd driven right past Lily's, not wanting to drown
his sorrows where anyone might find him.
The inside of the bar was smoky even though it was nearly deserted, and
Logan planted himself on a stool with a clear purpose in mind - to get as
pathetically drunk as was possible for him.
The bartender, a portly older man, wiped his hands and approached as Logan
lit his cigar. "Help ya?"
"Jack Daniels, straight," he answered. "The bottle," he growled as the man
slid a glass in front of him.
The bartender sighed, then shrugged and flipped the metal spout off the
nearly full bottle, placing it on the bar next to Logan's glass. "It's
your funeral," he mumbled, ambling away.
That almost made him smile. No, not his funeral, though he could always
wish. Maybe, one of these days, it would come true.
Logan shook his head and tossed the contents of his glass back in one
swallow. No, he wouldn't think about that yet. Not until at least half
the bottle was in his stomach, maybe more. He couldn't.
A quarter of an hour later, the bottle was empty and the world was
spinning. Logan smiled, deeply grateful to his friend, the whiskey bottle,
for making blessed numbness possible.
"She never loved me, Jack," he murmured, picking the empty bottle up and
cradling it. "She couldn't have. I mean, look at her. And look at
me." He shook his head, ignoring the concerned looks the bartender was
giving him. "She's perfect. Perfect little Marie." He dropped his head,
leaning it against the bar. "Perfect "
It was Logan's secret, the truth he'd always known in his soul and never
admitted, not even to himself. He'd always known, deep inside, that she
would walk away from him. That, one day, his beautiful Marie would realize
that he had nothing to offer her - no life, no future, not even a past to
share. And then she would slowly rip him apart, with sad eyes and soft
words, and tell him that it wasn't working, and he would die.
He would die.
He wanted to die.
"Hey, buddy. You okay?"
Logan grimaced, wanting the grizzled old man to go back to tending bar and
leave him the hell alone. Already, the pleasant buzz was fading, replaced
by a hangover he knew would last only minutes. He welcomed the pain,
savored the distraction from the ache in his chest. "I'm gonna be
alright," he said aloud, raising his head, and he wished the words were true.
The man flashed him a skeptical look. "You just polished off a bottle of
JD in fifteen minutes, pal. You ain't gonna be alright. Hell, I'm
surprised your ass ain't on the floor."
Holding the aforementioned bottle aloft, Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Don't
suppose I could have another?"
"You gotta be kidding me." The man sighed, then leaned a little closer to
Logan. "Is there somebody you want me to call? Your wife, maybe?"
Logan's eyes clenched shut for a moment, then he stood, his legs steady,
and stared the man down. "I said I'm okay," he growled, yanking out his
wallet and tossing a sizeable bill on the bar along with the empty bottle.
The bartender watched in incredulity as he strode out of the bar, not
missing a single step.
Once on his bike, Logan had no idea where to go. He wasn't ready to return
to the mansion; he had to figure some things out first, like how to keep
breathing. So he headed for a spot he and Marie had found a couple of
years back, a tiny clearing in the woods near the school.
He lay back in the warm grass and watched the sun fade away, giving up the
sky to the moon and stars.
"You fucking moron," he whispered painfully. He'd made a complete idiot of
himself that afternoon by suggesting that he and Marie go away for the
weekend to lie beneath those stars together. She didn't want him touching
her, that much was certain. After all, she hadn't even told him it was a
A week. She'd known for a week.
Now all of her weird behavior made sense to Logan; she'd been trying to
figure out how to let him down easy. She'd figured out how to control her
mutation, and it was time for her to move on, see what else was out there
for her. If Logan had been a tad bit nobler, like Summers, maybe, then he
might have understood.
But he wasn't, and the animal inside him screamed. The beast that had been
tamed by the gentle touch of Marie's hands howled for her, for her voice
and her eyes and everything that she was. It demanded that he go to her,
burn her with his touch until she was branded as deeply as he was.
Until she was *his*.
It made him want to cry, because he thought she *was* his, but it had all
been an illusion. It was a pretty dream that he was waking from, only to
find that reality sucked, and he'd give anything to sleep in ignorance once
And still the animal roared.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until the beast
quieted. Instead of peace, he found another voice whispering inside him,
one that was hushed and desperate. It reminded him that she wasn't gone
yet, that she hadn't left. That he still had time. He still had a chance.
Hope. It was faint, almost undetectable, but it was there.
Marie loved him and, in a way, she always would. Logan knew that much. So
he would let her go, let her see what else the world held for her. Maybe
then, if he was lucky, she'd come back to him.
But, until then, he had time. He could still touch her, remind her how
good it had been. How much he loved her.
God, he loved her.
He climbed to his feet.
Maybe he could have one more night.
... TBC in Part 2 ...
If you love someone, let him go. If it's meant to be, he'll give you his