Spoilers through 1.22, LitB.
A/N: Boy, that Logan's a psychic, isn't he? The italics is the LoVe Beach Confrontation.
Her palms slap against the the metal of the refrigerator, echoing with her voice as she cries out in terror. She hopes against hope that her dad can hear her, that he'll figure out where she is. It's dark, her only light the redness from the the walkie talkie cleched in her fist. It's light washes over her chaoticly as she pounds.
So, I guess we broke up, huh?
Her hands hurt, but she can't feel them. It's as if she's gone numb to everything but the need to get out. The air is humid, hot and thick. She gasps it frantically, even though the rational part of her mind says that she shouldn't. The tears make their was down her cheeks of their own accord, as she doesn't remember giving herself permission to cry.
What do you want me to say, Logan?
Logan, I'm going to go home and put my head in the oven because I can't go on living knowing what a heartless bitch I am! Something like that.
The sounds of her cries barely reach her own ears, muted by the pounding of her heart. Her hands hurt, her voice cracks, her lungs ache and still she pounds, still she cries, still she breathes. The smell of smoke sends her over the edge, and she doesn't know how, but she has to get out.
So you're saying you want me dead?
Yes.
She can barely see through the fog of her tears, barely breathe through the haze of the smoke, barely feel for the numbness in her hands and her heart. It occurs to her. She's going to die in here. Alone.
One word from me and Backup goes for your throat.
Is that what you do, boy? You tear out my throat?
Her last thoughts are of her parents...Wallace...Duncan...Logan...Lilly...
Who's a mankiller, huh? Who's a mankiller?
The cool air meeting her face is a reality check spoiled by the blistering heat that follows it. Her father burns before her eyes, and it's all she can do to get it together to put out the flames. She's in his arms, babbling, and the last ten minutes feels like a bad dream.
I keep thinking things can't get worse, you know? You know what? She's all yours.
