A/N: Hey, hi, hello! This is my first story for the fandom, and of course it's a LoVe story, but it focuses on Logan. The narrative is on second person, so it might be a bit weird...I wrote this last year when I rewatched the second and third season, but I was too shy to put it up. Now I changed my mind. Anyway, enjoy!

You can hear the clock ticking at the other end of the room. Each tick, an intake breath. It soon becomes too fast, a bit labored You don't care. If the breathing is not synchronized with the clock then it might as well stop. Your mind is too foggy to work on its own and the clock helps.
You have more important things to do than breathe. You have to stop thinking. And that's the difficult part. With every breath a different scenario forms. It still pains and it still sucks. But every time in a different way. Thinking makes one exist, and you don't want to exist. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

There is no reason. Some things just need to happen, or not happen for that matter. Some things are meant to be broken, some things are meant to rust and get chucked out. You are one of these things. You didn't know it all along, which is surprising since he always told you so, but lately you've come to your senses. You don't deserve this, no one does.

The clock starts to get on your nerves. The room is awfully quite and the constant ticking is...unsettling. Each tick a breath. Each, breath a memory. One of those that you hid deep down, or maybe not down enough. Each and every one of them cutting a piece of your soul, a piece of you. Deep cuts, aching cuts. But it doesn't bleed because, after all soul is a general idea not something substantial.

How does it feel when you scream inside your head and yet no one is listening? You cry, desperately, loudly, painfully but no response comes. You start kicking yourself around; maybe if you were better, maybe if you tried more then maybe just maybe...Maybe he wouldn't do those things to you. And then you chuckle, bitterly and coldly. Of course he would do these things to you. It was his sole purpose in life; make you miserable.

You were five? Maybe six the first time he actually laid a hand on you. At first you thought it was normal; parents do that sometimes. Disciplinary measures. But for some reason you know that with you it's different. You can see it in his eyes, the way they shine as he looks at you with something achingly familiar to hatred. You can see it in the way your mother turns her head away from the door when it closes, like she knows what's gonna happen to you and yet she does nothing to stop it from happening. Hell you can even see it in your sister's expression with that knowing mournful look; she has been in his office once or twice before she started acting like the perfect daughter he wanted.

The blood rushes in your veins and the only sound that now fills your ears is your pulse. Steady and low, perhaps too low. Did you forget to breathe along with the clock? Maybe that explains it. Your heart pulsates inside your rib-cage and you try to define if that's a good or a bad thing. She would say it's a good thing. You smile again and you know you look creepy when you smile that way. She is not here, even though she promised not to leave. But in the end everyone leaves, that's the way human beings are build, and you are left alone.

Here goes the clock again. Tick, tock, tick, tock. It now matches your pulse. But your breathing is slower and the oxygen that reaches your lungs is not enough for your body to function properly. Could you be the first human to ever die from asphyxiation just because you decided to stop breathing? Isn't the so called survival instinct supposed to force you towards it? Maybe you are good at something after all, no matter what he says or she believes.

Ah, she. The god damn song "She" could be written specifically for her. Her face is haunting you whenever you try to seek some acceptance in your dreams. Always so persistent, so proud. She wouldn't allow you to see her break, bloody fucking hell, she wouldn't give you the pleasure to see her happy either. Constantly putting on a mask, a frontier. To keep the world outside. Keep her friends away. Keep you at bay.

She said she loved you didn't she? Yeah, you could swear you remember the words leaving her mouth, while tears filled her eyes. Tears...She seemed to constantly be close to tears when you were around. She was quick to jump to assumptions, quick to paint you black. And maybe you deserved it. Just maybe...Didn't she always said she loved you back? Didn't say she say 'me too'? How could she leave?
Tick, thud, tock, thud, tick...All the sounds combined are noises. Noises that penetrate the silence of your mind and you hate them for that. Much like you hate yourself. And everyone else. No, you are not antisocial. Society is anti-you. You cannot please them, only the fools can. To please the rest of the world demands from you to be all smiles and forgiving and you can't do that. You can't play stupid, you cannot say you forgive them, you can't...You just can't! And the ticking is now so loud that you angrily stare at the clock willing it to spontaneously combust.

You can remember why she left, but isn't that what she always does? Doesn't she always leave? Just think, how many times you got together just for her to decide and leave you again? And you always take her back. Because one always has to love more than the other...Right?
Anyway...Last time she left because...Because you did something wrong. That shouldn't sound so weird, should it now? To her it doesn't matter that you weren't together when you did what you did. It doesn't matter that you never meant to hurt her. It doesn't matter that twenty four hours ago you told her you loved her and she said 'I love you too'. No, what matters to her is that you screwed up, yet again.
You failed her trust, you failed your relationship, and you failed her, that's what she screamed to you. A tear ran down her cheek and you were left speechless because this was actually the first time that she allowed you to see this kind of emotion coming from her. No it's not the tears –she always cried remember?- it's the hurt. You never saw her so hurt before. She yelled at you, accused you, even punched you but you sat still. So still that it hurt. So still that you kept thinking 'Any minute now I am gonna start bouncing around the place'. And yet you didn't.
Sitting still is not something that you do. Is actually something you abhor. The blood in your veins rushes, the pumping of your heart is quick how can you stay still? You are in constant movement. Always bouncing around the place, running instead of walking and sometimes even dancing along the way. Moving is your way to express your mood. And it never fails you. Plus constant moving makes it difficult for him to hit you...Which only makes him angrier.

But isn't it a little bit weird? And pretentious? How did you fail your relationship when you weren't together at the time being? Or her for that matter? You were broken up, for once your choice; you were tired of living at the suburbs of her world, of everything being constantly more important than you...so you gave her up. It was your decision.

And her trust? Did you ever gain her trust to begin with? No. So how can you fail it? It's not so much your problem as it is hers. She is a distrustful person, you both know that. You know it longer than she does. And she was not willing to forgive you for what you did two years ago when you were an ignorant prick. But what hurts the most is her inability to see that you are not this spoiled, rich brat that you used to be. It also stinks that she didn't realize it was all an act. A cry for help.

You gave everything to her. The moment she kissed you that day, the moment she decided to start playing with your heart, you knew it was the beginning of your end. You instantly opened up, instantly gave her access to your mind and soul. But she kept back; always the smart one. She would keep you at arms' length when you let her keep your heart. And that was your fault. Not hers.
But...She was the ray of light in the blackness of your world, as cheesy as that sounds. She was the only good thing, really good thing that ever happened to you. And you, you falsely thought that she could see past the exterior. That she could realize what you've been through, that she would accept you. But maybe...maybe you were just the rebound guy.

You flex your hand and the blade shines in the light. You know you are not going to do it but you enjoy the game. You enjoy the prospect of doing it. Enjoy to think what will happen if you indeed do it. Still, you don't have the guts to pull it off. Or maybe you are religious deep down and you know that it's a sin...? No, no you just don't have what it takes for.

The rebound guy...Somehow that stinks worse from all your previous thoughts. You being the rebound guy to the girl that used to date your best friend. It's pathetic, sad, and humiliating. But you still don't care. All you care is that she didn't love you. Because if you are said guy then she didn't. Girls don't love rebound guys. They just...fuck them. Play with them. Break up with them. Break them.

You are being melodramatic you know that. But honestly, weren't you always a drama queen? And didn't your life imitate the best of the best soap-operas? At least your family story, your abuse and your love life suggests so...maybe they are just lying.

Maybe you are just lying. Maybe you can pull it off after all. Maybe you are just afraid to admit that the world will be a better place without you in it. Isn't that what he always said when he locked the door of his office? You close your eyes and count ten deep breaths. You promised yourself you wouldn't think of him. Not ever again.

But you can't help it. His words violate your mind, your only sanctuary the only place where you can hide from the world. You aren't worth living, you aren't worthy of your name, you don't worth anything; his words, his voice echoing at the halls of your mind. You are not man enough, intelligent enough, good enough to be his son. And after all he never wanted a son.

You feel the tears in your eyes and you hate yourself more. You are not going to cry for the sorry bastard of a father you've been given, are you now? He doesn't deserve it, Goddamn it! Or maybe...Maybe he does. Maybe he was right all along. Maybe you are not worth living.

You are a screwed up human being and you can't help it. It's not your fault. At least this is not your fault. Your life hasn't been easy no matter what the tabloids write. The tabloids weren't in his office behind the shut door. The tabloids weren't in the kitchen when he pressed the knife against your mother's neck. The tabloids weren't around the pool when he tried to drown you at your thirteenth birthday.

For the press your father is this big movie star that cannot do anything wrong in his life. He is the Oscar winner, with the bright smile, the super-sexy actress wife, and the two adorable children. He is the guy that funded a hospital for kids with cancer. He is the man that invited the reporters at any gala that he housed at his manor. He is a fucking role model for little boys much younger than you.

You run your thumb over the tip of the knife and then press up against it. It stinks a little but not too much. You had worse than that. A small tear of blood wets your finger and you lock your eyes on it mesmerized. It's brighter red than you could remember and it drags your eyes like a magnet. The clock is long forgotten.
You could've told her. But you thought she knew. She was after all your best friend's girlfriend first; he could've let something slip couldn't he? But alas he didn't. She never gave you a hint that she knew. And yet, yet she'd seen him outraged. She'd seen him getting his nerves out on your sister's long term boyfriend. She was the one to hold you back when you wanted to start punching him for the tears on your sister's face.

Could she not see that you were shivering then? Could she not see the panic and the fear shinning in your eyes? The nightmare replying in your mind while witnessing the scene? No, you tell yourself, she knows. She just doesn't care. Why should she? Why should anyone? You don't deserve it; his words. His words, echoing in your mind, loudly, aggressively. Always.

Your mobile is ringing but you are in no mood to even consider answering it. Whoever it is he can call later, or never for what it's worth. The ringing adds to the noises and now a mind boggling buzzing is filling your ears. The clock, your heartbeat, the mobile. The volume increases as the sounds tangle together, swirling around your mind. Is it too loud for you? Maybe yes, maybe not...Who cares?

You can blame your father and her all you want. But you know the truth. Deep down, you always knew. It is you, your decisions, your mistakes. You are the one to blame for what you became. The fact that you were young, that you were drank, that it wasn't actually your idea does not exonerate you.
Admit it; you were what she accused you to be. You were spoiled because aside from the times in his office you father wanted to provide to you and your sister everything he could. And you took the most out of it, spending money without carrying just to hit him back. To your mother, you were her favourite gem of her collection. She never stopped your father but she loved you, even more than she should. Oh you were spoiled.

Your first car, at the age of fifteen, was a dark green Ferrari. You didn't even know how to drive but it didn't matter. It made your friends drool all over it and the girls hit on you just to take them for a ride. Of course she was never impressed by such trivia things. The car was his gift...A week later you had crashed it. Your fault. You had drank yourself silly and then crashed on a poll.

To take out your frustration out you could join a gym, or hire a personal trainer. Instead you decided to join your best friend's football team, get in because your best friend was the Captain and bitch everyone else around. Oh, you were also good at wrestling...With several people out on the street. Yeah, your left strike was always a killer. You've beaten up people you haven't seen twice in your life. And your excuse; your father. But admit it; you can't always blame him.

The blood is dry now on your finger and it looks filthy. With a disgusted expression you run your thumb a couple of times against the table hoping to clean it off. It doesn't. You can feel little needles pressing against your skin, piercing you but you don't stop. The pain makes you hold your breath. It's fascinating. One, two, three...Thirty five seconds and still no air come in or get out of your lungs.
Your mind is more than foggy now. You remember, briefly, reading somewhere that the first sign of asphyxiation is the clouded mind. Weird, you always thought that the first sign would be the inability to breathe. Maybe that's a given. You smile again. It's like being on drags. Your vision blurs a little as you stare straight at the clock. Did it stop ticking? You can't hear it.

Then her voice fills the silent room and startled you jump up, the knife falling from your hands. You lock eyes with her, brown against bright blue, and you notice that she is extremely distressed. Your heart is now beating erratically and your breaths are shallow and fast. The oxygen rushes through you, forcing your blood to travel faster. Making up for the lost seconds that the whole system didn't work properly.
She is saying something. You can see her lips moving and her hands gesturing around wildly. She is angry and her eyes are glassy with tears. And you smile. She is in your room; of course she would be angry. Haven't you learned your lesson already? For everything going wrong on the planet, you are responsible. She is yelling at you but you can't keep up with her. Slowly you ask her to slow down.

The look on her face only brings your smile back. She is puzzled. She is angry and you are smiling. Your voice is throaty and low. She never heard you talking like that before. Did she think you were always happy? If that's so then she doesn't know you at all. Which is depressing but you don't want to think about it. You ask her to tell you what's wrong and...it's the wrong question.
She explodes like a volcano full of hot lava. She is saying she called, and your eyes drift at the phone on the table. Yeah, you can remember you heard it ring. The caller was her? What did she want? You ask her that and she shuts up staring you straight in the eye. For once you hold your ground. You'll take whatever she throws at you, you are accustomed to it by now.

Stupid you. Haven't you learned? She always finds a way to surprise you. With a deep breath and a step forward she says she missed you. You make a double check. It is her right? You are not hallucinating? She says that she hasn't forgotten nor forgiven but she cannot be away from you. She actually compares you to heroin; you are her addiction.

Are you going to take her back? Are you going to give her your heart again? Are you ready for another heartbreak? Because with her it will be a heartbreak...Can you let her in? Oh, who are you trying to kid? She never left; she was always in your mind, always held your heart. From the first kiss, from the moment you realized that she was what you wanted, always, forever, that you were not going to lose her.

At first you don't answer you just blink at her. She shuffles her foot, so unlike her but yet so endearing that you feel like smiling. You don't. She said all the wrong things. Did all the wrong things and yet here you are willing to give her another chance. So you ask for one too. She looks at you puzzled. And you explain.

You want a clean slate. You want her to trust you and not be the first to question your every move. You want her to be yours, and yours only. She opens her mouth but you cut her off. Yes you know that she was faithful that's not what you mean. You want her to not hide your relationship, to not hide you. You are, or will be, her boyfriend and you want her to let you act like it. She asks what do you mean. You say you want to protect her.

The look on her face says it all. Denial. She is not ready to lose her freedom. Because for her allowing someone else to make the decisions is impossible. You can see the fight going on behind her eyes and you almost give in and tell her you are joking. Almost. You stop yourself though because you know that this one time, this one you got it right. She takes a deep breath, blinks her eyes before locking them with you. In that moment you know you lost the battle.
She whispers that it's hard to trust you. That her life showed her how bad people can really be and that you caused her already one too many heartaches. You deadpan that the same counts for you. She looks hurt but you are just telling the truth. She says that people always leave and you agree. Her head cocks on the side and she raises her eyebrows. She thinks you are contradicting yourself. You smile.
Maybe you shouldn't tell her what you think. Maybe you won't be able to keep your promise, because after all you are you. And big words always find a way to bite you back. But you know that it's the right thing to do. You know that she needs to hear it now even though she'll probably say that it's cheesy. So you muster up all your courage.
You tell her that you are not going to make your parents' mistakes. Or her parents' mistakes for that matter. You tell her that if she cannot see that you love her, that it was always her, then she is stupid and maybe you are not meant to be. You think loudly inside your head that you are star crossed. That you ought to be together but you don't tell her that. You shut your mouth and look at her. And then...Then she runs away. You see? You lost...But isn't it typical? Yes it..

But you do something untypical. You follow her out. You yell her name and she stops. You brace yourself. Here you go again. Another heartache, just moments after she made your heart swell with joy. You reach her and grabbing her arm you turn her around. There are tears on her face which force you to take one single step back. It's not the first time she cries in front of you but you still don't know how to react.

When she speaks again you swear to some deity that surprising you is her destiny. With a trembling voice and tearful eyes she says she is never going to leave you. Your heart is at your throat and you can't speak. She says she loves you, that of course it was always you, but she was afraid. You don't ask of what. You know; she wasn't ready to give in. She says that she is sorry, that she won't hurt you again.

Your heart is about to break out from your rib-cage and you want to start screaming, laughing and singing at the same time. Instead you stay completely still. Smiling up at you she wraps her arms around your waist and snuggles close up to you. Your arms circle around her middle and you hold on to her for dear life. You promise yourself you won't let her run this time. And maybe just maybe you've found someone else to synchronize your breathing with other than the clock.

A/N; Sooooo how was it? Good? Bad? Please let me know!