Logan has always had a way with words. He knows that language is power – the right combination of words, with the right tone of voice can do almost anything. Words can induce laughter, break hearts, change outlooks: they can inspire or distract or destroy. He wants that power for himself. He needs it. He needs to be able to deflect concerned friends (they can't know the truth), to keep his mother and sister at arms length (they cannot hurt him again), to fight back against his father (he will not win), to bring Lilly back to him (he loves her).
But no power can bring Lilly back to him now. He will never see her again. She is six feet under, and so is his soul. That is melodramatic, and he knows it, but then she loves (loved) a bit of drama. She would want to think of him mourning her with loud, copious tears, swearing off all other girls (how could they compare to her?) and dying of a broken heart. At the same time, she'd want him to wear a bright orange shirt and an outrageous hat to her funeral, give a wicked eulogy that would make her parents mad, do a few shots at her graveside, and laugh whenever he thinks of her, from now until the day he dies. He does none of these things. He does not cry – he is cold and empty. He wears black to her funeral. He is stone-cold sober as they lower her into the ground – he wants to remember every second. He is almost certain that he will never laugh again.
And part of him, a crazy part, is expecting her to show up, laugh at him, demand that he stops feeling sorry for himself, gets his stupid ass in gear and starts having fun. Maybe that is on his mind the first time he turns words into a weapon and wields them in Veronica's direction. Nothing would get her angry like someone insulting Veronica. He imagines her, beautiful and livid, telling him that no-one, no-one, was allowed to hurt Veronica Mars and that she was going to kick his ass all the way to LA. And that she would never let him touch her again if he ever made Veronica cry. But she is not real, and he will never touch her again and that makes him want to hurt Veronica all the more. And that scares him. Because she is so young and pure and alive and heartbroken. He should not hurt her.
But Veronica is unnervingly difficult to avoid. At first he just tries not to look at her, but it is like she attracts his eyes. And she sticks close to him – longing for someone who knew and loved Lilly as much as she did. And she is so understanding. She tries to look after him, excuses his insults, accepts unvoiced apologies. He wishes she would just go away. She is too good for him. Too innocent. He wonders how she will manage without Lilly beside her. She has no armour – her skin is soft and vulnerable to his verbal arrows - and now she has no-one to protect her. He has to keep her away from him.
Mostly, though, he tries to makes her leave because he does not want to look at her. It is like Veronica Mars has a shadow. A ghostly, sexy shadow with long blonde hair. A ghostly shadow who is definitely Not There. It's not so surprising, he thinks. Before, he hardly ever saw Veronica without Her, their arms linked, smiling and giggling. Sunshine and laughter distilled into two beautiful girls. He can not bear it. His life is so dark now, and Veronica, and her follower, have no right to be there, reminding him of what he can never have again.
Eventually, even Veronica the Ever-Patient can not keep allowing herself to be hurt so much. She begins avoiding him. But even so, he is aware of her always. She is watching him from afar, and watching Duncan too, probably wondering if there is anything she can do for them. She is so nice. He should leave her alone. If he can't bear to see her, he should just ignore her. But all this is her fault, the little voice in his head reasons. It's your fault because you weren't there when she needed you, and it's her fault you weren't there. The voice gets louder with every passing day.
And then the video hits the internet. He knows she will support her father, knows it in the same way that he knows that the sky is blue, that Lilly cheated on him and that his mother is a coward and his father a bastard. Veronica Mars loves her father – it is one of the basic truths of the universe. So he is not surprised that she stands by him, always loyal. No, he is glad. And, unaccountably, he feels betrayed. She turned around and walked away from him, from Lilly, from Duncan.
And that is how it starts. At first he does not notice how everyone follows his example. He is so absorbed in his own grief and loneliness that he is oblivious to the taunts they throw at her, the childish pranks they pull. Him and Duncan, with matching zombie attitudes. When he does notice, he finds he doesn't care (about Veronica, about Duncan, about Lilly, about school, about the books that used to be his solace). He is cold, numb, frozen. He spends a long time staring at the ceiling above his bed, and the rest of the time drunk. Nobody cares that he isn't going to school any more, that he isn't eating or washing or smiling or crying. No-one except Veronica. She arrives at his house one day, December 15th. It is 10 years to the day since two young, blonde girls met in a park. Lilly used to call it Veronica Day, and take her shopping, to buy her pretty things and daring clothes and not take no for an answer.
She says hello quietly from the doorway. There is a whole wealth of information in that one word. I know how you feel, it says, I can't do this either. Will you help me? Veronica knows a thing or two about the power of words. He ignores her. She doesn't leave. He tells her to go. She stays. She comes in, cautiously, and sits on the edge of his bed. She is afraid of him, he can tell. It is written in the set of her shoulders, her readiness to run away from him. The ghostly Lilly is nowhere to be seen. Somehow, that is heartbreaking. Perhaps he is forgetting what she looks (looked) like. The thought is hot and heavy and icy cold all at once, and makes him nauseous and he's going to cry and Veronica needs to leave (Get out. I never want to see you again. Lilly is gone, and she's the only reason I was ever nice to you in the first place. Now get out, you stupid, boring bitch) and there's that power again, as her face crumples and she tries to hold back tears. He hits her vulnerable spots: the insecurity, the hidden fear that without Lilly she is nothing. And he feels. A sort of dizzy, sickening pleasure, burning anger, bitter betrayal as he watches her leave (again), a minuscule amount of guilt, and grief like an overwhelming tidal wave.
Later that week, at Shelley's, he sees her looking so young and pure and beautiful and so different from Lilly. But there is something about her that screams "Lilly". Maybe it is because she is here – where she is so unwanted – head held high and walking with confidence. He can't imagine any reason why the 09ers would treat Lilly in such a way, but if they did this is exactly how she would react. With one difference. Lilly would have Veronica by her side. They would get a drink, and find a chair together and begin talking and laughing and showing the world that they needed no one else to have fun. Ghostly Lilly is here again. He turns away.
Later, when he sees her curled up and asleep on the lounger by the pool, he knows that he hates her. The salt lick is one of those things that seems like a good idea at the time – with his head so full of alcohol that he can barely think. He is sure at the time that it is the worst thing he could ever do to her. And he has often wondered what her creamy skin would taste like. Would she taste like Lilly, he wonders? Lilly would have enjoyed the salt lick. But she would have been awake, with one small hand on the back of his head, whispering suggestive things in his ear. And the same with anyone else who got to lick the salt from her body – her eyes locked on his, smiling at the jealousy she sees there. After Duncan stops the fun, he takes one (honest) look at them. They make a miserable pair, both weighed down by a grief too heavy to bear. He feel a sharp stab of something, but ignores it. His brain is still stuck on the image of Lilly. He downs a few more shots, but she is still there, tantalisingly out of his reach. When Carrie – brunette, flat-chested, leggy – begins to flirt with him, he responds. He pushes Lilly from his mind.
It is a shock when she comes into school, a week or so later, hair shorn. In some ways he is glad. She is so different now. With the new hair, comes a new attitude. It is like she is channelling Lilly. He finds it morbidly amusing: now Lilly is no longer following Veronica around, she seems to be inside her instead. Will he never escape her?
The bong in his locker is classic Lilly. He can almost hear her laughing along as he is led out of school. That night, after Daddy Dearest is finished with him, he retreats to his room laughs until he cries. He cries, heavy, silent sobs into his pillow. Lilly is gone. Duncan is the living dead. Veronica is gone, and not gone and changed and the same and gone and he hates her.