Good morrow everyone! And welcome to my first fanfic! This story is actually inspired (inspired, not copied, inspired) by Dark Water by Laura McNeal. If you haven't read this book, you are seriously missing out. I was nearly in tears at more than one point.
I'm also kind of a comma whore, so if it's a problem just review or message me letting me know! :D
And I know this is kind of short, but the first chapter is always hard to write. Everything after this should be smooth sailing, so updates shouldn't be extreme to the point where you guys might wonder if I'm taking a hiatus.
So please enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Big Time Rush or anything/one/place associated with Big Time Rush. This story was inspired by Dark Water by Laura McNeal, which I also do not own or are any part of. Certain events and places from Dark Water will be introduced in this story. I only own the plot and OC's.
WARNINGS: This story will contain minor swearing, guy-on-guy action (which may or may not include some heavy petting), and slight racism that is essential to the story.
If there was one thing Logan Mitchell absolutely hated, it was Minnesota. More specifically, Minneapolis, Minnesota. And honestly, who could blame him? Winter lasted for six-twelfths of the year, and even in supposedly warmer months snow could still be seen lurking on street corners and around old dumpsters. You can't grow any flowers or bushes because they wither and die before you really get to appreciate they're true beauty, so everyone's house basically looks the same on the outside. Which in retrospect was a good thing on the boy's part.
Just as Logan went to flop down onto his bed, 'Medical Stories: ER Tragedies' being tossed from hand to hand, shouts came flouting up from the downstairs kitchen. He rolled his eyes. This was nothing new. For as long as Logan could remember his parents had fought. They only stayed together for his benefit, both having grown up themselves in broken homes.
Maybe unsuccessful relationships just run in the family.
The shouting grew louder, then quieter. The sixteen year old let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into one of frustration as the sound of – a plate, an ugly vase from his grandmother? – collided with a wall. He flipped the page in the medical book on his lap after a moment, then rose off of his bed and headed down the hall, book tucked under his arm. Logan made sure to make as much noise as possible walking down the steps.
His parent's voices became louder with each step he took, but he never faltered once. Upon entering the kitchen after sidestepping the now established broken vase, his parent's halted in their shouting match. Their faces immediately sprouted semi-real smiles.
"Hey, sweetie," his mother said.
"Hmm," Logan mumbled back. He didn't come down there to make noise, just to stop it.
"Watcha got there, Sport?" his dad asked, nodding at the object under Logan's arm.
Logan knew he father knew what it was; he'd bought it for Logan last year for his birthday. "Book." He waved it lazily in the air for a moment before setting it on the kitchen table.
He waited for one of the two other occupants of the room to continue on the conversation like he thought they might have. They didn't.
An awkward silence fell over the room, but it was enough for Logan. Any type of silence was fine by him. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, the brunette leaned against the marble counter regarding his parents.
Joanna Mitchell's dark brown hair was still up from when she went to work that morning but it lacked it's usual sleek-and-neatness. Her makeup was also starting to run, her pathetic attempts at keeping it contained wit the sides of her fingers almost laughable. She looked taller because of the heels she was wearing but in reality was only a little taller than her son.
Bryan Mitchell didn't look any better. His own light brown, spiky hair was a disheveled mess from the many times he must have run his hands through it. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone.
"Sweetie—" Logan's eyes slowly rolled over onto his mother.
"What?"
"Your father and I were just talking," she started, and Logan had to bite his tongue not to say, "Oh, it that what you call it?" and instead opted for another, "Hmm."
"Well, how would you feel if we… If we went to marriage counseling. You know. For help, with, us."
Happy. Relieved. Ecstatic. Like two magnificent oceans were coming together and colliding as one, spouting out rainbows and fireworks that exploded into brand new planets and cosmos that— "Sounds good."
Joanna smiled slightly, almost a real one.
"We were thinking," his father said, coming into the conversation. "Of going to this real nice one in San Diego."
"California?"
His parents both nodded, albeit hesitantly.
"Where'll I stay? It's gotta be, like, a weekend thing, right?" Logan placed his glass down behind him on the counter, eyes flicking back and forth between both of the people opposite him.
His mother slowly nodded. "It's actually about a month," she said. "It's kind of like a college campus. Dorms and everything."
"Where'll I stay?" the teen repeated. Why didn't she answer him the first time?
Joanna exchanged a quick look with Bryan. "We can't leave you here, you're too young. And all of our family's back in Texas, so—"
Logan's patience was wearing thin at this point. He turned to his father. "Dad?"
Bryan sighed, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. "You'll have to stay with Uncle Glen while your mother and I spend a month at the counseling center."
Before his father could finish his sentence, Logan had left the room, knocking the glass behind him to the floor where it mocked the broken vase.
If there was one thing Logan Mitchell absolutely hated, it was Minnesota. More specifically, Minneapolis, Minnesota.
If there was one thing Logan Mitchell absolute despised, it was California. More specifically, San Diego, California.
Tada! That wasn't too bad, was it? Please leave a comment telling me what you think!