AN: This is a project that I'm starting with a friend named christinainwonderland, I had the idea for this story which is a darker character setting for Logan since no one seems to want to make him a darker, angrier character. I hope that you all enjoy this combined effort, originally it was going to be a oneshot, but it turned out longer than we both expected. Updates for this and other stories will come as soon as possible.
"Y-You d-don't have to do this, man." The panic in his voice was shaking, making the tall brunette's hands clench in fear. "We can talk, you know? I-I can just leave and I won't say anything. I promise." His last resort, the plea. But the look on the other boy's face was relentless. He wasn't holding for that. "P-please don't kill me." Tears streamed from those terrified hazel eyes.
The shorter boy's lips pulled into a sinister smirk as he tightened the buckles around the larger boy's wrists and legs. The panic he had heard rising in his victim's voice only added to his enjoyment. This was going to be a blast...
"Well, I think it's pretty obvious, that I can't let you leave." He was holding a scalpel, putting on blue surgical gloves and pulling the mask over his head. The other boy, James, as he had learned, couldn't see the driver's license stashed upstairs, but it was there. Logan Mitchell printed clearly on laminated plastic. Logan, the surgeon, spoke simply as he turned to a small table lined with medical instruments, chemicals, pills, a variety of tools for destruction. "I'm sure it's even more clear that I don't want to let you go. Don't worry, though. You won't feel a thing, and we're going to have a lot of fun."
"Please, I-" It was a tiny squeak, and James couldn't get it out before his words were cut. A needle pierced the skin of his neck. The liquid inside flowed through James' bloodstream tingling bas it hit his veins. He stopped struggling against the restraints that held him on the large metal slab as the effects of the drug took over. He wanted to fight, but he was disoriented, confused. James made one final, valiant effort, before Logan's gloved hand rested on James' forehead, checking his pupils.
"Shh, stop fighting, it's going to be over soon." His voice was dark, in spite of the cheerful tone. James' hazel eyes tried to focus on the man in front of him, but he couldn't. There were two of him. Two blurred figures with vicious smiles that widened as garbled speech left James' mouth. "You have beautiful eyes, James Diamond. Too bad no one will ever see them again."
He smirked as he cut away the muscular boy's clothes, veins bulged and fingers twitched as the ketamine took full control in his system. Logan liked the silence. He enjoyed the feeling of power. His greatest high, and his latest victim, a friend of the pair, a brother of his love, someone important in their lives. He would be missed. The smirk grew into a grin. All the more reason to dispose of him. All the more reason to make this last awhile. He wouldn't be able to take his time with many more. This one... this body was the fun one, and he had his reasons.
"In another life, James, we could have been friends, I think. Maybe even in this one, but you were just so obsessed with looking for Kendall, figuring out what happened to your fucking buddy-" Logan stood up straight, his eye twitching. He didn't like to lose his cool. Scissoring into the final piece of clothing, he shook his head, letting the cloth hit the floor. "They say, Jamie, that being obsessed isn't healthy."
Grabbing a sharpie, the delirious boy traced the Y-form to open the boy's chest cavity before picking up the syringe to slice through bronze colored skin. When blood splashed onto his face, he couldn't hold down the laugh bubbling from the walls of his throat as a wave of euphoria crashed over him like a stormy sea.
"The fun's just begun."
Three Months Earlier
Logan Mitchell preferred the solitude of this particular restaurant. The setting was dark, the lighting was dim. Few people came in and out of the old little cafe. It wasn't a particularly romantic setting, nor was the neighborhood a particularly fantastic one. Logan liked it for the simple fact that he liked to be alone. He liked to watch the people pass by on the street. Some were beautiful, some were thugs, some were barely even registering as humans. The homeless bums that he saw on the street, begging for money and food, they disgusted him.
The waitress, a pretty little blonde woman with deep brown eyes, set his plate of food on the table. She smiled, and he saw her name tag said "Jo." He thought it was an awfully masculine name for such a pretty face. He quietly thanked her, twirling his plate around three times before settling the meat at a perfect angle to his chin. Logan laid out his napkin in his lap, placing all his silverware in order from largest to smallest, on his right side. He did this, every time, instinctively. Then he would swish the ice in his glass three times before taking one sip, setting it back down, and licking his lips. He would crack his knuckles, then pick up the knife and fork, cutting into his rare steak.
As with every night, as he puts the pink and brown meat to his lips, opening to take the bite, the nagging of his failures ring in his mind. Logan orders the rare steak, because he knows it's a metaphor. His life, on the outside, looks done, complete, whole, while on the inside there's still that pink, untapped potential, a taste unfulfilled. His jaw tenses, and he takes the bite more coarsely than he usually does. It's the first sign.
Where did I go wrong? he thinks, staring at his plate, his failure, and wondering if he went wrong with the baked potato. It's sheltered in its foil home, only seeing the outside world in order to be devoured. Maybe that was his mistake. Should he have gotten the french fries, their crinkly little lengths were special. Everyone loves french fries. They're everyone's best friend. Or maybe he went wrong with the green beans. His choice of sauce. The tea sitting in his glass evaporating slowly and condensation dripping onto the tablecloth. Logan grips his fork tight, and it starts to dig into his skin. Everything was wrong, and he knew that. He wanted to just throw everything into the window and break the restaurant. For a brief, flickering moment, he wanted to set the world in flames. He took a deep breath, calming down, and taking a second bite.
He had always wanted to be a doctor. He had gone to school, and dropped out when his mother grew sick. No one else could take care of her, and no one else wanted to anyway. He watched her slowly die, held her hand as she withered away. Maybe, in effect, that's where his meal went wrong. Maybe that's why nothing tasted right, why he shunned human compassion and love. Maybe that's why he didn't want anyone to know him. He ate his meal in silence, like he always does.
He did everything as he normally would. Bite, chew, swallow, drink. Bite, chew, swallow, drink. Set the fork down, wipe his face. Bite, chew, swallow, drink. That was the pattern. That was the process. That was until they walked in. The tall blonde and the petite brunette. They were holding hands, smiling, and they were the first couple that had ever captivated Logan's interest in that dive of a cafe. It was less of the man, the blonde with the green eyes and canyons for dimples in his face. Logan didn't care about him, not so much. His eyes were focused on the curves of the woman, the pretty curly hair and dark eyes. He was captivated with how her face lit up with her smile. He was in a trance.
They sat down at a table just a few feet away from him and his eyes never left sight of the effervescent tawny haired woman. His breath hitched dangerously in his throat as he watched the way her eyes brightened every time the man across from her spoke. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her face. When the man locked hands with her across the table, Logan sneered. He wondered what it would be like to twist his own fingers into her long thick tresses, what her skin would feel like if he grazed his hands across it, tracing the contours of her beautiful frame.
"He doesn't deserve you," he whispered to himself, his breathing picking up slightly when she glanced up at him for a moment. He thought she looked up, but as Logan watched her, she was staring at the waiter serving them their meals. She had looked at him, not Logan. But for a brief moment, the spark that ignited in his heart sent the blood rushing to his cheeks forcing him to look back down at his meal. 'She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'
He took a sip of his beverage to quell his feelings, rearranging themselves in out of place patterns in his normally orderly mind. Swallowing the coldness, his dark eyes fixated on the couple again, though neither seemed to notice as they laughed together, longing, affectionate stares carrying more conversation than their words even did. An unfamiliar twinge of jealousy hit him when the man reached for her hand and twisted his long fingers with hers.
Red. It was filling his vision as the grip on his steak knife tightened, the utensil pressing into his palm. It was a possessive thought, that man didn't have the right to touch such a beautiful woman when Logan couldn't. She smiled, her teeth a brilliant shade of white that left him with a feeling of breathlessness. The steak knife clattered against his plate and he felt sick to his stomach. His face flushed again, redness creeping into his ears. Process. That's what he needed. He could make it through his dinner, all he needed was his steps. His food was already cold, and it tasted bitter going down. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Drink.
"Kendall, that's terrible," her airy voice carried across the restaurant, forcing him out of his process. The sound of her voice, the tinkling chime he heard when she giggled, made his heart swell.
He knew he wanted that, not something like that, exactly that. He wanted her laughing at his jokes, to sit across from her and feel the weight of her fingers holding onto his own. Logan's heartbeat hammered in his temples. Jo walked by with a smile, refilling his drink for him and quietly, he politely thanked her.
Logan lost track of time, staring down at an empty plate, the fresh ice melting in his glass, threatening to overflow. The squeak of chairs and the couple's laughter brought him back from his plate and to their attentions. They grabbed their bill and the man, Kendall it seemed, had taken out some cash from his pocket, tucking it inside with the receipt. He passed it back to their waiter, draping his long arm over the woman. They stood by the door as the girl put on her coat. Logan couldn't see them, but he heard the man's breath hitch in his throat, and he spoke.
"God, you're so beautiful, Camille."
So that's her name, Logan thought. Camille, because she's perfect.
The door closed, and the bell above it rang, the laughter now carrying outside. Logan looked over, and stabbed his knife into the seat across from him. Kendall was kissing Camille, his hands roaming along her back and down to squeeze her plump buttocks. Logan twisted the knife and dug it deeper into the seat.
Perhaps that kiss was the beginning of his end. It started with an unsatisfactory meal, a bland taste, a dull life, and it ended with a kiss shared between two people that he couldn't get out of his mind. It would ruin him, and his mind was perfectly alright with that. In fact, it was more than pleased. It hadn't had something to focus its energy on since his mother's death.
Logan couldn't remember what compelled him to follow them, but he found himself stepping out of a Taxi in front of their two story home, staring at the light on in the upstairs window. He moved into shade as shadows playfully danced in front of the window. Thin white curtains hung over the window, not hiding their forms from being seen outside by passersby.
Kendall twirls his girl around again, and pulls her into his arms. His lips attack hers, and she's so much shorter than him, that Logan's jaw clenches when he picks her up and wraps her legs around his waist. Kendall pulls Camille's shirt off and with their lips parted from each other, they go down on the bed, and Logan can't see them anymore. The lights go out, and Logan was left in the crisp night air outside with his thoughts.
Those thoughts were now swallowing him whole like a great white shark. He knew logically that he couldn't have Camille. She belonged to someone else, to Kendall, but it didn't stop everything from echoing through. It didn't suppress the want.
"She should be mine," he whispered into the quiet night. He let out a shuddering breath, eyes fixated on the darkened window. 'She will be mine.'
It seemed like forever he stood there, only moving down the street to hail a cab and make his way back home. Camille's perfect face flashed behind his eyes wish every passing moment. He wanted it to be his hands traveling all over her perfect body, pressing his lips against hers. The jealously brewing in his mind made him feel hot. Sitting in the back of the taxi, his vision beginning to blur and redden as his blood boiled and adrenaline pumped through his veins. A snarl curled his lips as he punched the old leather of the taxi's seat roughly. The driver looked up into the rear view mirror, a sense of dread already filling his gut heavily.
"You okay, man?" He asked tentatively, his thick accent slurring the words together. His hands gripped the steering wheel when Logan's wild dark eyes focused on him. If questioned later, he'd be slow to admit that he felt a shock of terror rolling down his spine from the look the young man was giving him. But in truth, the pale-skinned boy in the backseat looked out for blood.
"Y-Yeah, I'm fine, just drive," Logan coughed into his hand to reign in his emotions, but still gave the cabbie a harsh glare.
"I was just curious," the man replied, averting his eyes to the road before making the turn required to reach his passenger's destination.
As his home came into view, Logan didn't reply. Instead, his thoughts of Camille were still running through his mind and of the man who was currently invading her perfect body. He thought about her soft voice moaning his name, clawing down his back as he rocked inside of her. His hands clenched tightly as the taxi stopped. Huffing, he reached into his coat for his wallet and extracted the money for his fare.
"You take care of yourself man. You seem like a nice guy." The driver gave a sincere smile, as he watched the younger exit vehicle, and the bags under his aged eyes diminished. In spite of his worry during the ride, he hoped the man the best.
"Yeah, sure." Logan closed the car door and made his way up the stone steps to his front door. Taking out his keys, he flipped through all of them three separate times before putting the correct key into the keyhole and turned it. Sighing heavily, he turned the key and pictured for the moment the tumblers rolling together and clicking, allowing him access to the inside that he'd known all too well. Twisting the knob three times before he finally pushed the door open, he stepped inside and wiped his feet on the mat inside another three times. He pushed the door shut, and opened it again. Once, twice, three times. Then came the light switch. Process. Order. That's what he needed right now, to keep himself calm as he removed his coat, scarf and shoes.
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