I sit alone in the bathroom, but this time I do not hold a knife. I'm crying anyway. The pure whiteness terrifies me in a way I cannot begin to explain, and I am so useless. All I have done today is crawl out of bed and sit in the bathroom, and that is what anyone not sugar coating it would call a stupid useless mess. I want to carve things into the tile floor with a knife, things that are words that don't scare me as much as they should.

I carve them into the air instead.

"I am not okay, I'm sick. I've hit rock bottom, and why did he say I was beautiful when I am so clearly not," I whisper to the ground. It's the only one listening, anyway. I lay down, pressing my cheek to the cool surface of the floor and smile. It feels wooden and hollow, like my heart. "But I'll live. I'm too dead to do anything to myself, and I know when Logan gets here he'll drag me from the bottom. Maybe I won't see him today, though. Maybe he went home and thought about all the things he said to me, and he reconsidered everything. Maybe he's calling mom right now, and telling her he won't talk to me again. Maybe he's getting the Hell out of town because what else would he do after spending this much time with me?"

I sigh again, relaxing. I am prepared for this fate.

Footsteps, Linda's, tap lightly up to the door. I've been laying here for almost the whole day.

"Honey, Logan's been waiting to see you."

"Go away." She's lying.

Her light footsteps tap tap tap away and I am left alone, laying on the floor by myself again. I let out a sigh of relief. A second later, though, I hear more, unfamiliar footsteps. I don't wanna talk until I hear a voice that strikes a chord with me the same way an angel's would a priest.

"Louise? You're not having a great day, are you?" It's not a question, but I answer anyway. I can't seem to help myself.

"Nope, I'm not coming out of here until everyone else is asleep."

"I'm coming in, then." Before I can tell Logan to leave, he opens the door and steps in, closing the door behind him softly. "So, if you're not feeling good, how are you feeling?"

"I feel like a giant stepped on me and then as I was recovering, someone came and told me an awful secret about myself that I didn't know and it sapped all my will."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly and looks at me. I look up at him from my spot laying on the floor. He sits down next to my head and I sigh.

"I thought you weren't coming back," I say, my eyes traveling back to the ceiling. I hate being so honest, especially about my feelings, but I have to know what his intentions are.

"Why?"

"The party last night... all the wonderful things you said to me. And I just-" My voice breaks and I feel tears in my eyes. I blink them away. "I just ran away. I went home and I cried."

"I'm sor-"

"Not your fault, man. Do you even know who I am?"

He giggles. I glance at him. He's really giggling, like a schoolgirl, hand up to his face, blushing and all that. I just stare at him.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because, you just asked me, Logan Berry Bush, if I know who Louise Belcher is."

"You told me I was a star that fell to Earth and that I have a beautiful voice. There's obviously something you don't know about me that has caused you to come to these conclusions. I once threatened to murder you, you know." I think I need to school him about who exactly I am.

Logan giggles once more and looks at me with his eye brows furrowed, a sudden wave of seriousness engulfing his face - and hopefully mind. "I know who you are Louise," he says, and I roll my eyes. "You're the little girl who once told me I was an asshole because I asked your dad for a job. You're the ten year old who burned my mom's tulips because she slapped your mother. You're the girl who, on her thirteenth birthday, asked me if I would go walk into the water with rocks in my pockets because she "needed something uplifting to happen." You're the one who once sat outside my window, throwing pebbles at it because she wanted to make me think that the girl I told I liked the other day was about to Say Anything me. You, however, are also so much more than what you've done to me. You're the fifteen year old who lied for Gene so that he could spend a night with his boyfriend. You're the woman whom last month ran the restaurant for a week so your parents could fall back in love. You're the sixteen year old that, last night, waited for me all the ten minutes I spent crying in the bathroom because I saw one of my exs with her boyfriend. I told you last night that you are beautiful because you are. And I'll tell you that every day if that's what it takes for you to believe me. I don't care. It's true." I find my cheeks to be wet, and I let the tears keep rolling. I don't want to think that someone cares this much about me, because it means I have to try, and trying is so hard. But I have to, I think.

I pry my limp body off the ground and smile hollowly at Logan. I whisper a hoarse thank you and he pulls me into a tight hug. I'm still so hurt, for that multitude of reasons that continually flood my senses, but maybe now I can try to heal. I slither out of his grasp so I can properly look him in the face and talk to him.

"I want to stick with friends to enemies to friends again, til the end. No matter what happens to us, promise me I'll never lose contact with you." Logan nods and opens his mouth, but I shush him. "I want to get to know you better too, because I haven't given you chicken shit in the last few years and I've forgotten everything I ever knew about you other than that I used to hate you," I say, not ready to smile again. "It's really hard for me to be this honest with anyone, especially someone that I..." I breathe in and out so I don't freak myself out. "I care about, so don't... don't expect this often."

Logan nods one last time and smiles at me. It reminds me of the sun.

"Thank you, Louise. I'll try to tell you about who I am. I can even start now, If you don't mind," he says, and I nod without really thinking about it. I truly want to know everything about him.

"I was born in 1996, and the first word I ever said was "bunny." I knew a lot words from my old nanny reading me her textbooks from college, but none of them particularly stuck with me. Until I saw a rabbit, and the word bunny just clicked and it came out of my mouth. My nanny was so happy she cried, and when Cynthia heard that I had spoken she demanded me to do so once more in her presence. I didn't, because I was one or two years old, and I still didn't really consider her my mother. She was always at parties or something, I guess." Logan's voice trailed on and on, talking to me about where he had moved to around age 10 and how he had moved back, and what Cynthia had done for his birthday one year to try and win his affection back after she left him for a day in an alley on accident. It might have lulled me into sleep if I wasn't so involved with getting to know him. The only thing I can think as he finishes is that I love the sound of his voice more than almost anything I have ever heard before. But I'm not about to tell him that.

We sit on the floor of the bathroom for the rest of the day, talking about our histories. It's better than the rest of life, so I suppose this is a day I can say that I want to live.