In Its Right Place part 2 (Logan POV)
"Did I wake you?" she asks, the couch dipping softly under her weight.
"No," I lie, half sitting up to meet her. The sudden shock of my dream turning into reality has awakened me fully, and I still can't believe she's here, in front of me, and not the manipulation of an overworked brain.
She smiles and I entwine my fingers with hers, giving them a slight tug until she follows me down, her chest against mine.
"Do you dream?" I ask, wary of how to cover up my previous remark.
She shakes her head and wisps of her dark hair brush against my face.
"Even when you sleep?"
"I don't REM sleep." She says, a small sly grin tugging at the edge of her mouth. I watch her mouth, so close to mine, lingering upon each expression. I desperately try to let go of inhibition, but my hand seems capable only of lifting to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Strange how in these few moments Max has rendered both my physical and mental capabilities completely incapacitated. Scratch that, I'm thinking just fine. I'm thinking how beautiful Max looks in the silver halo of moonlight. I'm thinking of the unfathomable black of her eyes, dark beyond the lack of light. I'm thinking what the hell Max is doing here tonight, of all nights, when hours before she left my apartment bristled and stung.
"Why are you here, Max." I whisper, as if to a frightened child.
Her face does not flinch.
"I couldn't help wondering about the work that needed so urgently to get done."
She motions at my book which lays closed now on the coffee table.
I swallow and the moment is gone, the intimacy broken like a taut cord between us that has snapped, and dissipates and dissolves up into the corners of the room.
She is sitting now, physically removed from me, but her eyes pin me down. God I want to tell her the truth, for so many reasons, even just to let her know that the last thing I wanted to do tonight was to turn her away. But the words elude my tongue, pride surfacing its ugly head to get in the way.
"You had a long day, Max. You needed to get some rest."
"That's the most lame-ass excuse I've ever heard, Logan."
Her icy tone cuts deep, but mostly because what she has said is true.
"Look Max, I'm sorry if I was-"
"An asshole?"
"Brusque," I glare back, "But this Zack mess has put strain on me too and unfortunately I'm not superhuman, so I do have the natural tendency to get exhausted, frankly."
"Fine." She rises and I panic.
"Max, wait." I say, standing and reaching out to grasp her arm, as if my touch and not the insignificant human barrier will make her stop.
It does and her head tilts up to look at me. The new perspective is shocking. Her face is hard from anger but beneath I see my own sentiment reflected there. Not the heart gripping panic, but the underlying layer of cold, repressed guilt.
I stare, in disbelief, but she is waiting for an explanation.
"Please don't leave like this." I say, sincerity lost in the rush.
"Would the window be better?" she quips dryly.
This is how we work, Max and I. Continually riding a roller coaster of emotion, flying from one end of the spectrum to the other in a matter of seconds.
"Max-" I begin, but her name turns to a groan as both heat and cold rip through the nerves in my leg.
Not now, not now, not now, not now, I pray silently but the shaking has started and the pain won't stop. My eyes catch her expression of shock before I squeeze them shut hoping to disguise the fear she knows so well. Why the hell now? Why? Was my life getting too perfect? Able to walk again, the girls of my dreams in my arms. But no fucking happiness for Logan Cale. That right was given up long ago. I collapse against her small frame as my legs give out and I can't help feeling that I'm crushing her.
Silence ensues as the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears begins to subside. I lie half on her, half on the couch, my upper body propped against her own. The silence is almost tangible, like a heavy weight covering us and suppressing the emotions that will unwillingly escape. I try to pull away but she holds me firmly.
"You could have told me, Logan," she says softly, the anger completely drained away.
"You know now." I say, and grip the hand that encircles my chest. "Now you tell me your secret."
"What?" She says, oblivious, but I am well acquainted with the sound of guilt. I hear it barely disguised in her voice.
"Where were you tonight?"