Rating: R
Disclaimer: I make millions and millions of dollars selling this fan fics...don't you just see them everywhere? I mean...God..they're like Harry Potter *rolls eyes*
A/N: Max calling things off with Logan is too angsty a twist for me to ignore. I simply have to make a comment on it! (may I say that I love drunk Logan and sweet Alec)
"A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats on down the street 'till the wind is gone. And the memory now was like the picture was then, when the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again." - Linkin Park
Darkness Holding Me
Logan took a long, bitter drink. His mind, and indeed much more than that, was spinning wildly. Muscles throughout his body clenched and twinged periodically with the characteristic pulse of anger and hopelessness. Every other breath leaving his body was used to curse himself, the rest were directly (perhaps unfairly) toward Max and Alec. There were a few short moments in which guilt would assail him concerning the matter of his thoughts, but his misgivings were fleeting at best and self-pity easily rolled in to overwhelm his right mind.
Fucking, stupid!
He hit his head repeatedly against the palm of his hand, inflicting an insubstantial amount of pain compared to that permeating his very flesh. Throwing all of his weight back in his chair, he released an almost inhuman groan and dropped his half full glass to the hard wood floor. The glass emitted a loud, heavy thump which was accompanied by the cool splash of its contents.
I should have known...from the minute I saw her I should have known.
Leveling the blame at himself for the moment, he reflected on all the evidence he could have and should have taken note of through the time he'd known Max. She wasn't the sort of girl to become attached. He'd known that all along, but he'd also felt the need to dig and find her guarded heart. Honestly, Logan was no longer positive that he'd found it. Every moment he thought her walls were down, he discovered new ones. Every time he opened up his soul to her, he was met with the same blank, dark look.
Bitch!
He vacillated violently to the other side of the spectrum. Max made excuses. She covered up her own inability to deal with others by shoving and convincing herself that she wasn't running away, but doing the courageous thing. Max was a soldier, she was trained from birth not to care about anyone but herself and her mission. There were, he knew, some strong loyalties she felt toward her comrades. Logan wasn't blood of her blood, he was a mere mortal with nothing specifically exceptional about him. In Max's eyes, he was weak.
Logan was tired of being compared to her siblings. Being born of a mother and father didn't automatically make him inferior, he'd been taking care of himself long enough to judge the risks he wanted to take. Max didn't have the right to decide what was or wasn't safe for him to do, if he wanted to get involved in her tangled life there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
Although, maybe her major problem wasn't a worry for him. After all, if he was dead what difference would anything make to him? He couldn't help but notice that she never took a moment to figure how he might feel if something were to happen to her. Something had happened to her, and she'd come walking back like nothing had changed. For her, it was easier to be the soldier walking into danger. She was on good terms with her own death, but being a survivor and having to face the subsequent emotional torture was something she couldn't face. However, she didn't seem to even flinch upon laying that package upon his doorstep.
Trailing a few fingers down the front of his shirt, he smeared around some spilled alcohol. Really, he felt more drunk than he actually was. Logan had been drinking fine wine for years, but hard liquor had the distinct ability to bring him to a point of utter stupefaction in only a few minutes. Kicking his discarded glass to the side, he levered himself out of his chair onto uncertain legs. Gradually, they were solidified by a sense of hot and determined anger.
Rubbing each of his palms against the rough material of his pants, he paced. Back and forth, his muscles tight like those of a panther ready to pounce hummed with the thin bubbling of his blood. He knew, deep down he knew, that he should have seen it coming. Max's sudden turn shouldn't have been a surprise to him. Logan was an expert at fooling himself, and he could adeptly twist the facts of a situation to pull the wool over his own eyes. He didn't like to face what was difficult for him to see. After the incident with the gossamer, when he'd blurted out those few words he'd so long been determined not to say, he'd opened himself up to a whole new world of hurt.
Groaning in agony, he forked a sticky hand through his hair. She certainly had the training to pick out her opponent's weakest spot, and she'd found his as if he'd labeled it. In a way, he supposed that he had. She knew better than anyone how to hurt him, and although he knew a part of her was spurred on by the fear of what could become of him, he couldn't help thinking that she'd done it out of spite.
His mood dipped, becoming ever darker with each step that he took. Letting go was never easy, especially with him. He thrived on holding on to things, on obsessing and controlling. Logan was incapable of sitting back, of not becoming involved. And while sometimes it was difficult for him to see the things that mattered in his own life, he was the sort of man who emotionally embraced any sort of commitment.
God...I'm such an idiot.
There was an aching sense of desperation that began to surface among the anger and self pity. It tore viciously at his heart and wrung tears from his eyes. There was no torture that could drive a man to the brink of insanity faster, no pain that could rip flesh from bone and body from soul more indefinitely, than a desperate love for a woman who refused to be held. It rang in his ears like a howl, and elicited like sounds from his vocal cords.
His step quickly became bobbled, and his drunken state all the more obvious. Stumbling, with bitter tears obscuring his vision, he found his way to the relative sanctuary of his bedroom. His blankets and pillows awaited him invitingly, the same gentle creatures he'd shared so many fantasies of the woman who was now the bane of his heart. They had offered solace to his dreams and his nightmares, and on this night they would bear witness to the incredible amount of pain human beings could deal one another (an injury Logan had so willingly opened himself up for).
Sinking down onto the mattress, he let his eyes drift shut even as his salty stream of tears were still plowing down his cheeks. The alcohol made him heavy, and the night invitingly closed in around him. Things would look better in the morning.
Maybe, he reflected, he could wake up to find it had all been a horrible nightmare.
He knew that he would have to face Max once again, and that nothing between them would ever be the same. Even if she somehow decided to take it all back, that she'd made a mistake, things couldn't go back to how they were. He couldn't forget the heartache, he couldn't flatten out his heart on the table for her once again.
Maybe he wouldn't want her back.
Things would never be the same.