THE OBLIVIOUS MODE
By Yih
Chapter 7
"Why can't I fall in love?"
The Marty issue was still bothering me. It had been a few days later, but not enough of a time gap for me to forget about it. It was still too soon. Much too soon as was indicated by the fact that Marty still had not bothered to contact me. We hadn't kept this little contact in the past year or so that we had known each other. If I was bothered, he must be hurting.
"Why do you want to fall in love?" Logan countered.
Typical of him to be his difficult self when I want a straight answer out of him. I couldn't even ask a question without him launching an opposing question. Bah humbug. Luckily it was Thursday evening and I was about to be fed wonderfully by whatever Logan deemed suitable for our dinner tonight.
I'd gone to work for Louise the Glorious Baby-Making Machine again and had escaped the children's playroom with my mind still intact. I swear, if I had had more than two kids, someone needed to remind me of my days of babysitting Louise's hoard. That would do it. I'd scream bloody murder.
"Doesn't everyone want to fall in love?" I retorted.
"I think love is overrated."
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.
"Don't you think it is? I mean, love equating to happiness? Ridiculous."
I was gasping. "You aren't serious!" I exclaimed. "You did not just say that love is overrated and ridiculous."
He blinked, looking quite solemn. "And what if I did?"
"LOGAN HUNTZBERGER!"
I heard a chuckle. It was faint, but it was distinct. "Are you joking?"
He gave me the look.
"You are!" I shrieked. "You are a horrible little boy!"
The look turned into a full fledged glower. "I'm going to protest the little and the boy comments. I am neither little," he drew up to his full height an oh-so-towering 5'11", "nor am I a boy."
I did have to crank my neck a bit to look at him. I was a mere 5'4". "But not the horrible?"
He smirked. "I am horrible."
"How charming."
"I know."
"Seriously," I decided to ignore his enormous ego, "you do think that everyone wants to fall in love?"
"I think," he began softly and sincerely, "that everyone at one point in their lives
wants to fall in love."
"Then why do you ask why do I want to fall in love?"
"Because why are you bemoaning why you can't fall in love when you had the
perfect chance with Marty?"
Ouch. It was another reminder of what a great guy Marty was, that even Logan
was willing to admit it even if he didn't like the guy. But… I didn't love Marty. I knew that like I knew I was going to breathe even if I wasn't trying to. "You can't force love. It just… happens. I guess."
"You can't," he murmured. "I agree."
There was an intensity I didn't understand. Logan was a mystery unto himself. "When's dinner?"
"Whenever it comes," he responded.
"I'm hungry." I was a whiner when I was hungry. I'm not ashamed to admit it either, so there! "I want to eat."
"Don't we all."
-
I was sated. Whoever said food was overrated had never met half the chefs that Logan did dinner business with. I had eaten a fantastic meal that was guaranteed to put fat on my tummy unless I managed to coerce myself onto the treadmill. Just thinking about jogging, even slow jogging that was not any faster than fast paced walking had me nauseous. But if I kept eating like this and not exercising, soon I wouldn't be able to get my pants anymore.
"Hungry anymore?"
I shot him a I can't believe you're asking me that look.
"You did eat quite a deal," he commented. "You put away the seaweed seafood salad, had second helpings of the lemon grilled chicken, and tuck in the Dutch chocolate cheesecake."
Logan knew how to make me feel bad about what I'd just stuffed into my stomach. I still couldn't believe I'd eaten that much. What was even sadder was that he'd left out the side dishes like the mashed potatoes, the buttered corn, and stir fried mixed oriental veggies I was so fond of. Add that to the list above and I really did need to get my ass onto the running machine.
"Thanks for reminding me."
He patted my stomach patronizingly. "Someone needs to or you'd eat even more."
"I have a healthy appetite," I muttered defensively.
"You eat like a pig," he remarked fondly.
"You really know how to flatter a girl."
Trademark Huntzberger smirk. He ought to get it copyrighted. "The treadmill's in the next room calling for you." I scowled. "It's crying, Rory Gilmore come run on me. Rory Gilmore, you get your ass over here." He was going far too far. He better thank the God up there that I wasn't as weight preoccupied as he was. If I turned his insults back at him, he'd be reduced to a girly wail of indignation. If he wouldn't take it, why ever did he think I would?
"Logan…"
"Rory…"
"I really hate you."
"You really love me," he contradicted.
My eyes rolled skyward. Appropriate as there was a skylight. "Logan, would you like me to poke fun at your weight?" His expression was neutral. "Then don't make fun of mine!"
"I wasn't making fun of your weight," he phrased carefully. "I was only trying to encourage you to exercise. You really should exercise a few times a week for at last half an hour, which you don't. If I have to make fun of your weight to get you to sweat yourself into a healthy body, I'll do it."
I felt like a petulant child. Here Logan was only concerned about my welfare and I was snappy at him for it. Pooh-bah. I still wasn't willing to let go of the nagging intuition he had been teasing me about my possible weight gain if all I did was eat, sit, and eat, sit again. And… yet I couldn't deny that he was right.
"Are you going to exercise tonight?"
I was so stuffed; I didn't think I could move. He was asking me this now? Maybe if he asked an hour or so or maybe tomorrow when I felt I could move, then maybe I'd be up for the questionable suggestion. I definitely wasn't up for it anytime soon. All I wanted was to sit on the coach, be a dent in it, and watch some mindless reality TV.
"Rory?"
"Oh fine, I'll go run on the bloody treadmill when I don't feel utterly stuffed."
"Good." He grinned. "I'll come get you in an hour then."
Boo.
-
We started at nine and we ended at ten. It felt like a good time to just plop myself down on the floor and never get up again. There were two big problems with that plan though. (1) I was thirsty as hell and (2) I would have asked Logan for some but I was still gasping for oxygen that my lungs were desperately deprived of.
I told myself I was going to get some water, but my legs gave out from under me and I sank to the ground like I was meant to join it. My eyes rolled back into my head and I felt every other cell in me screaming for water that wasn't screaming for air. And at any second, I knew that Logan was going to yell at me to get to my feet unless I wanted my muscles to cramp horribly.
At this moment in time, I could care less about cramping. Cramping seemed like an excellent alternative if it meant I could let my limbs rest on the floor and not have to move them forever. Now if only Logan would be a dear and sense my need for water…
Water splashed on me. "Going to get up?" I opened my eyes to see Logan
shadowing me. "Don't you want some water?" He shook the Dasani bottle. He was asking a very dumb question. "If you want some, you're going to have to give up."
Bastard. He was no angel. Hell's spawn, surely, to deny me the water I sorely needed? "This is for your own good," he continued in that I know what's best for you voice that I really despised at times like these. "If you don't get up, your muscles will cramp badly."
God, I wanted that water. I raised an arm up, trying to grab at it. With me ground prone, Logan easily avoided my hand. "Get up Rory," his voice was commanding. Drat it, I was going to have to get up. When he got that sort of tone going on, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Now Rory!"
I was up. Man, ow, he, ah, was, fuck, right. My muscles were cramped, and boy did they hurt. I grimaced. If he laughed, if he joked, if he made any I'm right statements I was going to… cry.
Peering at him cautiously, he did none of the three. He merely handed me the water bottle and encouragingly gestured for me to drink it up. Bless his bossy soul. I gulped the H2O down. Sweet deliverance. Water was the drink of revitalization. My cells were totally agreeing.
"Feel better?"
I took a huge gulp of air. "Much."
"So how about the mile cool down then?" He wanted a cool down after I'd just run my ass off for 45 minutes? Was he freaking crazy? I gave him a disbelieving look. "It's good to cool down," he continued as if he hadn't seen my revolted expression. "It gets the muscles all nice and happy."
What made him think that I cared about how my muscle felt? "I am not cooling down by running a mile," I snapped. "I'm exhausted."
He gave mea reproving look, but I could tell from his relaxed stance that he was
going to push the issue. At least he knew his limits on what he could get me to do. He did hold quite a bit of power over me, but there were boundaries that I wouldn't cross. After running nearly four miles, I wasn't about to run another one.
"Spoilsport," he muttered.
I rolled my eyes. Yes, deciding not to run another mile was being a spoilsport. Logan's logic doesn't make sense sometimes. Then again, I can't really complain about his when mine doesn't either. I wonder who rubbed off on whom? "Are you going to cool off or are you just going to stand there?"
He huffed and started the treadmill on jogging mode. What to do… what to do… but watch?
TBC…
A/N: It's my birthday, so review and let me know what you think please? It'd be a nice present. Oh, btw, it's starting, slowly but surely to be R/L, but it was always there, Rory's just oblivious.