A/N: The last line is actually what inspired me to write this story. Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter. Special thanks to Becca (radcgg) who not only told me this didn't suck, but gave me a 'squeeeee' as well. ;) Chapter title is from Joss Stone.
Secondhand Emotion
2: Right to be Wrong
"I've got a right to be wrong
I've been held down too long
I've got to break free
So I can finally breathe"
He has always been a man who's known who he is and what he wants. Until she came along.
He has very clear expectations of those around him and the same can be said for them of him. In exchange for letting him gallivant around the world, his father expects him to take over the family business one day. His friends look to him as a leader, while he relies on their support and loyalty. He dates girls who want nothing more than to be seen with him and to have a good time. They understand that he doesn't do commitment.
Despite his wild ways and 'devil may care' attitude, his life is built on order and understanding; he is always in control.
He wonders just exactly when all that went out the window. The shift must have been subtle; a blink-and-you'll-miss-it type of occurrence.
He now finds himself lingering by Pushkin during the rare occasions when he is in the library. He scans campus coffee carts as he passes for any signs of the familiar brunette. He spends more and more time in the newspaper office. Having to deal with Doyle kissing his ass is worth being able to watch her get wrapped up in whatever she's working on.
It is only in the confines of his room that he even acknowledges these feelings. Outside of those four walls he remains the mighty Logan Huntzberger. Care and worry free.
He wonders how she seamlessly became so ingrained in his everyday life. When he started comparing every potential date to her. Why simple things like coffee and newspapers bring an idiotic grin to his face.
He pretends he isn't pleased by the fact that his friends have not only accepted her into their group, but are as captivated by her as he is. Stephanie is ecstatic to have someone "without a Y chromosome" to talk to, while Finn and Colin go to great, and often absurd, lengths to get her attention. He doesn't even acknowledge the warm feeling he gets from seeing her smile and hearing her laugh at their antics.
He refuses to accept how natural it's become for her to drop by on Friday nights after her dinners, just to hang out with them, watching movies, playing cards, or trying to talk Finn out of whatever craziness he has cooked up for the evening.
She entertains them with tales from that night's dinner. The unsurprising appearance of a new maid, the most recent book Richard has gotten her, or, more often than not, the latest battle between Emily and Lorelai. When she speaks of this, he can always detect a hint of pride in her voice, hidden beneath the exasperation.
He knows that Lorelai is her hero in every sense of the word and finds himself wanting to meet the dynamic woman who helped shape her into the person she is today. He tells himself it is because someone like Lorelai is rare in his world. She is someone who never conformed to what high society dictated and came out the victor. Someone he respects.
It has nothing to do with wanting her approval.
Despite his best efforts, he seems to have acquired a new heightened awareness of everything to do with her. When he awakens in the mornings, she is always gone. The cold empty space that replaces her warm body serves as his wake up call. The only reminder of her is the strawberry scent on his pillow and the tightness he feels in his chest. He doesn't think about why the latter happens more and more frequently these days. If he did, he'd have to admit more than he's ready to.
Every morning, along with the tightness in his chest, comes the fear that today is the day she has woken up and come to her senses. She has realized that he is all wrong for her. She's gone back to her childhood sweetheart, met someone in one of her classes, or heaven forbid, has decided that nice guys don't finish last and given in to those lovesick glances that Marty has been sending her way.
He desires clarity; he wants all these thoughts and emotions to turn into something tangible, something he can grasp. He wants to know what it is that she has over him. What it is about her. Why her startling blue eyes constantly haunt him. He needs to put a name to this hold, this power, this thing that is just out of reach.
When the clarity comes, it's swift and sudden, knocking the breath out of him.
Those are strings, Pinocchio.