It's funny how pain works he mused to himself as he laid on the floor shirtless and drunk. The tiles were ice cold from the air conditioning and Logan loved the feel of them. It was a tremendous sensation as the tiles drained the heat from his body, taking, always taking, and leaving him there with nothing. Nothing but the chills, which were hardly discernible from the blanket of frigid air that had wrapped itself around both his body and his life. The icebox that was his life had managed to leave him all alone, with only his nightmares for company and it had also left him afraid. Afraid of what he was and what he was becoming and just simply afraid to live. The icebox had failed at only one thing. It failed to numb Logan from the emotions that were consuming him.
He felt every pinprick of pain and guilt. Each jab to his heart, which for the most part were aimed with his own hand, left him in a deeper anguish and desperation. He had tried to gasp for air, but it had hurt too much to breathe and eventually he just let his misery pull him under, into a dark, lonely, abysmal pit. He had given up, called it quits.
He was frequently visited in his nightmares by incessant reminders in the form of an ashtray, an empty room, or the most troubling, a woman's hand that he kept trying to grab a hold of but kept fading away under his fingers. Maybe it was Lily's hand manifesting his unreturned feelings for her. Maybe it was Veronica's hand, reaching out for him, trying to pull him out of the emotional abyss that he found himself in. Maybe it belonged to Trina, her sad excuse for a goodbye before being whisked off on another trip by another boyfriend lacking any sign of personality or depth. Or maybe it was his mother's hand, soft and fragile, trying to comfort her son again, trying unsuccessfully to heal the wounds that would never heal for they were too deep and too fatal.
Logan remained, as thoughts ran through his head, languishing on the floor, letting the tile reap whatever little was left of him from his tired body. He had his fingers tightly wrapped around the neck of the bottle in his hand, as if it too would leave him. He took another big swig of alcohol letting the vodka swim down his throat, hoping it would numb the pain even if for just a minute, but it too failed him. The substance that he had deemed so vital for his survival now pooled on the floor from where the excess had spilled over his lips and down his cheeks to the floor. He pondered wiping the sticky liquid off his face but quickly chased the idea away after he concluded that it only made him feel colder... closer to the 'emotional void', that he was aspiring to be.
Logan guzzled down the last of the bottle's contents, making sure this time not to spill down his cheeks for this was the last of the vodka and he didn't want to waste a drop, fearing that the one drop he did miss might be the one drop that had the ability to numb him and he didn't want to miss that. After the final trickle of alcohol had been sucked out of the bottle Logan absentmindedly threw it and was satisfied when he heard the shattering of glass echoing throughout the empty house, filling every corner with a false livelihood.
Wearily and a bit unsteadily Logan pulled himself to his feet, reaching out with his hand to grasp the marble counter. When he was somewhat composed on his feet he walked, rather staggered, his way into the living room where he decided after the long walk of a whole twenty feet he needed a break and he fell onto the couch. Nuzzling his nose, the only part of his body that was beginning to grow somewhat numb, into the fabric of the couch he took a deep breath immediately regretting it.
He could smell the sweet, sugary scent of lemonade and immediately his mind raced back eight years when Trina had spilt it on the couch. Logan remembered that beating particularly well. He remembered how immediately Trina had pointed a pink polished finger in Logan's direction when Aaron asked who had spilt the lemonade. Logan remembered denying the claim. Logan remembered how Aaron had laughed when the leather snapped against the raw skin of his back and laughed still further when he punched Logan in the stomach and Logan doubled over in pain. Logan remembered how his mother had secretly nursed his wounds after Aaron had fallen into a drunk stupor on the couch and he remembered that that was the first of many nights that hid mom had forgotten to kiss him goodnight.
Logan sat up quickly trying to rid himself of the memory and walked over to the mantle, only after his trip to the liquor cabinet, snatching another bottle of liquor. He picked up his mother's urn and he slowly started to stumble his way up the stairs. At the top he went left down the hall and walked into his parents' room, probably the coldest room in the house, if not in temperature than certainly in the morbid atmosphere it possessed.
He walked into the bathroom and sat himself on the edge of the giant tub, holding his mother's urn out in front of him, cradled in his fingers. He gently placed the awkwardly shaped piece of glass and the bottle of Peppermint Schnapps on the edge of the basin and stepped carefully into the tub, lying down feeling the marble chill the scars on his back. When he was situated he reached a shaky hand out and quickly opened the bottle of peppermint support, wrapping his lips around the brim and taking a good long drink before finally placing it back on the side of the tub.
Finally Logan slowly picked up his mother's urn. He pressed the cold glass against his lips, kissing it before abruptly swinging his arm towards the wall of the tub and shattering the urn that had been made by bloody, brutal hands against the edge of the tub. Pieces of the glass were scattered in the tub, and some were strewn across the granite floor where they clinked and echoed until finally coming to a halt. Sea water sloshed into the tub and down the drain, but some of it managed to splatter on the floor among the rest of the glass were it collected and remained.
Logan look down at his bare chest and found one solitary glass shred resting perfectly there in the shape of an arrow. He picked it up running his fingers over the sharp edges that tickled a little as his fingertips guided their way to the tip of the glass, exploring the surface.
Logan sat holding the arrow for what felt like an hour before sliding the edge across his wrist, puncturing the vein and watching as the blood oozed out of the deep gash and trickled down to his pants leaving dark red stains. He then sliced through his other wrist and dropped the arrow in the tub along with the rest of the glass that had shattered, where it did not blend at all. All the rest of the glass was clear and impeccable while the arrow remained bloody and tainted.
Logan, after watching emotionlessly as the blood poured from his body, leaned to the side and reached into his back pocket were he had placed the note he had written before he had laid himself down on the kitchen floor earlier that night. He put it on the side of the tub, in a small puddle of water that would cause the paper to wrinkle and crease and remain that way forever just as Logan's eyes did after he closed them and drifted off...
The maid found him the next morning and with tears in her eyes she read the note that Logan had left behind.
If you are reading this then I left you already. For most of you I left your lives a few months ago after you found that my dad had killed Lily and made an attempt at Veronica, but now you don't have to worry. You don't have to worry because you will never have to risk running into me in the frozen food section of the grocery store, or at the fifteen year reunion, or at any other town function. To Trina, tell her that she wasn't that bad of a sister and that I did love her, for there was nothing else I could do. Tell her that she can't have my room or my poker chips, but she can have the rest. To Duncan, tell him that we had fun while it lasted, that I had always relied on him and that I never meant to hurt him. That I understand. To Veronica, tell her that I could have loved her, that maybe I did. V, life is overrated, but you make it the best it can be. Make sure that you think of me once and a while and if it's not too much to ask, go skinny dipping for me sometime. Watch out for Duncan, make sure he gets what he needs and most of all, if you do nothing else, please take care of my mom's lighter.
And with that I will leave you with my last inspirational greeting (though inspiration I have lacked far a while now):
Plant impossible gardens.
Look forward to dreams.
Cry during movies.
Swing as high as you can on a swingset, by moonlight.
Cultivate moods. Take Moon baths.
Giggle with children. Listen to old people.
Drive away fear.
Play with everything. Entertain your inner child.
Build a fort with blankets.
Get wet. Hug trees.
Write love letters.
-SARK
Don't be too good or too bad,
Forever watching over you,
Logan
