This is a rewrite with only a slight addition to the plot
. . .> are Logan's thoughts. Enjoy. Please R/R!
Angel. Chapter 3
Well, this is familiar>. The regret at leaving is immediately recognised. The sense of freedom that sweeps over him is noticed. The stale air of an oncoming day registers. He's done this before. Running again.
He pulls off the road and parks Scott's "borrowed" motorbike in front of a sleazy bar. He struts in, takes a seat by the bar and orders a beer. He even finds the atmosphere familiar.
Why am I in a place like this again?>
The question rolls over in his mind. He takes a large gulp from the glass.
I'm not looking for anything.>
With this newly stated fact he takes another gulp. This sure as hell ain't strong enough> Logan signalled to the bartender and ask for a whisky. He gripped the tumbler in his hand and contemplated it before swallowing its contents in one shot. The alcohol burned his throat on its way down to setting his stomach on fire. Much better > He tossed around possibilities as to why he was on the road again with nowhere to go. He couldn't even think straight. Fantasies of Marie popped into his head. He tried to shake them away, constantly reminding himself that she was just a kid. She sure as hell don't look like a kid anymore
He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. Taking every chance possible to stand near her. Breathing in her aroma and feeling like he was suffocating if he was without it. He was intoxicated with her very presence, the depth of her eyes and the curve of her lips. The way she spoke, the way that everything around her seemed to amuse her as a new-born child looks at the world. She had charm, humour, creativeness. She was just . . . Marie.
Logan ordered another whisky, double this time. He downed it and, with irritation, questioned himself.
Why am I here? What the hell am I running from?>
He thought about the last time he had run away before, searching for his past. Part of him wished he had never found out the extent of the horrors he went through . . . and Marie has them all. He instinctively reached for his dog-tags. He was mildly shocked when he discovered that they weren't there. Marie. The knowledge that they were with Marie made him smile.
How does she make me feel this way?>
He thought long and hard.
I don't feel . . . probably because I've never had the chance to> he thought sadly.
He began circling his finger along the rim of the glass. Not many people know what it's like to feel empty. Unloved. Unknown. Not many people know what it's like to not feel the sunshine, but forever a constant drizzle. To walk around feeling like a ghost with no purpose. When you do finally feel something, you're scared. It's unfamiliar. It doesn't register. You don't recognise it.
He yearns to touch her to make her feel the way she makes him feel. To make her blood race the way she does his. To make her head spin with happiness like she does his. To love her as much as she deserves.
Marie, I love you>
He knew what he was running away from. Commitment. Love. Expectations. He was scared. He had too much pride to admit it. For now, he needed to sort her out in his head. She wasn't just any kid. She was Marie.
Logan suddenly straightened in his barstool. Someone was watching him. The Wolverine flexed his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. He spun around expecting to find some unfriendly locals but found himself glaring into an empty space. Or is it? He had just caught sight of a figure whipping out the door of the bar – he only glimpsed a long coat, boots and, was it, red hair? Logan shook himself. One whisky, too many, bub The Wolverine, defeated, turned back in his seat. He fished in his front jacket pocket for a cigar while staring blankly into space.
Marie, my angel, I need some sort of salvation. Won't you rescue me?>