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Part III

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Logan does not take it well.

"What the hell do you mean?" he says quietly. His voice is low. He reminds Mary Anne of a lion stalking its prey.

She cannot explain. There are butterflies in her stomach. She wants to throw up. She desperately wishes someone would come through the front door.

"Just leave me alone, Logan." Her voice is shaking. She wants to get out of there.

He grabs her arm, and drags her towards him. "What the fuck? You can't just end a two-year relationship like that. What, is it another guy?"

"No!" Mary Anne cries. He stands up, pushing her up too. He is too strong for her. A Christmas photo of the Bruno's on the mantelpiece catches her eye. Logan's arm is around Kerry. He is beaming. Could this be the same guy?

"It's so typical of you to think of yourself," he went on, forcing her head to look at him. She trembles. His arms press into her skin, squeezing her. "I mean, if something goes wrong, you just quit. What about us? I fucking love you, and you just want to end it and you can't even explain? Is it my temper? Just because you're such a pacifist, I mean, you don't see me dumping you just because you cry all the damn time!" He shakes her, and then lets go violently, flinging her away.

She falls to the ground hard. Her right arm hits the carpet first, absorbing the impact. She is shocked. After a few seconds, she sits up, disorientated. Using the couch as a grip, Mary Anne grudgingly stands up. Her feet are not steady and she stumbles. She clutches her arm, and gapes at him.

He had promised it would be the last time.

Logan is looking at her in horror. His words stung more than his actions. That is the worst part. He is always sorry after the rage wears off. He is like a drug.

"Mary Anne! Wait!"

He knows what she is about to do. But Mary Anne ignores him. She tears out of the house, slamming the door. The wind feels like ice on her skin. She forgot her coat. She nearly runs in front of a car in her hurry. Mary Anne runs two streets until her breath runs out. She is grateful Logan does not follow her.

She sits on the kerb, and rests her head on her knees. Her arm is red and her world is black.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

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When Mary Anne wakes he next morning, it is late. Sunlight filters through the closed curtain. Her quilt is half off the bed. She forgot to set her alarm last night.

She blearily stumbles to the kitchen. Sharon is about to leave for work. There are remnants of breakfast in the sink.

"I didn't want to wake you," Sharon explains, "You were sleeping so peacefully."

Mary Anne offers a bleak smile. She is sore and hot. Her hair is a mess. Her life is a disaster.

"I think you should stay home today," Sharon retrieves her purse from the vegetable holder. She checks her lipstick in a compact mirror, "And get some rest. You're looking a little flushed."

Mary Anne nods. She is very tired.

"Oh." Sharon hesitates. She places down her briefcase. "Logan called."

Mary Anne freezes. She cautiously sits down.

"He said he was very sorry. Really sorry."

Sharon waits expectantly but Mary Anne does not say a word. She plays with the frayed tablecloth instead

"And that he would speak to you later," Sharon went on, "And… oh, Mary Anne, I invited him to your father's birthday dinner. I thought you already had. But, it was just a small disagreement, right? You and Logan always make up. Was it okay for me to ask him?"

She sounds anxious. Sharon wants to be the perfect mother. She wants to know she is doing a good job. She is trying her best.

"Mary Anne?"

"Yes," Mary Anne says finally.. She stands up. "I need to have a shower."

She walks out of the room languidly, Tigger trailing at her feet.

Sharon looks perturbed.

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The dinner is a success. There is a warm, friendly atmosphere that Mary Anne wishes she could feel. The guests are seated in a sectioned area, and the tables surrounding them are filled with people dining and talking.

The music is nice and soft. Something her father would love. Mary Anne gave him a nice sweater for his birthday. She had Stacey help her choose it two months ago. Mary Anne is always organized. Her parents have left her and Logan alone, while they visit old friends. Richard has removed the champagne bottle from the holder.

"I forgive you about the other night," Logan says softly, stroking her hair, "And I'm sorry too, babe. Forgive me? You know how I get. And you've been acting so strange recently, I didn't know how to react."

Mary Anne does not say anything. She picks at her salad. She hates tomatoes.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it here, but we haven't really been alone this week, if you get what I mean," Logan continues, "The thing is Mary Anne, I love you, and I – I just couldn't imagine us not being together. "

Mary Anne drops her fork. A splutter of dressing hits her dress. It is black. Sharon did not like that. It is low cut. Richard does not like that, even if it has long sleeves.

Mary Anne is sick of trying to please everyone.

"Are you okay?" Logan asks anxiously, catching the look in her eye.

"Yeah," Mary Anne smiles, "I need to go to the bathroom. I don't want to leave a stain."

In the bathroom, she splashes water on her face. Her face looks pasty. A colleague of her father walks in, tepid heels clicking. She glances sideways in the mirror and fluffs her hair.

"You look very nice, honey," she says.

Mary Anne is sick of false compliments. She does not dignify the woman with an answer. Instead, she locks herself in a cubicle. It is too small and has an unpleasant stench. Mary Anne does not care. She closes her eyes. Maybe if she woke up it would all be a dream.

She hates this reality.

She desperately wants to cry but cannot. She is not surprised. She has a wild urge to climb out the window and go for a walk. She feels like the walls are closing in on her, and she is so exhausted that she feels numb. Every time, it becomes harder to forgive him. Harder for her to be around him.

It becomes more difficult for her to love him.

"Is anyone in the bathroom?" A sugary voice floats through the stall door. It is accompanied with a high-pitched giggle. Someone has drunk too much. "From the Richard Spier party, I mean. We're going to cut the cake!"

Mary Anne sighs. She stands and hits her elbow. She swears, and is so frustrated with everything that she tears off the ring Logan gave her. She flushes it down the toilet. She watches it swirl away from her.

Mary Anne has never felt so down.

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