Chapter 2

Logan's P.O.V.

To be honest, I couldn't explain it if I tried.

I see her walk by sometimes with that same scowl on her face and I could sneak her somewhere and smooth out that wrinkled brow with a kiss but I don't. I mumble something stupid.

She retorts with something clever and jarring, and as always I'm caught with surprise.

Later on when we're alone and I kiss her and she kisses me, I won't apologize and she won't ask me to.

Life as we know it.

It's not love, we've both always insisted on that. It' not even affection. To be honest, I don't even like her.

And the feeling's mutual. So what do I care if it's all wrong.

I'll roll off of her sometimes and I can see that sheen of tears bubbling from her eyes and she blinks them back before she thinks I notice. But me, I notice everything.

Like that necklace she's wearing, the quaint gold locket he gave her forever ago, and she thinks I don't notice. She keeps it tucked underneath her shirt where no one sees and I always forget for a second until I'll pull it off and there it is.

And for a moment I'll stop. The jabbing little reminder right in my throat twinkling with its nonchalant innocence. Everything that was good and everything that went wrong.

And she thinks I don't notice.

But it makes it easier. To hate her.

To be rougher than I have to. To leave her lips bruised.

And she's attributed her own scratches to the scars that were already on my back. And I leave her spit-slick and exhausted.

Life as we know it. Is really fucked up.

And then she'll cry. And I feel no sympathy because those tears, they're not for me. They never have been.

It's not rose petals and hand-holding. It's really nothing. It all started as an accident and probably, it'll end that way.

And maybe things would get easier.

To be honest, I don't really hate her. It's too hard to hate her.

Sometimes I even wonder if I could just take her hand into mine and walk out into the sunlight. Maybe, the world wouldn't shatter.

But then I realize what an absurd thought it is and I shove it away.

So I don't love her. But I don't hate her.

To be honest, I couldn't explain it if I tried.