Sorry it took a while to get this up, but I had a few versions of chapter 3 and I just didn't like them. Back in Logan's pov, enjoy! Thank you for reading and reviewing as well... your comments make me smile :D

Disclaimer - still I own nothing but the empty pepsi bottle by my bed. But one day, I hope, Rob Thomas will share the wealth.


Chapter 3

"Welcome everybody, we have a new member this morning. Would you like to introduce yourself sir?"

The lady with the warm smile, standing in the middle of the circle of people offers the floor to you. You look around a couple of times at the eager faces, the bemused looks, the lack of concentration on some of the faces, the paranoia. It's oddly comforting. Group therapy, works for some, why not for you?

"My names Logan,"

You're voice is deflated. You think it's pointless. But Kieth got you a place here, he said it will help ease the guilt, it said it would help heal, you could tell he was lying, but you didn't have the heart to say now. He's been so good to you, you have to at least try, right? Like hell you do, you scrape your chair back and go to leave.

"If you're not ready to share Logan, you don't have to, but please stay, listen to what the others have to say. Listen to their stories. Sometimes it helps to listen more than it does to talk."

Her voice isn't angry, it's warm, it's soft, just like your mothers was. You turn back around and sit down on your seat. Maybe you could just listen, at least for a bit. It's not like you've got anything better to do. The smile that graces her face shows wear and tear, but it's no less intense, it reaches to her eyes and she's happy you're staying.

"Melissa, would you like to start today off."

She offers the floor to a small raven haired young woman. She screams paranoia as she slowly raises from her seat, and looks around carefully. There's something familiar about the way she stands, her face is scarred, as are her arms and legs. She pulls down her long sleeved top when she notices you staring.

"It's rude to stare."

She points out with anguish in her voice as you quickly flick my eyes up to hers.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to..."

"No they never do, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt just as much! You don't understand!"

Her voice is full of venom. It's just your sort of luck to provoke a highly damaged girl just by looking at her.

"Melissa... breathe, and calm. Would you like to share with Logan what happened? Then he can understand."

The woman grabs Melissa's hand in hers, with pleading in her eyes.

"What's there to tell? The scars are pretty self explanatory. I was in a fire that killed my family. I'm completely alone."

Her anger ever evident. For once in the past five years, you want to reach out to another human being and comfort them, take their pain away. Because you know what it's like to be alone in the world. You know what it's like to have everything you love taken away from you. That's progress right?

"Worse bit... I don't even remember them, so I can't grieve them. I can go to their graves, but I can't talk about the times we spent together."

The girl infront of you begins to tear up. So maybe you can't understand. Sure, everyone you cared about is gone. You're family are gone. But at least you still have your memories.

"I thought I remembered something today, there was a beach... it was beautiful, golden sand, I can't have been anymore than 11 or 12, and we were playing on the beach. But hey who knows, they could be false memories right? Who am I kidding? Of course they're false memories... they're just dreams."

Melissa shrugged before taking her seat. Such an angry young girl. And you thought your sob story was one for the record books. But still you don't feel like sharing.

You want to tell them, really you do. You want to tell them how when you were young your father beat you, you want to tell them that when you were 16 the girl you were in love with was murdered by your father, how when you were 17 your mother committed suicide, how you were accused of murder, how half your classmates died, how when you were 18 your father was assassinated, how you watched your best friends little brother jump from the top of a hotel and did nothing about it, and then how at 20 years old, the love of you life was killed and you blame yourself.

They're not ready, you're not ready. Why would you want to spill your heart to a stranger? Everyone's out to get you, remember?

You sit, arms folded, listening, as other people in the group reveal their stories. One boy watched as his mother was shot dead. One woman lost her husband to cancer, she knew it was coming, but it still didn't mean she was ready. Another woman's husband and son died in a car accident, she was driving. She suffered from terrible guilt. You felt like telling her it wasn't her fault, that she should just be thankful that she's alive.

Maybe you should listen to yourself? No! You could've stopped Veronica, if you had, she'd still be here, you just know it. So you just leave the lady in her squalor of self pity. Maybe you're not making progress after all.