Whoa look chapter 4!

Not sure how angsty this is gonna get yet, prepare thyselves.

Joanna knew she was putting it off.

She needed to take Logan to the doctor, that's why he had come home.

He had only been home for two days.

He hadn't spoken to her, he hadn't been speaking to anyone. Sometimes she caught him with his laptop, other times with his phone, texting.

But he didn't talk.

"Logan?" she had asked, from the kitchen table. He was sitting on the couch, computer in his face.

He was typing out something, he didn't seem to care to respond.

"Honey, we're going to go to the doctor."

Again, he didn't respond. That stupid computer.

So she took it. Right out of his hands. She placed it on the counter.

He blinked at her, closing his eyes, sighing.

"Logan, please."

He followed her out to the car. She drove.

He didn't say anything.

—

Logan didn't say anything when they walked into the doctor's office. It's the pediatric care unit, he knows that.

He's eighteen.

Legally, he doesn't need to comply with his mother, he doesn't need to do anything.

And maybe he would've said something, maybe he would've done something.

But he doesn't care. It doesn't matter who fixes him. It just matters that they fix him.

He knows he's not healthy, but his symptoms don't seem to be connected, at least not according to any research he's tried to do.

He'd like to say he was on the verge of some diagnostic breakthrough when his mother took his laptop from him, but that wouldn't be true. He wasn't.

He didn't mind being here, not really.

As long as someone could tell him what was wrong, Logan could take proactive steps to follow through with prescribed treatment. He would get better, and maybe James would talk to him again, after a while.

Maybe Logan would talk to people again, but he really just couldn't.

James told him it was his fault.

He needed a diagnosis immediately.

—

"Logan is eighteen."

Logan is sitting on the examination bed-thing, the waxy, sanitary paper covering the bed crinkling underneath him. He was told to sit there.

The doctor—Dr. Howard—is glancing down at a clipboard full of records and papers. He looks up at Logan, then back at Joanna.

"I know that," Joanna spits back at him.

Dr. Howard resumes flipping through his clipboard of records and papers. He sets the clipboard down, walking over to Logan. "What seems to be the problem?"

The problem wasn't there before, it's a new problem.

The tabloid is in the corner of the room, on the shelf of magazines and books that supposedly some of the kids read during visits. Logan doubts that the shelf has been touched by anyone under the age of twelve. But the tabloid is there.

He recognizes it, of course. It's him.

He hadn't seen any of the pictures yet, he's not even convinced this is the worst one.

It's pretty bad.

LOGAN MITCHELL'S BIG TIME BREAKDOWN

He made the cover of Pop Tiger over this. James told him, he remembers that.

He just—in that picture—that didn't happen.

"Logan?" Joanna asks. She follows his gaze to the tabloid. She picks it up from the hanging shelf, flipping through it, letting the pages swish.

And she throws it in the trash can.

"Just listen to the doctor." she tells him. "Don't worry about it."

Too bad. He is.

That's the main issue—that he's here in the first place, for some sort of mental breakdown that has completely escaped him.

"What seems to be the problem?" Dr. Howard repeats, standing there, in front of him, waiting.

The problem is unsolvable.

He knows he's gotten his mother's attention by not answering. HIs headache is back.

"Let's just check you out," Dr. Howard says. He shines a light in Logan's eyes.

He doesn't mean to squint, but he does, the light makes his eyes ache.

His eyes are aching no matter what.

Dr. Howard uses the otoscope to examine Logan's ears.

He knows every step of this process.

But he knows there is no way that Dr. Howard will find out what's wrong with his brain by looking at his ear canal. Or by checking his throat. Or his breathing, his breathing is fine. Nothing is wrong with his breathing.

Dr. Howard takes out the reflex hammer.

Logan's legs already hurt, they're numb again.

Dr. Howard taps his leg with the hammer.

There's the indication: Logan's leg doesn't move.

Something has to be wrong with his joints.

Dr. Howard continues the checkup, taking note of the obvious issue.

"What seems to be the problem?"

This is the third time this question has been asked.

For the third time, Logan doesn't want to speak, he doesn't want to answer.

"Logan," Joanna says to him. "What's wrong?"

Logan shakes his head. He doesn't want anything to be wrong with him.

He wants to be in denial like James.

James is lucky, because he's still delusional.

But Logan lets reality hit him hard, in waves.

Reality: he didn't talk, his mother told Dr. Howard everything she knew.

Dr. Howard wrote it down. Dr. Howard left the room. He came back after a few minutes, probably to get a second opinion.

The next reality came quicker, hit harder, soaked him, drowned him.

Reality: Logan is being banished to the Mayo Clinic for more advanced testing procedures.

—

The Mayo Clinic is all the way in Rochester.

The Mayo Clinic sentenced him to a week of tests.

Logan threw his things together quickly, all he wanted to bring was his phone and laptop anyway. He ended up bringing clothes too, and toothpaste, and all these things.

He did not want to sit rotting in the Mayo Clinic for a week.

It was not fair, it was probably not necessary.

But then again, his leg hadn't moved when Dr. Howard hit it with the reflex hammer.

He knew something was wrong with him.

So, he doesn't argue. He climbs in the passenger seat of the car, with his bag, his laptop securely tucked inside.

He sleeps, for the first time, it feels like, during the whole car ride.

And he wakes up to the Mayo Clinic.

They check in.

He gets his room.

He is ordered to take off his regular clothes and strip.

He slips a hospital gown over his head.

He is told he'll start blood tests in the morning.

And he climbs into the hospital bed.

His phone buzzes.

It's Camille.

How are you?

He falls asleep before he can send his response.

Tired 3

The emoticons don't make sense to him, but they make Camille smile.

He just wants to see someone other than his mother or the guys or the doctors.

He wants to see Camille's smile, he wants Camille to come into the room and slap him.

He just wants to see Camille.

Reality: Camille is in LA.

Reality: He is getting tests done tomorrow, the whole week.

Reality: And right now, Camille doesn't know about any of it.

—

Okay sorry it's short I'm tired right and so I really wanted to leave you on an extra fun cliffhanger! But this is a pretty good set up for the next chapter! More angst to come!