“It's—fine,” Kass said, but he knew it wasn't fine.
He watched her take a shaky breath, her chest trembling as she fought to steady her emotions. He considered leaning over and hugging her, but he feared how she would react. They weren't there yet. Not even close. He preferred to keep his teeth intact for as long as he could.
“Kass—” Logan rubbed his face, wondering if there was anything he could do to make this conversation better, but it was doubtful. He had slaughtered any chance of continuing a pleasant conversation. And it was not only dead, but it was cold, dead, and buried. “You know, he doesn't sound like a very nice person,” he said finally. No fucking kidding. Despite knowing that he was nothing to gloat about, especially lately, he could think of nothing else to say to her. “Maybe this is exactly what you needed to hear.”
“Yeah,” Kass said. “Maybe.” She looked up at him, and he saw her cheeks stained with tears. “I'm going to go to the bathroom. I'll be back.”
He watched her walk from the car to the restroom, her shoulders hunched as she stared at the ground. He didn't know what to do now, so he did nothing, only watched her go and wished he could take it all back.
It was like a nightmare. One of those dreams where you’re running from something—a monster, maybe—but you can’t quite get far enough away. In the dream, you keep tripping. You keep stumbling. It doesn't matter how often you clamber to your feet and run again—you can never escape the monster chasing you.
Never.
Sometimes, not even when you wake up.
Tears streaming down her face, Kass splashed water on her blotchy skin. On the other side of the bathroom door, she could hear Logan start the car. It was early, barely sunrise, but she knew it was time to go. What were the odds, she thought, that the one person who had turned her life upside down knew the biggest secret in her fiancé's life, especially when her best friend had no idea?
Life was fucking funny that way.
Lack of sleep was taking a toll on Kass's perky complexion. Now, black circles like shadows masked her eyes. She was still pale, a color that was rare on her. It was unappealing, making her look sickly and frail.
The glass in the mirror of the run-down bathroom was chipped, a rough, scar-like shape rippled through the glass. Without thinking twice about it, Kass reached for the crack, her fingers working quickly and flawlessly as she tugged at the unstable edge, content when, after a moment, a palm-sized sliver of the glass broke loose. She opened her palm and stared at the jagged edge, feeling her breath quicken with desire. What did she think she was planning to do? Kill herself? To bleed out in front of Logan all over the gross rest-stop bathroom floor? Yeah, that would show him. And by him she meant Ryan.
No. She wouldn't kill herself. She just needed some fresh air. She needed the pain to fade, if even for a moment, if even for an instant. Her realization of her fear towards Ryan was suddenly raw now, as though for the last few years a metaphorical scab had covered it up, protecting her from the harsh reality of her relationship with him. Ryan wasn't Mr. Perfect. Not even close—but, he had been her crutch, even if he didn't know it. Having someone—even him—had been exactly what Kass had needed to pull herself out of the black hole she wallowed in for so long. He had grounded her so she wouldn't lose it. He was all she had left. She had no parents, no siblings—besides her best friend Abby, there was just Ryan. He was her husband-to-be. And now that security blanket she had always relied on was nothing. It had always been nothing, really, but Kass hadn’t been able to face that until now, as if someone who wasn’t herself finally put it into perspective for her, and she knew that she wasn’t crazy after all.
Still, she hated herself for being surprised, because it wasn’t surprising, not when she looked deeper into it. Wanting to break up with him back home, to call the wedding off, had been a step she should have taken long ago. But she hadn’t, because she couldn’t, and now here they were.
Kass realized, at that moment, that she didn't fucking care. She didn't care if she bled out. She didn't care if Logan left, she didn't care if he stayed. She didn't even really care much if she never saw her ever-loving fiancé Ryan again. And in that horrid moment of despair, she realized something else; she didn't even care if she died.
Her beating heart quickened its pace as Kass leaned over and jammed the deadbolt into place over on the bathroom door. She could still hear the purr of the car's engine in the parking lot, and she knew Logan was out there, waiting for her. She lifted the broken glass to her arm and pushed down, gently at first, and then with more force. She winced as the sharp edge sliced into her skin, and blood pooled to the surface. Kass thought of Ryan, saw his face, remembered the anger and coldness he'd shown her in that time they'd been together.
She pushed harder.
She thought of Melanie; of blonde, big-boobed Melanie. She remembered the way she had rubbed herself up on Ryan, her teeth flashing a flirty smile, her body pressed against his.
She pressed harder.
She remembered the last time Ryan had hit her, shoved her, left marks on her skin.
She pressed even harder.
Logan felt bad about talking out of his ass, but how was he supposed to know that would happen? He barely knew Ryan, and he hadn't known Kass, but it had been clear to him from the beginning that Ryan was nothing more than a no-good piece of shit who hurt her. What a douche-bag. Sure, every guy was an asshole sometimes, and every girl was a bitch—but even then, even when everything sucked, and the relationship sucked, and the whole thing was falling apart—well, even then there was no excuse to hit a woman.
And to think that Ryan had asked Kass to be his wife! Logan couldn't understand why—or how—somebody could do that. Why would one spend money on an engagement ring, promise to unconditionally love another person, only to turn around and hurt your fiancé with every chance they got?
Logan glanced towards the bathroom, wondering what was taking her so long. He woke the yellow dog still snoring on his lap and set him in the backseat. The pooch seemed content, as he sprawled out in the back and closed his eyes at once, letting out a happy sigh as he did so. Such a hard life.
“I'll be back,” Logan said. “Don't go anywhere.” He pushed open the car door and stretched, filling his lungs with the sharp, bitter autumn air. He could hear the freeway close to where he stood; could hear the cars already on the road, careful not to waste any second of their precious travel time. They needed to leave. He couldn't stay in one spot for too long, and Kass knew it. They both knew it.
Logan crossed the dew-frosted lawn towards the bathroom, thankful that they were still the only people around. He liked that; he loved the privacy and the silence and the quiet of it all. It was soothing.
“Hey,” he called, rapping on the bathroom door. “It's time to go.”
He looked towards the mountains to where the sun was rising, a gorgeous painting of pastel colors like purple and pink and orange. He stared, mesmerized, taken by the fact that, despite the horror of his life, there was still beauty in this world—even if it was rare. Ashley had always been so insistent that beauty was in everything. She had been a poet—a dreamer. She’d been so different than him; so different from Logan, the sulker. Logan, the party-animal, the punk kid who ran from cops, broke into people's cars, and stole shit from the convenience store down the road. She had been good. She had been the good one.
Irritated that he was letting his thoughts wander, Logan reached for the door handle and twisted, ready to pull Kass out of this fucking dump and into the car. He knew what she was doing; she was stalling. Of course she was upset—who wouldn't be? But she could sulk about it in the car, where he would be there to comfort her.
Logan turned the handle and pushed, surprised when the door didn't budge.
“Why did you lock this?” he shouted. “Open the door, Kass.”
He put his ear to the frame, holding his breath, trying to hear her. There was only silence.
Pressing his shoulder ag
ainst the door, Logan twisted and pushed, wondering how sturdy the shitty locks on this stupid ghetto building were. He'd thought they were past this. He thought they had become—friends. Okay, not friends. But not enemies either.
Or so he'd thought. The anger was rising in his chest, ready to explode. Why did she constantly have to cause trouble for h—?
The locked snapped from the wall and the door flew open. Logan stumbled in, catching himself on the handle before he hit the floor. He straightened up, looking down at his feet, and his breath caught in his throat.
Chapter Fifteen
There was a fleeting moment of one hundred percent certainty that, in Logan's mind, Kass was dead.
She was there, by his feet, back up against the wall of a putrid-green colored bathroom stall, a shard of broken glass in one hand and deep, red gashes on her arm. Her eyes were closed, skin white, blood staining her jeans and the front of her shirt. For a few seconds, he could only stare at her, his eyes on her face, wondering why it was suddenly so hard for him to breathe. An elephant was sitting on his chest, crushing his windpipe, and threatening his life. His knees were shaking as he dropped down to the floor beside her, hand reaching out unsteadily to feel for a pulse on her cold skin.
“Kass?” he said. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him. A whoosh of relief flooded through his chest, and Logan let his hands fall into his lap, struggling to compose himself. She was clutching the piece of mirror with desperate strength, unwilling to let it go. “Don't do this. Don't let Ryan make you feel like this.”
He took a deep breath, shuddering, and then leaned in towards her. “He's not worth it.”
Reaching forward carefully, he pried the jagged glass from Kass's hand and tossed it aside. Her blood stained his fingers, and he felt sick like he might throw up all over the cold cement ground.
She was alive. That's what mattered.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he mumbled. His fingers trembled as he yanked his shirt off and tore the fabric into multiple white strips. He pulled Kass's limp body into him, working quickly as he tied the strips of fabric around the open gashes up and down her arm. He was horrified to see the crimson liquid still seeping from the deep wounds. She had lost a lot of blood already, and it still hadn't clotted off. As he worked, her eyes followed his. Her lips were blue—too blue in contrast to her pale skin. He knew then, with every fiber of his being, that had Ryan been anywhere around them, Logan would have killed him.
“Why did you do that?” he yelled. “Don’t you see that he's not worth it?”
She didn't answer, only looked away, allowing the tears to come freely.
“You could have killed yourself,” he said. And for some horrible, confusing reason, he cared.
Logan carried Kass back to the car, cradling her to his chest, wondering if he’d be able to pull himself together, for her sake.
Kass stirred, her breathing coming out in tiny, weak gasps as Logan opened the car door and set her gently down in the seat. Her skin was so cold, taking on a pale, clammy complexion. The blood was drying on her clothes and skin. Logan soaked a dirty shirt with a bottle of water before sitting down in the driver's seat next to her, dabbing at the cuts in her skin. Kass grimaced, fighting the pain, and her eyes fluttered open again.
“I need to take you to the hospital,” Logan said.
“No. No hospitals.”
“You could have killed yourself.” He tried to sound stern, but his tone laced with worry.
“Would you have cared?” The color was returning to her cheeks as Kass sat up, propping her seat into a sitting position. She moved slowly, stiff in her muscles.
“I—” Logan faltered, wondering how he could answer that without everything falling apart around them. Of course he cared. The moment he'd seen her lying there in the bathroom covered in blood, her skin chalky white, his heart had nearly stopped beating. And now, here she was, alive and taunting him, and he had nothing to say--nothing he could say. “Wrap this shirt around your arm,” he said instead. “I think the bleeding has stopped for the most part.”
“I know,” Kass said. She took the soaking wet T-shirt he handed to her and secured the fabric around her injured arm.
“It looks like you know what you're doing,” Logan said. Kass nodded, but she didn't look at him.
“I’m pre-med, Logan. I just got accepted into WSMS.”
Logan leaned back against the inside of the door, allowing her to take control. He had to focus on something else, avert his terror away from the blood down the front of her jacket.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?” he asked. He felt stupid asking something like that given the situation, but he had to slow his heart rate, even just a little bit.
“Always,” Kass said. She secured the shirt even tighter around her arm and applied pressure with her free hand.
“What does your man toy think of that?”
“Honestly? He thinks I should be a nurse. He doesn't believe that women should be doctors.”
“What a little bitch,” Logan muttered.
Kass looked over, meeting his gaze, and she was grinning slightly. “That's what I thought, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kass rested her head against the window, embracing the cool from the window-pane against her face. The sun was warm on her skin, basking her in a blanket of comfort. In the seat next to her, silent, Logan was tapping his foot again, the same anxiety-ridden habit he'd had since she first met him. Between them, head resting on the console while his ass still sat on the back seat, the funny yellow dog was butting at her arm with his nose, pleading for attention.
“Could you not do that?” she asked. Her throat was raw, and she craved a drink of water.
“Are you talking to the dog or to me?” Logan asked, but the foot-tapping ceased.
She was both surprised and pleased that he didn't reply like she'd expected him to: with anger, hostility, or annoyance. Tearing her gaze away from the window—while making it a point to avoid the blood-soaked shirt around her arm—she turned to look at Logan.
“I didn't mean to scare you,” she said. “It's kind of—how I cope.”
He shrugged, looking disinterested, but she knew better. He had gone after her. He had held her in his arms—and he had looked terrified. Terrified of what, though? She wasn't sure she understood. He had made it clear before that she was only a burden to him, a weight dragging him down. And now, here was, wrapping her wounds and carrying her around.
And he was still there.
She just didn't get it.
There was more silence; more trying, awkward silence between them. Kass sighed and rested one hand over the blood-soaked shirt, covering up as much as she could. She was embarrassed. She was embarrassed just as much as she had been the day Ryan had found out. Only, Ryan had reacted differently. He had yelled. He had been furious. And then he had shut down—and he'd never looked at her the same again.
“You got in the car with the wrong chick,” Kass joked, trying to lighten to mood. “I mean, talk about baggage.”
Logan looked over at her then, his eyes flicking from her arm and then to her face. There was no anger or hostility or annoyance.
“Just—don't do that again,” he said. “Please. Don't do that again.”
She could hear the desperation in his voice, like a parent on the edge of a breakdown. No one had ever used that tone with her—the tone that implied that somebody gave a shit.
“Okay,” she said. “I won't.” And for a fleeting second, she meant it. No, she meant it. She had come to find on their bizarre little adventure that she was starting to give a crap about Logan's feelings. She was noticing that when he was hurt, she was, too.
There was more silence, but it was comfortable and easy. Kass leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, embracing the way the sun felt on her face. She rarely liked the sun, but today she did. Today it made her feel better. Warm. Safe.
“We're out of money,” Logan said after
a moment. “I don't know what to do from here—but I'm flat broke.”
“Are you serious?” She sat up again, chest tight with worry. “How did you plan on taking this little trip with no money?”
“I had money,” Logan said. “I just don't anymore. We spent it all.”
“Oh, don't even.” Kass threw her hands up, frustrated. “You didn't ask me if I wanted to come along on this wild goose chase, Logan. I didn't ask you to pay for me.”
“Hey,” Logan raised his hand, shushing her. “Regardless, we're broke. Like, really broke.”
“What's your plan now, asshole?” Kass snapped. Irritation was getting the best of her. She didn't know what she wanted more: for them to run across some money, or for him to drop her off somewhere and let her go home. Okay, she already knew the answer to that, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself—or to him.
“I don't know,” Logan said, and his tone had taken on a hurt tinge. “I didn't have a plan, Kass. I was just winging it.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking of her life back in Washington. She thought of her home, she thought of Abby. Then she thought of Ryan. Ryan, her husband-to-be, probably with Melanie right now—possibly having sex. More than anything she wanted to go home, at least to Abby, but even more —even more than wanting to go home—she didn't want to leave.
She didn't want to leave Logan.
“I have an idea,” she said.
It wasn't his decision. It wasn't even his idea. It had all been up to Kass, and Logan was both surprised and smug when she'd decided to do it. He could imagine it was difficult for her, and for a moment he had considered refusing it. He was a man, and he had a conscience. But she had been determined, and he'd learned better than to stand in her way when she wanted something, even something like this.
“How much can I get for it?” Kass asked.
Logan stood back, eyes trailing over the cheap, old things strewn around the pawn shop. The man behind the counter—a fat, bald man with a pot belly and hairy arms—took the ring from her outstretched hand and looked it over.
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