Tailspin (Better Than You)

by Raquel Valldeperas

  Logan leans against the counter and watches me chug the water, a smirk on her face. “What now?” she asks when I finish the water and toss the empty bottle into a nearby trash can.

  “Show me around campus?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  It’s not that I’m interested in seeing the various schooling buildings, but staying in this room with a bed, however sorry it is, is way too much.

  ~~

  An hour later we’re sitting at a picnic table in an open, grassy area, the sun bright and hot and exposing. I’m straddling the bench seat and Logan’s looking straight ahead, stuck in a world far away from here. It gives me the chance to study her face, to notice what’s changed and what’s the same. The scar on her temple is still there. There’s another on her cheek that I never noticed before. Maybe it’s new, but probably not. There weren’t times like this before, where I could sit and stare at her and catalogue every inch of her face.

  “I can feel you staring,” she says suddenly without glancing my way.

  I avert my eyes to a cluster of people sitting in the grass. “Sorry.” It’s a group of five people- three girls and two guys- some with books, some without, and one guy with a guitar. While the others talk, he strums the strings, not playing but experimenting, each mix of notes floating through the air.

  “It’s nice here,” I say, still watching the guy.

  In my peripheral, I see her nod and lick her lips. “It’s peaceful.”

  “Are you sure you want to move back to Miami?”

  She finally looks at me, her gaze unwavering. “I’m sure.”

  What if you can’t handle it? I want to ask, but the way she’s looking at me, challenging me to ask, keeps my mouth shut. She looks away again, leaving my eyes to stare at the scar on her temple. I hope she can handle it.

  Even though I haven’t been here long, I stand and dig my phone out of my pocket, pretend to check the time. “I should get going,” I say.

  Logan nods her head and stands. “I’ll walk you back.”

  When we enter her dorm building, we pass a room with couches and TV’s. A bunch of people are in there hanging out, and one of them calls Logan’s name. She looks in and waves and I notice Cody sitting on the back of one of the couches, watching as she walks by. I realize then that it isn’t jealousy towards Cody I’m feeling, but jealousy for not being a part of this new life. Anger that my role will always be cast in the past. I don’t know how we can move forward that way. I don’t understand why she’s running back to the place that ruined her.

  Logan signs me out with security and then turns to face me. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

  I glance at the room full of people and shake my head. “That’s alright. I’m not too far.”

  She steps closer, lowers her head so that she fits right underneath my chin and places her forehead against my chest. Then her arms slide around my waist and I let out a breath of relief. “Thanks for coming,” she whispers.

  “I’ll see you soon, then?”

  She nods against my chest. “Soon.”

  I kiss the top of her head and, somewhat reluctantly, pull away. She offers me a small smile before I slip out of the door and head to my car, with no reason to leave other than I don’t belong here.

  31

  December 3, 2010

  “One more box, I swear,” Logan says with a laugh. I think she said one more box six boxes ago.

  “She’s not lying this time,” Melissa adds as she walks past, a box in her arms.

  It doesn’t really matter how many boxes there are; I could do this all day if it meant being near Logan, having her move back home, but a small part of me, insistent and wary, reminds me that this place is part of her past. Miami is a wild city.

  Shaking my head, I bring my attention back to following Logan down the hall to her room. It’s bright in here, with one of the walls painted a cheery yellow and her bed covered in a stark white comforter, just another reminder of how different she is. How much better she is. I’m sure she can handle Miami now.

  “Everything okay?” she asks, head tilted to the side, hair falling down around her shoulders. Putting the box down, I take a step closer to her and do exactly what I’ve always done in my dreams. I finger her hair, let it fall between the spaces and get tangled up in my hand. Her eyes flutter closed, her whole body shifting to face me. I take another step, bend my head and run my nose along the underside of her jaw, breathing in her scent. Wild flowers. With my other hand, I trail a finger up her arm, over her shoulder, down her neck, watching as little bumps appear in the wake of my touch. I stop at the top of her shirt, my finger resting just above her bra.

  “You smell like flowers,” I whisper into her skin, letting my tongue brush against her with my words.

  Her hands come up, grab onto my elbows and squeeze. “Shampoo,” she says, bending her head even further to allow me the most access. I run my lips across the soft spot underneath her ear, lightly bite her earlobe. She sucks in a rushed breath, digs her nails into my arms. I’ve got one hand wrapped around her neck and one hand planted on her hip, holding her securely within my arms. It’s never felt so good, holding someone like this. So right.

  With slow, careful steps, I begin to back us towards the bed, alternating between grazing my lips down her neck and breathing into her ear. She’s breathing so hard that I can feel her chest rising and falling against me. It’s strong, sure, so unlike when she was in the hospital and barely holding on.

  Finally the bed is behind us, and I lower her slowly, placing one hand behind her for support. I watch as her dark hair splays against the white backdrop, and then her shoulders, her back, her legs. I lay myself on top of her, pressing our bodies together; chest to chest, thigh to thigh, all the while holding her eyes with mine.

  “Nathan,” she says, and it’s desperate, a cry; not to be saved but to be loved. I can see it in the way her eyes search mine, have always searched mine. It was so easy to interchange the two; saving and loving, but I know now that one does not have to go with the other. I didn’t save her, couldn’t save her, but I have always loved her. Always.

  I start to tell her as much, but then changed my mind, afraid that it will scare her or push her away. The words sit in my mouth, coiled; begging to be released, but still I hold them back. Instead I close the space between us, bring my lips to hers and use my mouth for other things. A soft moan squeezes past hers, fueling the fire coursing through my veins. Slowly, I move a hand down her ribs, carefully slipping it underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Her skin is warm, both of us burning for each other.

  After running my hand across her stomach, I move it down towards the button on her shorts, undoing it on the way. She arches her hips towards me. Closes her eyes and lets out a noise almost like a purr. It sends a rush of blood through my body, extending the length of me that’s pushed against her leg. I slip my hand underneath the jeans of her shorts, edging my way towards the purple lace underneath, carefully pushing each layer aside-

  “Ah! Oh my god! So sorry. I guess I should have knocked?”

  Logan scrambles underneath me, adjusting her clothes and trying to sit up at the same time, but my body continues to hold her down, feeling too heavy and deflated to move right at this moment. I drop my head against her shoulder and sigh, giving myself a moment to cool down. Melissa may have walked in on us but there’s no need to give her a show of the tent in my pants.

  “Melis, um, sorry, we were just, uh-”

  “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain what you were doing. I can kinda figure…anyways, Amelia called. I was just coming in to tell you that. That Amelia called. Anyways, yeah. That’s all.”

  Laughing, I listen as her footsteps retreat down the hall, and then lift myself off of Logan. “God, that’s embarrassing,” she says, burying her face in her hands.

  I shrug my shoulders. “It could have been worse.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she says, standing in front of me.


  “We could have been naked. I could have been buried inside-”

  “Okay!” she yells, interrupting me. I laugh at the red creeping up her neck. “I get it. You’re right.”

  This side of her, the shy, sober side is so different. It’s like she’s a different girl. A thought slips in, sneakily slides into this perfect moment, causing me to wonder if this new Logan and I can salvage what the old Logan and I had, however small and destructive it was. I think about the way her and Cody interacted, how engaged and outgoing she seemed to be when talking to him and I feel that familiar uncertainty start to build. No. She’s here with me now. But the thought still lingers, festering like an infected wound.

  We walk out into the living room, where Logan calls Amelia and Melissa busies herself heating up a lunch consisting of pizza rolls and apple pie. Soon we’re all sitting on the floor, surrounding a box serving as a table. I stay quiet, watching Logan and Melissa interact and talk about decorating their apartment and the supplies they’ll need for their next semester of school. Did the Logan from before care about things like color palettes and digital agendas? Did she wonder where she was going to hang a certain piece of art? Or whether or not she should invest in a gym membership at the school? I know the answer, but I’m starting to wonder if this whole woman needs me at all.

  But she came to me, right? That has to mean something. A lot.

  “Nathan?”

  I focus my gaze on Logan and smile. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “What were you thinking about?” she asks, head tilting to the side again, and again her hair shifts, falls over her shoulder.

  “Oh, just remembering that I told Emily and Joshua I’d be home for dinner,” I lie, checking my phone screen for the time. Melissa stands and grabs our plates and moves into the kitchen. “I have to work tomorrow, but do you have plans for Sunday? I need to get a few more Christmas gifts.”

  “No plans,” she says, watching as I stand and stuff my phone into my pocket.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up around nine? Is that too early?”

  “No, that’s fine.” She stands with me, walks behind me as I walk to the door. “So I’ll see you Sunday?”

  I can tell there’s more she wants to say by the way she narrows her eyes. Maybe she’s wondering why I’m practically running out of her apartment, with the excuse of having dinner with Emily and Joshua, when it’s barely five in the afternoon. I’m wondering the same thing. When I lean in to kiss her cheek, that wild flower smell assaults me, reminds me that she isn’t the same. That should be a good thing, right?

  “Sunday,” I say, offering her a crooked smile before I slip out of the door. Once on the other side, I let out a deep breath, run my hands through my hair. This shouldn’t bother me; the fact that she’s normal and healthy should be a good thing. But I don’t know where we stand on this side of the tracks. I don’t know where I fit into her life or how she fits into mine.

  ~~

  The next night, I’m working behind the bar, catching up on some cleaning after a surprisingly busy night, when the stool across from me scrapes against the floor. Plastering on my best customer service smile, I look up, expecting to find another snowbird here for a late night, wifeless drink, but instead find Logan in a tight, black t-shirt, hair pulled up and sleek.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing around, looking for I don’t even know what.

  “I figured I’d come keep you company. And I was bored.” She smiles shyly, fingering the napkin in front of her.

  It’s not that I’m not happy she’s here, but it’s a bar, and with her past I’m wondering if a bar on a Saturday night is somewhere she should be. She must see the thought run across my eyes because she sighs and sits up straighter, the smile gone. “It’s not like I’m gunna chug a bottle of Jack, Nathan. I didn’t have a problem with alcohol.”

  “I thought you preferred vodka.”

  She studies me before saying, “Yeah, well, Jack was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “Well, do you want anything? To drink, I mean.” I wipe the counter in front of me, just to keep my hands busy.

  “Juice, maybe? Pineapple if you’ve got it.”

  I pour her a glass of pineapple juice, set it in front of her, and watch as she brings it to her lips. “Thank you,” she says after taking a sip.

  . A customer a few feet away flags me down. “I’ll be back,” I tell her.

  As I’m serving the cliché snowbird, a few more walk in, and then a group of vacationing college kids, and then before I know it there’s another rush and Kait and I are running around like chickens with our heads cut off. A couple of times I lose sight of Logan, and it’s like being blasted back to the past. I’m searching for her, frantically looking for dark hair and a black t-shirt, and then I spot her playing darts with Melissa. I didn’t even know she was here.

  Even though I’ve spotted her and she’s safe, I can’t keep myself from glancing that way every so often, not to admire her or the fact that she’s here, but to make sure she stays here. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  In my mind, it’s hard to separate the two; the drug addicted Logan from the healthy Logan. I don’t want to admit to the fact that I’m having a hard time believing she’s truly healed, because then it means I’m doubting her.

  Just as quickly as it appeared, the crowd disappears, leaving behind a newly destroyed bar. Logan approaches me, her eyes scanning the sticky counter in front of her. “It’s late,” she says.

  “Yeah. Are you guys gunna head out?”

  “I think so. I was thinking I’d wait for you, but it looks like you might have a lot to do.” She gathers a few cups and passes them to me, her fingers brushing mine slightly in the exchange.

  “We still on for tomorrow?” I ask, placing the cups in the sink behind the counter, doing my best not to make eye contact.

  “Um, yeah.” She glances at her hands. “If you want.”

  “Yeah, of course I do,” I answer, taken aback.

  She nods and stands. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  An awkward second passes, her standing on one side of the bar and me on the other, before she turns and walks towards Melissa, who is watching the whole exchange from a short distance. They walk through the bar side by side, whispering to each other, Melissa glancing over her shoulder just before they step outside

  Later that night, I fall asleep thinking about her, wondering what we’re doing and if we’re doing it right. If maybe I should step back, let her live her life free of the past and of me. Then I wonder if she feels some sort of obligation to me because I called Amelia. And then I wonder if she’s holding on to me on purpose, clinging to the only familiar thing in her life.

  32

  December 5, 2010

  Closing my eyes, I play scenes from the dream over again in my head. Logan in a white dress, surrounded by flowers in a field that doesn’t exist anywhere in South Florida. She’s twirling through them, trampling everything in her path. The flowers, once touched by her skin or her dress, wilt and die, bend over and fall to the ground where they blow away like ash.

  Somewhere in my room the alarm clock is going off, but I’m lost in a field smelling of smoke and death, watching as Logan dances through the destruction. There’s a tune floating through the thick air, something dark and heavy and so utterly fitting. It sounds like Logan’s voice, raspy and sweet, but she’s so far away and the voice is so near.

  Then she turns and meets my eyes, crooking a finger and urging me closer. I take a step but the minute my feet touch the grey covered ground, I begin to turn to ash, too. All I can do is watch as the breeze pulls me apart, turns every part of me into nothing but dust. Logan stays standing across the field, her eyes never leaving mine, their liquid honey irises burning me alive.

  “Can you shut that thing off?”

  Emily’s voice rocks into my head, memories of the dream evaporating behind my eyelids.

&nbs
p; “Sorry,” I mumble, leaning across the bed and slapping the top of the clock. It quiets, a ringing in my ears left behind. Emily is still there when I turn back around.

  “You look like shit,” she says. She steps into the rooms and takes a seat next to me on the bed. “I thought Logan being back was going to make everything all better.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I respond honestly. It’s not like I was expecting it to be the answer to our problems, but I didn’t anticipate it to bring its own set.

  “Nothing ever is, right?” A moment of silence passes, and then she shifts her body to face me. “Did you tell Derek to stay away from me?”

  There’s no use in lying. “I didn’t necessarily tell him to stay away, just cautioned that he wasn’t good enough for you.”

  She sighs. “That’s basically the same thing, except you insulted his character at the same time.”

  “He’s my friend. He understands.”

  “I’m sure he does, but you still had no right.”

  “It’s my job to protect-”

  “No, it’s not,” she says sternly, placing a hand on my arm. I glance at it and then at her. “It was Mom and Dad’s job, and they died. They’re gone, and I wasn’t a little girl when it happened. I’m not a little girl now.”

  “He’s too old for you. And his job is dangerous.”

  “So is yours. And he’s only four years older than me.”

  “I’m not going to give you permission, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  She pulls her hand away, places it in her lap. “I’m not looking for anything, but if that’s how you’re going to be, than I guess we have nothing to discuss.” As she’s standing, she sighs and turns away. “I deserve to be happy. Derek makes me happy, and I’m sorry if you can’t see that.”

  The door doesn’t even slam on her way out.

  The drive to Logan’s apartment is short, but even so, I’m a few minutes late. When I pull up, Logan is sitting on the stairs just outside her door, in jean shorts and a pale pink top that makes her look soft and innocent; two things I know she isn’t. Or wasn’t. I step out of the car and meet her halfway up the stairs.