Chapter Eight
El Anhelo
It had been weeks since he had been with her. He didn’t think he was avoiding her more than she was avoiding him. Oh, he was trying to stay away from her. When he got those urges to be with her, he found something more constructive to do with his time like drink beer, play pool, or start a random bar fight for no reason. Usually, all of them at one time. However, he got the feeling that she was trying harder to avoid him than he was her. If she saw him coming in her direction, she made herself scarce quick.
Everything was all wrong. He had come to the conclusion that life would be a lot simpler if he had never met her. He should just give up on women all together. They were too fickle, far too capricious to be worth the trouble, but he knew it would be a very cold day in hell before he gave up women. Really, he only wanted to get one out of his head. He wanted to forget the way his skin blazed when she touch him, the way he stopped breathing when she looked at him. There wasn’t anyone quite like her, and he couldn’t even let her know that she was special. Not again. He was doing it again, seemingly putting on her a pedestal.
What made her so special?
Every-fucking-thing.
He had spent time thinking about the “state of things” with Ororo. He knew that he cared about her. He didn’t know when the lines blurred, though. He didn’t know when she stopped just being a distraction. He still wouldn’t let himself believe that he loved her. So what if he felt like Mary Damn Sunshine when she looked at him? It was exactly as if he was running around with this shit-eating grin because she looked at him fondly. She didn’t even know how good she made him feel at times, and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the respect she deserved.
Ororo wanted more, more than he was willing to give. He knew this, had always known this. But, why wasn’t he willing to give her that much? What was wrong with maybe settling down with Ororo, starting a little family with her, living out some semblance of normalcy? What was he thinking? When he really thought about, what did he really have to offer her? Nothing, nothing at all. Maybe, he was just afraid. This was a big change he was talking about. Settling down with one person, that was more than just a big change. He didn’t even know if he was ready for that. No, he knew he wasn’t ready for that.
He was overreacting. She wasn’t asking for all that. She wasn’t asking him to marry her and make a million babies. She wasn’t asking him for anything really, but actions speak louder than words “ to use an old cliché. Her actions spoke volumes, but he pretended not to get it. It was just a lot easier that way. But still, she wasn’t asking him for much, so why couldn’t he oblige? She wasn’t asking him to confess some deep, hidden love. She just wanted to be justified.
He couldn’t even speak the words she wanted to hear, but he had tried to justify her in his own way. He had branded his name with his tongue on her body, on her thighs, on her stomach, on her breasts. L-O-G-A-N “ that made her his, gave her power over him “ whether she knew it or not. He hadn’t done that with any other woman, hadn’t willingly given away his name to another. He should have known better. He should have known it had gone too far then.
“Is there anything wrong, Logan?” Jean asked, interrupting her thoughts. She leaned against the bar, resting her chin on her hand. She sounded as if she genuinely cared about his feelings. She didn’t have to pretend for his sake. He knew he was just being spiteful. Jean could be slightly wicked, but she never pretended not to care when someone was feeling bad “ not that he knew of, anyway. She could be one-dimensional, but she was sincere most of the time.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong.” But everything wasn’t exactly okay, either. He wasn’t going to share that with Jean, though. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he supposed to tell her he was sleeping with her best friend? Was he supposed to tell her that her Ororo was leaving and it was up to her to help him make Ororo stay? Oh yeah, he could just see them sitting over a couple of beers, trying to solve his problems with Ororo. That was a real laugh. He’d be lucky if Jean didn’t call him a goddamn liar when (and if) he told her that he was in fact getting it on with Ororo.
He stared into Jean’s eyes. Questioning replaced the concern in her eyes. “Do you love her?” Ororo’s question echoed through his head. He hadn’t known how to answer that question. He believed a part of him did love Jean. What was it about her that made him gravitate to Jean? Maybe he was taking advantage of Jean in his own way, too. Sometimes he wondered how he fell for her. Did he even fall, or was he just kidding himself? Jean had been there before Ororo. She was another man’s trophy, and he had pursued Jean like no other. He had made it his mission to get her. Well, he had gotten her “ sort of.
Now, the mystery”the allure”was gone. Jean was an open book. She was the pampered wife of a boring man just looking for a little excitement. There was nothing more to learn about her. She talked about things he didn’t care about, material things that amounted to nothing in his book “ car payments, her new Dior dress, the stylist who did her hair. He was starting to think there was nothing dimensional about the woman at all, but still he went to her. Maybe it was habit now, the unwillingness to give that up.
Ororo, she was still a mystery to him. It was partly his own fault. Okay, that was all his fault. He hadn’t wanted to know anything about her and had told her that his life was none of her business. Her surroundings didn’t really tell him anything about her, not at first glance. She kept a nice place, seemed to like the finer things in life, but then he would find something out of the ordinary like a letter written by an old boyfriend, revealing intimate details, signed with unusual names like Forge or Khan, or a picture of her as a young child in the desert, or a note written in a strange language. And then, he would ask himself who was she really?
Had he asked her, he was sure she would have revealed all those secrets to him, but did he really want to know them? Would she begin to bore him like Jean, or would it only make her want to know more about her? He didn’t know. But he did know one thing “ he yearned for her. And it was eating away at him to see her with someone else. Forever destined to covet someone else’s girl, he thought to himself. But Ororo wasn’t Joaquín’s girl. She had been with him long before she knew Joaquín existed.
But just because she had been with him didn’t mean she was his girl, either, and he had to come to terms with that. He didn’t validate her feelings for him, and he couldn’t think of reason why he didn’t other than the fact that he might be afraid. He was afraid of what “making it official” might mean. Was he ready for that type of commitment? What if it didn’t work out? What if they decided they hated each other and the only thing they really had in common was good sex? Then, he would kick himself because he should have left well enough alone.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look troubled.” Jean started in again. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye. What was Jean’s deal? Didn’t she know him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to tell her what was wrong? He didn’t like talking about his feelings; it made him feel funny like he should be on Oprah or something. He sort of liked watching Oprah, though. Fucking hell are you thinkin’? He asked himself.
“I’m okay. I just need a break,” he said, walking away from Jean. He didn’t like Jean prying. Good intentions or not, he didn’t like it. He needed time to think; he needed to talk to Ororo. Maybe, if he could get some of what he was thinking across, they could at least come to some sort of stalemate.
He watched her all night, waiting for his opportunity. Finally, he cornered her in the hallway leading to the restrooms. He stood in front of her, blocking her way back. She didn’t say anything, but held up her chin defiantly. “We need to talk,” he said simply.
“We have nothing to talk about,” she said, trying to sidestep him. He shifted with her, denying her escape. She tried to pass him again, and this time he forced her back into a corner. She glared at him. “What are you doing? This is childish, very childish.”
“We have plenty to talk about.” He didn’t really know what he was going to say to her. He just had to talk to her, to distract her somehow. She rarely looked at him these days, and when she did, her eyes no longer held that desire for him. Instead, she looked at him as if he was just part of the scenery. He just wanted her to see him. Was this how she felt all those times she would stare at him longingly and he would ignore her? How had she been able to endure the ache? He was surprised she hadn’t cracked him over the head with a bottle.
She crossed her arms across her chest protectively. “So talk,” she demanded, coolly. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, and did he blame her? Was he supposed to tell her he craved her? Was he supposed to tell her that he cared? He didn’t want her to think that he was just using her for personal gratification.
He gripped her arms, tugging at them gently. “Don’t be like that,” he said, and he would’ve sworn he heard something similar to pleading in his voice. She refused to uncross her arms, and he dropped his hands to his side, mentally debating to himself. Say it. Don’t say it. Say it. Don’t say. Say it. Say it. Say it. Just fucking say it, you bastard. “Please, don’t go,” but the words came out an indistinctive garble of words “ ‘pleezedungo’. He didn’t even look at her when he said it.
“What did you say?”
That wasn’t a question. That was a challenge. She was going to make him say it again, and he had even said please. He never said please, and she was going to make him say it again. He looked her fully in the face this time, moving his face closer to hers. “I said, please, don’t go, goddamnit. I don’t want you to leave.” Every word came out plainly.
She uncrossed her arms, an eyebrow slowly ascending. “Why do you want me to stay?” He didn’t know. Or maybe he did know, and he didn’t want to say it. He shook his head, unable to articulate the things that were running through his head. Their lips were only mere inches apart. “I’m tired of having nothing but my tears and my regrets to comfort. I’ve found someone who appreciates me, who doesn’t try to hide me like a dirty little secret. Can’t you understand that, Logan? So, why should I stay?” She said, her warm breath burning his skin.
He stared at Ororo. Why did he want her to stay? Because he had everything she needed. Because he was selfish. Because maybe he cared about her more than a little bit. Oh hell, because… he didn’t know. “Because I want you,” his lips smothered hers. She resisted at first. Then, she melted into him. He felt her need, a need that transcended the physical, and he hoped that she could feel the greatness of his own. He needed her whether she believed it or not. He didn’t just need her body.
She put a hand against his chest and pushed him back. “Logan, people are looking,” she whispered, breathlessly.
She knew as well as he did that he could have easily ripped the flimsy shirt she had on away from her body, snatched the pants off, snapped her underwear with one tug, and taken her right there, and those people wouldn’t even flinch. They wouldn’t care. They would act as if they didn’t see. He knew; he was guilty of pretending not to see the carnal acts that went on in that place. Nothing was sacred anymore, least of all sex. But he wasn’t trying to be a showoff, but he wanted her to know that he didn’t care who saw. He thought that was what she wanted.
“Let ‘em.” He answered. Maybe she was afraid of Joaquín seeing them in that situation. She claimed to care for the guy, and she probably didn’t want to hurt him. But if Joaquín really cared for Ororo, he would be a man and stand up to Logan if he caught them. That’s what he would do if rolls were reversed. If Joaquín could just stand there and watch another man move into his territory, then he didn’t deserve Ororo. And despite Ororo’s protests, he still believed that Ororo cared for him more than she ever world Joaquín.
If she really wanted him to stop, she could make him. He would try not to give her the opportunity, but she could make him stop. “I don’t “” She started, and he shushed her with another kiss. His fingers skated over her clothed stomach to, the contours of her breasts, the curve of her neck and back again.
“Tell me what you want.” His fingers slipped under her shirt and traced unknown words, words that would never grace another woman’s skin, onto the smoothness of her stomach.
“Oh Goddess, Logan, you already know what I want. I want you to tell me what you want. I want to know you.” She said.
He planted his hands firmly on her waist and pulled her close into an embrace, savoring the feel of warm skin against warm skin. He concentrated on their shallow breathing, burying his nose in her neck, memorizing that smell. He could feel her heart beating hard against his chest… or was that his own heart? Her skin was hot to touch. He stroked a stand of her hair between his fingers, burying his face in her neck.
“Logan?” Fear and expectation lined her voice. He didn’t respond as he took in her smell. It was a pleasant smell, almost motherly. It reminded him of some type of flower. He probably could pick her out of a crowd with his eyes closed. Her smell conjured up images of protection, love, and… Where were those feelings coming from? What had she done to him? It was as if her essence was overtaking him.
He breathed deeper, trailing her spine from the small of her back to her neck with his fingers. “‘Ro…” he said under his breath, kissing her jawline. He felt the muscles in her jaw clench under his lips and she stiffened against him. He pulled back, studying the dark change that shadowed her face. What had he done?
When she opened her eyes, he saw a look of vehemence he’d never seen in her eyes before. “Don’t call me that.” She said. The chill factor in her voice seemed to make the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. “Don’t you ever call me that again.”
She pushed past him, roughly. He let out a frustrated growl and punched the wall until his knuckles throbbed, startling a few of the clubbers standing nearby. He wasn’t quite sure that he understood what just happened. One minute she was hot and the next she was cold again. He was beginning to despite this constant hot-cold game she was playing with him.
Once again, he had tried to show her instead of tell her what he felt. She had seemed to understand at first. He had felt her soften to him, but then she just went cold. He knew she wanted him to tell her what he felt. She said she wanted to know him. She didn’t really want to know him; she could never truly grasp who he really was. She didn’t really want to know about the nightmares that haunted, the fear of the stagnant, his belief that maybe”just maybe”he was meant to live this life alone. She would never understand him, the way his mind works, the moments when he felt as if he wasn’t anything more than an animal pretending to be a man.
She didn’t know about the demons he fought everyday. He didn’t think she would want to know. He didn’t really want her to know. He was saving her from him. Maybe she would understand. He didn’t want to write her off, but in his experience, not many people understood. He didn’t think it was the effort to try to tell her either. Besides, women like Ororo didn’t end up with me like him, anyway. They ended up with men like Joaquín, men who could provide her with the stability she needed in her life.
Fuck that, and fuck her. He didn’t need her.
Author’s notes: Sorry about the long wait. Between school and work, it’s hard to write more than a few minutes at a time. I know I got all gooey in this chapter; I couldn’t seem to help it. Too much Nina Simone. ;) Thanks for all the nice emails and messages. May have to bring all writing on chaptered stories to a standstill until I finish my entry for “101 Nights of Porn”. Maybe not since I’m already a slow updater. Don’t worry, you’ve all tainted me so much that my entry must be RoLo. :) Oh boy! That Oprah thing was inspired by someone I know. He likes smoking Virginia Slims, but he won’t smoke them unless just the girls are around. He smokes Marlboro Lights around our guy friends. His exact words were, “I’ll never fucking live this down if they find out I really like Virginia Slims.” Special thanks to my SLS (Sassy Lil Scorpio)! There is life after The Rock. Thanks to McNasty, you spin me right round, baby! Have my babies! Thanks Delia for driving me insane the whole time I wrote this. And thanks to Sparkle because she tolerates this weird obsession I have with old school Limp Bizkit (OMGTEHEVIL!111!!one!!!eleventwelve!). Break stuff, baby! And once again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed. glomp I love you guys. Longest A/N I’ve written in a while. “ Tempest, who really should make a schedule to write.
