[Reviews - 214]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story |
Printer Chapter or Story |
ePub eBook Chapter or Story |

Has been viewed 1855 times

- Text Size +




Ororo’s stomach was growling up a storm. She’d planned it that way.

If worse came to worse, her hands and mouth would be full in the effort not to tear Jean’s hair out at the roots. A public place guaranteed civility, right?

She paced the lobby of the café, politely declining when an older man offered her his seat on the vinyl bench. Nerves made her legs restless and butterflies in her ribcage beat their wings to be let out.

She replayed her conversation with Ali, Anna and Lorna from the day before, guilty that she had only given Logan a non-reply when he asked where she was going. Errands, she’d told him. “Girl crap.” Taking care of business. He’d butted out of it graciously enough, relieved to be off the hook for what sounded like an excursion in feminine indulgence while he watched his fill of “The Best Damned Sports Show” with a roll of Ritz crackers and peanut butter. She vowed to have dinner ready for him before he left for his shift so he could take it with him, and kissed him deeply before heading out the door.

Closure. All she wanted out of this was closure, she told herself.

She’d dressed herself in one of her favorite outfits, ironically one that Jean helped her pick out. Black velveteen slacks, boot-cut and snug, were paired with a sapphire blue satin blouse that Logan had drooled over when she came downstairs. A snugly belted leather jacket warded off the chill, but she still shivered within its confines, scuffing her boot against the edge of the welcome mat and chewing her fingernail.

“Hey,” an out-of-breath voice greeted her. Ororo turned and nodded casually at Jean, pink-cheeked and becomingly tousled from the breezy afternoon. Her heart slammed in her ears at the sight of her. She harvested anger, resentment, anything that would distract her from the past lonely weeks without her best friend.

“I put our names on the list for a table. We’re next.”

“Good. That’s good.” Jean stared at Ororo, who refused to meet her eyes. “Um…I’d better go freshen up, okay? Tell them the table’s for two.”

“I know that,” Ororo snapped. Oops.

Jean hurried away. Ororo used the reprieve to compose herself, and even managed to smile at their hostess when she was escorted to their table, overlooking the street from a sunny window.

She checked her face in her tiny compact, ensuring that she didn’t have a hair out of place. She wanted to feel confident. It didn’t help that no matter what the outcome of the day’s get-together, nothing would ever be the same again. Ororo had grown wiser against her will; ignorance was bliss. Oh, was it ever.

Jean approached, beautiful in her green skirt and tunic set made from viridian slinky knit that shimmered whenever she moved. Her hair was swept up into a bun with long bangs, and her wedding set glittered from her finger. She looked every inch the affluent wife who lunches, Ororo thought nastily. She draped her black jacket with its fur-trimmed collar over the back of her chair and seated herself.

“It’s good to see you,” she began, attempting to smile. Ororo uneasily rubbed her nape and reached for a menu. “I know me calling you was out of the blue-“

“Why did you?”

“I couldn’t just let this thing sit between us. I needed to talk to you, and explain what happened. I never meant to hurt you, Ororo.”

“Sure,” she drawled, still avoiding Jean’s eyes. She felt tension spring into Jean’s spine as she straightened up and began perusing her own menu. The waitress took their order for drinks, bringing them each an iced water with lemon. “Sure you didn’t.”

“Things were crazy back when it happened.”

“Crazy.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Fine. I’ll let you have that. Just goes to show I don’t clean out under the bed often enough,” Ororo snorted. “So what happened? Did you just trip and fall and land between my sheets with my man? Are you gonna tell me this was an accident? I’m fine with hearing it was a mistake, Jean, but not an accident.” That was a lie, too, Ororo decided. She’d never be fine with it.

“I knew you were going to get defensive.”

“Pfft. No shit.” Ororo huffed and stared out the window, watching the traffice for a moment while she composed herself. She toyed with the wedge of lemon in her drink and concentrated on their setting. Jean’s expensive perfume tickled her nostrils, making her stomach twist and her head ache. “I’m defensive. I’m not supposed to be defensive when my best friend sleeps with my boyfriend, in my bed, and has the nerve to ask me to be in her wedding? If you give a damn about the years we spent being friends, Jean, you’ll be honest with me. How many times were you with Pietro?”

“Ororo…it’s not like we were having a fling or anything.”

“That didn’t answer my question. How many times did you sleep with Pietro?”

“Ororo, come on, now, will knowing that really make-“

“Have lunch by yourself, then, I don’t fucking care,” she snapped, standing in a flash and reaching for her coat.

“Ororo, no, DON’T GO! PLEASE…please,” she pleaded, lowering her voice once Ororo finally met her eyes again, even though they were blazing with a mixture of annoyance and disgust. Things weren’t going the way she’d hoped. “Fine. You want to know, then I’ll tell you. Pietro and I got closer to each other about six months ago.”

“Was that when you fucked him?”

“Language, for God’s sake! People have ears, Ororo!” Jean hissed, eyes large and beseeching and she tightened her lips into a mulish line. Ororo eased herself back into her seat but still occupied the edge. She templed her hands in front of herself protectively.

“You two got closer?”

“Yes. We talked from time to time. Sometimes Pietro would stop by to see Scott when he was at my house, while he was running errands. No big deal. We’d chat once in a while about things in general.” Jean sipped her water and fished out the lemon wedge with a spoon, using it to chase a stray seed that popped free and floated on top. “Scott had a conference that he needed to attend for his continuing education units in cardiology and acute care. He was gone for a week. I decided to spend some time with the girls. Emma and Betsy,” she mentioned.

“Well, isn’t that nice.” Jean could see the wheels turning: What part had they played in this mess, and when could she go back to kick their asses?

“We got plastered. We were just having fun, it was no big deal. I couldn’t drive.” Then Jean’s face took on a sympathetic expression that Ororo wanted to slap off of her. “Pietro was at Harry’s. Said he wanted to watch the football game at the bar, instead of hanging out and bothering you at home with it. I asked him if you had kicked him out.”

“Of course you did. I’m such an ogre,” Ororo muttered dismissively. “He made me look like a real bitch, didn’t he? Did you feel sorry for him?”

“Not like that,” Jean murmured. “He saw what kind of condition I was in. He noticed that Emma and Betsy had bailed, and that I was without a ride. He was being chivalrous with me. I had no one to dance with, so he danced with me for a few songs.” Her face softened and her mind looked like it was in a different place. “It was nice.”

“I bet. You’re still not giving me any reason to keep sitting here.” Ororo’s skin tightened over her skull at the image of Jean dancing provocatively, hanging tipsily over him, draping her arms around his neck. She remembered the night of the bachelorette party, how chummy Jean had been. How loose-limbed and flirty, wearing a dress that fit like a handkerchief. Slobbery kisses. Sloppier true confessions. Oh, she knew how easily she could have cozied up to Pietro.

“He took me home,” she explained. “He wanted to make sure I got inside okay and locked up. Then he offered to make me some coffee.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I told him he didn’t have to go to the trouble.” She swallowed nervously. “He wasn’t in the mood to go home yet. He just seemed to want to stay up and talk. So I turned on the TV, went upstairs to change into my robe, and we watched TV. Just so I could sober up a little and hit the sack. I didn’t think much about it. We talked about his job. He told me about the game. He mentioned a weekend trip to Atlantic City that he and Scott were planning, and he asked me if I was fine with it. I knew Scott had been looking forward to it. Then he started teasing me about how much Scott would miss me while he was gone, and was I going to be lonely without him. I just laughed it off. Then he just looked sad. He told me, ‘Ororo sometimes acts like she doesn’t want me to come back home. We fight all the time.’ I told him that was bullshit. I said ‘Ro loves you, ‘Tro, you don’t even know how much. She worries all the time about making what you have together work out.’ Ororo, he didn’t feel like you wanted to get past what happened when you both broke up before.”

“Like you’re the frigging expert? Are you kidding? You’re going to just take his side of the story?”

“You said yourself that the two of you were having problems,” Jean reasoned.

“I said that to you. I thought you were on my side, not sitting up there agreeing with my man that I was trippin’,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say that. I do think you were hard on him sometimes, though. You can be demanding when you want. He likes to do things with his family, and sometimes you don’t.”

“Bullshit. I get along fine with his dad, or at least I did, so thanks a lot, Jean. You’re a pal. To me and to Pietro. You’re more of one to him now, though.” Their waiter returned and took Ororo’s terse order of the soup of the day. Jean ordered a salad with dressing on the side. “You don’t know what it was like, wondering if Pietro was going to step up and act right when he came back. I let him back in, knowing he could hurt me again, knowing that was the last straw if he did. Fool me once, fuck you. Fool me twice, fuck you. You don’t get a third chance or get away with that shit. He knew that. I thought he’d changed, and grown up a little, but he still did the same old shit. Bossed me around, criticized me, had his hang-ups about my job, never planned long-term even though he knew I wanted the whole for better or for worse, til death do you part package. We’re apart; that means Pietro should be dead. So now, here you come, telling me all these things Pietro filled your ear with, acting like I’m suddenly Miss Played and Tired?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jean straightened, and her faltering attempts at keeping her face serene dried up. Her brows beetled and she arched one high in the air. Ororo felt her fingers clench into a ball in her lap, and blood rushed through her ears. That look begged to be wiped off her face…

“No. You were just telling me that you didn’t mean to sleep with my man, right? That was the whole point of this little…whatever this is.”

“It started off innocently enough. I was just about to let him out. He told me to get some sleep. He thanked me for letting him fill my ear. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. I thought that was it. Then he looked at me like a light went on, and he came at me with a kiss that made me weak in the knees. Pietro. My husband’s best friend, kissing me like we were under the mistletoe.”

“Your best friend’s man, don’t forget that. Her LIVE-IN boyfriend, not like that’s pertinent.”

“Do I need to go on?”

“What were you thinking, Jean?” Ororo’s voice was full of quiet rage. “What the hell were you thinking? Did you even think for a moment that Scott would be hurt if he knew? Or that this was just a little one-nighter that didn’t really mean anything if you swept it under the rug?”

“It meant something. I had a hard time dealing with it. I was worried that Pietro felt that way, too.” She sighed, letting out months of pent-up guilt in that breath, allowing her chest to deflate like a smith’s bellows. “He didn’t stay over that night, because I didn’t want Scott to find out.”

“You weren’t so careful your own damned self.” Ororo allowed the waiter a civil smile as he brought their plates, warning Ororo that her bowl was hot. Jean dropped small dollops of her poppyseed dressing onto her spinach greens with her fork. Once their host was out of earshot, Ororo hissed, “Did you get your rocks off, Jean?”

“I’m not going to discuss that with you,” she sniffed.

“Did he let you get off? You can be honest. It makes sense, in hindsight, since he never could save enough for me. Come on, Jean. No sense in keeping it a secret. Did you enjoy fucking my man? Did you get off on the fact that you two were sneaking around behind my back? Or behind Scott’s? How do you even fucking sleep at night, you stupid, selfish, punk-ass heifer?” Ororo’s voice cracked once she realized how much it had risen. Jean’s cheeks flamed scarlet, and she threw her fork onto her plate with a clang.

“I knew you’d only think about yourself, and your needs, and how no one can hurt poor little Ororo! Pietro said you’d be like this! He said he always worried about you taking everything too hard, and how you always panic! You just loved to manipulate him with your little sugar and stress episodes and make him fret over you! He never could be completely honest with you when he thought you were just going to have an attack. God forbid you ever own up and talk things out with him!”

“Where.Do.You.Get.Off.” Ororo sat back in her chair, arm dangling over the back as she rocked it back on the pegs in defiance. “Look,” she barked, neck roll in effect, finger pointing daggerlike toward Jean’s heart, “leave my sugar out of this, bitch. It has nothing to do with anything. I wouldn’t have half of those ‘episodes’ of mine if he wasn’t always stepping out, being inconsistent about where he’s been. Or in this case, if certain friends weren’t leaving behind souvenirs for me to find. Seriously Jean, under my damned bed? Bright red thong panties?”

“Sure, go ahead and attack me. You wanted answers.”

“You’re giving me bullshit disguised as an alibi, and nothing resembling an apology that I can believe. You bring Pietro’s beef with me to the table, and you’re sitting up here, acting like he had reason to cheat, and like you weren’t wrong for diddling around behind Scott’s back.”

“You didn’t give Pietro what he needed!” Jean cried, and her eyes welled up before she jerked her head away, trying to master it. “And he was sweet, and tender, and caring, and you don’t deserve him if you can’t concern yourself with his needs, Ororo, Miss High and Mighty! You think you’re so innocent, and so blameless in all of this,” she rasped. “Pietro knew how important my wedding was, and how much it meant to Scott and me that the two of you be in it. All you did was act like it was killing you to pull bridesmaid duty. Emma and Betsy told me some of the crap you said about it, about how you wouldn’t make people jump though those kind of hoops when you and ‘Tro tied the knot.”

“Look where Pietro being helpful got us. How long have you been holding this little grudge? A few weeks? Months? Since Pietro and I got back together? Is this how you get me back?”

“I didn’t want it to be like this. I even thought…maybe if you had the chance to talk with him again, you could fix things. He was angry when the two of you broke up, Ororo. You threw him out.”

“I had every right! Don’t you get it?”

“You threw it all away, Ororo. Five years isn’t just something you toss out like so much dirty bathwater.”

“He was the one who acted like what we had was garbage, and you wiped your own feet all over it. Why did it matter so much to you for us to get back together, if you were tipping around with Pietro? Was it just convenient for you? Did you get some sick thrill out of being with him if he was ‘taken’ already?”

Jean weighed the silence between them, and let the other shoe drop. “If you and Pietro came around together, I could still see him. I could enjoy his company, without being a third wheel when he came over to hang out with Scott.” Ororo felt the blood drain away so quickly from her head that she felt the room spin.

“Well, there you go.” She shook her head, letting her hair bob over her shoulders with the motion. “You finally came out with it. How long did you think you were gonna let it play out?” Ororo grabbed her purse and jerked it open, fishing for her wallet. She grabbed a twenty and threw the crumpled twenty onto the table. “I’m done. This is bullshit! I’m not gonna hear this mess for one more second, d’ya hear?” The faint tailwind of Ororo whipping her jacket off the back of the chair and spinning around in a huff made Jean’s bangs fly up off her forehead.

“Ororo…DON’T! I’m not finished, come back…”

“Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” Ororo chanted under her breath as she exited the restaurant. “Gonna even fuck up doing a decent job of being guilty,” she mocked. She didn’t care that people were staring at her for talking to herself as she muttered and cursed her way down the street.

Roughly a minute later, Ororo heard heavy footsteps of someone walking hell-for-leather on a pair of stiletto heels and working up their heart rate in the process. Ororo felt a slender hand grip her arm through the leather of her jacket, and Jean jerked her back around, panting and looking indignant.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to run off?”

“You expected me to stay for more?”

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly, “but you wanted to hear my reasons for what I did.”

“They weren’t good enough. Truth be told, they never would have been good enough. Jean, I’ll be honest. I didn’t expect much out of this lunch. Logan convinced me I should talk to you, since you called up in a panic. He thought you were still mad about what happened at the party. I told him he shouldn’t have worried, since you have been acting like you don’t think much of him since the day the two of you were even really introduced at Harry’s.”

“What’s the big deal how I feel about Logan? I don’t care about him,” she sneered. “If you want to throw everything you had away on him, for some little rebound fling, that’s none of my business.”

“But you’ll sabotage it by inviting Pietro to your party, knowing Logan was likely to be there.” Ororo punched the button for the walk light insistently, then took off like a shot when it turned white.

Jean continued to walk one and a half paces behind Ororo, practically chasing her toward the parking garage where Ororo kept her Honda. “I guess you can blame me if you want, Ororo. When I went to see Pietro that night, I just wanted someone to talk to. One thing led to another. I begged him not to tell Scott what happened between us, and that we had to leave it at that. Pietro just looked at me, like he really saw me, and said ‘What if I don’t want to leave it at that? What if it meant more to me than that, Jeannie?’ He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He said that I was beautiful and that Scott was a lucky man, and if I really felt that what happened was better off being ignored, and that he didn’t mean anything to me, that he would be fine with me just walking out that door.” Ororo sighed, exhausted with her flight, and just about ready to tell Jean what she thought about it all. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. He said that even if he had any regrets about it in the morning, he’d deal with it. He just wanted one more night.” She swallowed thickly. “And it was worth it. Oh, God, it was so worth it,” she groaned.

“That’s all I needed to hear. That it was worth you screwing me over, just to get what you thought you needed from my man, when you already had everything.” Ororo stalked away, her feet clopping across the concrete as she trekked to her floor and subsection and clicked her keyring. Her car chirped back at her, and she was ready to drive away far and fast.

“Nobody has everything,” Jean reasoned. “I don’t want to walk away with this hanging between us.”

“There’s nothing hanging between the two of us. I’m never speaking to your lying, cheating ass again, Jean Grey-Fucking-Summers. This was it. This was your last chance, and you blew it BIG time.”

“God, you’re dramatic,” Jean huffed. “Fine, be that way. I don’t know why I knocked myself out. I guess I just felt horrible watching you feel hurt.”

“This was your idea of doing me a favor?” Ororo was incredulous. Her heart hammered away, making her feel lightheaded and sending tingles through her veins. Her hands twitched before balling themselves into fists. Jean turned her back on Ororo, giving her the cut direct.

“Please. Goodbye,” she threw over her shoulder. All Ororo saw was that proud, upswept hair drifting away, her green skirts swirling out behind her like peacock’s feathers.

ooooooo, that was it…

It was satisfying, Ororo thought in hindsight, giving Jean that one first, mighty shove, so hard she practically fell of her heels. Jean’s hair wrapped snugly around her fingers in strangling ropes as she yanked it from its tidy French knot. Jean had the decency to put up a fight, surprise and shock turning to rage as they went at it. Nails clawed. Palms slapped. Ororo’s fist found the bridge of Jean’s nose with a crack that left her knuckles stinging; she knew that’d hurt like a bitch in the morning, but she just didn’t care, doggone it. They scuffled, their shoes scraping raggedly across the concrete, and Jean fell back against Ororo’s Honda when she gave her another savage shove, setting off the car alarm with the contact. It blared in a rattling cacophony, but they were heedless of anyone coming to investigate it. It was an everyday occurrence; in the back of her mind, Ororo knew the parking garage guard was still in the booth reading the latest Steven King novel.

“You sorry bitch,” Ororo cried, sobbing and screaming in the same breath. “Are you sorry? Huh? Are you SORRY, Jean?”

“Let me go! Go to hell! Get off me!” Jean managed to backhand Ororo across her already sore lip, and she tasted blood spurting across her teeth. She slapped Jean back, just for good measure. From the next bank of cars, Ororo heard three teenage boys hooting their approval and yelling out, “c’mon, Red, don’t let her take you like that!” Ororo shook Jean’s hands off of her when she tried to tear at Ororo’s hair, which was already looking rough. They finally parted, straightening themselves. Jean turned her back again, tugging her hair into order as she left.

“See how sorry I feel now,” Jean cursed. “Frigid bitch.”

“Skank,” Ororo railed, wanting the last word. She opened her car and jammed the key into the ignition, starting it before she even closed the door. She unrolled the window, and marinated in the fog of resentment and fury that still wrapped her up like a straightjacket.

“No wonder he cheated on you,” Jean flung back.

“Keep stepping, Jean, just keep stepping,” she snarled. She lurched into drive, leaning on her horn and letting it blare at Jean as she drove past, practically scaring her off her shoes again.

She flipped her the bird in the rearview mirror. She was far enough out of view by the time she reached the ramp at the exit not to see Jean’s reaction as she grabbed her ticket and paid her fee.

She cursed and cried the rest of the way home, wondering how in the hell she was going to explain to Logan why she looked like she was dragged through a hedge backwards.


Two hours later:

“Something sure smells good, baby doll,” Logan rumbled from the front doorway as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“Hang that up,” Ororo called, stirring the skillet of stir-fried chicken and vegetables with a wooden spatula, adding a healthy dose of black pepper.

“I know; sheesh, let a guy come in an’ get…holy SHIT. Ororo, what the flamin’ hell happened ta yer face?”

“Logan…it’s complicated.”

“Spill,” he demanded, pulling up a kitchen stool and parking himself beside her in the kitchen. He caught her wrist and pulled her away from the stove, nudging her between his open knees for closer inspection. “Ouch,” he murmured. “Wasn’t it you telling me not to act the donkey just because someone made ya mad last time?”

“Don’t start, please,” she begged, averting her gaze.

“Uh-uh. I’m gonna start, all right. Ya don’t come home looking like ya went five rounds with Mike Tyson and his lawnmower and then not explain yerself.” He probed the back of her hand, tsking over the Ace bandage wrapped around her wrist and the Band-Aids across her knuckles, looking like she’d depleted the supply in the medicine cabinet.

“Lunch with Jean didn’t go well,” she explained around her fat lip.

“No shit,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and snaking his ankle around the back of her legs to prevent her escape. “At least I’m not talkin’ to ya on yer one phone call from the clink, that’s a good sign.” She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. “Kiddo? ‘Ro? You okay?” She shook her head, and tears dripped onto his pants legs. “Aw, shit, come here, baby,” he crooned, snuggling her close. She merely shook for the first few seconds, trying to catch her breath and absorbing his solid warmth, letting his masculine scent comfort her. A shivering, gasping sob tore from her throat, and his embrace tightened around her. He murmured platitudes into her hair and rocked her. Everything spilled out in a rush.

“Sh-she slept with Pietro, Logan. I found out the night of the party, an-and she admitted it, those panties I found were hers, and she had the nerve to act like I wasn’t supposed to say anything, just so she wouldn’t look BAD. Can you believe that? And, what’s shitty about it is, I was still trying to be a good friend! I didn’t say anything, I tried not to make a scene…” She sobbed and wailed up a ruckus, thoroughly wetting his shirt and neck.

“Well, we made a scene anyway, darlin’, couldn’t be helped,” he reminded her gently.

“It damn well could have been, we didn’t have to even GO!” she jabbed. “It would have been one thing if she had only been with him once. I know she’s slept with him twice, at least what she owned up to today. It’s just…Jean was my friend, you know? For years. I could tell her everything. I DID tell her everything about Pietro and me, because that’s what friends do.”

“Might wanna rethink that going forward, eh?”

“Oh, God…Logan, that sounded crappy, I know,” she recanted, pulling back long enough to scrub her palms over her cheeks roughly. His eyes scanned her cuts, wincing at a wicked bruise under her eye. “Probably sounds like I just run to my friends with my dirty laundry.”

“Depends on what ya call dirty, darlin’. Guess I just hope that if we ever have problems, ya might wanna come ta me first.”

“I always thought he was cheating, in the back of my mind. Just a weird feeling, y’know?” She tugged herself from his addictive warmth and went back to stirring dinner.

“Ya weren’t wrong ta feel that way.”

“Why? Did you have some little ‘playa intuition’ or other radar to know he was running around?”

“Didn’t need it. I caught him, darlin’, red-handed one night at Harry’s.”

Ororo’s entire body locked up, every joint and muscle perfectly still. Logan suddenly heard nothing but the sizzle of the food in the pan and the ticking of the kitchen wall clock.

“When?” Her voice was eerily calm. She planted her hands on the edge of the stove, but one shook as she lowered the spatula to the ceramic spoon rest.

“Darlin, it was a long time ago…”

“When, Logan?” she insisted. He cleared his throat.

“That first night when ya went out with Jean. The two of ya had just left. I was hangin’ out with Petey and his lady, and in walked Pietro.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Ain’t many guys who look like that, or women who look like you, ‘Ro. When I met ya in the E/R, the two of ya were a package deal. I remembered him pretty well.”

“Well. I guess I should be flattered, that I made that kind of impression with you back then, Logan, but I guess I have to ask, why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“HUH?”

He clawed his fingers through the back of his hair, completely flummoxed.

“Ororo, when was I gonna tell you? Ya already took off; what was I supposed ta do?”

“You could have said something the night of the reception.” Logan ice-skated in the frying pan for a few more strokes, wishing he’d have kicked Pietro’s ass twice as hard.

“Darlin’, no way was I gonna kick ya while ya were already down. What would that prove, huh? Ya were already cryin’ about how ya found a leftover from his little piece on the side under the bed! Did ya want me ta rub it in? Ya knew what he was about.”

She knew he was right. Her ego was bruised, maybe even more than her lip, and more damaging words kept leaking from it like poison.

“I had a feeling. I never really knew until that day. But you let me take you to Jean’s house, and spent time with me, and never said anything about this whole mess until now!”

“I was only tryin’ ta make ya feel better; I was worried. Ya came back looking like ya just finished a bar brawl, fallin’ apart about how yer best girlfriend did ya dirty, ‘Ro. Ya ended up betrayed, and I ain’t the one who betrayed ya.”

“This isn’t making me feel better, Logan.”

“That ain’t my fault, either.” He kicked the stool out of his way, letting it skitter into the counter. He was moving very, very fast, retrieving his jacket and helmet from the couch before Ororo could even blink.

“Yer mad, ‘Ro, I got that. But I ain’t the one ya need ta be mad at. Don’t lay blame at my doorstep because of what happened between you and ‘Tro. I care about ya,” he exclaimed grimly, turning back to stare at her from the doorway. Fading sunlight filtered through his hair, bringing out glints of auburn in his dark waves. He looked so hurt that her gut twisted into a hard ltitle knot. “But remember, darlin’, back when we met, I found ya and did something I didn’t plan on doin’, namely gettin’ in the middle of somethin’ that was endin’ on an ugly note. I knew it was impossible, Ororo, the moment that I met ya, that we’d ever end up together. I didn’t think ya’d give me a second glance. I saw the kinda man ya were already with, and thought ya were way outta my league, even if he ended up being an ass in the long run, but think of how it looked to me, back then. Think of what was going through my thick head.” Her lip quivered, and she folded her arms under her breasts, staring at the floor.

She was breathing harshly through her nose as he continued. “I wanted ta help ya. I felt like a heel, because I thought I was takin’ advantage of ya when ya were vulnerable. I hated feeling that way, but I dealt with it, because ya made me crazy, ‘Ro. There wasn’t any turning back, because I was hooked. I wanted ya so badly, and I felt ya wantin’ me just as bad. I thought, maybe we could make something of it. Something good, and solid, and throw away all the bad stuff and leave it behind us. Instead, it just seems like we’ve been hauling around all that baggage you joked about having before. Now, ya have me helping ya haul it around, too, and I can’t bear up under that weight, darlin’.” She wept openly now, sniffling into her cupped hand and letting her tears roll down in shining runnels, creating a chill on her neck.

“I’ve already been through drama, ‘Ro. Yer so damned sweet, and ya’ve been so good ta me, and I can’t wait ta spend time with ya every day, and see ya the moment I wake up, next ta me and lookin’ like yer just as happy as I am. Yer special, and I thought I told ya that already, and I want ya ta believe it. I’m not Pietro. I’ve been run around on before, and I know ya know how that feels.” She sobbed miserably, shoulders quaking, but he wouldn’t hold her.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she whimpered. Those tourmaline blue eyes were bloodshot and practically weakened his resolve.

“I don’t wanna leave; but I can’t stay if ya feel like ya can’t trust me.”

“Logan…I do trust you, it’s just-“

Just then, the smoke alarm went off.

“Dinner’s burning,” he muttered. He flexed his fingers before shoving them into his jacket pocket. “Bye, ‘Ro.” The door swished shut after him.

Ororo woodenly strode back into the kitchen, numb and raw as she grabbed the frying pan off the burner and dumped the whole thing into the sink. She stared back at the door, unable to believe what had just happened. She opened her kitchen windows and leaned her elbows over the kitchen counter, crying raggedly until the cool evening air silenced the chime of her smoke alarm.





You must login () to review.