Marie threw herself down on her bed with a long sigh.

Life sucked.

She knew she was being over dramatic, but she didn’t care. It was cold, raining and she felt sad. Blame it on the weather if you want, she chose to blame life in general. It seemed fairer that way.

Stupid life.

A knock sounded on her bedroom door, interrupting her angst filled dwelling. She didn’t feel like getting up, she didn’t feel like pulling on her gloves, she didn’t feel like seeing anyone.
“Go away,” she told who ever was behind the door just that.

For a split second she thought they had listened, until the knob turned and Logan leaned against the door jam.

“Ah said go away,” she groaned, but even to her it sounded whiney. Damn it.
“I heard ya the first time,” he bit down on the unlit cigar between his teeth.

Marie rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. She tried her best not to even move. If she didn’t move, he couldn’t see her. Right? He’d leave her alone. Right?

Wrong.

He stalked across the room to her bed, “What’s wrong kid?” He used his butt to shift her legs over, giving him a place to sit.
She sighed again. “One hundred and one things are wrong,” she threw her arms up to cover her face, “Number one being I’m eighteen Logan. I’m not a ‘kid’ anymore.”
Marie hoped he’d feel the cold shoulder she was trying to give off and leave her alone to wallow.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Instead he plopped his big boots up on the bed next to her shoulder, “but with me, even Chuck is a kid, Kid.”

Daring to look past her crossed arms, she saw the humoured grin on his face. Her lips almost defied her glum, but she fought the smile, “Fair enough.”

“So, what are the other hundred things that are bothering you?” his hand mindless went to rubbing her jean clad ankle. The casual touching they’ve fallen into. Simple little, friendly touches.

It was distracting. Nice, and far too distracting.

She leaned back again, falling into relaxation. She didn’t want to ruin the quiet moment with her complaining, “It’s nothin’ sugar.”
His hand stopped moving. He’d get her to talk.

Marie groaned. Somehow the loss of contact made everything spiral, feeling colder and sadder than before. She hated that he could do that.
“So many little things,” she began, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m pretty sure I just failed my physics test. Which’ll make college that much harder. That is, if I even get to go to college. I can’t go running around a college campus freely with them all unaware…like Jubs, Bobby and Kitty. Yeah. Bobby and Kitty. They look so damn…cute together. Bright and cute. And shiny. They’re always close and cuddling…and happy. The perfect all American college couple.”

He began caressing her calf again, in slow lazy strokes.

“It doesn’t bother me so much as rub my face in it. Ya know. In the fact that it’ll never be me. No one really can touch me like that, so casual and close. That no one ever does, and no one ever will. No one would want to risk it.”

Like a mute child, Logan slapped her knee. He knew that once she got going, it’s better not to interrupt Marie’s rants. But still, he had a point to make.

“Okay,” she chuckled, “no one without a metal skeleton and the ability to come back from the dead.”

He gave a slight shrug but stayed quiet.

“And there’s the fact that I’ve got a bunch of people in my head who hate me, and each other,” she slumped further back, tired and defeated.

He nudged her shoulder with his boot.

“Again, present company excluded,” Marie rolled her eyes, “You really just growl and stomp around. Like you do outside of my head. All they ever do,” she tapped her temple with her finger, “is bicker. With each other. About everything. About me. I don’t do this right, I don’t do that right. I don’t understand. I can’t see… I’ve got to lug bits of all these people around with me. And they hate me. I’m never actually alone, even when I always am.” Her eyes screwed shut, she hated thinking about all this. Hated talking about it more. It was...unsettling. The weird among the weird.

When the silence settled, Logan manoeuvred them so they were on the same end of the bed, Marie nestled in the crook of his arm and his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.
“You know, I’ve got one hundred and one things of my own darlin’,” he began, “things that are right…with you.”
She stilled, and looked up at him shyly. But she was silent. It was his turn to talk. They took turns like that. It happens when the other person doesn’t like to talk.

“For someone with a crowd of people in their head, you still know yourself. Not everyone is that lucky. And even with everyone else in there,” he tapped her head, “you’re the only one I can stand being along with. Here or anywhere. You make it quiet Marie. Me quiet.” He shifted a little in his seat.

A small smile formed on Marie’s lips.

Logan cleared his throat, a surprising noise in the near silence. “And you know you’re too good for Bobby Drake anyway. Or anyone else around here, for that matter. Annoying teenaged boys,” he grumbled the last part.

“How do I know I’m too good for Bobby?” she sat up, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You’ve proven it Marie,” there was no waver, no hesitation, no fake sentiment. Not from Logan. When he said something, it was fact.

“You know,” he cupped her cheek through the veil of hair, “you’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks turned a slight pink, and she bashfully tried to turn away, but his hand to her cheek kept their faces locked.

“And I know you’re not a kid anymore…” His voice was thick and hot.

A draw was there, beyond her skin. Pulling at them.

He sat back.

“So there’s no reason to worry about some lousy test,” he sounded louder than before, booming, “It’s not like you’re going into physics anyway…”

Marie nodded, slightly bewildered by the quick change. Even if she should be used to it by now from him.

Logan patted the bed next to him, signalling he wanted her back in her spot at his side. That he wanted to grace over any guards he let slip, any little secrets he let show. She slide into the crook of his arm, her place, and smiled.

Oh yeah. Life sure could suck.

But not at this moment.

End.