‘Sorry doll, but you can’t work lookin’ like that…’ Marie had worked hard to cover up the bruise, but all the make-up in the world wasn’t gonna cover up a black eye and a swollen face, especially given it’d only happened a few hours ago.
The ugly welts were gonna be there for a good few days, never mind the plaster she’d put over her cut eye, and the heavy foundation to cover the purple and blue, Logan sure had left his mark.
She tried to reason with her boss, he only shook his head at her and shrug his shoulders, ‘Come on Marie, my customers wanna be served by a pretty face, not one that looks like it lost a fight with a tow truck.’
She laughed slightly though it hurt her jaw to do so, ‘It ain’t that bad Harry, come on.’
But he was adamant, ‘ain’t that bad, honey have you looked at yourself?’ He took her by the arm and spun her around to face the mirror, ‘I’m sorry darlin’ but that asshole sure did a number on you.’ He patted her hand, ‘take a few days off, come back when the swelling goes down, you know you always got a job here.’
He left her standing in his office, looking at her face again in the mirror; Logan sure had done a number on her, she raised her hand to her cheek, gingerly passing her fingertips over the bruises. ‘Ya bastard Logan…Gawd ah hate ya…’
Making her way out of the back room office she weaved her way through the crowds, many of them turning to look at the pretty little girl with the ugly bruise. She hated that she stood out like this, for all the wrong reasons, not because of the tight shirts or the short skirt but because of the cuts and the bruises. A pretty face all torn up.
They’d all figured by now Logan had something to with it, he would never have let someone lay a hand on her, her unofficial bodyguard, and if that was the case, Marie’s bruises had everything to do with him and his fists. And having seen the way he’d torn apart opponents in the cage, they probably thought she’d had a lucky escape with the damage he’d done.
She looked towards Joe, who nodded and smiled sympathetically at her as she walked out of the bar.
He waited as the small voice on the other end of the line told him the line was secure and that he could go ahead and talk. Shuffling impatiently from one foot to the other, he watched as his warm breath hit the cold air outside the bar, the thin wisps evaporating into the night.
‘What have you got for me…?’ The voice clipped, deliberately short, military precision and trained came back at him.
‘It’s time, she’s ready.’ His own words were equally short, clipped, military training. No point using more words than necessary, get to the point, uncompromising, resolved and precise.
‘What about Logan?’
‘He’s gone.’ His teeth gritted slightly at that, ‘You’re sure?’ He could understand the reason for doubt, watching Logan over the past month he’d been convinced the man would never leave, certainly not without Marie.
‘Yeah I’m sure, spent the last of his winnings on some groceries and a few cases of beer. Saw him piling the lot into his truck; he got in and drove off.’ He recalled the events perfectly as he had watched the altercation between Marie and Logan, watched as she had pushed him out the door, seen the blood on her face and knowing instantly that he was the cause of it, had cursed Logan for hurting her like that.
‘He left her behind?’ The voice at the other end was still unsure; he had had trouble believing what he’d seen himself at the time, until he’d seen Marie walk into the bar later. That ugly bruise not being hidden by her attempts with the make-up.
‘Yeah, he had no choice, sonofabitch knocked her several shades of black and blue.’ He practically snarled the last words down the phone.
Several moments of silence followed, further doubt, ‘Logan hit her? You sure ‘bout that?’
He clutched the phone tighter, the cold air seeping into his bones; he grew impatient, ‘For fuck’s sake I know what I saw alright!’ He snapped, ‘Look just come pick her up and get me the hell outta here as well.’
‘Wound up a little tight aren’t you?’
His fist clenched against his side, he fought the urge to swear at his employer, ‘Yeah, you would be to, if you had to work in a shit hole like this, piss poor pay and having to watch sleazy bastards get off over girls young enough to be their daughters.’
The voice on the other end remained calm, patient and clipped, allowing for his source’s insolence, half a year in the field, in the rough-neck bars on the bitter Canadian border had to go someway to wearing down all that military training. Guess it was time, they were both ready to come in.
‘Fuck…fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Logan hit the steering wheel with his fists stamping out every obscenity getting more pissed off by the second. He growled in frustration and pulled over his truck, the claws shooting out of his hand almost uncontrollably.
Pushing the door open he climbed out the truck and fought hard to breathe, to take control, the pain from the metal in his hands burning from the intensity of his anger and his shame.
All that hurt and fury that had poured out of him and out of her, and what he’d done because of it. Her face, her beautiful face bleeding and bruised because he had let it get away from him, had let the anger take over. Her words and they way she looked played over and over in his head, ‘Because of ya Logan, ya and every bastard since.’
It was his fault, she’d said as much, the time he’d pushed her away, the time she’d asked him for help, the times she’d cried on his shoulder and he hadn’t given her what she’d wanted.
Realising now, too late, that it wasn’t sex, a quick fuck against a doorway or a brick wall, but for him to hold her, just to be held and to be told that she was alive, feeling everything that needed to be felt, that she was whole, not broken and wrong, but just needing to be found.
Like all of us lost until we were found, nothing wrong in that, nothing to fear. But he’d pushed her away, his own sense of guilt making it seem seedy and depraved. And that’s what he’d seen die in her, that wanting, that need to feel in place. She’d given up on the human touch and now like she’d told him, it was too late, too bad she’d said you’re too late, it’s gone.
She’s gone, that little girl, lost little Marie who’d scratched herself deep into her arms, who would have given anything to feel something, anything. And so now she’d changed, determined that in an effort to feel something she’d throw herself into feeling everything all at once, lust and ecstasy pleasure…pain. All of it, all at once, at some point hoping something would stick, a memory would embed itself and remain, and a feeling would be imprinted on her troubled soul.
The quick fucks against the walls, the cheap and dirty gropes, the cutters, the beaters and the strangers who for a few minutes allowed her to tear it apart and put it back together all in a different way, something different, but never the same.
But always on her own, she didn’t need him, not anymore, no need for him to hold her up, to put it back together. ‘You’re too late…too fuckin late.’ Too late to save me this time, too bad, ya had your chance and now it’s gone.
What did he want? To save her, a chance to redeem himself and her along with it?
He took a deep breath, staring up at the clear night sky, focusing on every star, pouring all the intensity into shutting his eyes and letting the cold air wash over him. It seemed to work, his claws slowly retracted and he watched as the skin healed over them, knitting over, closing the wound perfectly as if the metal that cut through had never been there at all.
The wound that had never been there at all, he wished he could say the same for what he’d done to Marie. Climbing back into the truck he just sat starin’ at the open road ahead of him, could he do it, could he walk away? Could he let Marie pass him by a second time, could he leave her behind? Let all the guilt wash over him, tear them apart, was it really too late?
Marie sat on the floor, her back pressed against the bed, her head thrown back. She stared at the yellowing ceiling, the flaking paint reflecting her mood, tired and getting worse.
Her room was marked by its emptiness, a single creaking bed, a tired dirty coloured carpet that was every bit as cheap as it looked and a single dresser drawer by the bed where she kept her clothes.
Nothing more, nothing too personal, nothing to mark the place as her own, cheap motel rooms were designed to be moved on from, to be left behind, no one would ever want to lay claim to a shit-hole like this. Even in her position, alone and working a dirty, cheap bar there was such a thing as going down further in the world. Laying claim to this place would be it.
She held a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a glass in the other, the bottle already half empty, the fire in her belly compensating for the fact she hadn’t eaten in hours. She smiled, it was one hell of a diet, wondered if she should endorse it, the key to losing all that weight, fill your stomach with alcohol, hell if there’s any room left in there for food.
Downside was the headaches and the nausea. She balked as another wave hit her, and rising hastily to her feet rushed for the bathroom. She barely made it before she emptied her gut into the sink, sputtering she wiped her mouth clean and looked, only to be faced with her reflection once more. Tired eyes and a bruised face stared back at her.
She grimaced as the pain in her head increased, clutching her hair, tugging she fought to gain control. The pain became sharper, insistent, sharp jabs, like hot knives being pushed into her head.
So intense, wave after wave of red hot pain pushing through, pushing her to her knees. Her vision blurred and she lay flat out on the floor, crippled by the fear and aches, she rolled onto her back, gasping to catch a breath.
Hot tears welled in the back of her eyes blinding her further; she blinked through them as she tried to look around her. And then she thought she caught the sound of voices, barely whispers that floated over to her, seeming so far away.
Her last image was of dark figures stood over her, kneeling by her…
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The fall-out from their argument, a Logan that considers giving up just when Marie finds herself in trouble...