Heal Over
Chapter Three
In the next week, Logan thought he saw an improvement in the girl's condition. But it was one he'd have a hard time explaining to others, and certainly couldn't be measured on one of the charts Scott was so damn fond of.
Rather than sprawl limply when Logan lay her in the car, the girl huddled into herself. Chin tucked down, fingers curled. Shoulders hunched in a vague attempt at defense. He thought that was a sign of increasing awareness.
Her eyes stayed open--half open, really--when Logan was feeding her, bathing her, easing her onto the toilet. Haunted, grey gaze. She'd watch him with a tired stare that didn't meet his own eyes, rarely went higher than his throat.
Logan could give her soup now, soft carrots and bananas. Milk, sometimes, though the kid didn't seem to trust the creamy liquid as much. Smaller sips, her mouth not so eagerly seizing the rim. She'd drink it all, obedient, and not willing to risk what (in her mind) could bethe last drink she'd have for a long time.
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"Football game on tonight, kid. Think we'll find a motel with a T.V. tonight. You excited?"
The girl's eyes were open, fixed somewhat on his elbow. Logan thought she was listening.
"Calm down. Their both pansy teams. I could beat each of them playing by myself."
He spotted the town's bar and shot it a longing, nostalgic glance. Alcohol and women. He could smell them from here, at the stoplight. Fuck, it'd been a long time.
He missed being able to drive fast without fearing he'd hurt or frighten the kid. He missed talking to people other than cashiers. He missed being able to jerk off outside the motel's shower.
The light turned green.
"You hungry, kid? Thought we'd try some scrambled eggs tonight. That sound good to you? Hmm? You like scrambled eggs? And I'll find me a goddamn burger and we'll be all set."
The "Eat n' Park." Cute. Bright red paint. A long, thin motel. Curling lettering on the sign, it's attempt at regality spoiled by the tiny flashing bulbs and....well, everything else about the place. But it had a Bar&Grill attached.
"What about that, Kid? You wanna stop here?"
Logan pulled in, easing over speed bumps for the sake of her ribs.
"Me too."
Logan had her settled in on the covers, warm. He gave the kid some water, brushed his lips over her hair, and promised to be right back.
The restaurant was crowded; the chalkboard at the front said, "Minimum Cooking Time 20 Min". It also said, "Breakfast Not Served After 11AM", but after some Wolverine-tinted persuasion, that rule didn't seem so iron-clad.
He ordered the eggs for the kid, and a hamburger-rare, with every topping imaginable- for himself. Logan walked over to the bar, swung a long leg over the stool. Beer could be found almost anywhere, even Molson occasionally. The harder stuff was....well, harder to find.
"Whiskey," he told the barkeeper--who appeared too young to drink, let alone serve alcohol all night. "Tall glass."
Ah...the sweet burn of that amber liquid. Biting and rough and delicious. He'd killed fifteen minutes and three drinks when She walked in.
Dark hair and tan skin. Tight red shirt, tighter jeans. High heels. She took a seat at the other end of the bar and shot him a shy, but flirty, smile. Logan brought the glass to his lips, studying the woman appreciatively. He made some quick, experienced calculations. Three minutes of mandatory, introductory flirting. Eight minutes to get her outside. Five minutes to her motel room. Twenty minutes inside aforementioned room. Two minutes recovery. One and a half minutes of her pleading with him to stay.
Not counting however longer it'd take to get the food.
She ordered her drink, an appletini, and began playing with a gold flower-shaped necklace between her breasts. Flashed him a grin that became less shy with every passing moment. Logan imagined hand prints on her hips, that necklace rising up and down over sweaty skin. Quick release. It was so goddamn tempting that in Logan's mind he was already halfway across the room toward her.
He thought of the kid, alone for almost an hour. But she'd be alright. She'd be fine. Safe. Wasn't like she could go anywhere.
"Sir? Your meal is ready."
Logan swallowed the rest of the suddenly tasteless whiskey. He stood, grabbed the plastic to-go bag, and headed back to his room.
Logan kept one eye on the T.V. as he poked bits of scrambled eggs between the girl's lips. Texas was winning. By four points.
After dinner, Logan rubbed Carmex peeling lips. She tried to eat the stick, so he used his thumb to spread the balm.
Tan shadows stretching on her face. Under her eyes, her cheekbones, her neck. The walls took on the purplish tint of night, and Logan stretched out beside the girl. Comfortable, careful space between them. He hadn't asked for double beds. Not because they couldn't afford it; it hadn't even crossed Logan's mind. He wanted to be near, in case of...in case of anything.
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Logan squirted a dollop of shampoo on the girl's hair, spread it with his fingers.
"You got a name, Kid? Hmm?"
He could see a flash of brown eyes through her lashes, under her mostly-closed eyelids.
"Wanna tell me your name, baby? Do you have one?"
Logan didn't expect an answer.
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Change is slow. If you're not standing close, you can't watch it happen at all.
The girl was awake more often now. And when she was, her eyes were always, always moving. In a motel room, they darted around, methodically clocking him the door, the TV, the bathroom, the table, him, the TV, the bathroom, the table him, the TV, the bathroom...Serious, as if her life depended on keeping track of everything at once. If Logan made any motion her eyes would break the cycle and lock on him. In the car they went from Logan to out the window, until she dozed off again.
She could hold a piece of bread, a banana, a bottle of water if it wasn't full.
Tenuous scabs had formed on her feet, the crescent under her breast. The scrapes were beginning to reknit themselves. The black bruises were turning purple; the purple bruises were turning green--a sign of healing, though it looked terrible.
Perhaps her urine had a less copper tint.
Sometimes the kid could hold herself up. For only minutes at a time, and the act thoroughly exhausted her. It bothered Logan to see her arms shaking with the effort to support her own weight, so when she was conscious he usually propped her up with a pillow.
The girl watched his lips when he spoke, but shrank into herself (mentally and physically) when he came near. She never touched him intentionally, unless Logan was already touching her.
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"Okay," Logan said, thrusting his arms into the straps of his pack. "You ready to go, Kid?"
He was beginning to wonder if the girl spoke English, or was capable of speaking at all. The only noises he'd heard her make were whimpers. Logan knew Japanese, Spanish, and several German swearwords, but when he tested them out her expression did not change.
But he kept talking to her, naturally, constantly. Logan thought she understand. She responded visibly to some words--'go', 'hungry', 'thirsty', 'bath', and 'sleep.'
Logan hooked his arm under her knees, her shoulder blades, lifting her in one easy, practised motion. He'd bought clothes for the girl (from the children's department) and now she wore a long sleeve blue t-shirt and a pair of cotton sweat pants. The smallest size he could find, but still loose.
Her hand, a half-fist, brushed the bottom of his dogtags.
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The large Welcome sign reading, "You Are Now Entering Sycaway, New York" was decorated in large red ribbons. Logan wondered if today was a holiday.
Ororo had called him a few hours ago. She'd made some calls, but learned her friend, Dr. McCoy, was in Thailand and was not due back for another two months. He was doing research on some mutant-inclined disease. Commissioned by Xavier.
Logan had cussed, used every swearword he knew and invented some new ones on the spot. He wondered if Wheels was trying to kill the kid.
But no. That was crazy.
Chuck wasn't that vindictive.
Still, Logan was tempted to drive straight to The School right now. Barge in, demand that Jean treat the girl. Surely he'd lost Their trail by now?
He found himself drifting closer to Westchester.
They passed a tiny strip mall. A Golden sun and a liqueur store. Both looked good to him. Logan wondered if the girl's body was ready for Chinese food. Eggdrop soup, he thought, and maybe some sweet and sour chicken.
"You hungry, darlin'?"
The girl turned her head toward Logan. A faint twitch-could have been a nod. Logan took it for one.
"Wanna try something new?"
He pulled in between a red pickup and a white Mercedes--decorated with cre' paper for someone's graduation. "Be right back, Kid. Wait here. Okay?" Logan shut the door, locking it. He could feel her gaze on his neck as he crossed the street, but when Logan glanced back the girl's eyes were closed.
A case of Budweiser at the liqueur store. The cashier's apologetic, half-honest pout. They were "plum out of the Molson brand." Logan made his way to the Golden Sun, a Pottery Barn and Paws4Pets away.
The owner was a fat, bald man who grinned ceaselessly and called Logan, "My Fine Friend." He ordered five eggrolls, soup, General Tso's and sweet-and-sour chicken. His back was to the windows, his elbows on the counter. Stomach growling at the M.S.G-packed smells wafting from the kitchen.
The yellow sun-shaped clock by the cash register said "6:27" when Logan was handed the brown sack, filled with the little white cartons of food. He slipped the change into the jar labeled, "Tipping Is Not A City In China", and the owner beamed.
"You come again, My Fine Friend. You come again." Logan heard the touch of a Brooklyn accent in the owners carefully cheerful voice.
The pickup blocked his immediate view of the car, but Logan knew something was wrong. The Golden Sun's door bells jangled behind him, blending with the sound of traffic and a raised voice.
"Yo, Babydoll. Come on, you don't wanna say hi to me-e?"
.........
"That ain't friendly. Come on. Why doncha roll down your window, say hi to me. Roll down your window."
........
"You just being rude. Open your door, I'll show you a good time."
.......
"Open the door, bitch. Open the fucking door."
A tall Latino man, shaved head. Muscled, wiry arms poked out of a t-shirt stained with yellow sweat, but no body fat. Jittery in the way of meth addicts. He was out of his mind. Banging his hand on the car window repeatedly, half amused, half enraged. Screaming and laughing, the stringy muscles in his neck popping out.
Through the tinted windshield, the girl, curled up into a ball.
"Whatsa matter? You stuck-up cunt. Open the goddamn door. You hear me? Op-"
The rest of the man's speech was cut off. His teeth scrapped the back of Logan's fist.
Logan hit him. Once. Twice. Three times. Almost calmly. He didn't black out, didn't forget himself. He took a casual pleasure in seeing the man's head crack against the pickup, and felt not a moments regret when his facial features like red clay rather than flesh.
Afterwords, Logan wiped his face on his shirt sleeve. Collected the fallen beer and food, tossed them into the back seat. He walked quickly to his side of the car, jerked the door open and slid in with a thump.
Her head was ducked down, almost touching the arm rest. Quivering shoulders and a sound--not a whimper, but a distressed hum.
Logan pulled the shaking mass of her against his chest, smelling salty water and fear. The shudders of a skinny body not prepared for terror.
"Hey. Hey," he said. He listened to the near-imperceptible hitches in her throat, the hasty retreat her mind was making into itself. "You're okay," Logan told the top of her head. "You're okay. You're safe. No problem. You're safe. You're safe." He touched the top of her hair, rocked a little, more experienced with dressing a wound than comforting.
"You're safe. You're safe. You're safe."
The girl calmed fairly quickly, not accustomed to the luxury of panic. Logan tilted her pinkened face up, watched eyes try to numb themselves behind shadows. Perhaps he was breathing a little hard himself. "You're alright. You're safe." He brushed her tears away with his thumb, mindful of the cut under her right eye.
"You're safe."
Logan watched the girl's mouth tremble, watched her top teeth tap her lower lip as she shaped the word, 'safe'.
"That's right, baby. That's right."
That night, just beginning to drift away into sleep (In the past month he'd had the least amount of dreams he could ever recall...well, not having), Logan felt a touch against his arm. He opened his eyes, saw the back of the kid's hand pressing against his wrist. Deliberately stretching across the space between them. Not grasping, not caressing. But closer to either she'd ever come. The girl was faking sleep, so Logan closed his eyes again.
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Logan had her walking. Almost walking. His hands guiding her, supporting her. Trying to build up circulation and muscle tissue in legs that hadn't either in a long time. the girl hobbled, swayed back and forth. Shuffled slowly forward in a double pair of socks. But she could make it, almost, to the bathroom and back.
She'd speak, sometimes. One-word whispers, a quick cringe and sudden nervous spike in her scent. More often she'd mouth the words. If Logan asked if she was hungry, she'd echo him "Hungry". Or similar agreements of "bathroom" and "water." So tentative and quiet.
The girl would sneak closer to him every night. Head turned in his direction, then her cheek brushing his arm. And then that arm under her head, in a cradle to his side.
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She said his name.
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Logan's phone rang, a generic bleeping he found preferable to all the other ring tone options.
Chuck's voice. Friendly, as if Logan had been away on a vacation of his choice. Telling Logan he thought it might be safe enough now to return to the mansion.
Asking if he still had the files.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh my god. Did you expect an update so soon? I didn't. I was up past midnight last night, trying to finish this chapter. That's my excuse for any mistakes/anything crappy in this chapter. :)
I'm embarrassed to admit this, but it might be funny enough not to be pathetic so I'll type it anyway. I woke up crying, the night after I posted the previous chapter. My nightmare? That I got fifty reviews telling me what a horrible writer I was and to not ruin the site with this story. I was happy to see that was not the case; thank you for beautiful, generous reviews.
Yesterday, I was searching for the song "Even Now", by Caitlin&Will, and accidently downloaded one of the same name by Dashboard Confessional. I was shocked by how much it put me in the mind of this story(pinky-swear-cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye promise that I'd never heard it before). It's a really pretty song, and I encourage ya'll to go check it out.
I'm embarrassed to admit this, but it might be funny enough not to be pathetic so I'll type it anyway. I woke up crying, the night after I posted the previous chapter. My nightmare? That I got fifty reviews telling me what a horrible writer I was and to not ruin the site with this story. I was happy to see that was not the case; thank you for beautiful, generous reviews.
Yesterday, I was searching for the song "Even Now", by Caitlin&Will, and accidently downloaded one of the same name by Dashboard Confessional. I was shocked by how much it put me in the mind of this story(pinky-swear-cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye promise that I'd never heard it before). It's a really pretty song, and I encourage ya'll to go check it out.
Chapter End Notes:
This chapter has me a little worried. There's something off, but I couldn't find anything specifically wrong with it. It's driving me a little crazy. Of course, I feel that way after everything I post, so it may just be me. I'd truly love to hear your thoughts-if you think there was something "bleh" about it, I honestly apologize. Please, please review.