The Locket (25 page)

This is it, girl. Keep him talking.

“Yes, I was close to him. He was a character,” I offered, fighting off tears I knew would come if I said too much about my father.

“It must have really shocked you to learn about Reese,” he lamented, regarding me apologetically.

His mention of the subject startled me.

“Yes, it did, but everyone makes mistakes,” I admitted, my answer hopefully causing him to think about his own actions, rather than those of my father.

“I’m not very close to my dad. He’s kind of an asshole,” he claimed angrily. I noticed the vein in his neck popping out.

“I’m sorry, that’s awful, Logan,” I said kindly. “What about your mom? What’s she like?”

His expression softened. I noticed a hint of a smile.

“My mom is the sweetest, most loving woman I’ve ever known. But, she’s stupid.” He tossed that last bit out hotly.

“Logan!” I scolded.

“Sorry, I don’t mean it. It’s just hard. My dad drinks way too much. He hits my mom and calls her horrible names. I’ve tried to get her to leave him. I can take care of her but she won’t leave. She says she can’t because she loves him,” Logan grumbled, shaking his head back and forth, frustration creasing his forehead.

Sadness filled my heart. Logan was turning out just like the man he despised.

“Logan, I’m so sorry,” I consoled him, reaching for his hand.

He pulled his hand away, glaring at me with anguish on his face.

“Don’t! I don’t want your goddam pity, Claire,” he barked, breaking my heart further. No one had ever listened to Logan before, or cared to understand him. I wanted too.

I grabbed his hand again, holding firmly, not allowing him to pull it away this time.

“No, of course not, Logan. I don’t pity you. I only want you to know I’m here for you,” I coaxed and his expression softened.

He smiled appreciatively with my words and squeezed my hand, pulling it to his chest and holding it there while he spoke. “He tells her he wishes I was never born. He was happy with her until I came along and took up all her time.”

The desperation in Logan’s voice was too strong to ignore. I released our hands, grabbing his face, making him look at me. I wanted him to see my eyes when I spoke.

“Logan, look at me. It’s not your fault, okay? It’s not,” I insisted. Everything made sense. Logan felt responsible for the torturous life bestowed on his mother.

Logan continued his confession.

“He hits me sometimes. It’s gotten worse the last couple of years since I started fighting back. When I stand up to him, he sees it as a challenge. Like he has to remind me he can kick my ass. My mom always takes his side and tells me to get out,” he cried, the confession taking a toll on his emotions.

“Oh, Logan,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry,” he screamed through tears, his body swaying back and forth.

I reached around Logan, folding him in my arms. How could his parents have been so selfish? Did they not see what they were doing to him? I was angry, and I had to help him somehow. I rocked him in my arms for a long while thinking how so many kids at school were jealous of Logan. He had all the material things kids our age wanted – the latest iPhone, expensive clothing, and a new truck. In turn, Logan was jealous of all of us because we had the one thing he wanted most in the world – unconditional love.

When Logan finally released my hold I expected him to be embarrassed but instead he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand and thanked me for listening. His conscience was buried deeply, just coming to the surface, warm and kind. I had every intention of bringing it out for him. I kissed him gently on the side of his head.

He stood up swiftly, wiping away tears from his cheeks.

“I have to go Claire. I’ll be back in the morning,” he told me, handing me a bag with water and cannolis from the same restaurant we had eaten from earlier. His expression told his story –the two Logan’s were battling for control. Taking the bag from him I thanked him.

Logan sighed heavily.

“Look, I know I should let you go, but I can’t yet. I’m sorry,” he apologized, wearing a shameful half smile.

“It’s all right, Logan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I replied, hiding my disappointment. I didn’t want to upset him. Logan didn’t say anything further and left the room. I heard the door close and lock behind him.

I was alone and hurting. Conversing with Logan had helped hide the pain in my body. But now by body was really rebelling and I knew that Brent was my only cure.

While my subconscious was irritating as ever, she had a valid point. The darkness could be at Logan’s house right now. His father stumbling about, his mother shivering in the corner while Logan and his father shouted at each other, erasing any progress I made with him today.

Pushing away my negative thoughts, I rifled through the bag Logan had left for me. Inside were a variety of items including my toothbrush, change of clothes, pajama shorts with a matching tank, and my book. Obviously, he had been to my house. The thought really annoyed me. My heart softened and I suppressed a smile when I saw my parents smiling at me from the bottom of the bag. Logan was living a lie. This hate-filled evil layer was just an outside façade. Inside, he was a sweetheart of a boy who packed that photo knowing it would comfort me. And it certainly did. I was more determined than ever to eradicate the monster inside of Logan forever. I only hoped I had the courage to do it.

I changed into my pajamas noticing he also brought me a yoga mat and sleeping bag. I rolled it out and crawled inside, thankful Logan left enough rope that I was able to zip it up.

I started reading my book and part of me expected Brent to rescue me, bringing relief from the cramping in my legs when he touched me. My hopes faded with each turn of the page and I drifted to sleep.

I hadn’t been asleep long when I was startled awake. Fearfully, I heard the door slam shut and heavy footprints pounded down the hall approaching me.

My heart skipped a beat.
Brent?

“Claire….” Logan’s gurgled voice came through the walls. “I need you, Claire,” he slurred.

Barely able to make out his alcohol-drowned words, I suspected his evening had gone exactly as I thought. He had drunken himself into a stupor to numb the pain.

Logan entered the room thunderously and I shrank back. He looked dreadful. His beautiful amber eyes were glazed over, swollen and red. He ogled me with a lopsided smile, plopping himself next to me on the floor, and whispered in my ear. “I missed you, Claire.”

The alcohol on his breath was so strong that I wondered if I wouldn’t end up intoxicated just from inhaling it.

“Logan, you’re drunk!” I scolded, while remaining zipped in the security of my sleeping bag.

“Yup, I am,” he slurred. “But I figured something out.”

I regarded him with my defenses on high alert before asking, “What would that be?

He leaned in close and my body flinched back. He slowly unzipped the side of the sleeping bag and eased up next to me until our bodies touched.

“I’m in love with you, Claire,” he admitted, sliding his hand under my sleeping bag, frightening me. I resisted the urge to crawl away so that I didn’t set him off.

Logan started kissing my neck. I felt chunks of ravioli in my throat burning as it mixed with bile from my stomach. “Logan, you’re not in love with me. You’ve just had too much to drink.”

“You’re wrong, Claire. I love you so much it hurts,” Logan argued, gripping my inner thigh and pulling it close to him, causing me to gasp. “See, you love me too,” he snorted.

Before I could push his hand away, he slid it up my thigh under my shorts, cupping my sex. His evil laugh was frightening, and I froze knowing he was violent when he was like this. My mind sought out a solution that wouldn’t anger him.

“See, I told you that you love me,” he hummed in my ear. My insides vibrated, fire ignited under my skin, burning with anger.

His face hovered over mine. I was still frozen.

Move, Goddammit.

Fear was holding me firmly in place while my thoughts wrestled with how to diffuse him. He took my mouth in his and forcefully bit on my bottom lip. I tasted metal and knew my lip was bleeding. Feeling his hand slide into my underwear, stroking my most intimate spot skin to skin brought my blood to a boil. Like a raging fire, my reaction was unleashed.

The hell with how pissed he gets.

Protesting, I forcefully pushed my palms into his chest which only moved him an inch or so. He was caught by surprise and removed his hands from me.

“You disgusting pig. Don’t touch me!” I screamed, pounding my fist repeatedly into his chest.

Logan let out an explosive laugh. “Ah, come on, you want me too.”

“No! I don’t. You repulse me, Logan,” I stormed.

His face hardened. The dark demon was back in control and I was terrified.

“I really wish you hadn’t said that,” he snarled.

Crap!

Requiring a little space between us, I wiggled free from the sleeping bag and stood up, taking as many steps back as possible since my leg was still shackled. The length of the rope allowed me only five steps backward before Logan grabbed it and tugged. I attempted to keep my balance, but fell forward on the floor in front of him. I somehow summoned the strength to stand back up, refusing to let him dominate me.

He stared at me heatedly, still holding onto the rope. His face was red and blotchy. Maybe it was rage boiling under his skin, or maybe it was the alcohol. This Logan was definitely not the one who left me hours before. This was the Logan I was deathly afraid of. This was the Logan that could snap at any minute.

“Take it back, Claire,” he ordered, yanking on the rope once again, pulling me close to him. Anger was seeping out of him. I could smell the alcohol in his sweat.

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t struggle, try to run, or scream. I stood firmly in place, while angry tears streamed down my face. Maybe I should’ve said it to calm the beast in front of me, but I didn’t. The feeling of him violating me was still thick on my skin. I met his stare with the same heatedness.

“I won’t take it back, Logan!” I spit. “You disgust me!”

That was a big mistake.

The back of his hand struck my cheek with so much force that it knocked my feet out from under me. I landed on my tail bone, shrieking loudly, as the pain shot up my spine. Logan was on top of me, straddling me. He wrapped his hands around my throat and just like in my dream, he began stealing each breath I took.

“You can’t speak to me like that, you bitch. Not ever…you got that?”

I managed one big gulp of air, finding my voice long enough to shout back at him. “I hate you. Do you hear me, Logan? I hate you.”

Logan’s hands went limp and fell from my throat. Sliding off my body, slumping against the wall, he folded his arms over his knees and buried his head. I turned to my side in a fetal position, coughing violently between inhales, greedily trying to pull air in my lungs. I shuddered when I felt his fingers on my leg, but I was too weak to move. He inserted a key into the shackle and tossed it aside. Unlatching the shackle, he peered at me through red, glassy eyes.

“Go,” he screamed, his voice hoarse. Guilt, shame, regret – the emotions were written all over his face. I had finally caged the beast, now it was time to throw away the key.

“Logan.”

“Just go, Claire,” he commanded, standing and leaving the room.

My ankle was sore where the shackle had been. A purple bruise had begun to form, circling my leg. I changed my clothes hurriedly, and placed my things in the bag Logan had given me earlier.

I heard Logan in the other room, although he sounded more like a small child hiccupping than a grown man.

“God, please help me,” he repeated over and over until it sounded like he was chanting.

Regret had a firm grip on my emotions. Even as repulsive as Logan was, I felt sick for him, wishing I could have been stronger and controlled my anger long enough so the night would have concluded differently. He obviously didn’t want to be this angry, confused young man that he was, yet he failed to have control over the things that haunted him. His ending should be different than his fathers, not exactly the same.

Not all endings are happy ones, Claire,
my subconscious reminded me.

What am I doing? I wasn’t going to leave him here like this. I promised to help him and that’s exactly what I was going to do. He needed a friend to stick by him, long enough for him to understand that he could choose another path. It’s not too late.