Invisible String

Chapter 14 -You got it wrong

The following morning greeted me with the irresistible aroma of pancakes wafting through the air, rousing me from a mere two hours of restless sleep. As I reluctantly peeled myself from the comfort of my bed, the promise of a steaming cup of coffee beckoned to me, though it was the scent of breakfast that ultimately spurred me into action.

With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself to the kitchen, knowing full well that Logan must be the mastermind behind this morning's culinary endeavor. The alternative, I mused dryly, would be a rather peculiar scenario involving a well-mannered stranger preparing us a hearty breakfast before inevitably leading us to our death.

The events of the previous night lingered heavily in my mind as I walk to the kitchen. Logan's chosen method of coping with our issues, drowning himself in alcohol rather than confronting them head-on, left a bitter taste in my mouth. While any rational individual would have sought communication and resolution, Logan had opted to retreat into himself, shutting me out in favor of seeking solace in the bottom of a glass at some dingy bar.

As I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of a shirtless Logan effortlessly flipping pancakes as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Despite the havoc wreaked by his alcohol consumption the night before, there was not a hint of a hangover in sight. If anything, he looked remarkably well-rested and composed, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me.

I couldn't help but be impressed by his seemingly unaffected demeanor, even in the face of our unresolved issues.

I hated it.

I hated seeing him so put together, so composed, when we both knew everything wasn't ok. It felt unrealistic. I wanted him to show some sign of the inner turmoil that I knew must be eating away at him, to yell his feelings and let me know what was going through his head. Anything would have been better than this suffocating silence.

But despite the tension that hung heavy in the air between us, neither of us spoke a word as we went about our respective tasks in the kitchen. Logan continued to prepare breakfast with a practiced efficiency, his movements fluid and precise, while I busied myself with making coffee, the rhythmic clatter of the coffee machine serving as a stark contrast to the oppressive silence that enveloped us.

It was as if we were tiptoeing around each other, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that hung between us like a fragile thread. 

I knew that once the silence was broken, there would be no turning back.

I stole furtive glances at Logan, searching for some sign that he was ready to break the silence, to confront the demons that lurked within us both. But he remained steadfast in his composure, his expression carefully neutral as he focused on the task at hand.

It was up to me, then, to take the first step. With a deep breath, I summoned the courage to speak, the words tumbling out in a rush before I could second-guess myself.

"I think you should call your friends to let them know you're ok," I said, my voice trembling slightly "they looked pretty worried yesterday when they dragged you in."

The silence that followed my suggestion hung heavy in the air, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Logan's sudden stillness was jarring. It was as if time itself had ground to a halt, leaving us suspended in a moment of tense anticipation.

But ultimately, he replies.

"I texted them a couple of hours ago," he admitted, his words falling heavily between us like a leaden weight. His admission left me feeling strangely deflated, as if the fragile bridge of communication I had attempted to build had crumbled before it could even take root.