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23: Smoke and Mirrors

23: Smoke and Mirrors

Logan C. runs in dangerous circles. It's never been a mystery what he gets up to in his spare time; wasting away in an old decrepit building somewhere downtown, taking hit after hit of something illegal. Graham warns me against this, hands scrabbling to hold onto my left wrist, telling me it's a fucking stupid idea, Kasia, he doesn't even want to see you.

I know that. I'm not stupid. I know Logan is still rolling around in his ant hill of man-pain dealing with my blunt rejection, his princess he thought he could own, dominate, destroy, and fuck into an existence of garbled words and hands clasping his shoulder, urging him to go faster, harder. Whether he wants to see me or not isn't in question, I remind Graham, already starting my car, because I need answers—and Logan C. is also known for having eyes everywhere.

My phone vibrates on the drive over with another message from Charlie. He's insistent that the only reason he's being so clingy is for the purpose of the diary—the two slabs of red leather that have quickly seen my life take a downwards spiral—but I know him better than that, I know it's an unspoken way of making sure that I don't jump off of the deep end now that Byron isn't manning the pool for me anymore. It's stupid, my fists clench around the steering wheel, barely looking at my phone where I have thrown it into the passenger seat, not wanting another reminder of a responsibility I've neglected.

Graham thinks the love triangle I've unintentionally gotten myself caught up in is sweet. He says this with a look on his face, a smug bastard who knows a joke he won't tell anyone. He'll say this whilst my Dad's in the room, and they'll look at each other, proud that I'm not being walked all over like I had been in my relationship with Charlie. They think I don't hear them talking about me once they've closed a door on my back, low tones forgetting that the noise travels in my house, I can hear them.

She's changed. She's toughened up. She's not the same. We're worried.

I don't have Byron serving as smoke and mirrors to disillusion me to reality anymore, and I hate that he's not here anymore. I'm left not knowing which way is up and the right thing to do anymore. Its shit, it's unfair, it's something Logan C. is going to explain to me.

I pull up outside of the building I'd visited a month ago, peeling posters of nights out at bars with unknown bands against the brick walls. I don't have Athena or Dean here as a buffer right now, I'm going to have to go in by myself—something I've never done before, always demoted to the role of tagalong. Logan's already outside, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he's been waiting for me to appear once Byron died.

He looks pleased at the sight of me—running back, like he'd promised I would—kicking off from the wall he'd been leaning against, head cocked to the side, "Kasia," Logan says my name like a purr, a roll of the tongue with the 'a' dragged out. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon. No knight in shining armour this time?" He looks delighted that Charlie isn't here, stepping closer towards me.

I take a step back, hands shoved into the pockets of my bomber jacket. "I just want to talk, Logan."

"Talk?" He taps a finger to his lips, "That's cute. You didn't want to listen when I was talking, princess. Why should I return the favour?"

"Because you're in love with me. I'm your princess," I begin, struggling to contain my wince—the way my insides churn with the knowledge that I have to use this against him, be that person and throw it back in his face—taking a step closer to Logan and putting my hand on his arm, pausing when he doesn't knock me away immediately. "I'm . . . I'm your princess and I've come back like you said you would. I want to talk because I know you'll tell me the truth."