| Strong Language |
Logan's PoV
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"Boarding for Flight Number 754 to Los Angeles begins in 5 minutes."
The female voice crackled through the intercom, muffled words robotic, precise.
"Boarding for Flight Number 754 to Los Angeles begins in 5 minutes."
Unforgiving.
I clenched my jaw, adjusting the straps of my backpack over my shoulder, running a finger over the white emblem at the top left strap, the symbol of the Mav—
Fuck.
I couldn't even think the word without feeling pain.
Pain.
I hung my head, focusing on the languid, gray carpet. And shoes. Everyone was wearing white shoes, I noticed. Livana, Lydia, Brendan, Andy, Melissa, me.
The six of us huddled within a half-circle of security guards. Security guards armed with black padded suits and bullet proof vests and pistols at their hips—it honest to God scared me. In a way that most things didn't. Their expressions were lifeless, emotionless as they stood stone still and steady, pupils raking across the room at the passengers around us.
I envied them, almost.
They were ready for this kind of thing. But it's easy when you're on the other side. When it's not your face that needs protecting. When it's not your face that other people find offensive, disgusting.
Disgusted.
I don't think anyone is ever prepared for this kind of fame. The kind that's a slap in the face. The kind that is a danger to your life. The kind that threatens: one wrong move, and you're done. Forever.
Livana shifted beside me, and I gave her a long stare. She stared back, brown eyes filling with remorse. Somehow I knew, I knew what she was trying to tell me: Logan, I understand.
Fuck
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
The word didn't help. Just a small sound in the back of my head—a drowning, deafening hole of darkness. Darkness and silence and nothingness. For the first time in my life, I felt...
small
All six feet, two inches, two hundred pounds of me
small
empty.
This isn't how I wanted to change the world. To change people. To change life. Not at all.
Where did things go so wrong??
The security guards began to usher us towards the front window, and I grabbed Livana's hand as we scanned our tickets and entered through the ramp. Lydia gave us a look, but didn't say anything, and I wondered what Livana had told her. But mostly, I wondered what Livana thought of me.
Logan Paul: rich, white, hot, vapid. Logan Paul: racist. Logan Paul: malicious. Heartless. Cruel. Trash.
The words rang through my ears like the darkest of curses, crushing my heart lower and lower into the pit of my stomach. Was their truth to them? Was their truth to any of this? Was that, could that, really, be me?
I focused on the terminal ahead, on my steps through the cold tunnel, enclosed in bare walls and thin air. My throat closed and I felt a large lump at the back of my throat. For the first time in a long time, I didn't smile as I boarded the plane. I didn't crack a half-grin, a joke, a laugh, a sound. Nothing.
"Welcome aboard."
It didn't feel very welcoming at all.
The flight attendants, two women in their early 30s, hair pinned back into buns underneath their blue caps, went silent as they saw my face. They avoided my stare, looking at the ground.
Empty.
Livana tightened her fingers around my hand, and I held on. Really held on. I barely knew her, and she was all I had left. Her, my family, my friends. My real friends.
Empty.
After stepping onto the plane, I guided Livana to row D4, two seats in business class. The best seats I could get for the sudden change in plans...
I tried not to think about it.
It didn't really matter anymore. Money. Power. Luxury. It hurt me to think of that word.
Luxury.
Logan Paul: rich, white, hot, vapid.
Maybe I didn't even deserve this. All the money, fame, power I had. Did I deserve any of it?
We settled into the seats, Livana in the window seat, me right beside her, and it felt...right. She secured my lap-belt around my waist first, before attending to her own. She said nothing, only comforting me with a hand to the cheek and a small smile. I relaxed against the palm of her hand, skin so soft against my skin. How is that after just days of meeting you, you knew exactly what I needed?
Livana Logan.
She understood me, in a way most people did not. A connection that went deeper than our shared name. Love? That, in spite of everything else, was a spark of hope. I gazed into her warm brown eyes, lost in their beauty. Her beauty. A spark of hope.
......
"Flight attendants stand by. Prepare for takeoff."
The nose of the jet tipped as we soared up, up, up, shooting over Tokyo, once a city of skyscrapers and color and sound, now a cluster of twinkling lights from so high up in the sky.
I could hardly look at it.
The plane arched even higher, soaring between the clouds. The world went completely white as we shot past a bank of fog and condensation. No city, no life, no light. Just white and gray and silver and...
Livana arched her neck to look out the window, pointing to the clouds below—puffs of white that floated in the air—beautiful, serene, arresting, nature's gift, a work of art that defied the singular laws of gravity, the law of the universe. She touched my hand as she stared, tiny fingers interweaving with my own, and that's when I knew. That's when I really knew.
I smiled, watching her smile.
Beautiful, serene, arresting, nature's gift, a work of art that defied the singular laws of gravity, the law of the universe.
Maybe, just maybe, it was going to be ok.
YOU ARE READING
OBLIVIOUS | FanFic: Logan Paul |
Fanfiction"This is so wrong..." I whispered, resting my forehead against Logan's. "No," he said, looking into my eyes. "It's just right." ● Lydia's sister, Livana, comes down to LA to visit her. But she was not expecting to meet Lydia's boss... Logan Paul. T...
