smokin' | louigan

thirty-six

the days that passed were sluggish and smokey. louise had noticed logan's detached state one afternoon. he had been standing at the kitchen sink down in the restaurant, watching the water pour over a broken plate. it took four punches to the arm to get him back in the present.

he had also become more distant. louise would end up in the doorway of his room at midnight wanting to relax under his sheets but he was never there. she would find him outside, smoking through yet another pack of cigarettes on the sidewalk, eyes glazed over as he stared at the moon.

sometimes she wondered if he thought about outer-worldly things—aliens or stars or the dark side of the moon—or if he just wanted something pretty to look at. she had retreated back inside, back to her own bedroom. she kept her door locked.

the weekend was now approaching as another late-july friday came to an end. they had closed the restaurant at eight o'clock and finished cleaning by nine. even though her back was aching from the week's work, louise found herself slipping into her favorite black dress and matching sandals, combing a hand through her hair as she walked into the living room.

"where are you going?" logan asked, eyeing louise from his relaxed position on the couch, specifically the large stretch of tan skin revealed by the lack of fabric over her back. she rolled her eyes as she swiped on another layer of peach lip gloss in the hallway mirror.

"out."

"where."

"nowhere."

"where?"

"nowhere."

"where?"

"oh for f*ck's sake logan, i'm going to meet up with rudy, alright!" logan's eyes widened in shock as she turned to face him, hair whipping behind her.

"are you serious? after the shit he pulled at his party, you're still giving him the time of day, your time of day?" she felt her face flush.

"yeah, logan, i am." because you won't. "you're not my f*cking dad, bush, you don't need to know what the h*ll i'm doing and who the h*ll it's with!" louise didn't like feeling of the vein in her neck ache or her chest rising rapidly or her eyes watering in anger. she didn't like the look on logan's face either.

"look, belcher, don't you dare come crying back here after he breaks your heart again. i saw you that night when you came home; you looked like he had ripped you to shreds. and now you're letting him do it again! can't you see the mess you're in!?" louise could feel the screams crawling up her throat, the familiar feeling of carnage thrumming through her fingers that curled her hands into tight fists.

but when she looked at logan bush, the enemy turned ally (and quite possibly turned friend), the anger and the frustration and the pent-up sorrow faded away. a soft, humorless smile lifted the corners of her pink glossy lips.

"he can't break my heart if i don't have one, bush," she shrugged a faded jean jacket over her shoulders and grabbed her keys, "don't wait up."

-

as logan pushed his cigarette smoke through the open window, he tried to forget the cloudy smile on louise's face. he really liked it when she smiled, when she emulated the sun. when she was the sun.

logan realized that louise belcher is the type of woman that you want to revolve around, that you want to pray to, laugh with, sing to.

she's the type of woman who makes her own music wherever she goes.

even when she says goodbye.