Fly High | ✅

12 | Backfire

◈A D R I A N◈

I curled myself under the blankets, enveloping myself in a swirl of unfamiliar scent as I lied on Logan's bed. It smelled oddly of a mix of fabric softener, diesel and... a hint of stale sweat. Pressing my nose deeper into the pillow, I inhaled a deep breath, allowing myself to relax.

My shivering had subsided considerably, only to resume after the cold sweat had evaporated, leaving goosebumps to litter over my skin. I couldn't believe I had a panic attack so soon after yesterday's episode. Sure, it was accidental but I couldn't help but feel a few screws were getting looser by the minute in my head.

The door creaked open and the sound of footsteps slowly approached the bed. I held my breath as I lied still under the covers.

"I know you're awake," Logan said gruffly. I nestled deeper under the covers, blatantly ignoring him. I cussed out loud when he gave a soft kick on the slight bump which happened to be my butt. My head shot upwards, the thin covers slid off my torso as I shot daggers at him.

"Come out when you're feeling refreshed, princess," he mocked. I continued staring holes in him even after he stepped out of the room.

Self-absorbed jerk!

✴

Logan had pulled me straight up to his apartment after that little incident, hauling me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. An angry sack of potatoes. Eccentric Bones merely raised a ridged brow at the odd sight before walking back into the workshop.

I tried to wriggle away from his grasp, only to earn a hard smack across my butt. Like dousing gasoline on glowing embers, that only fueled my anger even more as I laced my fingers around his hair and pulled. Hard.

We must have given the poor old lady quite a fright when the elevator doors slid open. She kept glancing at us even after the metal door shut closed. Logan only put me down when we reached his home, one hand jiggling the keys while the other trying to pry my hands away from his scalp.

He shot me a glare and kept a firm grip on my wrist before pulling me into the apartment. Our shoes left muddy footprints on the rug but neither of us cared as Logan towed me along. His hand curled around the door knob before thrusting it open and pushed me roughly inside.

"Cool your head," he bit out before shutting the door in front of my face. I flinched at the sound, slightly panting from the hissy fit. I paced in his room like an agitated tiger in its enclosure. Strange enough, my fear took a backseat. Instead, anger radiated off my pores leaving me exhausted.

✴

I grudgingly got up into a seating position after that distasteful provocation. The room was still the same as the last time I was here. Well, save for that mountain of dirty clothes sitting on a lone chair.

The blinds were pulled down, casting striped shadows across the room. Groaning, I got up and started dragging my feet across the floorboards. Looking down at my sneakers and the muted gray bed sheets, my brain unknowingly devised an evil plan.

My lips unconsciously tugged at the corners, resulting to a smirk as I raised my left foot and stepped on the sheets firmly. My right foot followed suit, almost making me lose my balance as I applied pressure on it. Like A-listers leaving their footprints on Hollywood, there was a clear set of shoe print imprinted on the sheets. I smiled at that tiny victory before strolling out of the room.

Logan was out leaning on the railings at the balcony, a lit cigarette sat between his lips. His eyes flitted to my direction when I stepped closer. I too, placed both my arms on the metal railing as I gazed at the many air-conditioning condensers at the back of the building. The rickety fire staircases that ran zigzag on the facade swayed a little when the wind picked up speed.

I'd expected a better view from the way Logan gazed at the scenery before him with a faraway look painted across his features. He shifted his weight and flicked the cigarette, ashes falling like snow.

"You're pretty useless, aren't you?" he asked. My jaw ticked at that question. "Your spaghetti arms could barely lift anything. Freaking out on loud noises. What are you? Fucking Thumbelina?" he gave a silent chuckle before hollowing his cheeks for another puff.

Narrowing my eyes, I silently hoped he'll choke on that. Logan twisted his head to my direction after sensing no reply from my part.

"Wanna tell me what happened back there?" he cocked his head sideways as he studied me. The silence stretched as our eyes were caught in a duel, waiting for the other party to give in. "Speak up, kid. I can't read minds."

I shrugged. "Nothing. I was just startled."

Logan scoffed, clearly looking through my lies. He didn't press any further. That's what I liked about him. He spared me from superficial sympathy.

He let out a dramatic sigh. "What am I gonna do with you? You've proved your worth at the workshop which was... nothing impressive."

Pushing himself from the metal bar, he stretched his arms out wide. Instinctively, I ducked my head to avoid getting smacked by his outstretched arm.

He ran a hand through his strands, making his hair stood up at odd places as he mused on his thoughts. The way he stared at me made me feel like a bug under a microscope.

His gaze lowered and fixed on my greasy pants leg. He broke into a roguish smile as he'd decided on how to deal with me.

"Take the dirty clothes in my room to the launderette downstairs," he ordered. I pursed my lips at the pansy job.

"Wash them and dry them in the dryer," he emphasized, clearly still pissed about my lack of common sense. I was about to retort as I followed his steps back to the kitchen. He suddenly came to a halt and turned on his heels to look at me.

"Change the sheets while you're at it," he added. "You stink."

✈

Author's notes

Autocorrect keeps changing Logan to Login. Maybe I should just change his name. *sigh*

Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Next chapter may be the impending Macbeth play. If I don't write it any sooner, I'm afraid Kelly will come after me.

{Song: Ticklish by The Analog Affair}