Focus - Logicality

Logan - Don't Be Scared

Just as a heads-up, this chapter might be rough; a good number of triggers come into play and it is one of the only chapters that contains threats, specific/offensive homophobic slurs, intense violence/injuries due to violence, and etc. Unsympathetic Remus is portrayed in this story, but don't think that's my true perspective on him. I've written sympathetic Remus, too. Don't force yourself  to read this if you can't handle it, but remember that I promised y'all a happy ending.

After a few minutes of kissing on the porch swing, I compose myself. We say our good-byes and I make the short walk home. After dinner, I flop onto my bed and spend hours texting Patton. He asks if I'm riding with him, Virgil and Roman tomorrow. I tell him that I will if he wants me to, and he says he'll tell Virgil, and that I should meet him by the porch swing at 6:15.

After a few minutes of deliberation and careful planning, we decide to just ride together. Only as a one-time thing, though, because he doesn't want to ditch Virgil and Roman. Then, we'll ride with them. Eventually, Patton tells me I have to sleep. I protest, but he tells me to turn my phone off so I oblige reluctantly.

I stare at the ceiling until my eyes eventually swell shut. Or at least, I assume they do, because I bolt upright in a cold sweat to the sound of my alarm the next morning. By the time I do, I already have 9 texts from Patton. I guess it feels good to wake up and know that someone is waiting for me.

Getting ready takes an extra 8 minutes and 15 seconds because Patton texts me nonstop. It's obvious that he wakes up earlier than I do and takes much longer to get ready. Based on his overall cheerful and gregarious yet absentminded demeanor, it is not surprising and I wouldn't be particularly shocked if ADHD or something similar caused his easily-distractable absent-mindedness. He isn't ready yet, so I'll give him a few minutes to get ready then text him again.

I'm not sure what to do now that I'm ready for school, so I open my window, the one facing the backyard, then sit on the ledge and let my feet dangle. It's where I go when I need to think, even at night, and sometimes when it's raining. The cool breeze wipes the tears from my face. I end up retrieving a small, blank notebook, a pencil, and a sharpie. On the cover of The Notebook, I draw a picture of a lock in sharpie. On the inside cover, I write Contraband. Under this, I write do not read: may contain feelings. I toss the sharpie onto the bed, then reclaim my perch on the windowsill. I pick up the pencil and begin to write. (Anything Logan writes in The Notebook will look like this for clarification purposes.)

Morning: Friday, March 12th

Patton may like me now, but I doubt he will when he gets to know me. I don't have emotions. I don't need emotions. I never will. They're not welcome. They're not wanted. They need to get with the program. Or maybe I need to get with the program. Around Patton, everything is different because he's nice and I'm not. He brings out good things in me, but not the kind of good things I think are good; the kind of good things I fear. The kind of emotional things a guy with an almost-boyfriend shouldn't fear. Patton deserves someone who can embrace those feelings. He deserves love. I don't. He deserves better. I don't care how I feel about him, because I don't deserve him. He'll be better off if he finds someone who can give him what he needs.

I don't want to feel, so why should I deserve to? But if I let him down, will it be worse for him? I was foolish to listen to my heart when the head always knows best. Now they're both telling me I love him. A lot. But my heart is telling me that he deserves better and my head is telling me that I don't have a way out.

My story isn't a happy one. It's a depressed, violent one with lots of loose ends that never get tied. I don't know when it will end, but I know how: not with marriage, friends, and old age, or even with an ivy league college and a successful future at NASA, but with a knife. My knife. To be specific, my story will end with the knife that finally cuts too deep. I'll watch the blood seep from my arm until I black out. And then I'll finally be gone.