And then sometimes I fall in lurve with a character from said television show.
And when that happens. Well. Fan fiction is written.
Francis
hoisted her bag strap on her shoulder, wondering for the hundredth time that
week why their English book had to weigh approximately one thousand nine
hundred and forty-three pounds.
She stopped
at the front and rang the doorbell. Logan had told her before that it was all
right if she wanted to just walk straight in and back to his room, but she felt
odd doing that, liked it more when he actually answered the door and walked her
back. Something about really rich houses that made her feel nervous, like all
the expensive furniture was going to jump out at her and bark at her for being
there, as if they knew she and her aunt barely had enough money to make rent on
time.
She drew
herself out of her thoughts and rang the doorbell again, thinking he was
probably just playing video games with the sound up loud again. She was a few
minutes early, after all.
But after
two more doorbell rings and three knocks, she wondered if he had forgotten he
had told her to come over to work on their project together. She figured she
could just brave it and walk herself to his room alone.
Only the
front door was locked.
Thinking
their maid must have locked it, or Logan’s crazy father was worried about fan
girls finding their way in, Francis figured she could just go around back and
let herself in through Logan’s parents’ bedroom patio door.
Hoisting
her bag once again on her shoulder, she trudged through the lawn to the back,
planning on teasing Logan for forgetting she was coming over.
That’s when
she heard it.
The
unmistakable sound of Logan screaming.
Dropping
her bag, she raced towards the bedroom, a sick feeling pooling in the pit of
her stomach.
She stopped
dead in her tracks as she felt on her own back the whip of Aaron Echolls’ belt
against Logan’s bare flesh, tasting vomit in her mouth as she saw Logan’s body
flinch against the pain, something close to a whimper escape his throat.
Francis
barely registered her own actions as she flung open the patio door and jumped
in front of Logan’s barred back, just in time for Aaron Echoll’s next strike.
It took her
brain a second to notice the searing pain on her cheek. She took a step back,
nearly toppling over if it hadn’t been for Logan, who had turned around in time
to catch her.
“Francis…” Aaron’s
voice trailed off as he realized what had just happened, realized the blood
beginning to trickle down Francis’ face was caused by his belt.
“Don’t you
dare touch him again.” Francis was surprised at the sound of her own voice, the
low growl that came out of her throat.
“Francis…”
Aaron seemed incapable of saying anything more than her name. Backing up and
nearly stumbling himself, Aaron ran out of the room, dropping the belt.
“Frank,
Frank.” Francis felt herself being spun around by Logan, his eyes growing wide
at the sight of her cheek. “Oh my god, Francis.”
For the
first time, Francis was fully aware of the throbbing under her eye. She reached
up to understand why her cheek was burning, then quickly took her hands away
again at the shock of pain from touching it.
“Come on,”
Logan said gently. “Let me clean it.”
Francis
grabbed Logan by the shoulder, almost shaking him. “Tell me you’re okay first,
tell me that was the first and only time.”
“Francis,
come on.”
“Logan!”
Francis nearly screamed, grabbing his shoulder harder. “Tell me.”
Logan
looked down at her defeated, tears threatening to spill down his face. “No,” he
said quietly.
* * *
“This might
sting.”
Gently,
Logan placed a washcloth with ointment over Francis’ cheek. Francis flinched,
closing her eyes and willing herself to look tough in front of Logan.
“I know,”
he said sweetly. “It’s a witch.”
Francis
nodded no, her eyes still closed. “All good.”
Logan
chuckled before rinsing the washcloth and placing it again over her cheek. “You
don’t have to be so tough around me all the time, you know, Frank.”
Francis
didn’t answer, just clutched at the sink counter, trying to think about
anything but the pain in her cheek.
“There,”
Logan said after a moment, taking the washcloth off her cheek. “That should
keep it from getting infected. Just make sure to keep it clean. Hopefully you
won’t get a too-visible permanent scar. Tell all the kids at school you had a
skating accident or something, make you look tough.”
“A bar
fight might be a bit more tough,” Francis deadpanned. “Or maybe a knife
fight.”
“I’m
sorry,” Logan whispered, too ashamed to say any more, letting his gaze fall to
the floor tiles.
“Hey,”
Francis said. “Hey, look at me.”
Looking up
first at the ceiling, Logan finally closed his eyes before opening them again
and looking at her, trying not to let himself go.
“Listen,”
Francis started again. “Don’t ever apologize to me again for actions you do not
deserve. You could never, ever deserve what that man does to you, Logan.”
“I know,”
Logan said quietly, looking down at the floor again. “It’s just. You don’t need
to get involved in stupid family drama. You’re my friend. I never meant to do
that to you.”
Neither
said anything for a moment, Francis trying to figure out how to tell Logan that
it didn’t matter, that she wanted to be in every part of his life, even the bad
parts.
“Why’d you
do it, Frank?” Logan finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“He was
hurting you,” Francis said honestly. “I can’t handle anyone hurting you.”
Logan
lifted his head and looked up at her, a mix of confusion and need in his eyes.
Before he could talk himself out of it or change his mind, he reached behind
Francis and pulled her lips to his.
Francis
stayed still for a moment; that was not at all what she had expected him to do.
But as his hands moved to her neck, holding her face in place, she felt herself
slipping into him.
Catching
her up in his arms, Logan bent down to continue kissing her, hoping this actions said more than his words ever could.
