If Fire Was A Lover

January 11th, 2021

Logan's room was much more peaceful when he was not in it. I layed on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I wished I always felt that sense of serenity when I layed on that bed, but there was only comfort in solitude, never in his company. He had left early that morning to work so I let myself in to rest in his room. I don't know why I craved the smell of his bed, but I did. I sept in it for a few hours and then I went to spend some time with Scarlette. I braided her hair again and did her makeup.

Afterwards, she, Terrence and I turned on a movie. Scarlette and I sat next to each other on the brown leather couch, Terrence in his old recliner. Everything felt right for a little while. That was how it was supposed to be. I was in love with a boy, a beautiful boy. I spent the day with his family while he was at work. I played with his little sister, I had milkshakes with his dad, I played cards with his grandmother. Those were all of the things that made it feel so right, all of the reasons that I stayed. Sometimes the whole situation was so unbearable and heavy that it felt like boulders were being dropped on me. But sometime it was sweet, sometimes it was sentimental, sometimes it felt so right that I wanted to cry. He loved me, he told me he loved me. I hadn't heard my dad say that in a while, so hearing it from a boy, even a boy who violated my body, made me smile. I was a slave to Logan, I would've laid at his feet if he told me to.

I decided to clean his room for him. It was quite a mess, clothes were scattered over the floor, his bedside table was covered in empty glasses, papers, and garbage. I took all of the glasses downstairs, washed them, and put them away. I threw away al of thr garbage on his floor and on his desk. I organized the papers and stacked them neatly on his desk. Next I watered his plant, and wiped down his windowseal. After I got all of his clothes into their drawers or into the laundry room I lit a pine tree scented candle. When the room was clean I finally felt satisfied. All I ever wanted was to please Logan. I would've done anything for him. Every ounce of pride that I had disappeared when I saw him. I had nothing to be proud of in front of him. I'd always preached about being a feminist, never letting a boy try to put me in my place. But when it came to Logan, that all went down the drain. I let him use me, I cleaned his house for him, I did his school work for him, I was his punching bag. In some sick and twisted way, I felt lucky to be the one he chose to kill. It was special to be loved like that. He knew all of the risks of loving me,  but they didn't stop him. I felt bad for wishing that they would.

I knew it was difficult for him that I hated sex. He was a teenage boy, it's all he thought about. But Logan knew about what happened in 2019. Everybody knew, one of the "perks" of living in a small town. Sometimes if I had a panic attack while he was kissing me, he'd let me talk about it. Between muffled sobs I'd tell him more and more about what happened that night. I'd explain how devastating it is to feel the weight of someone on top of you, how it ripped my heart apart hearing the sounds he made, how I threw up all over his bathroom when it was over. Logan would hold me, rub my back, and assure me that he was nothing like that person. He was so understanding sometimes, which is why I felt lucky.

It's only human nature that made him not care about it other times, it was not his fault. Humans are incredibly selfish beings. He wanted me despite my anxiety of being wanted that way, and he got me despite my wishes. I was selfish too, so I couldn't hate him for that. I didn't give him everything he wanted. I often only cared about what I wanted. I just wanted to talk, to be held, to kiss his face where his freckles were, and to hold his hand. But that's not all he wanted, and he often got upset with me for "teasing" him when I did those things. I guess you shouldn't touch a boy unless you're willing to let a lot of things happen. I was wreckless, I was 14, and I hadn't had much of a will to live. If he wanted to destroy me, I'd give him the power to.

I heard Logan come through the front door and my heart sank to my stomach. Looking around his room I was pleased with myself, I hoped that he'd be pleased too. His steps up the stairs were loud and almost made me cry, but then he came through his bedroom door and all of the fear went away. There he was, my boy.

"Hey you," he came and planted a soft kiss on my head and started taking his shoes off. "I didn't expect to see you today. How long have you been here?" He asked me.

"Since this morning." I replied.

"Did you clean my room?" He asked.

"Yeah, I figured it would be nice for you to come home from work to a clean room." I said softly.

"Thank you, Lizzy." He kissed my face again and went into his bathroom to take a shower.

I sat on his bed listening to the water run. Something in the way he looked at me had changed, he finally appreciated me. I finally did something worthy of his thanks. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of that. I had spent many nights and many days adoring someone who could have cared less for me, but finally the adoration was mutual. I hoped that maybe since I had done that for him, it would be enough pleasing him for the night. Maybe he'd just hold me, maybe we'd just talk, maybe we could just sit in silence and take the time to notice each other.

When he came out of the shower he had put sweatpants on which made me happy. If he came out in a towel I think I would've cried. He sat next to me on the bed. "Where's my Puma sweatshirt?" He asked me.

"Probably in the wash," I told him.

"It wasn't even dirty, why would you put it in?" I saw frustration in his eyes and realized that I messed up. How silly it was of me to think that doing anything other than sexual things for him would actually make him happy.

"I'm sorry, it was on the floor so I just figure," I started.

"You can't just rearrange my room when I'm gone, Elizabeth." He spat out.

"I didn't rearrange anything, Logan. I cleaned it for you, so you're welcome."

He looked me in the eyes and grabbed ahold of my left arm. His grip tightened as he spoke. "It's fine, just don't do it again."

"Okay," I whispered.

"Cheer up, Liz. It's not a big deal." Logan said and jokingly punched my arm.

I had anger building up for a long time, and I decided that was a good time to get it all out. It was okay as long as we were joking right? At least it was okay for him. I punched him. As hard as I could, I hit him in the arm. I knew it wouldn't hurt him, but it did make me feel better. His eyes widened, he hadn't been expecting that. Suddenly he grabbed my sides and threw me off of the bed and down into his wall. His bedroom was still being finished, so the drywall broke almost immediately on impact. The whole world went quiet for a minute. My head was ringing, my vision blurred. He threw me. Was he going to hit me?

I became painfully aware of how haunting his bedroom was, I realized that I would always remember every detail of his room. The sound of drywall breaking when he threw me into it, the scratchy feeling of his mattress, the nausea that arose each time he touched me, the paintings of native Americans hanging above his bed, would forever be imprinted in my mind. Before that moment I never realized that his walls were purple, royal purple. It made sense, he thought himself superior to everyone else. He stared at me, shocked at his own actions. He said nothing, I said nothing, and I left.

I stayed at Wendy's that night, but I snuck out and met up with a local stoner. He got me high for the first time. I had never done drugs before, I had never wanted to. But when Logan threw me and broke his wall, when I stood up and saw an Elizabeth-shaped hole on his wall, it set in that it was not going to get better. And I also knew that I didn't care. If I let him throw me and I let him use me, what else would I allow? Anything, anything and everything. I walked around in the dark, my vision spinning. I fell asleep outside in the backyard for a few hours and let myself in when I woke up. Luckily Wendy and Steve were heavy sleepers.