smokin' | louigan

thirty-two

an: thank you for 10K reads!! never thought this book would get so much love. enjoy the new chapter ;)

~

louise had this really tight dress from two years ago. it was black with needle-thin straps, and the back dipped to her tailbone. there was a small bleach stain at the bottom hem that she remembered coloring over in black marker a few months ago. she hadn't worn the d*mn thing in a while and she knew rudy would absolutely drool over her.

maybe someone else would too.

louise shook her head to clear away thoughts of logan. things had been confusing and awkward for the past few days. he was always out of the apartment before her, leaving a sticky note on the counter about going for a run or heading down to the wharf. and when they were together, he always kept the conversation short.

she figured he would come around, it was probably just the cigarette withdrawal making him a bit off (she flushed his cigarettes down the toilet while he watched, of course).

she slipped the dress over her head and pulled it down to her thighs. as louise looked in the mirror on her door, she felt sixteen again.

her hair was familiarly straight, the front pieces pinned to the sides. her eyes were surrounded in dark shadow and eyeliner. a small black heart was painted on her cheekbone just under the outer corner of her right eye.

her lips were bare, her usual red lipstick sitting on her desk, the tube of peach lip gloss next to it. she remembered the sticky feel of the gloss on her lips, how her mouth tasted like mint toothpaste and fruit, soon mixed with alcohol from a party underground. she remembered how much logan liked it, too.

she slathered the gloss on her lips, puckering her mouth at her reflection. a knock sounded at the door. she grabbed a pair of black heels from her closet, one out of many, and slipped them on, quickly calling out, "come in." logan soon entered. he was wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans, feet bare, hair newly cropped close to his scalp.

"hey louise, before you leave, i have a que-" logan stopped as his eyes left the papers in his hands. his mouth was slightly open, eyes wide. the papers fell from his hands as he took another step into the room. louise adjusted her shoes and took a step back, admiring her reflection in the mirror (and also logan's face behind her).

"what's up, logan?" she turned around, legs crossed, and stared at him. he took another step into the room, and another, the papers left forgotten on the floor. his hands timidly found her small waist; he felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. he was floating in this nothingness, in this galactic void, with the brightest f*cking star next to him. she was sober and sound, elastic in his hands as he pulled her closer. their hips touched and logan laid a soft kiss on her painted lips. after a few moments he pulled away.

"i remember that, peaches." she smiled affectionately, eyes closed. that thing logan said about louise being a star, he was definitely seeing it now. her cheeks sprinkled with glitter. the soft yellow light of the floor lamp cast a golden glow over the iridescence of her tight dress. her hands rested on his chest, left thumb inching back and forth in this mesmerizing pattern that had logan's knees weak.

"my favorite," she whispered, opening her eyes and laying a soft kiss on his jaw. with one last smile, she pulled away, walking past him to grab a leather jacket from a small pile in the corner.

"he doesn't deserve you," logan stated quietly, turning fully to louise. she paused in her movements and looked over her shoulder. logan's hands were now buried in his pockets, his eyes were soft and grey. there was no smile on his face, not anymore, and this pained louise severely.

"what? and you do?" she asked with a small chuckle. it was a nervous sound, followed by a trembling hand through her straight hair. his face remained serious.

"not at all."

~

logan sat in the solemn darkness of the belchers' living room. his feet were flat on the carpet, back leaning into the old cushions of the tattered red sofa. he was shirtless and smoking, cigarette ash staining his dark wash blue jeans.

it was just him, logan bush and his f*cking cigarettes.

he would laugh at the irony of the moment, at the irony of his entire d*mn existence, but he didn't want to drop his cigarette, not after four ears had flushed his others down the d*mn toilet (he still remembered her sadistic smile as he whined for her to stop). he ran a hand over his hair, the blond hair he had recently buzzed off. it was short and softly tickled his palm.

moments passed and he stood, rolling his shoulders back and walking to his room. he fell to his knees and grabbed the camouflage duffle bag hidden beneath the bed. he dug through what little was left inside—some old lighters, a utility knife, a few bullet casings, dusty sunglasses—until his hands found what he was looking for. a beaded metal chain sat in the palm of his hand. it was silver and dirty, with blood or sand logan couldn't tell. he swiftly pulled it over his head.

the metal chain around his neck seemed to way tons, the two tags resting on his chest burning his skin. he closed his eyes to wipe away the memories, the visions, the nightmares. but they never really went away, did they? they were only pushed to the dusty corners of his memory.

as he knelt before the bed, the militaristically neat bed, he felt like he was floating away, into opaque storm clouds. there was no one here, no louise, to keep him grounded. he was fading fast, burning out like the cigarette in his mouth.

he brought his elbows to the mattress and stared out the window across the room. the moon was on the rise, full and beautifully constant. he was suddenly reminded of god, of faith, of devotion, but logan never really understood the concept of religion until he reunited with louise.

so as he stared into the moon, into the surrounding abyss, he felt holy (as holy as a lovesick atheist could get). he felt evasively fluid in an expanding universe, as if he could escape the grasp of heartache and sickness and loneliness. but as he kept staring, the moon suddenly seemed so dull in comparison to the woman—no, the f*cking star—on the other side of town.

his cigarette was now a dull light in the growing darkness. his eyes closed, forever or for a second, he couldn't tell, couldn't remember.

she was everything, and he was nothing.

~

UNITED STATES ARMY
BUSH
LOGAN B.
432-34-9809
AB NEG
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