smokin' | louigan

forty-nine

logan splashed water over his face, tensing as he gently scrubbed over the few bruises and cuts scattered over his cheeks, chin, and nose. the water was ice cold, frigid in his trembling hands. though the water didn't have him trembling, it was the woman over in the other room.

he could hear the flipping of television channels in the other room. he could imagine her: legs crossed beneath her (a position he once said made her look like a piece of origami), fingers gently running over the buttons of the t.v. remote, hair just slightly brushing over her tanned shoulders.

he closed his eyes, splashing his face once more. the television suddenly went silent in the other room. all he could hear was the slow rise and fall of his own breath. he looked back into the mirror. he decided he didn't really like what he saw.

logan quickly exited, finding louise folded up on the sofa, her caramel eyes flickering across the television screen. the 'mute' icon was blinking in the bottom-left corner of the screen. it was some action movie, a man and a woman running alongside a moving train, looking quite desperate to jump on. 

the irony almost made him laugh.

because when he blinked, it was him and her, logan and louise, running together, sprinting for that train. and the train? perhaps it was happiness, tranquility, something more than what they currently had, what they currently knew. 

but when he blinked again, they were just in the old living room of an old apartment in ocean side, new jersey, trying to trudge through a rather sh*tty summer.

"sit." louise's voice was sudden but her tone was calm, eerily devoid of the usual flair, the pinch of salt at the end of each verse, finished with a cute smirk. as logan moved closer, he saw the small first-aid kit sitting in her lap, and the bottle of antiseptic in her small hand.

he gulped.

-

as louise applied a piece of tape over the fresh gauze, she suddenly had this picture of logan in her head. after the fight, laying on the ground, blood between his teeth instead of a cigarette.

somehow, this disturbed her more than the bruises littering his body. breaks from the norm, the realization that logan's distinct smell of tobacco and mint gum had suddenly been replaced by blood. it was sort of all over his clothes, though she couldn't really tell if all of it was his. and she didn't want to ask.

she blinked a few times to clear the thoughts away, whispering a soft 'sorry' to logan as she had applied a little too much pressure on the tape. 

she sighed, and moved onto the next cut.

-

"thanks for stichin' me up."

"did you get a concussion? you didn't need stitches." logan looked at her increduously for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

"i'm not concussed, belcher. it's a figure of speech, an expression." louise smirked.

"i know. just tryna have some fun." she smiled widely, falsely, throwing out her hands in a weak jazzy style that made logan chuckle. she resumed a colder countenance as the laughter and smiles died down.

"louise, i--"

"--it's time for you to go," she interrupted. she stood quickly, robotically, from her folded position on the sofa, standing tall. it reminded logan of himself, strangely, when all he had were dusty fatigues, a small photo of his family, and a steady supply of crumbled packs of cigarettes. 

logan knew better to argue and stood, steps slow and almost lethargic as he walked to the stairwell. louise followed, her steps feather light behind him. after an agonizingly long way to the front door, his hand found the handle when a sudden, soft tug gripped the back of his shirt. he turned, finding louise incredibly close. it was dark, silent, a dream of reality, logan couldn't really tell; it had all seemed to smoulder and smother into something messy and raw.

though when he looked into her eyes, it all made sense, a sort of strange sense that only they could ever understand.

she felt the pain of the days previous, the bruises of her back, bristle at his gaze. but his eyes, his icy blue eyes, were melting in the darkness, just for her.

always for her.

so when his hands found the familiar dips of her waist, hers immediately came to rest on his biceps. their foreheads were touching now, breaths intermingling, the thought of louise's lips so close to his sending shivers down his spine.

the familiar position, the intimacy, was complete overwhelming an entirely fragile relationship between them. like a cracked bottle of fine wine, baring the rough marks of growing pains. but still, they somehow manage to ferment into something grand.

"i don't want you to go," she whispered, sniffling softly as she stepped closer, moving her head from against his and laying her cheek on his chest, over his heart. his pulse was lightning fast, thundering against her ear. it was all familiar, too hard to let go.

"i don't want to go either, four ears." her chuckle was small and frail but he still smiled.

too hard to let go.

"but you have to."

"i have to," logan affirmed, placing a lingering, longing, kiss on her temple and pulled away. he turned back to the door and opened it. louise caught the edge and watched him go, toes barely across the threshold of the door.

after a few steps, he paused on the sidewalk and looked back. louise was still there, a few tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. she leaned her head against the door and bit her lip. with a soft, heartbreaking smile, logan turned back around. louise closed her eyes as a tear leaked down her cheek.

when she opened her eyes only a flittering cloud of cigarette smoke remained.