Bulletproof Soul - Part 6
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 6
Rating: Still PG-13 BUT - big jump in rating in the NEXT chapter - promise. Like NC17 jump.
Genre: Shipperfic, Angst
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,160
Disclaimer: See the sidebar, it very eloquently explains that my ass owns nuthin.
Read from the start HERE
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6.
*
When you come out of the bathroom she ducks past you and straight in, avoiding eye contact which is fine with you. You head straight to the mini bar and open another beer, nearly downing the thing in one.
That was not part of the plan. Letting her kiss you was stupid and weak, you know that. You know what she wants and you know you want to give it to her so why the hell didn’t you jump four feet away when she first settled on the bed? You shake your head and finish your beer. You have to be stronger than this.
When she’s finally ready, she comes out and sits quietly on the couch, still not looking at you. She’s wound her hair up in back, and her top drapes off one shoulder, kind of like it’s too big for her. It looks good, you want to tell her. Maybe in the past, before everything started getting this fucked up, you would have.
She clears her throat.
“Logan, I know you must be mad...”
She trails off and stands up, looking at you. Her jeans are tight and really, you’re not sure how anyone can be so effortlessly sexy. You feel edgy again and cross to the mini bar, flipping out another two beers and walking back to her.
You hand her one and she takes it timidly.
“I’m thinking we brush over it. Pretend it didn’t happen.” She looks up at you, a flicker of hurt mingled in with her relief. You fake a smile and wonder if she recognises it but knock her bottle and carry on. “Whadya say.”
She smiles gamely and nods while she takes a sip. “Ok. And I’m sorry.”
You ignore that and drink up yourself. “So let’s go and watch long haired skinny legged punks screaming crap that I can’t stand.”
Her face completely changes, and she stares up at you in awe. “Wha...who?”
“Christ, I don’t know. But I think I’ve seen their poster on your wall. Guy at reception helped us out.”
She raises her eyebrows at you and smiles crookedly. “I bet he did.”
“Ha. Funny.”
She’s smiling again and you’re relieved. She calls reception herself and shrieks loud enough to split your eardrums when she confirms who it is. You shrug, happy she’s happy but you don’t really ‘get’ all of that. You’ve never been much for music yourself; you’ll choose silence if there’s an option.
She’s still jumping up and down and you see that she wants to fly at you and hug you but she holds back. Part relieved and partly sad about that, you stand up and motion to the door.
“Ready?”
You catch a cab to the venue, firstly because you really need to keep drinking but mainly because another ride with her wrapped around you feels like more than you can bear right now. The memory of that kiss is haunting you every time you steal a glance anywhere near her mouth and you’re just grateful to whatever gods put this band - whoever the fuck they are - on in this town, on this night. She’s jiggling about so much in her seat with excitement you almost want to hold her down but she’s moved on slightly from being awkward around you now and you’ll take that for what it’s worth.
She loops her arm through yours as you walk through the crowd, staying close to you and away from accidentally touching anyone else - habit you suppose. You squeeze her arm.
“Relax. You’re okay. You’re not going to hurt anyone.”
She nods up at you, with a bit of nervousness still there in her eyes and you want to kiss her again so much it’s frightening.
She does relax a little though, and you steer the two of you to line up for the bar. You hate queues, you hate crowds. You keep it to yourself though because you know they’re two things she hasn’t got much more time to do without worry and you know how much that bothers her.
You’re still thinking about that when you find your seats, good ones and so they should be with the fortune you paid for them.
She doesn’t have much longer.
The thought won’t leave you alone, as the support act starts up and she stands with everyone else - bar you - to dance. She tries to tug you to stand up but you kick your legs up on the seat in front. You’re here, but that’s about as far as your enthusiasm is gonna stretch. She shrugs and stands, her face beaming and lit by the light from the stage. She sways to the music a little and it hits you again.
She doesn’t have much longer.
Admit it. You know what you’re thinking.
Not much longer before she becomes untouchable again, maybe for the rest of her life. And though you feel bad for her about that, a selfish and altogether corrupt part of you is calling for attention on how that countdown is yours now too.
You may not get another chance to touch her.
So even if the thought of giving in to your urges now makes you feel like a sick asshole, in ten years time - where you presume you’ll both still be around - she’ll be less out of bounds and you’ll always want to be around her, as her friend always. And will part of you regret then that you held back? The only chance you had to know her like that and you gave it away because of some noble streak in you that you really didn’t know you possessed until recently.
You study her for a moment, in a prime position to watch her body as it sways on those legs, her arse too near your face. It’s a goddamn beautiful arse, there’s no two ways about that.
You shake your head.
Pick your brains up off the floor, asshole. Just because you’re horny and unstable, doesn’t mean you can convince yourself this is okay. You cannot take this girls’ virginity. You, better than anyone, know you’re not worthy of that.
You push up out of the chair and signal that you’re going to get another drink. She smiles and nods back and thumbs to the crowd standing in the area over the railing in front of you. You realise she means she wants to go and stand in there and though your protective instinct shouts Hell No, you shrug and try not to frown. This is what she wants and needs. You remind yourself it’s past time you let the big brother act go.
You take your time getting the drinks, enjoying the difference from the pounding noise inside to just the low thump of the bass coming through the walls to the bar. A couple of girls stand leaning against a wall, looking at you in a way you know pretty well. They’re the usual type that do this to you, always dressed in something far from normal with dark make up and a lot of piercings or tattoos with ‘death wish’ practically stamped on their forehead. One in particular is communicating pretty clearly with just a look what she’s offering.
A small part of you thinks it could be the solution, a way to solve a few of your problems all at once. She’s pretty, with nice lips and only one piercing you can see which you know from experience doesn’t mean it’s the only one she’s got. It would be too easy to get some relief from her and be back in time to take Marie home, tuck her into bed to dream happy, safe dreams.
But then, a picture of Marie’s face swims into your head, wearing that strange expression of hurt and relief and you know you can’t do it. And straight after that, there’s a memory of her face clouded with a need she doesn’t fully understand yet and you realise you don’t want to do it anyway.
You forget about the girl and order your drinks, stocking up so you don’t have to come back. It takes a hell of a lot to get you drunk but you’re feeling the effects just enough now to calm you and that’s good. You need to stay calm and controlled to get through this, just keep as much distance as you can and stay controlled.
It’s the perfect solution surely, but it flies out the window when you make it back to her.
She’s at the edge of the people standing and dancing, packed in with the crowd that’s heaving in all directions now that it seems the main act has come on. It’s not particularly dangerous, even though she looks small and fragile in amongst all those bodies, she’s obviously having a good time. But any calm you’d promised to keep is shattered in a moment when you spy the guys just behind her watching her.
They’re talking to each other and gesturing and you instantly want to rip the smug leers right off their faces. She’s oblivious and, watching her move to the music, you can see what they’re gaping at.
She raises her arms, her whole body sinuous and moving uncannily well to the beat; the music seems to flood right through her. Every now and then she closes her eyes and tips her head back, a small smile on her face and you use all your will to sit and watch and not jump the railing and drag her out of there.
Your anger kicks in and you work on breathing calmly, trying not to think too many violent thoughts about the little punk inching closer to her by the minute. But a group of girls push through and end up between Marie and her stalkers so you sit a little more comfortably after that.
It’s hard work though, watching her dance. You can’t help but think you never knew she could move like that, and how that means she has to have other mysteries about her that no one will get to discover.
She turns then and searches for you, you wait as she scans the crowd, her eyes hopeful until they rest on yours and she smiles. You hold a drink up and she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. You shrug and she gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up which gets you to finally smile. She hooks a hand to you to come over but she knows your answer, you can tell by her easy smile when you cock an eyebrow and shake your head back.
Songs that all sound the same to you run on and on, and you just watch her, enjoying herself and frequently waving and smiling back at you. You find yourself even enjoying it a bit, only because you like seeing her this happy.
Then the band announces the last few songs and it’s then that you notice the guys from before have crept closer again; the tallest one is right behind her now. You sit forward in your chair, feeling coiled like a spring as you try and see her, work out if she’s okay.
You watch, eyes narrowed and frown deepening as the guy lifts a hand to brush her shoulder. She turns quickly as you knew she would at the unfamiliar sensation on her skin, and glances up at him. You sit there bursting as you wait to see if you need to jump the railing.
But then she turns her face up and completely surprises you by smiling at him.
You shift forward then give up and stand when you can’t see them properly for a moment. You’ve lost her, and you push past people to track her down again.
Finally you see her, with him right behind, almost leaning into him as she dances, tipping her head back with eyes closed again. You grind your teeth together, calling on calm you don’t feel, especially when you see his hands on her hips.
Cool it. This is her night, remember? She can look after herself.
You don’t admit that in actuality, the old protective urge is being eaten alive by this new sensation; wanting to stomp this kid into the ground for ever putting his hands on her. You fight it, balling your hands into fists but holding them at your sides.
Then the kid dips his head and you don’t see what he does at first until you move to the side. And then it’s all you can do not to give in to the itching sensation of your knuckles - your claws, wanting to come out of their own accord.
He’s kissing her neck. The little fucker is kissing her.
You push past another guy, earning a startled ‘hey!’ as you pass but you’re seeing red now and that’s never a good thing with you. As you jump the railing you see she’s just dropping her head back, her eyes closed as if testing the sensation. He’s encouraged, and kisses more eagerly up her throat to her jaw and ear.
You vaguely register a few muffled cries of annoyance when you wade through the crowd that seems to magically part for you anyway. It's like they’re getting farther away and you don’t know if that’s your imagination or just your fury clouding your judgement.
When you get to him and wrench him back, it’s controlled, for you, but he still stumbles and falls. He stares up at you in astonishment from the ground then frowns and scrambles up.
You relish that, the opportunity that he might have a go but then she’s flown in front of you, her hands pressed on your chest.
“Logan! No!”
You barely hear her, concentrating on her boyfriends face to see if he’s going to follow through or not. He’s thinking about it you can tell and your fists clench tighter, waiting.
“No!! Logan, please! Please don’t do this!”
She’s pushing with all her might against you and the kid must take this as some kind of promise of safety because he lurches forward then. You don’t hear what he says but it’s bitter and directed at you, and her.
That’s all you need and you push past her, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up and his eyes snap wide open, probably because his feet are an inch off the floor. You speak near his ear so he can’t mistake you.
“I will cut your fucking hands off, if you touch her again.”
You see the blood drain from his face and that’s enough now, you drop him to the floor. Without looking at Marie you grab her hand and stride through the crowd, though most of them have separated to watch and are standing wide eyed staring as you pass. You pull her none too gently through the crowd and back up to the exit of the auditorium and it’s not until you hit the outside air that you register her screaming at you and tugging on your hand.
“Let GO!”
You do, abruptly and she stumbles back a few steps then rights herself, striding back towards you to shout in your face.
“How...what the fuck was that? How dare you! How fucking dare you!”
You frown back, lowering your face to her to meet her eyes. “You’re not as goddamn grown up as you think. And
you didn’t see that guy; he had an eye on you from the start!”
“So??” She spreads her arms out in an exaggerated shrug. “So fucking what, Logan? So someone wants me? Is that what you’re worried about? That it’s not enough that I’ll go the rest of my life after the next few days, not being wanted by anyone, being avoided like the plague? Is that what I did wrong?”
You put your hands on your hips, determined to stand your ground but you’re starting to feel a little stupid. You still raise your voice back.
“Well, you can do better than that fucking trash, Marie!”
She spins around, arms wide again. “Where? Logan? Where? Where are all these guys lining up for me, because I don’t see them anywhere!” She steps forward slightly but her voice doesn’t lose any volume. “What about you then? It’s you is it? Are you gonna do it for me?”
The few people trickling out are staring but you see only her, even register that she’s beautiful in her temper.
“You know I’m not...I can’t do that.”
She steps even closer, her eyes boring into yours. “Oh, so you can rule my life for me, plan it all, approve and disapprove...” She stops waving her hands and moves her face close to yours. “You just can’t fuck me, right?”
Everything stops for a second, amongst the noise and confusion and mess you’ve made over this - it stops, a moment of stillness catching you. And you realise right then that whether you like it or not she is a woman; as much as that throws your whole world off its axis, that’s what she is now. But in the same breath, your anger returns lightening quick, sick of these games because that’s what they are. Games of cat and mouse with her, though sometimes you don’t know who is what.
You mirror her stance and lean forward slightly, your voice low and lethal through your clenched teeth, and most definitely threatening.
“Don’t push me.” She meets your eyes as you level her with a glare and you’re almost proud of her when she holds her own, lifting her chin a little. But you’ve gotta tell her in some way how easily you could ruin her.
You grip her upper arm. “I’m not playing games with you. You think you know what it is to play around like that? You have no fucking idea.”
She’s looking up at you, breathing heavily, her hair fallen out now and around her shoulders.
“And remember this - if I wanted to fuck you, I could’ve done that, a long time ago. You think about that.”
Her face crumples then and you walk away but as it turns out, it’s you who ends up thinking about it. Because it’s true, if a quick fuck is all you wanted from her you could’ve taken it - like you would have, tried to even, from Jean. You know Marie would have kept it quiet purely if you’d told her to, of that you’re pretty certain. But you’ve always cared about her too much to play with her like that. And though you could tell yourself that’s about her age, a nagging thought of Storm’s last words on the phone come to you and while it’s quiet as a tomb all the way home in the cab, it’s you who comes out of that ride with the realisation that maybe you’re in far deeper than you thought.
*
Part 7 HERE
Rating: Still PG-13 BUT - big jump in rating in the NEXT chapter - promise. Like NC17 jump.
Genre: Shipperfic, Angst
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,160
Disclaimer: See the sidebar, it very eloquently explains that my ass owns nuthin.
Read from the start HERE
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6.
*
When you come out of the bathroom she ducks past you and straight in, avoiding eye contact which is fine with you. You head straight to the mini bar and open another beer, nearly downing the thing in one.
That was not part of the plan. Letting her kiss you was stupid and weak, you know that. You know what she wants and you know you want to give it to her so why the hell didn’t you jump four feet away when she first settled on the bed? You shake your head and finish your beer. You have to be stronger than this.
When she’s finally ready, she comes out and sits quietly on the couch, still not looking at you. She’s wound her hair up in back, and her top drapes off one shoulder, kind of like it’s too big for her. It looks good, you want to tell her. Maybe in the past, before everything started getting this fucked up, you would have.
She clears her throat.
“Logan, I know you must be mad...”
She trails off and stands up, looking at you. Her jeans are tight and really, you’re not sure how anyone can be so effortlessly sexy. You feel edgy again and cross to the mini bar, flipping out another two beers and walking back to her.
You hand her one and she takes it timidly.
“I’m thinking we brush over it. Pretend it didn’t happen.” She looks up at you, a flicker of hurt mingled in with her relief. You fake a smile and wonder if she recognises it but knock her bottle and carry on. “Whadya say.”
She smiles gamely and nods while she takes a sip. “Ok. And I’m sorry.”
You ignore that and drink up yourself. “So let’s go and watch long haired skinny legged punks screaming crap that I can’t stand.”
Her face completely changes, and she stares up at you in awe. “Wha...who?”
“Christ, I don’t know. But I think I’ve seen their poster on your wall. Guy at reception helped us out.”
She raises her eyebrows at you and smiles crookedly. “I bet he did.”
“Ha. Funny.”
She’s smiling again and you’re relieved. She calls reception herself and shrieks loud enough to split your eardrums when she confirms who it is. You shrug, happy she’s happy but you don’t really ‘get’ all of that. You’ve never been much for music yourself; you’ll choose silence if there’s an option.
She’s still jumping up and down and you see that she wants to fly at you and hug you but she holds back. Part relieved and partly sad about that, you stand up and motion to the door.
“Ready?”
You catch a cab to the venue, firstly because you really need to keep drinking but mainly because another ride with her wrapped around you feels like more than you can bear right now. The memory of that kiss is haunting you every time you steal a glance anywhere near her mouth and you’re just grateful to whatever gods put this band - whoever the fuck they are - on in this town, on this night. She’s jiggling about so much in her seat with excitement you almost want to hold her down but she’s moved on slightly from being awkward around you now and you’ll take that for what it’s worth.
She loops her arm through yours as you walk through the crowd, staying close to you and away from accidentally touching anyone else - habit you suppose. You squeeze her arm.
“Relax. You’re okay. You’re not going to hurt anyone.”
She nods up at you, with a bit of nervousness still there in her eyes and you want to kiss her again so much it’s frightening.
She does relax a little though, and you steer the two of you to line up for the bar. You hate queues, you hate crowds. You keep it to yourself though because you know they’re two things she hasn’t got much more time to do without worry and you know how much that bothers her.
You’re still thinking about that when you find your seats, good ones and so they should be with the fortune you paid for them.
She doesn’t have much longer.
The thought won’t leave you alone, as the support act starts up and she stands with everyone else - bar you - to dance. She tries to tug you to stand up but you kick your legs up on the seat in front. You’re here, but that’s about as far as your enthusiasm is gonna stretch. She shrugs and stands, her face beaming and lit by the light from the stage. She sways to the music a little and it hits you again.
She doesn’t have much longer.
Admit it. You know what you’re thinking.
Not much longer before she becomes untouchable again, maybe for the rest of her life. And though you feel bad for her about that, a selfish and altogether corrupt part of you is calling for attention on how that countdown is yours now too.
You may not get another chance to touch her.
So even if the thought of giving in to your urges now makes you feel like a sick asshole, in ten years time - where you presume you’ll both still be around - she’ll be less out of bounds and you’ll always want to be around her, as her friend always. And will part of you regret then that you held back? The only chance you had to know her like that and you gave it away because of some noble streak in you that you really didn’t know you possessed until recently.
You study her for a moment, in a prime position to watch her body as it sways on those legs, her arse too near your face. It’s a goddamn beautiful arse, there’s no two ways about that.
You shake your head.
Pick your brains up off the floor, asshole. Just because you’re horny and unstable, doesn’t mean you can convince yourself this is okay. You cannot take this girls’ virginity. You, better than anyone, know you’re not worthy of that.
You push up out of the chair and signal that you’re going to get another drink. She smiles and nods back and thumbs to the crowd standing in the area over the railing in front of you. You realise she means she wants to go and stand in there and though your protective instinct shouts Hell No, you shrug and try not to frown. This is what she wants and needs. You remind yourself it’s past time you let the big brother act go.
You take your time getting the drinks, enjoying the difference from the pounding noise inside to just the low thump of the bass coming through the walls to the bar. A couple of girls stand leaning against a wall, looking at you in a way you know pretty well. They’re the usual type that do this to you, always dressed in something far from normal with dark make up and a lot of piercings or tattoos with ‘death wish’ practically stamped on their forehead. One in particular is communicating pretty clearly with just a look what she’s offering.
A small part of you thinks it could be the solution, a way to solve a few of your problems all at once. She’s pretty, with nice lips and only one piercing you can see which you know from experience doesn’t mean it’s the only one she’s got. It would be too easy to get some relief from her and be back in time to take Marie home, tuck her into bed to dream happy, safe dreams.
But then, a picture of Marie’s face swims into your head, wearing that strange expression of hurt and relief and you know you can’t do it. And straight after that, there’s a memory of her face clouded with a need she doesn’t fully understand yet and you realise you don’t want to do it anyway.
You forget about the girl and order your drinks, stocking up so you don’t have to come back. It takes a hell of a lot to get you drunk but you’re feeling the effects just enough now to calm you and that’s good. You need to stay calm and controlled to get through this, just keep as much distance as you can and stay controlled.
It’s the perfect solution surely, but it flies out the window when you make it back to her.
She’s at the edge of the people standing and dancing, packed in with the crowd that’s heaving in all directions now that it seems the main act has come on. It’s not particularly dangerous, even though she looks small and fragile in amongst all those bodies, she’s obviously having a good time. But any calm you’d promised to keep is shattered in a moment when you spy the guys just behind her watching her.
They’re talking to each other and gesturing and you instantly want to rip the smug leers right off their faces. She’s oblivious and, watching her move to the music, you can see what they’re gaping at.
She raises her arms, her whole body sinuous and moving uncannily well to the beat; the music seems to flood right through her. Every now and then she closes her eyes and tips her head back, a small smile on her face and you use all your will to sit and watch and not jump the railing and drag her out of there.
Your anger kicks in and you work on breathing calmly, trying not to think too many violent thoughts about the little punk inching closer to her by the minute. But a group of girls push through and end up between Marie and her stalkers so you sit a little more comfortably after that.
It’s hard work though, watching her dance. You can’t help but think you never knew she could move like that, and how that means she has to have other mysteries about her that no one will get to discover.
She turns then and searches for you, you wait as she scans the crowd, her eyes hopeful until they rest on yours and she smiles. You hold a drink up and she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. You shrug and she gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up which gets you to finally smile. She hooks a hand to you to come over but she knows your answer, you can tell by her easy smile when you cock an eyebrow and shake your head back.
Songs that all sound the same to you run on and on, and you just watch her, enjoying herself and frequently waving and smiling back at you. You find yourself even enjoying it a bit, only because you like seeing her this happy.
Then the band announces the last few songs and it’s then that you notice the guys from before have crept closer again; the tallest one is right behind her now. You sit forward in your chair, feeling coiled like a spring as you try and see her, work out if she’s okay.
You watch, eyes narrowed and frown deepening as the guy lifts a hand to brush her shoulder. She turns quickly as you knew she would at the unfamiliar sensation on her skin, and glances up at him. You sit there bursting as you wait to see if you need to jump the railing.
But then she turns her face up and completely surprises you by smiling at him.
You shift forward then give up and stand when you can’t see them properly for a moment. You’ve lost her, and you push past people to track her down again.
Finally you see her, with him right behind, almost leaning into him as she dances, tipping her head back with eyes closed again. You grind your teeth together, calling on calm you don’t feel, especially when you see his hands on her hips.
Cool it. This is her night, remember? She can look after herself.
You don’t admit that in actuality, the old protective urge is being eaten alive by this new sensation; wanting to stomp this kid into the ground for ever putting his hands on her. You fight it, balling your hands into fists but holding them at your sides.
Then the kid dips his head and you don’t see what he does at first until you move to the side. And then it’s all you can do not to give in to the itching sensation of your knuckles - your claws, wanting to come out of their own accord.
He’s kissing her neck. The little fucker is kissing her.
You push past another guy, earning a startled ‘hey!’ as you pass but you’re seeing red now and that’s never a good thing with you. As you jump the railing you see she’s just dropping her head back, her eyes closed as if testing the sensation. He’s encouraged, and kisses more eagerly up her throat to her jaw and ear.
You vaguely register a few muffled cries of annoyance when you wade through the crowd that seems to magically part for you anyway. It's like they’re getting farther away and you don’t know if that’s your imagination or just your fury clouding your judgement.
When you get to him and wrench him back, it’s controlled, for you, but he still stumbles and falls. He stares up at you in astonishment from the ground then frowns and scrambles up.
You relish that, the opportunity that he might have a go but then she’s flown in front of you, her hands pressed on your chest.
“Logan! No!”
You barely hear her, concentrating on her boyfriends face to see if he’s going to follow through or not. He’s thinking about it you can tell and your fists clench tighter, waiting.
“No!! Logan, please! Please don’t do this!”
She’s pushing with all her might against you and the kid must take this as some kind of promise of safety because he lurches forward then. You don’t hear what he says but it’s bitter and directed at you, and her.
That’s all you need and you push past her, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up and his eyes snap wide open, probably because his feet are an inch off the floor. You speak near his ear so he can’t mistake you.
“I will cut your fucking hands off, if you touch her again.”
You see the blood drain from his face and that’s enough now, you drop him to the floor. Without looking at Marie you grab her hand and stride through the crowd, though most of them have separated to watch and are standing wide eyed staring as you pass. You pull her none too gently through the crowd and back up to the exit of the auditorium and it’s not until you hit the outside air that you register her screaming at you and tugging on your hand.
“Let GO!”
You do, abruptly and she stumbles back a few steps then rights herself, striding back towards you to shout in your face.
“How...what the fuck was that? How dare you! How fucking dare you!”
You frown back, lowering your face to her to meet her eyes. “You’re not as goddamn grown up as you think. And
you didn’t see that guy; he had an eye on you from the start!”
“So??” She spreads her arms out in an exaggerated shrug. “So fucking what, Logan? So someone wants me? Is that what you’re worried about? That it’s not enough that I’ll go the rest of my life after the next few days, not being wanted by anyone, being avoided like the plague? Is that what I did wrong?”
You put your hands on your hips, determined to stand your ground but you’re starting to feel a little stupid. You still raise your voice back.
“Well, you can do better than that fucking trash, Marie!”
She spins around, arms wide again. “Where? Logan? Where? Where are all these guys lining up for me, because I don’t see them anywhere!” She steps forward slightly but her voice doesn’t lose any volume. “What about you then? It’s you is it? Are you gonna do it for me?”
The few people trickling out are staring but you see only her, even register that she’s beautiful in her temper.
“You know I’m not...I can’t do that.”
She steps even closer, her eyes boring into yours. “Oh, so you can rule my life for me, plan it all, approve and disapprove...” She stops waving her hands and moves her face close to yours. “You just can’t fuck me, right?”
Everything stops for a second, amongst the noise and confusion and mess you’ve made over this - it stops, a moment of stillness catching you. And you realise right then that whether you like it or not she is a woman; as much as that throws your whole world off its axis, that’s what she is now. But in the same breath, your anger returns lightening quick, sick of these games because that’s what they are. Games of cat and mouse with her, though sometimes you don’t know who is what.
You mirror her stance and lean forward slightly, your voice low and lethal through your clenched teeth, and most definitely threatening.
“Don’t push me.” She meets your eyes as you level her with a glare and you’re almost proud of her when she holds her own, lifting her chin a little. But you’ve gotta tell her in some way how easily you could ruin her.
You grip her upper arm. “I’m not playing games with you. You think you know what it is to play around like that? You have no fucking idea.”
She’s looking up at you, breathing heavily, her hair fallen out now and around her shoulders.
“And remember this - if I wanted to fuck you, I could’ve done that, a long time ago. You think about that.”
Her face crumples then and you walk away but as it turns out, it’s you who ends up thinking about it. Because it’s true, if a quick fuck is all you wanted from her you could’ve taken it - like you would have, tried to even, from Jean. You know Marie would have kept it quiet purely if you’d told her to, of that you’re pretty certain. But you’ve always cared about her too much to play with her like that. And though you could tell yourself that’s about her age, a nagging thought of Storm’s last words on the phone come to you and while it’s quiet as a tomb all the way home in the cab, it’s you who comes out of that ride with the realisation that maybe you’re in far deeper than you thought.
*
Part 7 HERE