Page 57 of Fall From Grace
He smirks, but that smirk morphs into a sneer as he growls out, “Is that what you think? You think I give a shit about what you do? You’re just a fucking girl. You don’t mean anything to me. You were just a distraction—fun for a little while, but now I’m bored of you.”
“Logan.” As I say his name, I slip a hand between us and set it on his chest. His heart beats so fast I can feel it through his shirt. “It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not fucking okay,” he hisses, leaning his top half down so his face is only inches away from mine. The hands on my cheeks sweep back and dig into my hair, tugging so hard I gasp. Or maybe I moan.
Maybe, just maybe I have a thing for toxic guys after all, huh? I thought I liked them good, but my ex was a jerk, and now Logan… I see a pattern.
“None of this is okay,” he breathes out. “You don’t know what it’s like to have everything, and then… then nothing. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything you worked for taken from you.”
“It didn’t have to be. If you weren’t so mean—”
“Well I am. I am really fucking mean, okay? I’ll never not be mean. A good little girl like you should have nothing to do with me.” His nose brushes against mine, and I fight the urge I have to close my eyes and push my mouth against his.
Something has to be wrong with me, for real.
“I’ll break your heart,” he warns, or maybe it’s more like a promise. A threat. “I’ll hurt you. It’s all I’m good at, Wren. Fucking around and fucking up. So just drop this. Let it go, for your sake… and for mine.” His voice carries traces of pain when he says that last part, and I feel my heart breaking for us both.
Why does he have to be like this? It doesn’t have to be this way.
For a moment, he looks like he’s going to kiss me. His eyes get half-lidded, and I swear that gaze of his drops to my mouth. The anticipation is thick in my veins, but there is no caving in as Logan drops his hands from my head and steps away, shadows dancing across his face before he turns away from me and hurries to cross the street.
I watch him go, strangely out of breath, and confused. So very confused at all of this.
The romantic in me wants him to stop, turn around, and rush back to me. Or at least toss a glance my way. But he doesn’t. He just walks away from me on the other side of the four-lane street, hands pushed into his pockets, his head down, the anger flowing out of every pore.
He leaves in a hurry, and he doesn’t look back once.
The old me never would have found herself in this position, but it just goes to show that the old me is well and truly dead, because something in me turns on, a lightbulb that burns with a desire I can’t describe. I push off the building and run after him, crossing the street as I open my mouth to call out for him—he’s too far away already, I can barely see his small figure in the distance, but maybe he’ll hear me and stop.
“Lo—” I only get out a single syllable of his name. Why? Oh, because I forgot the first thing you’re supposed to do when you cross a street, something you’re supposed to learn pre-K.
Look both ways before crossing. Make sure you see the cars, because you can’t count on them to see you—and it turns out, they definitely don’t see you when you randomly dart out in the middle of the street, far away from the official crosswalk. Who knew?
The first thing that hits me when the car, you know, hits me, is the fact that my body goes up and over something. It must be a relatively small car, so that’s good, could have been worse and all, but once I’m over the car, I land on the street with a thud—and that’s when the pain hits me and the shock really numbs the rest of me.
I land on my back, the world around me spinning as pain shoots up my leg, and I open my mouth, but I just can’t talk. Nothing comes out. I don’t even know if I breathe.
And the car that hit me? Gone.
“Holy shit,” a girl says, and some part of me recognizes the fact that another car has stopped, a car that must have been behind the one that hit me. “Are you okay?” My head is spinning; I think I see a group of three girls funnel out of the car. One has their phone out, videotaping the car that sped off, while another is dialing what must be 9-1-1.
I’m okay. I try to say it, but no words come out of me. I try to stand, but the girl talking to me doesn’t let me get up. Or maybe that’s my ankle.
“No, don’t move,” she says. “You shouldn’t move. Just stay where you are, okay? I think… I think your arm is broken or something.”
What? Though the world keeps spinning faster and faster, I manage to look down. It is bent a little, hanging at a weird angle, isn’t it? Huh. Would you look at that?
“Logan,” I finally speak, and the girl looks at me like I’m crazy. “Where… is Logan?”
I don’t know who she is. Maybe another college student. She looks around. “Any of you a Logan?” It’s only then that I realize we have a little crowd going. Some people have come out of the karaoke bar and are now staring, circling us on the street. To me, she says, “Sorry, I don’t think there’s a Logan here.”
Of course he isn’t here. Why would he be here? He was already far away by the time I started to chase after him. He probably didn’t even hear the accident. The car never slowed—not that I gave it a chance to—and after it hit me, it kept going like nothing happened.
I want to be sick.
Maybe Logan was right. He’ll only hurt me. Going after him might just be the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
Chapter Twenty-Four – Reese
