Prairie

 

When Brooke drags me through the large front doors of Delve, I don’t know where to look first. The club is massive, with a bar set up off to the right and another one in the back near the dance floor. Music pumps from the speakers, vibrating against my skin. The entire room is dark and seductive, the soft glow of multi-coloured backlights illuminating the sleek black walls. I take some cash from my wallet and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans before we drop our jackets and purses at the coat check

After I left Logan’s this morning, I walked for several blocks in a daze before I realized how far away from home I was. I slipped into a café and called a cab, managing to keep myself together until I was safely within the walls of my apartment. I replayed Logan’s words to me over and over again. Searching for any indication that maybe he didn’t mean them. But whether he did or didn’t, doesn’t matter. I can’t do this anymore. I need to move on. And that’s why I’m here now.

I called Brooke once I got myself together, I didn’t tell her about Logan, I just said I lost track of her last night and decided to head home early. She ended up staying at the warehouse until she finally got sick of waiting for Jesse and took off on her own too. She suggested a proper night out tonight to make up for it and I agreed. I need a distraction. I need to get out of my head and I need to feel something besides this ache in my heart. Logan’s changed in so many ways, maybe the man he is now truly is capable of sending me away without a second thought. Maybe if he can let go of what we had together, I should too.

“Let’s grab a drink!” Brooke shouts over the music.

I nod towards the bar and she slips her hand around mine, leading me forward through the crowd. I can feel eyes on us, or on Brooke, I should say. Much like last night, she’s dressed to kill in a form fitting emerald green cocktail dress. Even with the added height from my own boots, she still towers over my five foot eight frame in her skinny black heels. She’s impossible to miss.

“I’ll get this round,” she offers, leaning into me before she waves the bartender over and orders.

She hands me a glass with red liquid and clinks hers to mine as we turn and find a table to stand at, sipping our drinks while we watch the people on the dance floor. One drink turns into two and after our third round of shots I lose count altogether. All I know is that I feel light. I feel free. She grabs my hand again and leads me to the black and white checkered dance floor.

“That’s enough booze,” she giggles. “Time to dance.”

She pulls me through the throng of people until we’re surrounded on all sides. We keep our hands joined as Lorde’s Greenlight begins to play and I let go of everything but the beat of the music. My hips begin to sway slightly, my arms lifting. The people around me fade into the flashing lights and for this moment in time, I’m not a college statistic or the owner of a shattered heart. Right now, I’m just a girl in a bar.

We sing along, laughing and bumping our hips together, unaware of anything or anyone around us. I don’t know how many songs play before I feel it. I can’t explain it, not even to myself. But a shiver crawls up my spine and I know someone is watching. I turn, searching through the crowd and there he is. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or just my mind playing a sick game, but I see his eyes, watching me. My body pauses and that’s when he begins to move. The people part for him instantly and when he reaches me, he wraps his hand around my arm and pulls me off the dance floor.

“Excuse me, do you mind?” I shout, stumbling slightly. I glance back at Brooke and see that she’s started dancing with some guy, oblivious to the fact that I’m no longer beside her.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, his grip on my arm lightening as he tugs me towards the back of the club where it’s not as loud.

“None of your business,” I tell him, my arms crossed over my chest.

“You can’t be here,” he insists. “This isn’t you.”

“This isn’t me? And what exactly do you know about me Logan?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“The hell you are,” I say firmly, my head already beginning to spin. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Prairie,” he sighs. “Just let me take you home.”

“No.”

We face off in a silent battle of wills. I don’t know what he’s doing here, and I don’t care. I’m trying to move forward. To move on. I take a step but he blocks my path.

“Seriously?”

“Please let me take you home,” he says again, his voice softening.

“Leave me alone Logan,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

I brush past him and he doesn’t stop me. I head straight for the bar and I don’t look back.

 

*

 

I open my eyes against the harsh light filtering in between my curtains and instantly vow to never drink again. I’ve never been a heavy drinker due to being a major lightweight. Something I apparently forgot last night when Brooke and I were doing shot after shot. I drape my arm across my eyes and will the throbbing behind them to lessen. Everything from last night is blurring together. All I know is that I need a hot shower and a cup of coffee, after I brush the taste of stale booze from my mouth. I stretch and realize that I’m still in my clothes from last night, the only thing missing are my boots which are placed neatly beside my bedroom door. I fling the covers back and stumble down the hall to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me I use the toilet and wash my hands, staring up at my reflection. Mascara is smeared underneath my eyes, my hair a tangled mess. I pull the elastic free and run my fingers through it as best as I can and brush my teeth twice before I peel off my clothes. I flip on the water and let it warm before I step under the spray and groan. I wash my hair, conditioning it twice before I soap up and rinse off, paying extra attention to my caked-on makeup.

Feeling marginally more human when I step out, I wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel. I apply moisturizer to my entire body and head back to my bedroom. I throw on a pair of black yoga pants and a soft white T-shirt, not bothering with a bra. Fragments from last night flash through my mind as I comb out my hair and toss it up into a knot. We were drinking, we were dancing…Logan. The memory of his angry stare hits me and I begin to remember. I feel sick to my stomach as I walk into the kitchen. Turning the corner, I clutch my heart, a shriek on my lips.

Sitting in my small living room, on my pale blue couch with his hands resting under his chin is Logan. Looking dishevelled and still bruised from the other night at the warehouse, although not quite as bad as I thought he would be.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“What were you doing at Delve last night?” he counters.

I shake my head and turn around, reaching for a mug in the cupboard. “You first,” I say.

He considers for a moment before responding, “I brought you home. You could hardly walk,” he adds with obvious disapproval.

“Where’s Brooke?”

“The blonde?”

I nod once.

“She got home safely,” is all he offers me, before adding, “You don’t have to worry about her.”

I place my mug under the coffee maker and set it to brew and turn slowly to face him, he looks furious.

“I was out with my friend,” I explain. “And yes, I had too much to drink. Although I don’t see how that’s any of your business. You made it pretty clear yesterday that you want nothing to do with me.”

“It’s my business when you’re in Zavier Kane’s club,” he grinds out, standing and reminding me just how much he’s changed in five years. “You can’t be in there.”

I can’t help the bitter laugh that bubbles up from my chest. Whether it’s the leftover booze giving me some much needed courage, or the pounding headache that’s currently trying my patience, I have absolutely no interest in what Logan Mackenzie thinks in this very moment.

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in over five years,” I begin. “I suggested yesterday that we talk, and you shot me down. So, what I would love to know right now Logan, is what right do you think you have when it comes to dictating where I go?”

“You don’t know w-“

“No, you don’t know. You don’t know me. You know nothing about me,” I say. “Or my life.”

Nothing but the kitchen counter separates us, his jaw clenched, my irritation simmering. But as quickly as my anger flares, it disappears. Because underneath the tattooed, closed off man in front of me, is the boy who used to hold me while I slept. The boy who gave me my first kiss. And as much as I want to hate him, to make it all easier…I simply can’t. And when my anger vanishes completely, I look at him. I really look at him. And I see the tortured look in his eyes.

“Logan,” I say softly. “I don’t want to fight with you. But you can’t do this. You can’t disappear from my life and then send me away and then come back again. I can’t take it,” I add quietly. “I’m sorry you had to make me your responsibility last night, I don’t drink often so I doubt you’ll find yourself troubled again. And if it means that much to you, I’ll stay away from that club. It wasn’t my idea to go there anyways.”

His shoulders slump and I grip the counter in front of me to stop myself from going to him. Time means nothing, circumstances mean nothing. When the person you’ve given your heart to is standing so close after so long, nothing else seems to matter. Or so I’m learning. Regardless of that fact, I can’t take his rejection again. I don’t think my heart would survive it.

“You should g-“ I begin.

“I thought about you,” he says roughly. “I’ve thought about you every damn day.”

Tears begin to fill my eyes. “Don’t,” I say. “You don’t have to.”

I swipe at my cheek and pull the milk out of the fridge, setting it on the counter. I busy my hands, scooping sugar into my mug, only to hear the floor creak behind me. I feel the heat from his body as he places his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. He inhales deeply and lets go of an uneven breath.

“I still think about you,” he adds. “But I’m no good Prairie. I told you before there were parts of me that aren’t nice and I used to think I could hide them or control them. But the truth is, I don’t even try to anymore. I accept who I am.”

I set down the spoon and rest my hands near his but not touching. “I once told you that I loved all of you, Logan. I meant it,” I whisper.

I can feel the resolve to protect my heart beginning to crumble until it’s nothing more than dust. Having Logan this close to me is making me feel things that I haven’t felt in so long. This desire to be close to him, this need to feel his breath on the back of my neck. The years that stand between us make it feel brand new but there’s so much familiarity and comfort as well. If he tries to push me away right now, I know I won’t let him.

“I should leave,” he says. “I know that. I should walk away from you.”

I turn in his arms, looking up at his tormented brown eyes. “Stay,” I tell him, resting my palm on the side of his face. “Just stay.”

I raise up on my toes, bringing my mouth close enough to his that I can feel his breath on my lips. The loud vibration of a phone echoes in my apartment, pulling us from the moment and before we can capture it again, he’s gently removing my hand from his face and swiping his phone from the coffee table.

I let go of my long held breath and turn back to my coffee cup, picking it up so I have something to do with my hands. I can hear Logan’s low mumbles but I’m too wound up to even try and overhear what he’s saying.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he tells me.

I turn to face him, certain that my neck and cheeks still burn bright with a pink flush. He looks reluctant.

“Okay.”

He comes back into the kitchen, and hesitates for a moment before he gently tilts my chin up with his fingertips.

“I don’t want this to be it,” he says. “I want to see you again. I need to see you again.”

I nod my response and gently place my hand around his wrist, simply because I need to touch him. He hands me his phone and instructs me to program my number, testing it once before he tears his gaze from mine and heads for the door.

It takes me a minute after the door clicks shut to realize that I’m still standing in the same place, staring into my living room. I finish my coffee and nibble on a piece of toast while I rummage through my closet, behind various pairs of shoes and a bin filled with random pieces of my childhood. I feel for the familiar lid and grasp the shoebox with one hand. I sit down on the floor and open it. Letters. Unopened. I let my fingertips run along the edges of the envelopes before I place the lid back on the box and set it on top of my dresser.

These letters don’t belong to me, they belong to him.