The Shells of What We Used To Be
A Veronica Mars FanFic
Rating: R (or could be PG-13, but I'll say R to be on the safe side)
Summary: Why Logan is the way he is. Logan POV
Spoilers: This story takes place just before the season-finale
Disclaimer: UPN, Rob Thomas, et al. You know, the usual suspects. They own these characters, not I.
There is only one thing that I can count on in this terrible world that I live in. That is that people hurt you, or really me. If they don’t do it physically, then they do it in another way. The way I get around the disappointing pain of people is either don’t let them in at all, or just hurt them first. The pain has happened my whole life, and little by little I have grown into the full blown jackass that I am today.
It all started with my father. My earliest memory is of a broken arm that I got while trying to climb a tree. Well, that is what he told everyone. What really happened is I was playing too loud while he was trying to work on a new script and he…..the memory is too painful for details. I was not even four. If it weren’t for all my binge drinking, I might be able to remember further than that, but then again, I am not even sure I want to. But, at least when he hit me, he knew I existed. Which is more than I could say about the other times. He never went to any of my t-ball games, or soccer games. He was either on shoot somewhere or debating his next movie. He can’t remember that I am allergic to shellfish. He can’t even remember my own birthday. So at least he knew I was there when he was beating me.
The second person who caused me a great deal of pain was Trina. Big sisters are supposed to protect their little brothers. They are supposed to read them stories and check under their beds for monsters and tease them, but beat up anyone else who teases them. They are supposed to crawl under the covers with you when you have had a bad dream. It was like that…..until I was eight. I told her about a real monster and a real life “bad dream”. She told me I was lying and “tattled to daddy”. After that I lost my big sister, and she made every point of telling our father about my “lies”.
My mother probably caused me the most pain. She almost always had a drink in her hand. She drank the most during my beatings, but instead of telling my father to stop, she told me to stop pleading with him. When I would scream or beg “Daddy, please, stop” it would upset her, she told me once. So at the age of five I took his beatings “like a man”. I never him the pleasure of seeing me cry or hearing me scream after that. And I never once gave her a reason to drink more. However, when she committed suicide, it broke me. I grasped at straws trying to make myself believe she was still alive. But deep down I knew the truth.
I was raised by numerous nannies. Because of the fact that none of them wanted to be sued about the fact that they reported child abuse against the “great Aaron Echolls”, they never stayed very long. Just as soon as I started to like the new one, she’d see my bruises and pack up.
I thought that all had changed with Lilly. She was the light of my life. She never knew, or really I never told her, about my beatings. Even if she did know, she would have never brought it up. And I am glad that she didn’t. With her I could get away from my crazy, circus freak show of a home life. I could be comfortable around her. I could be myself, or something close to it. She didn’t care how loud I was, or how silly, or how obnoxious. But in an instant it was all gone. My light, my love, my Lilly was gone. And she would never come back to me. It was about then that I decided I would hurt everyone before they hurt me. My best friend became Mr. Jack Daniels and he opened the door to some of his friends, too.
Duncan had been my best friend, but I got to know Mr. Daniels better than I knew Duncan, or my self for that matter. Not that Duncan would have cared; he was too drugged to know any difference. The shells of what we used to be are still best friends, but for all tense and purpose what is inside of those shells are strangers.
Veronica had also been my friend, but she was always more loyal to her family than her friends. Part of me wishes that I could understand that loyalty. But I cannot, because Veronica had a normal childhood filled with beautiful, happy memories. Veronica wasn’t going to escape to drugs like Duncan. And she was Lilly’s best friend; she reminded me too much of Lilly. So I hurt her. And I hurt her badly. I made sure that she was not going to be happy. Because if she were happy, then that would mean that she had moved on from Lilly’s death. I was not going to let that happen. But lately, after my mother’s death, I realized that I had to let Veronica move on. I had to let myself move on. And when I realize for absolute certain that my mother had left me for good, my barriers came crashing down and Veronica was there to catch me. I tried to bring those barriers back up, but could not. I didn’t have the energy.
That might be why I found myself kissing her, and enjoying it. I contemplated letting her back in, but then I really didn’t have any choice. I once asked someone “what is so great about living?” Veronica had been the light at the end of the tunnel. She kept me from going in a downward spiral and was a fresh air of oxygen to my lungs. If it had not been for her, I would have defiantly became my mother’s son.
But now, I wonder why I bothered. This is now the second time in the span of a week that she has left me in the cold without any explanation. She stood me up on my father’s yacht (although she had a very good reason) and now I just saw her leave with Weevil. My girlfriends just cannot stay away from those damn biker guys. Shit. Part of me wants to wait and let her explain again. But the other part wants to shut her out and hurt her, before she can hurt me. Because, I do not know how many times I can take her leaving me like this.
Rating: R (or could be PG-13, but I'll say R to be on the safe side)
Summary: Why Logan is the way he is. Logan POV
Spoilers: This story takes place just before the season-finale
Disclaimer: UPN, Rob Thomas, et al. You know, the usual suspects. They own these characters, not I.
There is only one thing that I can count on in this terrible world that I live in. That is that people hurt you, or really me. If they don’t do it physically, then they do it in another way. The way I get around the disappointing pain of people is either don’t let them in at all, or just hurt them first. The pain has happened my whole life, and little by little I have grown into the full blown jackass that I am today.
It all started with my father. My earliest memory is of a broken arm that I got while trying to climb a tree. Well, that is what he told everyone. What really happened is I was playing too loud while he was trying to work on a new script and he…..the memory is too painful for details. I was not even four. If it weren’t for all my binge drinking, I might be able to remember further than that, but then again, I am not even sure I want to. But, at least when he hit me, he knew I existed. Which is more than I could say about the other times. He never went to any of my t-ball games, or soccer games. He was either on shoot somewhere or debating his next movie. He can’t remember that I am allergic to shellfish. He can’t even remember my own birthday. So at least he knew I was there when he was beating me.
The second person who caused me a great deal of pain was Trina. Big sisters are supposed to protect their little brothers. They are supposed to read them stories and check under their beds for monsters and tease them, but beat up anyone else who teases them. They are supposed to crawl under the covers with you when you have had a bad dream. It was like that…..until I was eight. I told her about a real monster and a real life “bad dream”. She told me I was lying and “tattled to daddy”. After that I lost my big sister, and she made every point of telling our father about my “lies”.
My mother probably caused me the most pain. She almost always had a drink in her hand. She drank the most during my beatings, but instead of telling my father to stop, she told me to stop pleading with him. When I would scream or beg “Daddy, please, stop” it would upset her, she told me once. So at the age of five I took his beatings “like a man”. I never him the pleasure of seeing me cry or hearing me scream after that. And I never once gave her a reason to drink more. However, when she committed suicide, it broke me. I grasped at straws trying to make myself believe she was still alive. But deep down I knew the truth.
I was raised by numerous nannies. Because of the fact that none of them wanted to be sued about the fact that they reported child abuse against the “great Aaron Echolls”, they never stayed very long. Just as soon as I started to like the new one, she’d see my bruises and pack up.
I thought that all had changed with Lilly. She was the light of my life. She never knew, or really I never told her, about my beatings. Even if she did know, she would have never brought it up. And I am glad that she didn’t. With her I could get away from my crazy, circus freak show of a home life. I could be comfortable around her. I could be myself, or something close to it. She didn’t care how loud I was, or how silly, or how obnoxious. But in an instant it was all gone. My light, my love, my Lilly was gone. And she would never come back to me. It was about then that I decided I would hurt everyone before they hurt me. My best friend became Mr. Jack Daniels and he opened the door to some of his friends, too.
Duncan had been my best friend, but I got to know Mr. Daniels better than I knew Duncan, or my self for that matter. Not that Duncan would have cared; he was too drugged to know any difference. The shells of what we used to be are still best friends, but for all tense and purpose what is inside of those shells are strangers.
Veronica had also been my friend, but she was always more loyal to her family than her friends. Part of me wishes that I could understand that loyalty. But I cannot, because Veronica had a normal childhood filled with beautiful, happy memories. Veronica wasn’t going to escape to drugs like Duncan. And she was Lilly’s best friend; she reminded me too much of Lilly. So I hurt her. And I hurt her badly. I made sure that she was not going to be happy. Because if she were happy, then that would mean that she had moved on from Lilly’s death. I was not going to let that happen. But lately, after my mother’s death, I realized that I had to let Veronica move on. I had to let myself move on. And when I realize for absolute certain that my mother had left me for good, my barriers came crashing down and Veronica was there to catch me. I tried to bring those barriers back up, but could not. I didn’t have the energy.
That might be why I found myself kissing her, and enjoying it. I contemplated letting her back in, but then I really didn’t have any choice. I once asked someone “what is so great about living?” Veronica had been the light at the end of the tunnel. She kept me from going in a downward spiral and was a fresh air of oxygen to my lungs. If it had not been for her, I would have defiantly became my mother’s son.
But now, I wonder why I bothered. This is now the second time in the span of a week that she has left me in the cold without any explanation. She stood me up on my father’s yacht (although she had a very good reason) and now I just saw her leave with Weevil. My girlfriends just cannot stay away from those damn biker guys. Shit. Part of me wants to wait and let her explain again. But the other part wants to shut her out and hurt her, before she can hurt me. Because, I do not know how many times I can take her leaving me like this.