VM: Lightning Crashes (NC17 - LoMeg, VD) 1d/1
Somehow she managed to make it to school the next day and convince Lizzie to let her fend for her self.
Two hours later she wished she hadn’t.
After her anxiety helped her morning sickness through a fifteen minute marathon of vomiting (following by five painful minutes of dry heaving), Madison Sinclair’s “groundless gossip mongering” had become “fact”. Meg had stumbled out of the cubicle to find three helpful sophomores gleaming with finders-keepers pride while they loomed over the carcass of her own; they’d bolted through the door in search of the nearest warm blooded mammal to repeat everything they’d heard, saw and likely smelled Meg doing in her cubicle. Meg splashed cold water on her face and reminded herself that this was inevitable and she was ready.
**
Dick ran into the first F.B.L.A. meeting with an excited flush on his face.
“Look who’s bursting with fruit flavour . . .” Logan drawled with amusement. “Something off the vine perhaps?” Dick shifted his table closer to his brother’s so he could reach across and shove Logan’s shoulder.
“Dude, you’ll never believe what Madison just told me.”
“Leading a phrase with ‘Madison told me’ doesn’t inspire my faith, no.”
“Guess who’s added bun baking to her list of domestic skills?” Dick wiggled his eyebrows.
Cassidy frowned. “You’ve got to learn ease up on the euphemisms, Dick.”
“Dude, here I am thinking no one’s ever going to round second on her frigid bases - and someone hits a homer off Meg Manning.”
Logan’s smile froze on his face and he removed his pencil from his mouth, gaze shooting across the room to lock on Duncan Kane’s equally horrified face.
“What’s Madison saying about Meg?” Logan spoke slowly, swallowing the heart that had just thumped its way up his throat.
“Dude, someone knocked her around.”
“Knocked her up, Dick,” Cassidy corrected.
“That’s what I said, retard. Look, D.K., there’s a pool going about where she, uh, got the ingredients, if you know what I mean. I got a hundred on you; if anyone could get those panties off Cinderella it’s her Prince Charming. Only instead of seeing if the shoe fits . . . ” He winked and burst out laughing when Duncan’s face screwed up in disgust. “Hey, whatever works,” Dick clicked his fingers like a gun and Duncan flinched. “So, dude, did you use a condom or what? Pills? Did she touch that?”
Logan moved so quickly that Cassidy only just managed to avoid getting his head knocked off when he punched Dick in the arm. Hard.
“Uh! Damn, dude, what the hell?” Dick hissed.
“Shut the fuck up, man.” His dark eyes pinned Dick to his seat, daring him to keep going down the same track.
Dick laughed, looking around the room incredulously: how come no one else found this fucking funny? Meg Manning. Pregnant. If that wasn’t fucking ironic he didn’t know what was, especially when her sister could write to Disney volunteering her services as the rollercoaster of love.
“There’s no need to start PMSing,” Dick frowned petulantly at Logan for spoiling his fun.
Logan looked away from Dick to the only person in the room who could possibly understand the emotions storming through his body. He shifted in his seat when Duncan sent him an unsure, grateful smile in return. Logan sneered; he didn’t want Duncan labouring under the delusion that he had his back.
“Dude, I just need to know if I blew my wad on a guy who got scratched before the race even started. There are long odds on Lucky earning his nickname the fun way and he’s my next pick.” Dick raised his eyebrow at Duncan who was still too astonished to do much more than open and close his mouth, frowning. “I guess what they say about the good girls is all true, hey Ver-on-ica?” Dick wiggled his eyebrows as the girl in question walked in smiling at Duncan.
The tension in the room climbed another notch when Duncan returned Veronica’s smile, pulled her desk closer to his and smacked a playful kiss on her lips while they joked about exploiting the workers. Logan watched in disgust, unable to tear his eyes away from Duncan’s passive, friendly expression. Cassidy flicked a nervous glance between them and it was his twitchy stare that caught Veronica’s attention. She looked blankly over at Logan, reacting with obvious astonishment at the venomous ferocity of his glare. She traced his gaze back to Duncan who was squirming in his seat and doing his best not to look in Logan’s direction.
“What’s going on?” She asked Duncan with concern.
“It’s nothing.”
“Meg’s pregnant,” Cassidy said in a hesitant voice.
Logan and Duncan glared death threats at him, causing his big brother to reach over and affectionately rough up his hair.
But Veronica only had eyes for Logan. Violent emotions fluttered quickly through her blinking lashes but when she finally found the strength to stare him down, it was only hatred he felt scorching his face. As he turned away, returning his pencil to his mouth he bit down so hard he almost had splinters embedded in his tongue.
Mr. Pope introduced their guest speaker - Dick and Cassidy’s father - and class continued relatively normally. Except Veronica couldn’t take her eyes off Logan and Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved her wrath.
The next time he looked up his eyes were watering, his face repentant and guilt-ridden about what he’d done . . . what he had to have done because he couldn’t bear the alternative . . . but Veronica only sneered in response and finally looked away, dismissing him entirely while she wrapped her fingers around Duncan’s. She’d made the right choice.
**
Meg had gone from being complemented on her new voluptuous curves the previous day, to overhearing the same girls declaring they’d known she was knocked up all along: flat-chested sticks like Meg Manning didn’t suddenly develop breasts unless they’d been under the knife, or put up the duff. Kimmy replied that she’d always known Meg was a slut (as new friends nodded, sucking strawberry milk through their striped straws); she’d felt sorry for her the year before when the ‘truth’ about her so-called purity was leaked and she’d helped Veronica set up that bogus interview to clear Meg’s name. Because she was such a good, concerned friend.
Meg hated the fact she’d ever felt sorry for Kimmy’s desperation. But she hated Madison more for ‘confirming’ to the rest of the cheerleading team that Meg hadn’t quit like they’d assumed; she’d been dropped because Madison had discerned she was pregnant and - philanthropist that she was - decided that she couldn’t bear to see Meg putting her unborn child in danger any more.
Nothing distracted Meg from the reality that all of the daggers floating behind her back were just illusions of sins (and fake friendships) that she couldn’t alter. Having those sins repeated ad nauseum (then exaggerated by the hounds of basketcase when they were no longer interesting enough) did little to affect Meg. She’d made her choices long ago - what she was doing, where she was going - and her rapidly disappearing circle of friends wasn’t even a point on her list of concerns. A part of her was horrified that she’d become what she never wanted to be: closed down enough to let people think whatever they wanted because it just wasn’t worth the energy it would take to stress about what she couldn’t change. She wasn’t sure if she’d learned that from Logan or Veronica and it didn’t particularly matter.
When Meg arrived at her locker after first period she ended up removing photos of Demi Moore’s pregnant body (photoshopped with her own face). By that stage in her day she’d learned not to acknowledge anybody who used to be a friend because their sympathetic frowns were almost more stomach churning than the superior laughter of everyone else.
Meg was hit with her first overwhelming need to cry when she opened her locker and about twenty condoms wrappers fell out along with a scrap of pink paper. Unable to resist, Meg picked up the piece of paper. The pack of hyenas masquerading as teenagers tilted their heads toward her new discovery, hoping they’d get to witness the big breakdown. Meg prepared herself for the worst: some pathetic witticism about how a condom a day, keeps babies away or something equally pathetic. Instead, she read words she’d never expected to see:
Meg,
You will survive this.
Love,
Carrie.
Meg’s lower lip trembled and she pressed the note to her chest, shoulders stiffening against the sudden surge of grateful tears. She looked across the hall to Carrie’s locker but the girl who had been through all of this once for the sake of her best friend was nowhere to be seen. The tiny pocket of hope that had grown in her heart popped when she only saw antagonistic faces - laughing, curious, accusing, disappointed, all of everything but empathy - in the swarm surrounding her.
“Miss Manning . . . ”
Meg flinched when she heard Vice Principal Clemmons’ tell-tale cough behind her.
A familiar giggle sounded before her, and Meg glared when Madison walked past, blowing her a kiss.
“Miss Manning?” Clemmons repeated and she finally turned, staring at him weakly. “The counsellor would like to see you . . . whenever you’re ready.”
Meg nodded, resigned to her fate: scorned by her peers, rejected by her men, hated by her family . . . oh God . . . was this how her father would find out? From Ms. James calling home because she was genuinely concerned for Meg’s welfare and wanted a meeting to talk about her choices, what her mistakes would mean . . . Meg knew she wasn’t ready to be tested. She wasn’t near ready.
She should have told somebody, she should have pulled away faster, she should have had an abortion, she should have run away as soon as she found out and left her sisters to fight for their own fate.
She could have done none of those things.
“I’m ready, I just . . . ” Meg looked down at her feet, still standing on top of the blue condom wrappers. They’d all been ripped open and supposedly ‘used’ and by her count it was a sickeningly accurate portrayal of what she’d been up to recently.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said kindly and squeezed her shoulder as she walked by him, kicking blue, foil packets across the floor with every step. “Shouldn’t you all be in class by now?” His voice calmly dispersed the crowd behind her.
Meg kept her back straight all the way down the hall and when she reached the T-section (turn right for the office block) she stared at the double doors leading out into the Californian sun, wondering if there was still a chance to run-
Then she stopped kidding herself.
**
Veronica Mars stabbed at her baby tomatoes, viciously jabbing her fork into the flesh and watching it bleed before doing it again. She only interrupted her morbid new hobby when a tray slapped down on the table in front of her. She rolled her eyes up to meet Wallace’s bemused face.
“If you think what they say about you is whack, you should here some of the things Meg’s suddenly been up to-sucks to be a cheerleader. Literally, apparently.” Wallace grimaced. “You’d think that girl came to school in nothing but her underwear,” he shook his head.
“It saves time, us sluts know all the tricks,” Veronica touched her nose with a wink.
As she watched Wallace organising his lunch tray, Veronica let her false cheer slip from her face. Wallace, sensing something was wrong, frowned over his lunch tray and waited for his best friend to elaborate. Veronica didn’t bother to conceal her disappointment even though she knew she should have lost faith in that boy a long time before now. She told Wallace what she’d seen at the Neptune Grand, about her confrontation with him the other day, about how he’d had the gall to look guilty four months too late (his usual custom). She returned to stabbing her vegetables, shaking her head.
“So that’s it . . . Logan’s the father?”
Veronica shrugged.
“Damn, I didn’t see that twist coming. And between us that has got to be the most messed up, unnatural relationship since . . . you and Logan.” Wallace chuckled in amusement when Veronica glared.
“And we’re both paying dearly for our mistake, don’t you worry.”
“I think Meg’s is the mistake that will kick her in the ass every day and twice on Sundays. At least you escaped before any lasting damage was done.” Wallace shrugged at her reflective expression, trying to perk her up. But his words just made her feel guilty in a way she never had before about Meg and Duncan’s break up. She’d escaped a damaging situation relatively unscathed and left Meg vulnerable and heartbroken when she’d reconciled with Duncan only weeks later.
“You’d think a guy with his reputation would learn the mechanics of a rubber,” Wallace shook his head disbelievingly.
“There’s your mistake, Wallace, assuming he thinks.”
Wallace chuckled, taking a sip of his soda. “It’s gotta be rough though . . . after everything . . . the last thing he needs is a baby. That’s messed up.”
“Karma,” Veronica shrugged.
“Personally, I think Karma needs a kick in the ass if this is his way of socking it to Meg. I like her.”
Veronica flushed guiltily and slipped some lettuce into her mouth, though all she tasted was cardboard.
“Do you think he’ll stick around to be there for the baby?”
That’s it!
Veronica’s face transformed with the revelation and she lowered her fork to her plate, swallowing back the bile in her throat. That’s what her father must be doing for Meg! Their relationship must have ended when he found out (hence the guilty look - bastard!) and she came to Mars Investigations hoping there was some way Keith could coerce Logan into being a responsible adult for a change. But that didn’t explain why Keith didn’t seem to know she had a boyfriend, unless he’d suddenly discovered a poker face that could fool his daughter . . .
Veronica was confused; her father knew that if there was anyone who had dirt on Logan Echolls it was the daughter who’d dumped him over summer break. But Keith had done more to keep this case from her than he had since he’d put a paint bomb in the safe when she’d tried to prove Carrie Bishop was a vapid little liar making up stories about their history teacher.
“So where’s your boyfriend?” Wallace asked, scanning the yard for Duncan Kane.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Veronica returned. They smiled easily, both content to eat without their significant others while they soaked up the comfort of each other.
**
Meg was sitting only thirty feet away from Veronica and Wallace though neither would have been able to see her had they looked. She was sitting on the ground of the external walkway that wrapped around the science block; the neatly trimmed bush concealed her and Lizzie from the view of most people in the quad. They weren’t completely alone, naturally, and Lizzie kept glaring menacingly at people who passed by and stared too long at the desolated, empty face of Meg Manning.
Lizzie was starting to get concerned, so concerned she was showing public affection for the sister that most of the school thought she hated. Her arm was wrapped around Meg’s shoulders and she’d pulled her sister’s head down against her shoulder. Meg had stayed malleable and indifferent, gazing at the wall, letting Lizzie move her into a comfortable position like her brand new marionette. It was disturbing.
“We don’t have to go home tonight,” she whispered, stroking Meg’s hair behind her ear.
“What about Grace?”
Lizzie said nothing for a long pause and then, “yeah.”
“You know if I’m not there they’ll take it out on her.” Meg sniffled, tears long since dried up though her face was still blotchy. “I can’t believe they found out this way . . .”
She sat up in frustration, stabbing a straw at the juicebox she’d been clutching in her hand for ten minutes. Lizzie silently took it from her and put the straw through the top on the first go. Meg relaxed against her side again, sucking pathetically on the straw while she gazed at the graffiti on the wall.
“Does this mean I’m the good sister now?” Lizzie nudged Meg, trying to crack some kind of smile even if she was scared that emotion would cause Meg’s face to shatter into tiny pieces.
“Pffft,” Meg shook her head. “None of us are good enough.”
Lizzie wrapped her hand in her sister’s hair, stroking her temple and pulling her close enough to kiss her on the forehead. Meg treasured the moment of peace and hugged her sister back, swallowing back the sticky lump of dread in her throat.
A shuffling sound caused them both to stiffen; Lizzie glared at the intruder before she’d even registered the face of Duncan Kane. Meg’s whole body stiffened against Lizzie’s side like she was preparing to turn herself inside out rather than be where she was. He wasn’t looking at them - focused down on his shoes, uncomfortably rocking from foot to foot. They both waited for him to say something, anything . . .
Meg watched him blankly but Lizzie could feel the shivers coming over her body; this was clearly a moment Meg had been expecting for a long time. Meg’s eyes were starting to burn with repressed tears the longer Duncan stood there letting her fester: all the questions building up between them, the dread and anticipation tearing her in two directions . . . and he wasn’t making a move to go either way. When he finally looked up, his face was more lost than hers and he couldn’t seem to see the way to her side. He stared into her watery eyes for a long moment, flicked a shamed glance at Lizzie’s glower and then turned, walking away from them both in a deliberately slow pace - like each step was harder than the last.
Lizzie snorted. “And Jesus thought he was a martyr.”
Meg smiled sadly, her immediate relief about Duncan’s reprieve was quickly overshadowed by the ever-present loom of loneliness - tomorrow or the day after or the next . . . one day soon she’d be alone and she knew Duncan’s back, walking away, was only the first in a soon-to-be long list of abandonments. She released a quivering breath and closed her eyes trying to stave off another attack.
“Shh . . . ” Lizzie sensed it coming and hugged her close. Whispering that it would be okay, it would be okay, she wasn’t alone . . .
“I can’t,” Meg sobbed looking up into her sister’s face. “I can’t do this. Who was I kidding?”
“Meg, stop freaking out. You’re not the first teen pregnancy, hell, you’re not the first teen pregnancy in your class. You’ll survive.”
The repetition of Carrie’s comforting platitude didn’t successfully salve her fears this time. What use was a butterfly stitch when she felt gutted? Meg didn’t want to be a survivor, she’d never put much stock in Veronica’s survival philosophy. She’d wanted to move on, to grow, to forgive and forget, to find happiness and live. Her shoulders trembled beneath the impatient crush of Lizzie’s frustrations and she knew she was being pathetic but-
“It’s just too much.” Meg sat up and scooped her bag toward her, holding it to her chest like a teddy bear. “I can’t be here.”
“Meg!” Lizzie followed her. “You shouldn’t be alone, I’m here; I’ll leave with you-”
“I’m never alone,” Meg whispered with guttural desolation, cracking a laugh as her hand trembled over the barely noticeable bump on her stomach. It was the gesture more than the words that caused Lizzie’s face to drain of all irritation.
Irrational or not, contradictory or not . . . Meg was so frightened of spending the rest of her life being abandoned that all she wanted to do was be alone.
Maybe then she could find a way to live with it.
**
Logan had already checked the girls’ bathroom, the change rooms (and he’d taken great joy in snatching all of Madison’s clothes before she finished her shower and dumped them in the toilet), the library and the bleachers by the time he made it to lunch. It seemed doubtful that Meg would be masochistic enough to walk right out into the quad, offering herself up like a ritual sacrifice to the eager, predatory vitriol of her classmates. That’s something he would do. But he knew she had to be at school somewhere (her car was in the parking lot) so he gambled on the long shot.
As he’d assumed, Meg was nowhere in sight. Frustrated - and not a little bit desperate - Logan ran his hand through his hair, pivoting around in a circle and continuing his scan even though he knew it would be fruitless. Halfway through his second circuit he noticed that Veronica was sitting at her usual table, eyes cutting bullet shaped holes into his chest. Wallace was sitting across from her with his back to Logan but after a few seconds of Veronica’s fixed glower shooting over his head, Wallace turned to see who she was trying to make spontaneously combust.
When Logan started walking toward them, Wallace picked up his stuff so that he could say he really had no idea how Logan’s toasty body ended up washing up on Dog Beach, hadn’t seen him.
“I’ll catch you later, Mars.” Wallace nodded.
Veronica didn’t acknowledge him because Logan was standing there by then, sharing a meaningful glance with Wallace as he darted away.
“Was that stare of disapproval meant to lure me over here? You know I can’t resist that look of yours,” he quipped, drumming his fingers on her table. But his eyes couldn’t focus on her face and his hands were noticeably trembling . . . there was none of the usual sadistic spark in his attack. Veronica almost felt sorry for him. But she’d fallen for that trick too many times to be weakened by it now. His vulnerability was all smoke and mirrors; it wasn’t her he should be showering with guilt and repentance but apparently Meg wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
She tilted her head and went on an immediate offensive. “I’m just curious, how do you look at yourself when you wake up in the morning?”
“I usually use a mirror, but the surface of my watch will do in a pinch.”
She grinned darkly, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth. There’s the jackass she knew and loathed. “You can’t take five extra seconds during your morning preen to make sure you didn’t scrub out your soul when you exfoliated?” Veronica curled her hand beneath her chin, tilting her head on its perch - a faux-contemplative frown creasing her forehead.
“Oh . . . I see. Today’s one of those odd numbered days when everything they say in school is true,” he drawled with deadly precision. “Funny how those days only happen when the rumours aren’t about you.”
Veronica received his attack with a steady, immovable glare. “It’s one thing to take advantage of someone who’s heartbroken; it’s another thing entirely to destroy the rest of her life!”
“God, shut up.” He ground out, eyes darkening with emotion and impatience. Even Logan looked shocked that he’d snapped out words he’d never really said to her before no matter how much he claimed to hate her. His hand trembled as it swiped through his hair and words were coming out of his mouth that he had no control over any more: “You don’t know anything about me, let alone my relationship with Meg. Just stay out of it! It’s none of your business and I’m so sick and tired of your self righteous analysis.”
Veronica’s face blanked a little in response; she twisted her tongue behind her teeth and looked down for a moment before stubbornly redirecting her glare. For a moment she was unnerved by the look he sent right back to her and she wondered if his eyes were the mirror of her own, if she’d been looking at him like that all this time . . . Like she’d cut him in half and feed him to her pet sharks if she could.
“You’re unbelievable,” she spoke softly, something clenching in her stomach as they gazed at each other . . . like something was ending that had never really started in the first place.
“The feeling’s mutual,” he ground out, angry fire cracking like a whip off his tongue.
Veronica felt like she needed to sit down even though she was already sitting, a heavy leaden feeling settled in her stomach. Emotions clutched around her throat and she strained out the rest of the scene, “Do you have any remorse about what you’ve done? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” She intoned lowly, wondering if he really was that empty inside.
He leaned over her head, steadily meeting her gaze before he whispered: “Better than you, sweetheart,” twisting his lips ironically around the ‘sweet’.
Her mouth stretched into her familiar, dark you-evil-bastard smile, like she couldn’t believe he’d had the gall to say that to her. His own face was resigned to unsurprised disappointment. Then he blinked and it was all gone: the fight, the anger . . . he was subdued by her own unflinching belief that he was guilty, even while his own mind questioned his role in Meg’s current predicament. It didn’t matter if he was guilty or not, she’d already cast him as the villain of the piece in a story that had been written time and time again. Why was a mistake always given the malice of intent when she looked at him? He didn’t care any more.
He leaned back into a standing position and drummed his knuckles against her table. “Well, I have to go. There’s unsuspecting virgins to deflower, I have a schedule to keep,” he winked half-heartily, “and I need to regrease my moustache before I tie them down to the train tracks and have my with them. You want to come watch?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself,” he strolled backwards throwing his arms up in defeat, “you always do.”
He turned around and walked toward the parking lot, ignoring the vacuous greetings of the sycophants who’d overheard their conversation and jumped to all the right conclusions. He only wanted Meg; was now even more desperate to find her and find out what the fuck was going on and why she hadn’t told him.
**
Meg was lying on her backseat, legs tucked up in a foetal curl against her chest. She hadn’t moved for twenty minutes, just staring at the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat, counting the dust particles . . . she should probably vacuum her car one of these days.
A sudden tap on the glass made her flinch and her body automatically tightened defensively, like a knot flexing against the threat of release. Then she turned her gaze slightly and wanted to die. Logan stood there at her window, looking in at her with a lost, concerned frown . . . those eyes. For a long moment she just stared back, too terrified of this moment to move, then he raised his right hand a couple of inches - a tentative wave - blushed and shoved his hand back into his pocket.
Meg smiled softly and sat up, reaching across the distance between them to unlock the back door. When he reached for the handle, the knot was back in her chest and Meg slid backwards along the seat, tucking her knees under her chin and her arms around her folded legs. The breathing space shrunk dramatically when Logan closed the door behind him and stared at the passenger seat with the same fixation she’d used to blank her own mind. Just the sight of him made her feel . . . silent tears traced down her cheeks (only silent because she was chewing on her lip, trying to restrain the urge to sob hysterically or scream).
“I thought it was just a rumour some crackpot smokin’ hash started.”
Meg sniffled loudly then wiped her wet nose with her hand.
“You wouldn’t get this upset about a lie . . . would you?” Logan tilted his head slightly in her direction but didn’t look at her.
It hurt. That he was so disgusted by her he couldn’t even . . . she squeezed her knees tighter and didn’t answer. They both knew she’d once been delicate enough to cry about a lie; they both knew she hadn’t been that way while she was with him. He wouldn’t have been interested if she hadn’t changed, Meg knew that now.
“Were you going to tell me?” He whispered, brokenly, finally levelling her with those eyes that made her feel like he was wrapping his fist around her heart, taking it for his own whether she wanted it to be his or not.
She shook her head, letting a sob escape. Quivering fingers pressed to her mouth as if holding in the bile that threatened to pour from her lips.
He breathed in sharply - should have been shocked, but wasn’t.
“Why?”
Meg met his gaze and felt a strange, incongruous dart of happiness in her heart when she saw how shredded he looked by her rejection. She knew it was twisted to feel that way but she felt it all too . . . and she’d never imagined he would care that much.
With a deep breath, she tried to get it out without hyperventilating. “I’ll be in Seattle soon . . . I was going to leave as soon as the semester breaks. My aunt offered to let me live with her while I got on my feet.”
Logan tucked his fingers against his lips, biting down on the tips to hold back whatever he was feeling.
Meg couldn’t stand watching him any more and turned her head to stare at the window, looking at high school students moving through their cars, playing hacky sack, talking about how they’re so worried they won’t get a date to the Winter dance and maybe, maybe that sweet looking girl giggling with her friend was talking about how a secret admirer had messaged her . . . maybe he was the one. Meg’s face softened with nostalgia - even though she felt like she’d travelled miles away from those ‘problems’.
Focusing outside helped her cut herself off from the words and they came much easier. “My parents . . . they won’t support me . . . I don’t know what they’ll do,” she paused (how much did she say?); he’d probably understand better than anyone and that’s why she didn’t say a word. “I . . . I told you I was safe.”
He frowned, failing to follow her line of logic. She was going to take all of the responsibility because he’d believed her? “Birth control isn’t 100%, or did you miss that part of health class?”
“I was,” she laughed turning her tear stained face from the window to meet his confused gaze, “safer than anyone!” She wiped impatiently at her cheeks, trying to keep herself laughing like she was right now because it was better than falling to pieces. “You can’t get pregnant if-”
You already are. It hangs there.
Logan gasped, stunned-relief and agony wrestling in his heart until he could do nothing but rest his elbows on his knees and cover his face. He didn’t know what he was feeling, he certainly didn’t want her to see it before he had a handle on himself it. One soft breathy laugh . . . and then deathly emptiness hangs in the air between them.
“Duncan,” he finally said in a dead voice; the two syllables felt foreign on his tongue.
This was fucked up. How could he feel so bereft when she’d just told him he hadn’t fucked up her life. His best friend had. Disappointment surged through him and he frowned in confusion. God he should have been relieved but he wasn’t. He wished this was his fuck up so that he could use it to chip down the wall around Meg’s heart and make her his. Sure, he knew she hadn’t been a virgin - went to the obvious conclusions - but it had never been real until now. He couldn’t imagine Duncan inside her, didn’t want to. His brain blocked it out like it was some kind of accident and Meg wasn’t herself and Duncan thought she was Veronica and it had lasted a disappointing two minutes that Logan had all-but wiped from her memory. That’s the only way he wanted to think of it . . . But this was real and permanent and he finally knew what an enormous effect Duncan had had on Meg: incongruous to everything he felt was true. Something violent rattled at his rib cage for a second and then stilled when he heard her breath catch in a series of shallow, sharp gasps.
Alarmed, he looked over to see her shattered face staring at him . . . he had no idea what she wanted but it broke something inside of him when she burst into tears, shaking her head like she hated herself for doing it but unable to stop the torrent.
“Hey . . . ” he whispered and reached over, avoiding her flicking dismissive hands until he rested his hand on her back. She stilled, biting her lip over shuddering breaths, trying to get a hold of herself. Logan’s fingers twirled around her soft, long hair stroking up and down her back rhythmically.
She breathed: deep and slow.
“You didn’t do this to me, Logan. I was already damaged goods and I don’t want you to blame yourself at all . . . you made me feel . . .” She still didn’t know, couldn’t put it into words what he’d done for her when she’d felt more alone than she could ever remember feeling. Even though he didn’t know: his lightness and his heart and the way he made her feel like the moment was all that mattered . . . she couldn’t have gone this long without losing it if it hadn’t been for him. “I did this to myself and I deserve it.”
Logan laughed painfully and moved his hand up to the back of her head, turning her face toward him. He moved his thumb around to stroke her cheek - damp and flushed - his own face smiling like he found her the most adorable thing in the world. She squinted at him - annoyed at the fact he could still patronise her when it was quite clear her life sucked just as much as his at the moment.
“And . . . that’s why . . . ” she pulled her chin out of his grasp, not wanting to lean on him even for a second. “That’s why I couldn’t be your girlfriend. I couldn’t . . . I knew what was happening to-me, the first time we …. I wa-wanted to have fun because I knew my halcyon days were pretty much gone. I used you and . . . ” She shook her head, laughing at what a terrible person she’d been, treating him far worse than Veronica ever could. “I am everything they say I am. You didn’t need people jumping to the wrong conclusions about what you did to me. Your reputation is already-”
He muttered something under his breath and slid across the seat, making her breathless and frightened by his proximity even as he cupped her face so softly, eyes glittering wetly in the dark of her car. “My reputation? Do you know how ridiculous it sounds that you’re trying to protect me? Shut up . . . ” His voice lilted with amusement at the end while his thumbs rolled circles by the edges of her shaking lips. “You didn’t take anything from me that I wasn’t well equipped to give you. A lot. Whenever you wanted it.”
Meg felt winded by the laugh he forced out of her and then sobbed some more, trying to lower her head from the intensity of his face. No, he wouldn’t let her.
“Listen to me, Meg, two lovers do not a slut make,” he smiled when she tried to pull away, dismissing his argument as the empty platitude of someone offering emptier solace. But he pulled her back again and stared into her bloodshot eyes, trying to make her see. “You should be asking me to protect you. I would, Meg, I would if you’d just let me.”
Fear fluttered on her face and she shook her head, it felt impossible to rely on anyone when she’d been doing this alone for months, not just the pregnancy, not just her plans to survive without her family-there was more. Here he was, trying to be some kind of hero when she knew it was inevitable that she’d lose him and she just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t take the risk-there was more than one heartbeat on the line now. If he destroyed her, he’d destroy her baby too.
It wasn’t his responsibility, she wasn’t his responsibility, and neither was it and she’d been planning to leave him for months, so how could she possibly ask for his shoulder so selfishly? Strength was being alone - Veronica had taught her that - and she hadn’t believed it until Duncan had left her to deal with this on her own. Most days she wished she’d been built that way but . . . she needed people too much. She’d always had siblings or friends or boyfriends . . . and for months she’d been losing them all by increments; she had no one to fall back on and soon there’d be a tiny person who needed to depend on her.
“It’s not your responsibility.”
She breathed deeply and tried to resist the hurt grimace that twisted his lips, the way his fingers began to tremble unsurely on her face. God, he-no, she had to be strong and independent and get herself sorted, she couldn’t rely on someone who wasn’t even her official boyfriend, who wasn’t the father, who’d used her body to purge revenge on an ex but, God, she was not Veronica Mars. Most of the time she felt like she was heading full speed toward a fast approaching cliff face and all she wanted was someone beside her, so she wouldn’t reach the end alone. Then his hands dropped from her face and he sat back beside her, staring out the front window. Meg closed her eyes tight as tears continued to squeeze between her resistant lashes.
“I thought we talked about how much I love responsibility?” He nudged her, and she snorted in amusement, not bothering to tell him that he couldn’t turn a euphemism into a motto and expect her to believe him. “It’s more my responsibility than his,” he insisted with soft seriousness.
She stiffened. “How do you figure that?” She looked at him warily and felt her heart stutter to a stop at the look he was sending her.
Slowly, not to alarm her, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers, softly stroking his hand up her pulse point to rest on the nape of her neck. She continued to breathe in sharp shallow gasps against his lips, eyes wide and staring into the sincere intensity of his. He didn’t look frightened at all and that strength seemed to seep into her, the longer he leaned his face into hers. Meg’s eyes slipped closed and she clutched his lapels, trembling when he pressed a soft comforting kiss against her nose.
Then she heard him take a breath - steadying himself in preparation - her eyes snapped open and she watched him examine every inch of her face: “Because I-”
She stopped him from saying anything else by pressing a soft, trembling kiss to his mouth. As she pulled back their breathing puffed against each other, warming the space between them. His hands came back up to her face, fingers stroking her scalp through her hair. She felt like she was collapsing inside, wanting to submit and just curl up on his chest like a cat while he stroked her into a hypnotised slumber. He arched up and pressed another kiss to her forehead and Meg breathed out all the relief she felt. Then, as if he’d heard her plea, his arms closed around her and pulled her close against his chest, rocking her as she cried out the tension of the last four months listening to his heart thud with reassuring steadiness into her ear.
Twenty feet away Veronica Mars stood a silent vigil over their scene; watching through the hordes of oblivious teenagers that passed between her and the inexplicable sight of Meg Manning wrapped up in the arms of Logan Echolls. Veronica’s fingers twisted and released the strap of her bag, watching the shadowy figures rock together even as while flares of light glinted off Meg’s car windows obscuring Veronica’s view of their faces.
A strange, tense bubble of air burst out of her throat and Veronica blinked her eyes rapidly, clearing the sting pinching her eyes. She looked down at her shoes and bit her lip; it was in that moment that she wondered if the mystery she was chasing was not what Logan had done to Meg but why she was interested at all.
Turning away, Veronica walked briskly toward her own car. It was none of her business.
**
On to the conclusion.
**
B xxx