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Logan took a seat next to me on the floor, brushing his finger down my cheek affectionately. My
body revolted in response and I flinched.
Remember Claire, he craves attention.
I fought my instinct to slide away from him. His body went stiff when I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder, but he didn’t move away. We sat there like that for several hushed minutes as I tried to think of just the right thing to say so I didn’t arm his defenses. Words escaped me, so I took his hand in mine and intertwined our fingers. He flinched this time, shifting uncomfortably. He started to release my hand but I squeezed hard.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
“Claire, I…I…”Logan stuttered.
“Shhhh…” was all I said in response, wanting him to think about his actions – absorb his guilt.
After a few more minutes, he unlaced our fingers and sat on his knees in front of me. Our eyes met with uncertainty. Pushing away all feelings of hate, picturing him as the sweet infant wrapped in his mother’s embrace from my vision, I stuck with my plan. He cupped the side of my face with a gentle touch, softness in his eyes surprising me.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. I nodded.
Logan pointed to a door just behind me, informing me that it was a bathroom if I needed to use it or I wanted to wash my hands. He turned and left the room.
It’s working. Keep it up, Claire.
Dragging the rope with me, I crawled into the bathroom because I was too weak to walk. I used the sink to support myself while I pulled myself up to my feet.
I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. My hair was a ratted mess and my face was filthy. There was a small cut above my eye with dried blood around it. I figured I must have hit it on the shelf when I passed out at the mill. My cheek was swollen with a baseball sized bruise where Logan had struck me. I shook away the memory. Turning on the water, I waited for it to heat up. Soaking a towel I found on the shelves behind me, I washed my face, and used my fingers to brush my hair. It didn’t help much, but it made me feel a little better.
When I returned, Logan was back with a large paper bag that said Rino’s Place on the front. Not recognizing the name of the restaurant. I squinted to see if there was any more writing on the bag that might indicate where we were. There was nothing more than small letters boosting authentic Italian cuisine.
Logan laid out a blanket and signaled for me to sit. The aroma from the food filled the air and smelled amazing. I felt my mouth watering as Logan handed me a foil pan full of ravioli and a bottle of Perrier. I had never been a fan of sparkling water, but as the moisture coated my throat, I considered it to be the best thing I had ever drunk. He handed me some utensils wrapped in plastic, and I ripped them open hastily. I dug right into the ravioli, sauce escaping the sides of my mouth as I inhaled the food, and I wiped it quickly with a napkin. I noticed Logan was watching me with an amused smile on his face.
“What?” I asked him, before shoving another bite of pasta into my mouth.
“Nothing,” he responded shyly, turning his head.
“Come on, tell me. I think we’re past embarrassment here, Logan,” I ribbed, hoping it wouldn’t alarm him.
“I’ve just never seen a girl eat like you before,” he admitted, looking down at his hands while he spoke. His body language suggesting he was worried he might have offended me.
Your plan is totally working. You need to keep the conversation going, Claire.
I wanted to scream at him, something to the effect of how starving I was, and what a jerk he was. But I stuck to my plan, placing my hand on my chest in mock offense. Using my best southern bell drawl I asked, “Why, whatever do you mean?”
Logan looked up, letting out a laugh. “Well,” he started. “It’s just that most girls I know eat slowly, worried they might spill a tiny bit. I like the fact you’re not worried about what anyone thinks of you.”
It’s you, Logan. I’m not worried what you think about me.
“Oh. Well, a girl’s gotta eat, right?” I said smiling, keeping the mood light and playful while I continued shoveling the pillowed pasta into my mouth.
I decided it was time to shift the conversation to Logan.
“So, since we’re spending all this time together, tell me about yourself.” I suggested, taking another large swallow of water, letting it slowly slide down my throat.
Logan’s jaw twitched, his brows wrinkled with apprehension.
“Relax, Logan. I’m just trying to get to know you a little,” I assured him, taking another drink of water, continuing to relish the wetness in my mouth.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, hesitantly.
I paused briefly, trying to think of something.
