I'll Protect You (Original Version)

High Frequency Sound Wave of Shut The Hell Up

Logan

He watched Park drag her betrothed off, and he could feel the angry steam radiate off of her like solar flares off a sun. He remembered when they first met, and the first impression he got of her was a petite, shy, and pathetic little girl with red hair that couldn't speak.

And, boy, was he wrong.

His eyes wandered over to his girlfriend, Sophia, who looked like she was tittering on the brink of Niagra Falls worthy tears. Sophia had always been picked on when she was younger, called names that weren't true and anger surged beneath his blood.

Park glanced behind and he shot her a dark look. She, of all people, should understand what it was like to be called names. Sophia wasn't a slut--she was the farthest thing from one. But for Park to shoot that at her with that look of pure hatred on her face.

"Soph, don't cry," he said quickly as he rushed to her side and pulled her slim figure into his arms. She didn't fit like he always thought she did. She was too small, like she could slip away at any given moment. Her body was too warm and she smelled too much like Tropical Paradise.

Stop! his mind yelled as Sophia began to cry in his shoulder. She's your girlfriend! She. Is. Perfect.

But as much as he fought it, Logan began to think of Park and when she cried his arms. How she smelled like sweet tea and lemonade and fountain water, the tears not even blotting out her make-up. He asked her if her mascara was ever waterproof and she just laughed, saying waterproof was for babies.

No, Logan. Don't do this to yourself.

"Shh, Soph," he muttered into her blond hair. Vincent Van Hastings had blond hair. That stupid git, tall, broad shouldered, blue eyed British boy.

"Sh-she called me a slut!" Sophia hiccuped and the bawling grew louder and louder until Logan had to press Sophia tight against his chest so that the volume was turned down about a quarter of the way.

"Am I slut, Logie?" she said, removing her face from his chest. Her brown eyeliner and mascara were smeared around her blue eyes, and for a quick moment, Logan glanced down at his dress shirt and saw black stains.

Not again.

"No, Soph, you're not a slut," he reassured her. "Park's just in a bad mood. She doesn't mean it. Plus, you called her that too, and she's not a slut either."

"But she was trying to kiss you! I had to get her away from you before she forced you to do something you didn't want to do!" Sophia blubbered, and burst into even more heavy tears.

 "You're getting worried over nothing," he protested. "Park doesn't like me in that way."

"Yes, she does! Can't you see it when she looks at you? She's going to try and steal you away from me! But you're mind, Logie! You've always been mine!"

What was Sophia talking about? Park had made it clear that the feelings they used to have for each other were unwelcome. Sophia needed glasses. Or a therapist, perhaps.

"But why were you guys so close?" Sophia managed to ask as she calmed down, sniffling frequently in the thirty second span it took for Logan to think of a perfectly good reason for wrapping his arms around Park's waist.

"She fell, and was unsteady on her feet," he quickly lied. Well, if he was going to be technical, then it was the truth. Park had let out this completely unexpected scream and shoved herself away from him, then continued on whispering about making a fire go away.

Park was weird--but that moment had been undeniably too strange.

He should check on her. Even if she had been cruel towards his Sophia, he could not get the image of the fright on her face from before.