Beneath Your Beautiful {A Lolena Story}

What Do I Do With A Boy Like You?

Logan's P.O.V

Although questions were flashing in my head, desperate to receive an answer I kept quiet whilst she winced and moaned as I treated her cuts. How did the cuts get there? Something definitely wrong is going on. With the knowledge on her feisty and confident bad girl cover, I doubt that she is a suicidal. I remained silent since I knew how it felt to have your personal, unwanted secrets questioned. My parents died in a car crash when I was five, a car crash that could never be forgotten. I still picture the vague but clear and daunting image of them, driving together to pick me up from school, only for them to be picked up and hurled across to heaven by a lorry. The most perfect parents with the most imperfect death. Day after day, I lurked under those shadows, not wanting to be or questioned and day after day, I gradually began to paint layers of this bad boy onto me.

With this experience, I decided to allow those questions to remain silent and focus on those ugly cuts, tracing her beautiful cream skin. Here I am now, looking through my suitcase, picking out a grey V-neck T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, still thinking about what formerly happened. I'd never done that before. I've never knelt down in front of a girl to treat her cuts, I've never been a gentlemen and I've never even smiled before. Something is seriously going wrong with me. First butterflies in my stomach, now Mr Gentleman. This is going too far. I shake my head, with a hint of reluctance as I decide that I will always be the bad boy I always was and never change for anyone. Slipping on my jeans, I sigh. That's just not me. Well, guess that means back to taunting and teasing Selena. I grin - not smile - as I make my way out of the room and head over to my poor victim's room. Well, you can say Bad Boy's back in town so you better watch out, ladies.

Running my fingers through my wet hair, I stride towards her room, hidden by closed door.

***

Selena's P.O.V

Cautiously, I remove my towel, trying not to hurt my arm. From my bag, I grab a pair of light denim shorts and a sleeveless white top, along with my underwear. With no intention, to do so, my mind immediately clicks to Logan and the sneak peek of what's under that load of bad boy crap. I could say, I miss bad boy a lot. Just as I try to hook my bra after putting on my pants, I hear Taylor at the door.

"Hey Sel, can I come in?" I hear her ask.

"Sure" I respond. Just to clarify, we are not lesbians, just good friends that don't mind seeing each other naked.

My back towards the door, I hear the creak alerting me that it's open and she's inside the room. A few seconds later, I hear the door close whilst I struggle to clip these stupid straps togther.

"Hey Taylor" I call out, " Can you hook this flippin' bra for me?"

Instead of a reply, I feel fingers work at the back of my bra and once it finally hooked together, I sense those finger tracing my back, before pulling me into to a muscular body by the hips. Swiftly, I push the body from behind and turn around only to to see, no Taylor but Logan.

"Hey, babe. Didn't expect me?" he begins, observing the shocked expression on my face before again pulling me by my bare hips with his warm hands, towards his body, chest to chest. Not a very suitable position since I'm only in a bra. Well, probably I jinxed the 'missing the bad boy' matter.

"What about... about Taylor... she..here... what are you..." I waffle repeatedly before he places his finger on my lips to shut me up.

"You can say I'm a good impressionist," he bragged, amazingly transforming his deep voice into what seems like Taylor's.

"Get off me, you pig" I exclaim, roughly pushing him off me.

Instead, he harshly pushes me against the wall, his body pressed against mine, just like usual but now only causing me to wince due to the pain shooting up my arm. Immediately, stepping back, he grunts and stares at the bandaged hand which now had blood seeping through it. I glare at him, my eyes burning with fire. Before I can say anything he takes the roll of bandage which is propped on the bedside table and wraps more around my injured arm. Soothing out the creases, he moves back analysing his masterpiece.