A/N: Another song recommendation from CountingLockets!
Nate placed a fresh glass of water down on the table in front of me, his fingers lingering a little too long before pulling back. I stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, watching a few drops of water, that had splashed onto the side of the glass from the tap, form a puddle beneath and around it.
I could see Nate staring down at me from my peripheral vision as he said, "Are you ever going to say anything to me, Ash?" His voice was weak, yet strained as though he was trying to keep it from wavering.
I didn't reply.
"I understand that you must be hurting, a lot," he continued, putting emphasis on the last two words. "But it's been over a week now, and you haven't eaten, you've barely drank. You haven't even showered or changed. Except, well, except for your jumper."
The mention of it had me tightening my grip and pulling my knees even closer to my chest. When I closed my eyes, a voice in the back of my mind, forced forward by guilt, told me to say something - to say anything at all. I wanted to, I just- I didn't know what to say.
Willing myself to, I said the first words that came to mind. "I'm sorry," and those two simple words seemed to cause Nate to start, his expression widening into something close to surprise. Like hearing my voice was a rare and valuable thing to experience. I returned my gaze to the glass, feeling uncomfortable by the way he was still staring at me.
"You don't need to be sorry, just talk to me. It doesn't have to be about what happened or, or how you're feeling. Just. Just talk to me, Ash, please."
"I can't," I replied, pushing the words against my body's reluctance to speak. I wanted to lay here in silence for a few more days, but apparently Nate wasn't about to let me be.
"Why not?" He pressed. Though his tone was soft, I could tell he was fighting to keep his irritation at bay.
"Because I don't know what to say!" My honesty came out as an angry shout, and without realising it I'd sat up, facing Nate with a pained expression. "I don't know what you want me to say, Nate! What is there to even say? I'm sorry I've taken up your couch for the better part of a week? I'm sorry I've lost the motivation and will to do fucking anything? I'm sorry, Nate. I'm sorry."
I buried my face in my hands, my fingers slipping into my hair and tightening into fists. I breathed against the approaching anxiety with deep, slow inhales. And I was okay, until I felt Nate place a comforting hand on my shoulder as he sat down, and then something inside me just snapped and I bolted to my feet, turning on Nate with hate-filled eyes.
My head spun and it took a few moments just to get myself under control so that I didn't fall to the ground from the lack of energy. But eventually I managed to grit out, "What are you doing? God, Nate, what are you doing? You barely even fucking know me, and you're letting me crash here. You were still paying me even though I hadn't fucked you, I haven't even- we haven't- I just, I can't comprehend why you're being so nice to me when I'm doing fuck all in return."
There was a brief expression of concern in his features before he lowered his gaze and muttered, "I told you before that I didn't want you just for your body." He sighed, dragging his hands down his face, his fingertips coming to rest tucked beneath his chin.
"It's funny that, you know, because Logan didn't either. You know, kind of funny that, at some random fucking moment in my life, I get two complete strangers that don't just wanna fuck me, but actually want to get to know me. What the fuck makes me so goddamn special?"
"Ash, just calm down," Nate let his head fall forward, as though in resign. "I don't know why Logan wanted to get to know you, he had his reasons and I have mine-"
"Past tense, brilliant. Yeah, fucking point out that he's gone. I really need that, Nate, thank you." I smiled, but it was one of pain and disbelief as I walked backwards and forwards, unable to keep my feet still even though my legs were barely holding me up.
"Ash I didn't mean to-"
"No it doesn't matter, forget it. Forget it. He had his reasons, so what are yours?" My voice dipped and cracked and rasped trying to form the words against the trembling of my lips and the caving of my throat. My chest tightened as I waited for his answer.
"I don't know, Ash, maybe I just saw you and thought 'damn, he's fucking hot' and decided to rent you and it all went tits up from there because I couldn't stop thinking about you, and I didn't have to know you to know that I wanted you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I don't know, Ash, I'm still trying to figure it out myself. I have no fucking clue what's so goddamn special about you."
His tone was daring, challenging, asking me to fight back but I couldn't. I had nothing to say in retaliation. But our eyes bored into each others, neither looking away until I brushed a palm down my face and shifted a couple of steps backwards in stun.
"But I know," Nate started again, voice quiet, now, "that you love him. And I'm not going to try and compete with that. But just because you don't feel the same about me as you do him, doesn't mean that I still don't want to know you and spend time with you."
My mouth opened, trying to speak, but soon after closed once I realised I couldn't even find any words. Nate's gaze searched for mine again, filled with sincerity and sadness.
"I am so, so sorry that you lost him so soon, and that there's nothing I can do to take away any of your pain. But I'm here for you if you need me, and as long as you know that then-" his mind failed him as he ran out of words, shaking his head gently as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.
I couldn't do much except stare at him dumbfounded, swaying on my feet slightly as though I would drop any moment. The room was filled with silence, Nate didn't look as though he was about to say anything more and I couldn't even muster up a comprehensible sentence.
But I didn't need to as I felt something buzzing inside my pocket. It took a few minutes for me to find the intelligence to pull my phone from my pocket and inspect the screen to find that I had a new message. The number was familiar, the same one that had called me to tell me Logan was in the hospital.
I opened the text and it read:
The funeral's today at 1pm, Berrelton Cemetery. You need to be there.
I blinked slowly at the screen, the words making my stomach feel sick and my throat to close up almost completely. First of all, to get to the cemetery I'd have to walk past Logan's house, but secondly and most importantly, I don't think I could watch them putting his body into the ground. I just don't think I could handle that. I couldn't handle it right now, and that was just by thinking about it.
And why would I need to be there? For closure? Seeing him buried wasn't going to give me goddamn closure. I wasn't even sure that I wanted closure. I didn't know what I wanted or what I was going to do.
"Ash?" Nate prompted softly, asking me to explain why I was probably staring down at my phone with a horrified expression. I glanced up at him with wide eyes.
"I'm gonna take a shower. I- I need to think." I said, giving my back to him and slowly dragging my feet in the direction of the bathroom. Once there, with the door locked, I placed my mobile down on the marble surface of the sink's counter, momentarily staring at myself in the reflection of the mirror.
The artificial lighting cast a yellow-y glow onto my skin, my cheek bones looked gaunt and the blue and purple bags beneath my eyes stood out against the pale complexion. I pushed my fingers through my hair, prying it from my forehead. There was no resilience to my hair, as it was guided back by my fingers, and once I removed them the strands of hair stood up in fixed tufts atop of my head. I hated the feel of unwashed hair.
Letting my eyes drop from the mirror, I focused my attention on turning the shower on, giving the water time to heat up while I undressed. The last thing to be pulled from my body was the jumper, which, unlike all the other clothes which where carelessly thrown across the floor, I folded neatly and placed on top of the counter, by my phone.
My gaze drifted unwillingly from the black cotton - as though if I took my eyes from it, it would disappear - and over to the shower as I stepped inside and slid the glass door shut. Enclosed completely in a downpour of warm, welcoming water, my eyes fell shut and I relaxed against the cool tiles.
I knew I had to go to the funeral. I had to at least visit his grave. I had to say those two words that I'd never wanted to say to Logan, definitely not under these circumstances. I had to say goodbye, and I had to move on.
He was gone, and I'd dwelled on that fact for about a week. I don't think I'd ever actually get over it, or ever have a day where I wouldn't think about him but- but I know what he'd say if he saw me like this. He wouldn't want me to stay miserable. He'd tell me to get on with my life, but that was a lot easier said than done.
I pushed myself gently from the wall, grabbing the shampoo bottle and squeezing a bit into my hand, proceeding to massage it into my well-deserved hair. After washing it all out, watching the white rivulets travel over my shoulders and down my chest, I grabbed the shower gel and then finished up by brushing my teeth.
I hadn't given a second thought to my personal hygiene for the entirety of this last week. I hadn't eaten or drank anything so what was the use in brushing my teeth? There was no point in even caring. All my purpose had slipped away with Logan, leaving me with nothing once again. Because everybody fucking leaves. Always.
It won't be long before Nate has enough of me, and throws me out back onto the streets. And then what? I couldn't go back to the lads and Kyle. I didn't want to either way. But what else was there? I didn't dare think about it.
Instead, I forced myself out of the shower and reached for a towel that I tied around my waist. Cold drops of water slid down the curve of my back, from the tips of hair at the base of my neck. I looked the scrawniest I'd ever been as I stood there, collar bones prominent and my ribs viewable with just the slightest breathe inwards.
It was then that I noticed my hunger, just a small nagging from deep inside my stomach that I hadn't paid any attention to until now. I don't think I was feeling how hungry my body really was, how much my body really craved food. I probably could have continued on throughout the day without eating anything, if I hadn't actually had to exert any energy.
I wasn't stupid enough to go out with an empty stomach, especially after not eating for a week. I'd probably end up fainting. So that was the second thing on my to-do list for today. The first was to actually get dressed and the third, well, that was to work up the courage to leave the safety of Nate's apartment.
Just as I was about to unlock the bathroom door, towel still wrapped around my waist and my clothes in hand, I decided that maybe I should make 'have a proper conversation with Nate and apologise' the second thing on my to-do list. I agreed with myself, swinging the bathroom door open only to be hit with a cold breeze that made me shiver.
Nate was standing by the window directly opposite me, his arms crossed across his chest which caused his shirt to stretch tightly over his shoulders. I briefly wondered why he hadn't left for work yet. My eyes fell to the neatly folded clothes on the edge of the bed, apparently waiting for me to throw them on.
I placed the bundle of clothes I held in my arms, on the bed next to the folded ones, all except the jumper which I slid back onto my torso, its material shielding me from the cold chill in the apartment's air. I cleared my throat gently, hoping to catch Nate's attention. It worked, as he slowly turned around, leaning his back against the window and facing me with an unreadable expression.
It reminded me of the first night I'd met him. No answers in his eyes to any of my questions; what was he thinking? What was he going to do? Was he mad at me? There wasn't even a small indication to the answer of any of these things in the way his face was slack and emotionless.
"Clothes are for you. Thought you might have needed a few things since you turned up empty handed last week. There's socks in the drawers," he pointed in the direction of said drawers. "And underwear, etcetera." His voice lacked its usual devilish tone, it felt empty with the way he spoke. Like he was lost inside his head and his mouth was speaking on auto-pilot.
I nodded silently, taking the underwear and jeans from the bed and shoving my legs through them. The only sound was of the jeans sliding up my legs, and the zipper being tugged upwards. I tossed the towel on the bed after drying my hair with it as best I could.
"Are you hungry?" Nate asked, voice still not returned to the one I knew so well. To the one that had made my stomach heat up and something - lust, maybe - spark and burn somewhere deep inside me. Come to think of it, that voice had been gone for longer than I could remember.
"Not really but, it would be a good idea if I ate I guess." I replied, keeping my head dipped low, not feeling worthy to meet his gaze. I clutched onto the sleeve of the jumper with both my hands, tugging and pulling at the fabric nervously, asking for comfort in whichever way it could give me.
"Okay, great," an emotion seemed to brighten his face a bit then, relief it seemed. "What do you want? I've got uh, toast, eggs, bacon, cereal..." he listed a number of different items but I told him that toast would do and he immediately raced off to the kitchen to prepare it.
I looked at myself in the mirror, that was hanging on the wall opposite the bed. I remembered sitting on the edge of that bed, Nate sound asleep in the background, sheets wrapped low around his waist. I hadn't appreciated how good everything actually was then...but I guess you never do until something worse comes along and you'd do anything to have it back to how it used to be.
I grimaced at myself in the mirror. The dry, chapped lips and the pale, gaunt face. I hated looking at myself. How could anyone bare to look at me in this state? And I was so selfish. So god damned selfish that I couldn't see past my own feelings and think about everyone else's. I tried so hard to be the person everyone needed me to be, Alex and Nate. Logan.
I let my head fall forward in hopelessness, but soon I was peering back up at myself, staring intently at the jumper that hung loose on my body.
I'd lost weight, that much was obvious. The jumper had fitted me properly back when I threw it on at Logan's, whereas now it was too baggy along my shoulders, that couldn't hold the shape of it properly anymore, as though they'd shrunk inwards. I had to keep adjusting it, pulling the sleeves up above my wrists and all around just constantly tugging it back in place.
There was nothing particularly special about the jumper - I felt hate for myself as I thought that, because everything was special about it, it was Logan's and that was enough - it was just a simple, plain black jumper with the v-neck lining a darker shade. But I treasured the jumper as though it were made of gold.
I shook my head and grabbed some socks, trudging through towards the kitchen table after pulling them onto my feet. I seated myself at one of the stools, and gave Nate what I hoped was an appreciative smile as he placed the two slices of toast in front of me. I ate it slowly, my stomach feeling uneasy with every bite, the back of my throat felt like it was going to reject the food any moment and force it back up.
Eventually I finished it all though, and Nate placed the plate in the sink with easy movements. He seemed more relaxed now, a bit happier.
"Feeling better?"
"Not sure. I feel sick."
"Well you haven't eaten for a week, that's probably normal," he smiled a weak smile. "I don't want to seem invasive but, you got a text?" He didn't need to add more to his answer, I knew what he was asking and my eyes depressed, staring at the white surface of the kitchen counter.
"Just someone letting me know that it's Logan's funeral today," I murmured. It took Nate a moment to gather up a reply.
"Oh right. Are you going?"
"If I can work up the courage," my mind disagreed with my answer no, it whispered harshly, no, because you're a coward. You're a coward and you can't face him. Not even his grave. Fucking pathetic waste of space.
"Ash-" Nate started, and I knew what he was going to say; you need to go Ash. You need the closure, you need to say goodbye.
"Don't, Nate, please. I already know." I cut him off. There was a few moments of painful silence before I decided that that was enough for today. I excused myself with, "I don't feel like talking anymore." And didn't wait for Nate to reply as I curled myself back up on the sofa I'd grown far too familiar with. He left for work ten minutes later.
I watched the clock tick by: nine a.m, ten a.m, eleven, twelve...
one p.m. You need to be there. Berrelton Cemetery. Closure, Ash. You need to say goodbye. One p.m, the clock ticked past. One minute past, two minutes past, three, four...thirty minutes gone and you didn't show your face, Ash. But you won't, will you? You're a coward. One hour. Will you ever leave this apartment? Get up. Go. Fucking leave. Leave Nate like everyone leaves you. He doesn't want you here. Why would he?
My thoughts continued on in a whirlwind of mixed up thoughts and recollected memories, words and phrases and fights, laughter, hate, Logan, just fucking Logan. Logan's lips, Logan's hair, Logan's voice, his smile and those eyes-
When I next glanced up at the clock, it was five p.m.
I didn't let myself think, I didn't let myself convince my body to stop in its actions. I slid my feet into my shoes and exited the Hotel without letting any thoughts slip through that would make me stop. That would make me turn back and say fuck it, fuck it I can't fucking do it.
Instead I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, on the way my voice was hoarse as I hailed down a taxi. I focused on the scenery as it passed by me in a blur, and I didn't let myself think of where I was heading until I was there. Berrelton Cemetery.
The taxi sped from behind me without a moments hesitation, plunging me into the full reality that I was here. I was actually here and there was no turning back now. I peered up at the tall, rusted cemetery gate, in the shape of an arch, and walked through feeling self-conscious as though the dead were judging me. This wasn't where I belonged. But then, it shouldn't have been where Logan belonged either.
I wandered slowly and quietly, feeling as though I needed to tiptoe along the path as so not to disturb the dead. I wasn't sure how long it was until I'd reached the lump of freshly turned soil that lay out in front of a gravestone holding the name Logan Young.
His grave wasn't one that was aligned along the path, it was buried on one of the hills, where there were fewer graves - out of the way, quiet, just how Logan liked it. I breathed in sharply and didn't linger on that thought, crossing my ankles and sitting down at the edge of where his coffin lay, six feet under the ground.
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, and used the tip of my finger to catch the tears at the edges of my eyelids before they fell. I wanted to say something but, but I felt stupid. I mean, he wasn't really here, was he? Yet, in a way, it felt like he was. Like he was actually here, watching me, waiting on my words. But I couldn't give him any. I didn't know where to start.
I took in a deep, shaky breath, releasing it through my mouth before trying to say, "I'm sorry, Logan," but the words came out a wavering, muddled mess of words that were sabotaged from the sobs rising up in the back of my throat. I managed to swallow those sobs back down, and push back the tears a little longer.
I didn't try to speak again for a long while. Not until I saw the shine of a black dress shoe, gleaming in the evening sun, peek into my peripheral view. I turned my head to the left, looking up at the towering figure that was shadowed, from the rays of the sunset glaring into my eyes.
He sat down beside me, and the first thing I noticed was the familiar, white, New York City cap sitting atop his head. That was him. The guy who was responsible for me ever crossing paths with Logan. The guy who called me up that Thursday afternoon, asking me to simply 'cheer Logan up' which instead, lead to so much more.
I didn't know whether to be thankful or to regret ever agreeing. But I found that I wasn't either as his face came fully into view. He wasn't staring at me, his gaze was cast across at Logan's grave, watching it with sorrow purely evident in the pout of his lips and the downcast of his eyes.
He was dressed in a black suit, his shirt matching the cap he wore. I wanted to ask him why he was here, but that would have sounded like a pretty stupid question. Him and Logan were friends in school, he'd told me that the Thursday we met. Best friends, apparently. He had every right to be here.
"I've waited all day for you to show up," he said, ducking his head and shadowing his face even more, with the help of his cap in blocking the sun. He tugged at the collar of his black blazer, before his fingers fell to the black tie around his neck, which he loosened. His voice was quiet, soft, but the underlying pain stood out so much it was like my mind had highlighted it.
"Why were you waiting?" Where his voice was soft, mine was dry and raspy, like I'd swallowed a desert, and thrown in some gravel along with it. I turned my head back to the gravestone, staring at the plenty flowers that surrounded it.
"Logan asked me to," the mention of Logan's name had me quickly flicking my gaze back over to him. He was looking at me now, brown eyes swelling with moisture for a moment, but they recovered quickly as he pulled himself together and continued. "He asked me to give you something."
He looked down at his hands that were resting in his lap, clutching onto what looked like an envelope. He held it out toward me and I took it with curious fingers.
"Don't ask me how he knew. I-" he sighed, shaking his head. "He kept saying to me that it was his time. Like he could see into the future. Like he saw it coming. Saw this coming." His words caused an anxious crease in my brow.
I waited for him to continue - absently letting my thumb slide over the neat, cursive handwriting of my name. Just three letters and he managed to make them look so elegant -but after I realised that he wasn't about to say anymore, I prompted him with a question.
"He talked to you about it?" I wanted to know more. What this guy meant when he said that Logan saw this coming. Like he knew. I wanted to know what was inside the envelope, but that could wait, I thought, as I gripped it tightly with my fingers.
"Not a lot. He just said that it felt like his end was near. I asked him how he knew, and he just said it was a feeling he couldn't shake. He said that if he was right and he did...die," he swallowed, struggling on keeping the pronunciation of that word level and without much of a dip in his voice. It was as hard for him to say the word, as it was for me to hear it.
"He said if he did, then, then he wanted me to give you that letter - oh, and," he delved his hand deep inside his trouser pocket, retrieving a worn-out, leather wallet. "And this."
I took the wallet with confusion, the leather feeling smooth against my fingers.
"He said that you'd understand after you read the letter." When I looked back over at him, I found that he was already standing up and walking away.
"Wait," I called over my shoulder, forcing my tone to be as loud as possible. He stopped, turning to face me with a shadowed face once more. "I didn't catch your name?"
If I focused enough, I could have sworn I saw a smile before he said, "How 'bout you just call me...N-Y-C Guy." He pointed to his cap and gave it a little tilt in goodbye, before twirling on his feet and continuing in his leave.
I looked at my hands, with the envelope in one and the wallet in the other. Both of them felt quite heavy. The envelope seemed like it had a lot more than just a letter in it. I let myself quickly glance up at the engravings of Logan's name, only for a second, before placing the wallet on the grass in front of me. I crossed my legs over, shuffling back a little almost like in preparation.
Staring at the envelope, running my thumbs across it with a deep hesitation to find out what words it held inside, I almost convinced myself not to open it. But my curiosity was stronger than my fear, and I proceeded with flipping it over and peeling back the opening.
I peered inside. The first thing my eyes landed on was the bulk of money, which caught my attention for a long moment, my eyes trapped in a quizzical stare. I had no idea how much was there, but it looked like more than a guy Logan's age should have been in possession of.
Soon my forefinger grew impatient and sought out the thin letters, folded over. I slid them out of the envelope and took another hesitant glance up at Logan's gravestone.
The letter read:
Ash,
I guess...well, I guess if you're reading this then I'm kinda not around anymore. I don't really know what to say about that. I'm sorry, might be a start. I don't know how it happened, after all I'm not a fortuneteller, so I bet you're wondering how I knew to write this letter. Honestly...I can't really give you a brilliant answer on that.
For a long time now, before I'd even met you, I'd had this feeling. This feeling I just couldn't shake that at some point, somewhere down the line, I was going to die- Jesus, I hope you don't ever have to read this letter. I should just stop writing it, it's probably me being paranoid and stupid. Maybe it's the cancer thing, maybe I'm just scared it's going to come back in full swing and there'd be no putting it on hold anymore. Jesus I'm sorry, back to the point of this anyway:
I don't know when you'll read this. Hell, hopefully you won't ever have to. But I'm gonna write it now and leave it with a mate of mine just in case, because I've had feelings like this before, you know? Little voices in the back of my head that seem to just know when something bad is going to happen.
Like last time with my cancer, before the doctors even told me, somehow I just knew the answer. And like my mate Andrew - he died in a car crash and the night that it happened, I had this feeling. This anxiety that something bad was going to happen to someone I knew. I just don't want it to happen suddenly and unexpected and leave you without saying goodbye.
Because, truthfully Ash, you mean a lot to me. I haven't even known you that long, but I hope, if you ever do have to see this letter, that I've known you long enough to really know you. Hopefully we're still together - can I say that we're together? I'd like to think we were - for years. I don't know if that's a little possessive but you know what, who cares? You're too important to me.
And I tried Ash. I really did try to leave you out of my life. I didn't call you straight off, even though I really wanted to. And I said to myself 'the feeling Logan, what if you fall for the guy and maybe, unlikely, but maybe he falls for you and then the feeling Logan. What if it happens and you leave? You're not worth it Logan, leave him alone' but I just couldn't.
Bit off topic but I just reminded myself, I'm smiling right now despite the very depressive tone of this letter, that day you walked in on me and I was stashing a note in my drawer? Jesus, lamest excuse I ever came up with I swear. Your face, god, you looked like you were about to go all DI Frost on my ass but I guess you'd like to know that, as weird as this may sound and embarrassing as this is for me to write, I was actually making a note of something you'd said. I- oh wow that makes me sound like a huge stalker.
But after that, I started making notes of the many times you'd visited me and hadn't wanted me to pay you...which brings me on to the money you'll have found in the envelope and wallet. That's yours, Ash. All yours. I mean, it was mine, but you know, think of it as something I entitled you to in my will. Plus, all those times I hadn't paid you and you had to make out with me? You deserve the bloody money.
I'm putting all my savings and everything in here because tonight I just, I know it's soon Ash. It feels almost inevitable. I'm gonna be gone soon and I need to make sure that you get this. I don't know if you're angry at me right now, because you haven't come back since you left that day, something to do with your work and we had a bit of an argument about it. You promised you'd be back, it doesn't matter how long I wait as long as you stick to your promise.
If you didn't come back while I was alive, I'll forgive you if you visit me at my little spot in the cemetery. Okay? I hope it's a nice little spot, and I have nice neighbours. I can't be arsed to rewrite this letter and take that bit out so just pretend I didn't sound like a morbid twat there. Oh, and my mother thinks that you've been an incredible influence on my language, by the way.
Anyway, this letter's dragging on so I just have one final thing left to say...
I skimmed my eyes over the last paragraphs of Logan's letter, my eyes had leaked tears multiple times whilst reading and my heart had tightened so painfully that I thought it had stopped beating completely. As I read over and over the last paragraph, thinking it through and mulling it over and deciding that, if there was anything I was going to do for Logan, it was going to be this.
I let his very last words - his goodbye - repeat in my mind even after I'd folded the letter away and put it back in the envelope. Sitting there and staring at Logan's gravestone with the word 'goodbye' on the tip of my tongue, the words repeated themselves again:
You are everything to me Ash. Don't ever forget that.
I love you. Goodbye.
But I never found it in me to utter the word aloud. I stayed there at his grave until the sun's last rays had slowly dwindled, leaving myself and the image of Logan in a grey-blue haze of emotions that I was sure would slowly get the better of me.