I Love You, I Hate You: Part 1

“Logan,” Mom says with a light warning tone. “Don’t be rude.”

“H…” I swallow a boulder in my throat and force myself to speak, taking the man’s hand to shake it. His skin is cold. Clammy. For a split second, I wonder if vampires could be real, but push the thought away. This person is probably just someone and my mind is drawing parallels, seeing what it wants. “Hello, Dr. Shaffer.”

I expect the man to correct me and tell me his name is Mr. Joe-schmo. He doesn’t. “You’ve gotten big, son.”

“S-stop calling me son.” I growl. My emotions are all over the place. Freaked out. Pissed off. Ready to cry. They’re spinning like a top and no matter which they settle on, I’m fucked. “I’m not your kid.”

Mom sets her cup down and walks over to me placing the back of her hand against my forehead. Such a doting woman when we have company. I still under her touch, the deprived child in me desperate for her attention. “Are you feeling okay, honey. You haven’t stuttered in ages.”

Dr. Shaffer smirks at the comment. He knows he’s getting under my skin. Making me unhinged. I step back, out from under mom’s touch. She doesn’t care about me, not like this. Not like she does Cooper.

“I’m so sorry about Logan’s behavior today. I don’t know what got into him,” Mom fusses. She turns her attention to me, glaring with that disappointed look I’ve seen all my life. “Don’t you think you should apologize?”

I grit my teeth, feeling the muscles of my jaw flex with the tension. Fuck no, I’m not going to apologize. Seeing this man alive and walking around… I should’ve beat him harder with my baseball bat. Should have done more than destroy his office. Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job fucking him up. I mean obviously. The dude’s alive!

Holy shit.

He’s alive.

Does Dad know? Is Dr. Shaffer here to press charges against me? I was worried about Danika remembering my truths and the trouble she could cause. But this. This is so much worse.

Feeling the color drain from my face, and the bile churning in my stomach, I leave the kitchen without excusing myself. I hide in the bathroom, twisting the lock and lean against the door. If that really is Dr. Alan Shaffer, I’m fucked. Jail time fucked. Dad. Sheriff Tomlinson. Dr. Winters.

They are all fucked.

There’s a soft knock at the door. I twist the lock, knowing there’s only one person in this house who cares enough to seek me out. I step to the side and sit beside the toilet. I’ve barely given enough room for the door to open, but Danika squeezes in.

She sits on the floor beside me and takes my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head and lean into her lap. Tears fill my eyes and no matter how much I want to fight them, want to set them on fire, they explode out of me. I hate that Danika’s seeing me like this.

Weak.

I’m a man. Men don’t cry. They bottle everything up and eventually all of their feelings explode out of them in some heated fight. When I was four, I fell off my tricycle. I ran up to dad, tears in my eyes and pointed at my knee. You know what he did? Slapped me across the face and told me not to be such a baby. “Boys don’t cry,” he said, “they deal with it.”

I hug my knees into my chest. I want to curl into a ball and hide. Hide from Dr. Shaffer. From Danika. From myself.

Danika threads her fingers through my hair, lulling me until I’m calm. Mom used to do this for Piper when she’d wake up crying. The pang of jealousy ripples through me. I’ve never asked for much. Hell, I never asked for anything. I rarely spoke! But I should have gotten the same basic level of affection Cooper and Piper got.

Her unwavering love.

“Logan Anson Harris!” my mother demands, pounding on the bathroom door. “Open up this instant!

I hug my knees tighter and bury my face in Danika’s leg. Her tears fall onto my cheeks and I feel lower than low. I need to be strong. I need to comfort my girl and let her know everything’s fine, but I can’t. I physically can’t.

Mom beats against the door again. “God damnit, Logan! Open up.”

Danika shifts out from underneath me. I hear her sniffle then see the hallway light reflect against the porcelain tub.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mom shouts. My back is to her, but I’m sure she’s looking past Danika and at me.

“No.” Danika growls. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” My mother rears back. I can practically see her eyebrows arch, that hand settling on her hip.

“How can you call yourself a mother?” Danika scolds. “Are you too blind to see that something happened and your son is having a moment?”

“A moment?” Mom guffaws. “He’s always been emotional. This is nothing new.”