The Curative - 5. Chapter 5

“Logan! We do not need any more snacks!”

Goddamnit was he trying to piss me off? First this morning he uses the stairs as a playground for Bailey and Oscar, throwing tennis balls down at my door at seven in the morning. He’s been pulling all these ridiculous stunts ever since that first kiss.

I know he wants me to sleep upstairs with him but…. I-I’m just not ready for that yet. He hasn’t explicitly said anything; he just finds excuses every night to keep me upstairs for five minutes longer.

After we decided to unplug the phone, we spent another night on the couch, talking and holding each other. It was wonderful. Fucking amazing. But no way in hell am I ready to get into a bed with him.

And now all day he’s been acting so freaking frustrating. I usually drive when we go out, it’s just faster. He has his big wheelchair adapted truck, but it guzzles gas like a marathon runner guzzles water after racing across the Sahara.

But this morning, Logan just had to drive his truck. And bring all the dogs. Usually it’s just Mason, sometimes Bailey. Oscar’s a fucking pain in the car. He shakes and jumps everywhere and if he gets too excited, we get pukey groceries. But now he’s probably sitting in the back seat, luxuriating in a puddle of his own pee, all because Logan’s being a stubborn jackass.

And he’s grabbing every single snack he see’s off the shelf. I’m pushing the cart and trying to throw all the stuff he chucks in back out. Ritz, chewy bars, pop-tarts, tortilla chips, Doritos, Lay’s, Oreo’s, goldfish, is it ever going to end?

Oh, and in go some Pringles.

“Logan! You don’t eat half this stuff! Why is it in the cart?” I grabbed the damn Pringles and slammed them back on the shelf.

“Stop being such a brat, kid. I just want some snacks for Sunday.” He rolled his eyes like a teenager and rolled off ahead of me, probably to go get fifty fucking cups of yogurt.

I pushed the cart faster. “Oh no you don’t! You don’t like snackey football food! You said it yourself, ‘That shit’s for pussies. You want real football food, eat like a man and have a brisket.’ Did you not?”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the back of his neck turn bright red. Instead of replying, he shot off, somehow managing not to flatten a little girl whose mother screamed and snatched her up, flipping Logan’s back off. He turned the corner somewhere around the book aisle, disappearing from sight.

Why was he acting like this? Things seemed to have been going well. We’d been much more relaxed without my mother calling twenty times a day, and I just kept falling.

Yeah, that kind of falling.

We kissed a lot and did a fair amount of groping, though I’d yet to touch him… down… there….

It's not like I didn't want to or anything... I'm just an eensy bit inexperienced. And from what I can tell, he's pretty well endowed, and not nearly as new to this.

Fuck he makes me nervous.

He’s an obnoxious son of a bitch, but he’s been that way since I met him. It’s just been getting worse. A lot worse. He does have some sweet moments, though.

Ugh. I sound like a girl.

Bacon, we need more bacon.

I wound up and down the aisles grabbing stuff we actually needed, coming to a stop when I reached Logan. He was blocking half the aisle, reading some flashy covered book upside-down. It was almost convincing.

I sighed. “Logan, I need to grab my prescription. You wanna wait here or come with me?”

He just waved a hand for me to walk by.

God I want to throttle him.

I steered noisily by him, making sure to hit his wheel as I passed. I picked up my prescription, then went to wait in line. Somehow right as I was about to dig through my wallet and get my card, Logan comes out of nowhere, shoving people out of his way and scowling ferociously at me. He throws his credit card at the cashier, growls, then grabs half the bags onto his lap and rolls away.

What?

I apologize to the people in line and grab the remaining bags and Logan's card. What was going on in that thick country head of his?

I put everything in the backseat after checking for any Oscar fluids, then slowly climbed into the cab.

“Okay, what was that abo—“

“Just shut the fuck up, boy!” Logan thundered.

I stared at him in shock; he’d never spoken to me that way. My hands trembled, and I clenched them in between my legs.

“Stop starin’ at me!”

My head snapped around like it was on a string. I watched the stores and houses go by, thoughts tumbling through my head.

Maybe something had happened with his family? Would he have told me about something like that? Probably not. I was just the kid who lived downstairs, he called me that often enough. I should probably apologize, I hadn’t had any right to ask him anything. It was his truck, his house, his rules. My chest hurt.

I could feel the air in my lungs choke up, and I forced myself to breathe out slowly so that I wouldn’t wheeze.

I squeezed my legs tighter as I felt the trembling in my hands get worse. I needed to get my meds, but I wasn’t about to reach for it when he could see. He’d probably just call me crazy again. I pressed myself as far up against the door as I could, and waited for us to get home.

Finally we pulled into the drive. As soon as Logan threw it in park, I was out the door, grabbing groceries and letting the dogs out while he was slowly lifted down.

All the bags except my prescription went on the counter, and then I was heading for the stairs. Right before I touched the banister, I paused. I turned back towards the front door and waited, head down.

I heard Logan come through, still growling. I took a hesitant step forward and his growling stopped.

“Whatchya want.” He was still pissed. His voice was deep with aggravation. My hands trembled again.

“S-so-sorry.” I did an about-face and raced for the stairs, not daring to look at his eyes.