awritinglilypea (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awritinglilypea) wrote2007-11-15 03:10 pm
awritinglilypea) wrote2007-11-15 03:10 pm
Entry tags:
VMars Fic: Showers 1/1
Title: Showers
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars. The characters are the property of Rob Thomas
Summary: Logan remembers thinking it's odd that Veronica doesn't like showers. Aftermath of 2.22 Not Pictured. LoVe OneShot
He wished he could still understand why she didn’t like showers, because now he knows, standing outside her bathroom door just in case listening to her sob as the spray falls on shaking shoulders.
She associates showers with shame, with some kind of dirtiness that he hasn’t felt before in his life, not even when he spent time on his knees in front of his father being whipped with a belt. He doesn’t know what to do, if he should go in her and help her out of the tub; she’s probably crouched on the floor by now. He’s heard of rape victim showers before, seen them filmed for movies his father was involved with, and can picture her crouched on the floor, skin turning a violent red from the heat of the spray, scrubbing her skin in hopes to get rid of the phantom hands touching her. It’s a more horrifying thought then any movie could ever capture for him, his friend…girlfriend? Being in such pain.
Cassidy Casablancas, he raped Veronica, he raped Veronica.
The words flow through Logan’s mind with a dizzying momentum, making him clench his fists and wish that Beaver, yes Beaver hadn’t jumped off the roof of the Neptune Grand if only so Logan could get his hands on him and just hurt him for what he’d done to one of the strongest women Logan has ever known. He doesn’t even want to think of Keith Mars right now, because the thought of a man who he respected, even though he’d never admit it, being blown to kingdom come by a teenage boy is sickening.
It’s too bad Veronica only has one bathroom in her house because he can practically feel the bile rising in his throat as he thinks of how sick Beaver was, how sick Lucky was too, all because of the Mayor. Remembering working for that man, that monster Logan finds himself running for the kitchen sink, coughing and sputtering as he leans over the drain gagging.
His throat burns now and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, the appendage shaking violently as he pours himself a glass of water and takes a drink. It isn’t too long before the glass slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor, the shards sparkling like diamonds he has only seen around his mother’s throat at movie premieres, a memory flash before his eyes.
Logan is standing in the work out room with Woody, spotting him. He mimics pushing down a plunger and Woody laughs at him, finally getting up after he almost drops the weight on himself. He stands next to Logan, “You know looking at you, reminds me of the good old days, when I was young and ripped.” He reached out and touches his bicep, squeezing and kneading the muscles there. “Betcha have some fun with the ladies huh?”
Finding himself sputtering again over the drain Logan gags, a feeling rushing through him, shame and horrible dirtiness. Suddenly he hates showers too because he knows if he gets into one he’s going to scrub his skin raw, try and forget the fact that the sick bastard ever touched his skin. He rushes to the bathroom and knocks on the door when he hears the spray finally stop, “Hey Ronnie, I need the bathroom.” His voice is hoarse, rough like he has been eating glass just like that left on Veronica’s kitchen floor, now digging into the bottoms of his feet, droplets of blood in the wake of each step. “I need a shower,” His voice cracks and almost breaks as his mind figures, he wasn’t too old for Woody Goodman, anyone under the age of 19 was probably good enough for the old pervert.
Veronica opens the door and cocks her head to the side as she looks up into his eyes, her own shuttered and puffy from too many tears, her skin as pink as a flamingo. Understanding dawns on her and she tries to speak, choking out another sob she propels herself towards him into his arms where she felt safe on the roof, protected in some way.
She doesn’t want him to be tarnished like this either, because he’s always seemed on step away from being broken and if anyone’s going to break him it’s going to be himself not some psycho like Woody Goodman who thought that little boys were toys.
Tightening his grip on her Logan doesn’t even flinch when her hands slide under his shirt and her nails bite into his skin because the pain is something real, and grounding, suddenly he feels bad for ever having felt dirty because she’s been through so much worse.
He clings to her; burying his face in her neck he inhales sharply catching the scent of water and some kind of melon, closing his eyes tightly. They are both broken now, and it’s hard to believe that anything could ever make it okay again. He just wishes he had the words to tell her, how sorry he is about her father…and how much he hates showers…
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars. The characters are the property of Rob Thomas
Summary: Logan remembers thinking it's odd that Veronica doesn't like showers. Aftermath of 2.22 Not Pictured. LoVe OneShot
Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars, the characters and references are the property of Rob Thomas.
Logan remembers thinking it was odd that Veronica didn’t like showers. It was something she had shared with him during a game of twenty questions, something no one else knew about her until him. He hadn’t been able to wrap his mind around that of all things, because showers were quick and efficient, something that could be done in five minutes and then be well on your way.He wished he could still understand why she didn’t like showers, because now he knows, standing outside her bathroom door just in case listening to her sob as the spray falls on shaking shoulders.
She associates showers with shame, with some kind of dirtiness that he hasn’t felt before in his life, not even when he spent time on his knees in front of his father being whipped with a belt. He doesn’t know what to do, if he should go in her and help her out of the tub; she’s probably crouched on the floor by now. He’s heard of rape victim showers before, seen them filmed for movies his father was involved with, and can picture her crouched on the floor, skin turning a violent red from the heat of the spray, scrubbing her skin in hopes to get rid of the phantom hands touching her. It’s a more horrifying thought then any movie could ever capture for him, his friend…girlfriend? Being in such pain.
Cassidy Casablancas, he raped Veronica, he raped Veronica.
The words flow through Logan’s mind with a dizzying momentum, making him clench his fists and wish that Beaver, yes Beaver hadn’t jumped off the roof of the Neptune Grand if only so Logan could get his hands on him and just hurt him for what he’d done to one of the strongest women Logan has ever known. He doesn’t even want to think of Keith Mars right now, because the thought of a man who he respected, even though he’d never admit it, being blown to kingdom come by a teenage boy is sickening.
It’s too bad Veronica only has one bathroom in her house because he can practically feel the bile rising in his throat as he thinks of how sick Beaver was, how sick Lucky was too, all because of the Mayor. Remembering working for that man, that monster Logan finds himself running for the kitchen sink, coughing and sputtering as he leans over the drain gagging.
His throat burns now and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, the appendage shaking violently as he pours himself a glass of water and takes a drink. It isn’t too long before the glass slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor, the shards sparkling like diamonds he has only seen around his mother’s throat at movie premieres, a memory flash before his eyes.
Logan is standing in the work out room with Woody, spotting him. He mimics pushing down a plunger and Woody laughs at him, finally getting up after he almost drops the weight on himself. He stands next to Logan, “You know looking at you, reminds me of the good old days, when I was young and ripped.” He reached out and touches his bicep, squeezing and kneading the muscles there. “Betcha have some fun with the ladies huh?”
Finding himself sputtering again over the drain Logan gags, a feeling rushing through him, shame and horrible dirtiness. Suddenly he hates showers too because he knows if he gets into one he’s going to scrub his skin raw, try and forget the fact that the sick bastard ever touched his skin. He rushes to the bathroom and knocks on the door when he hears the spray finally stop, “Hey Ronnie, I need the bathroom.” His voice is hoarse, rough like he has been eating glass just like that left on Veronica’s kitchen floor, now digging into the bottoms of his feet, droplets of blood in the wake of each step. “I need a shower,” His voice cracks and almost breaks as his mind figures, he wasn’t too old for Woody Goodman, anyone under the age of 19 was probably good enough for the old pervert.
Veronica opens the door and cocks her head to the side as she looks up into his eyes, her own shuttered and puffy from too many tears, her skin as pink as a flamingo. Understanding dawns on her and she tries to speak, choking out another sob she propels herself towards him into his arms where she felt safe on the roof, protected in some way.
She doesn’t want him to be tarnished like this either, because he’s always seemed on step away from being broken and if anyone’s going to break him it’s going to be himself not some psycho like Woody Goodman who thought that little boys were toys.
Tightening his grip on her Logan doesn’t even flinch when her hands slide under his shirt and her nails bite into his skin because the pain is something real, and grounding, suddenly he feels bad for ever having felt dirty because she’s been through so much worse.
He clings to her; burying his face in her neck he inhales sharply catching the scent of water and some kind of melon, closing his eyes tightly. They are both broken now, and it’s hard to believe that anything could ever make it okay again. He just wishes he had the words to tell her, how sorry he is about her father…and how much he hates showers…