onceuponapillow: (Logan/Veronica)
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Fic: History of Abuse 2/? (Logan/Veronica) R

 Title: History of Abuse
Author: onceuponapillow
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Aaron, with mentions of others
Rating: R
Spoilers: All seasons
Word count: 2,281
Summary: 
“Logan,” she whispered in a comforting tone he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard from her ever. “How did you get this scar?”
Warning: This story will include rather descriptive child abuse. If you can’t handle it I suggest you don’t read past the first chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but if Rob and co. ever decide to sell I would gladly take Logan & Weevil.

A/N Thanks to hokeysmoke for all her help on this fic.

Immediately following Veronica’s request for information the air around them buzzed with nervous energy. Veronica was uncertain as to how her request for information would be received. She knew it was a sensitive subject, every subject involving the late (but not at all great) Aaron Echolls was, but this one was especially sensitive. Still, knowing that did nothing to dampen her curiosity. Curiosity was in her nature, finding answers to questions was almost as essential to her life as breathing.

However it wasn’t just about getting answers. Logan was her boyfriend and she loved him, the fact that she was still unable to say the words aloud was irrelevant, she loved him all the same, and she truly did want them to be able to get to a place where they could be intimate. She wanted them to be able to talk, really talk about their scars, both physical and emotional.

Logan’s nervousness stemmed from his worry over how his tale would be received. He had never had a good experience when it came to revealing the truth about what kind of man his father really was. In the past his confessions had been met with either disbelief, betrayal, or the loss of the person from his life, and always a run-in with an enraged Aaron. Eventually he’d learned to keep it to himself. Nothing good ever came from revealing the truth.

Taking a deep breath and expelling it rather forcefully Logan rolled onto his back. He lay there silently for a few moments, trying to decide the best way to tell her, how much to tell her. He was so lost in thought he failed to notice Veronica’s hand reach out and sneak across his chest. It wasn’t until she slowly linked their hands that he noticed she’d moved at all.

“You don’t have to tell me Logan, if you don’t want to.”

A small smile played across his face at the thought of how much it must have pained her to say that. “You didn’t strain anything did you?”

“Shut up,” Veronica replied lightly, smiling as he pulled her up to lay across his chest. “In all seriousness though, I don’t want you to feel forced. I mean I want to know, but only if you want to tell me.”

Logan rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the sweet citrus of her shampoo. It would be nice to tell someone knowing that he would be believed and not screwed over in the end. On the other hand he didn’t want her opinion of him to change. He didn’t want her to think him weak or pathetic. He didn’t want to set her wondering if or when genetics would win out in him and he would turn into his father. It was a thought he struggled with every day, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if she did as well.

“Logan?” Veronica asked, propping herself up on his chest before placing a kiss on his chin.

“I was nine,” Logan said quickly, practically forcing the words from his mouth. “A few days before Aaron had lost out on this part he wanted, so I was trying to stay out of his way. I managed to do it for about two days.”

“And on the third day?”

“Parent teacher conference,” Logan ran his fingers through her hair, twirling the silky strands around his fingers. “He didn’t like what he heard.”

888888888888

March 3, 1997

The sound of the front door sliding open had Logan halting in his tracks, plate of food balanced precariously on his hand, bag of chips clutched in the other. He stood frozen in the kitchen, listening as the door was shut with a soft click that sent his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest. Over the years Logan had learned his fathers tells, committed them to memory. He had them all down to an exact science. He could tell just by the way Aaron opened a door what was in store for him.

When he was angry the doors would be thrown open, crashing against the wall with such force that it could be heard through out the house. Then he would slam them shut with the same force, once so hard he’d shattered a window. Those times were usually followed with an order for Logan to get a belt and meet him in his office. Afterward he would lay still on the floor long after Aaron had left, waiting for the sharp stinging to turn into a dull throb before he dragged himself to his room.

When Aaron was in a good mood the doors would again be thrown wide open, except it would be his loud cheery voice that echoed through the house rather than the bang of the door. Logan hated those times. They always made him anxious, wondering how long Aaron’s good mood would last. He would question every move he made, double & triple check hi every decision, desperate not to do anything to set Aaron off, desperate to not give him that one reason he needed. Despite his best efforts he always eventually slipped up, and it was actually almost a relief. Once he received his beating he could stop worrying about when it was coming, and in his opinion that was a good thing. The beatings he could handle, but never knowing when they were coming was almost unbearable.

Then there were days like this one, when Aaron was livid. When all the frustration of the past week or month reached a boiling point. These were the days Logan had come to fear the most. It was like navigating a mine field, everything looked calm and peaceful but one false step and it was over. Days like these the door would slide open with barely a sound and shut with a soft click. Then the only sound echoing through the house would be the strangely intimidating click of shoes on expensive tile.

For the briefest moment Logan considered running and hiding, but quickly dismissed it as a foolish notion. He would eventually be found and the punishment for that little stunt would be worse than if he had just stayed and taken whatever Aaron planned to dish out. Logan shivered as memories of being locked in the closet for hours on end flashed through his mind. He‘d learned his lesson the last time. So he stayed put in a tense silence.

“I had an interesting conversation with you teacher this afternoon,” Aaron stated, casually leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

At the sound of his father’s voice Logan jumped violently, causing the plate in his hand to tilt and slide from his grasp. He dropped the bag of chips and made a desperate grab for the plate but missed. The plate crashed to the floor and shattered, the shards mixing with the chips. A second after the plate fell Logan was on his hands and knees, hurriedly trying to clean up the mess.

“Leave it,” Aaron commanded, pushing himself away from the doorway and coming further into the room.

When Logan failed to heed his order Aaron stormed over to where his son knelt and smacked the broken pieces of porcelain from his hand, sending them flying in different directions and Logan jumping backwards, slamming his head against the cupboard.

“I said leave it!” Aaron shouted, eyes blazing.

Logan remained crouched against the cupboard, heart racing, hands trembling. He didn’t dare move a muscle. He watched silently as the wild rage in Aaron’s eyes worked back down to a simmer.

“Get up,” Aaron ordered calmly, pulling himself up to his full height.

Logan quickly scrambled to his feet but kept his back pressed to the cupboard, wanting as much distance between him and his father as possible.

“I had an interesting conversation with your teacher this afternoon,” Aaron repeated.

Logan remained silent, eyes locked on the floor.

“It seems my son is having trouble focusing in class. It seems he is disrupting the learning environment. Would you care to address these allegations?”

When it became clear that Logan wasn’t going to respond Aaron moved forward, crowding Logan, forcing him further into the cupboard behind him.

“I want an explanation, Logan,” Aaron said, eerily calm.

Logan nervously pulled at his sleeves, pulling them down over his hands as he tried to come up with an acceptable answer. “I uh….I…”

“You uh?” Aaron questioned mockingly. “I had to take two hours out of my day to meet with your teacher, who had nothing good to report. I expect a better explanation then “I uh.”

Logan’s mind was racing as fast as his heart as he tried to come up with an acceptable answer. His mind was blank; he could do nothing but pull nervously at his sleeves.

“Nothing? You have no explanation.”

Logan licked his lips and pulled at his sleeves, fighting the urge to run.

“Look at me,” Aaron ordered. “Look at me!”

Logan quickly jerked his head up, his gaze locking with Aaron’s as he tried to control his trembling.

“You’re in school what? 6 hours a day? Are you telling me that you can manage to behave for six hours?”

“No, I –“

Aaron cut in, “Do you just like causing trouble, or are you just too damn stupid to focus?”

When Logan didn’t respond Aaron moved even closer, his tone low and tense. “Well, which is it? Are you a troublemaker or are you better fit for special Ed?”

Logan’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t dare let them fall. His mind raced to come up with the answer his father wanted, the answer that would bring the least amount of anger, the least amount of pain.

“I’m…I just,” Logan stumbled over his answer, pulling at his sleeves.

“I’m waiting, Logan.”

Logan drew a shuddering breath before he continued in a whisper, “I’m stupid.”

Aaron eased back, his gaze drifting off to the window. “You’re stupid,” he said softly, as though mulling over the response.

Logan could see the tightening of his muscles, the tic of his jaw. His gaze shot between Aaron and the kitchen door, the urge to run overcoming him. Just as he shifted his weight in preparation Aaron’s arm shot out, slamming into the fridge, effectively blocking Logan’s escape. Logan quickly jumped back, knocking his elbow into the counter, he cried out as sharp pain shot up his arm.

“Stupid,” Aaron said tightly, his eyes narrowed in anger. “You’re telling me my son is stupid. That I have stupid children.”

“No,” Logan cried desperately, his heart pounding as if he’d just run a marathon, pounding so hard it hurt.

“So, you’re not stupid?”

Logan shook his head, cradling his arm close to his body.

“That’s right,” Aaron stated. “You’re not stupid. You’re a liar.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“You know what I hate Logan? People who don’t take responsibility for their actions, so I’m going to ask you again, are you a troublemaker or just stupid.”

“I’m a trouble maker,” Logan responded immediately, as a tear ran down his cheek.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you,” Aaron said, moving in, placing a hand behind Logan’s neck.

“I’m a troublemaker,” Logan repeated.

“That’s what I thought,” Aaron’s grip tightened on Logan’s neck.

Logan reflexively tried to pull away from the restrictive hold. He immediately realized his mistake, his gaze jerking up to meet Aaron’s. He watched in growing fear as Aaron’s eyes narrowed in time with the further tightening of his hand on his neck. A second later Aaron threw him to the floor.

Logan cried out sharply as his knees slammed into the tile floor, his hands pressing into the broken pieces of plate as he caught himself. He barely had time to think before Aaron had him by the scruff again, forcing him to stay down.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Aaron demanded.

When Logan failed to give a timely response Aaron forced him down so he was lying flat on the floor. His hand was trapped under his body, and a rather sharp piece of the plate was digging into his hand. Finally the tears that Logan had been trying to keep at bay broke free and he began to sob and plead with his father.

Aaron ignored Logan’s please as he kept Logan pressed firmly to the floor. He continued talking, but Logan could no longer make out the words over his sobs and the pounding of his heart. Eventually Aaron released his grip on Logan and got to his feet, Logan, however, remained on the floor, not daring to move a muscle.

“I want you to clean up this mess and then go to your room. You’re not to leave the room for any reason,” Aaron stated firmly. “And Logan, the next time you’re in class I want you to remember that everything you do is a reflection on me, on this family. I will not have people thinking I don’t have things under control.” With that said Aaron walked out of the room, not sparing a backwards glance.

Once Logan was sure Aaron was gone he pushed himself up to his knees. He drew a shuddering breath, trying to get himself under control. When the throbbing in his hand became too much to ignore he lifted his hand and saw that it was cut and bleeding heavily. He considered getting a bandage for it, but thought better of it. Instead he wrapped it up in the bottom of his shirt and set to cleaning up the mess, tremors running through his body every so often.

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October 2011

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