Depression
Logan was on the floor, back against the wall, head hung low. Around him, emptied glasses of alcohol were scattered across the ground at varying distances. Some were inches from his leg, while some, broken into sharp glass shards, spread all over the room. A result of being tossed in an emotional-driven rage, undoubtedly.
The clinking of glass being set down indicated the completion of yet another bottle of alcohol.
Dark red traces were everywhere, from the counters to the walls, and some were even splattered over the ceiling. Dried blood.
Despite the immense (and possibly fatal) efforts to drink his thoughts away, he could still recall everything in excruciating detail. Night and day, Wade’s words haunted him.
…
“I hate you! You know that?” Wade cried, shoving him in the chest. Logan stumbled back from the action, but he kept his eyes down-turned. Oh you have no idea.
“Say something, dammit," he said, punctuating his words with another weak punch. Wade’s voice broke at the end, an indication of his wearing resolve. At this point, his hands were curled into weak fists against Logan’s chest, his head dipped. Logan could see how his frame shook with each breath he took, and it made his own breath falter.
Wade took another shaky breath, before he let out a dry sob. “What did I do to deserve such a fate?” he whispered.
The comment almost made Logan want to smile. A grim smile, because it was so true. What did he do to deserve this?
“You know,” Wade started again, his voice breaking into a small, soft laugh. “I really thought I cracked you. Got the mean, cold, stoic Wolverine to crack.” His head lifted, eyes meeting Logan’s with a tired gaze. “But I guess I was wrong."
Logan had to fight the urge to flinch when he saw Wade’s expression, only barely holding his eyes even as he tried to suppress the emotions building in his own throat.
Wade’s eyes scanned his face for a moment longer, searching for some sort of answer. But it was hopeless. Like everything to do with this man.
He scoffed, pushing away and turning his head to the side. “I’m not asking for much, you know,” he said softly. “I just…” he looked down, another quiet laugh escaping him, “...think I deserve more than this.”
That was like a slap to Logan’s face, his breathing coming to a halt.
Wade seemed to notice his reaction from his peripheral vision, as he turned his head to fix him with a more solemn gaze. “It’s true, though, isn’t it?” he practically spat, bitterness lacing his words. He took a step closer, eyes locked on him.
As Wade drew close, Logan saw his face soften a bit. “Logan, I don’t care if you don’t like me,” he said quietly, voice genuine. Logan saw the way his throat tightened, and his jaw hardened. “But, this...” Wade smiled bitterly, eyes gleaming with unshed tears as he looked down.
“Why do you treat me like this?” he said quietly, voice almost a whisper. Wade looked back up, eyes searching his, almost desperately. In that moment, the prideful, goofy, and shameless man was gone, replaced by someone vulnerable . The expression was gone before it was there, the bitterness back in his face. He wiped his hand down his face, scoffing. He turned away, heading straight to the door.
“Wade..”
He stopped, looking back over his shoulders for a moment. Then, he turned with a wry smile.
“Be honest with me, Logan," Wade said, vaguely gesturing to his face, maintaining eye contact. He wore an anguished expression. “Is it because of this ?”
Logan’s eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat. No, no, god no. How could you think that? The implications cut him deep, too deep. Before he could stop himself, he found the words leaving him.
“You’re so wrong it hurts,” he croaked, his voice strained with pain.
For the first time that night, Logan said something truthful.
But Wade didn't seem convinced, the confusion and hurt on his face as clear as ever.
“Then tell me, Logan.” His throat was tight, his eyes boring into Logan’s. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
Logan couldn’t answer. And Wade left.
…
Everything felt numb, every sense of taste he had was blurred, though the bitter taste was as prominent as ever, never seeming to leave no matter how much substance he consumed.
The truth is, Logan knew damn well why he did it. Why he’s pushed away one person that cared about him. Hell, it’s not like it’s been consuming his mind for the past two weeks.
In reality, he was just scared. Yeah, crazy right?
But now, a new question came up.
Was it worth it?