I'm not a little girl anymore.

Not like anyone thinks that I am, or anything; everyone I know has pretty much accepted that I am a fully-grown woman. But that's not really my point. The point is that, even though they all see me as so goddamned grown up, all my friends are still developing these little girl reasons why I don't want Logan pursuing me.

Oh, he broke her heart! Oh, she's interested in Remy now! Oh, she's pulling a Scarlett O'Hara, letting Logan chase her until she catches him!

Well, let me tell you something.

Logan didn't break my heart. Hell on fire, people. Before he came back, I had known him for a week. Seven days. And I don't care what the poets and the artists and the greeting card people say - you cannot fall desperately, hopelessly in love with someone in a week. Especially not if you spend a good portion of that week just trying not to die. So yeah, I had a huge ass crush on him... But crushes fade, usually leaving only the most embarrassing feeling ever - the "oh my great GOD, what was I thinking?" slow burn of mortification.

And I'm not interested in Remy. Jesus, do I look stupid to you? That Cajun charmer taking me for a spin is just about the last thing I need. Might be fun while it lasted, but men that adorable always have a way of getting under your hide, you know? Of making you wish that you could be The One to keep them happy. To keep them around. And I don't need that kind of emotional pain, all right? So I'll flirt with him and enjoy his attentions a little, but he's not getting anywhere with me. Ever.

And the Scarlett O'Hara theory? Fuck. Look, I may be a Southern belle and all, but those mind games just piss me off. They're manipulative and irritating and I don't play them. Period. End of sentence. Not a chance in Hell.

So, the question still remains: why in the world am I rebuffing every one of Logan's oh, so swoonworthy advances?

I'll tell you why.

I want to fuck his brains out.

Period. End of sente-- Aw hell, you know the drill.

I mean, come on. You're not blind, right? And you have seen Logan?

Excuse me while I whimper for a minute.

The thing about Logan is that he is all man. ALL man. It's something that scared the living hell out of me when I was sixteen. I was always attracted to him, but back then the lust was majorly overshadowed by all the hero-worship I had for him. He saved my life twice (three times, if you count grudgingly giving me that first ride), and it felt. Well, it felt right to adore him. I kinda felt like I should.

Now all that hero-worship is gone. He's not some dashing figure on a black steed, racing in to save the day. He's just Logan - one hell of a hot man. Oh yeah, he's been strutting his shit all over campus since he came back; don't think I haven't noticed. The smoldering looks, the amazingly high number of times he "forgets" to put on a shirt.

God, do I ever notice.

That chest, those arms. Oh, that back. That baaaaack. I'm a healthy, red-blooded woman, and I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around every single part of Logan's healthy, red-blooded anatomy.

But I'm not about to.

You knew that was coming, didn't you?

Let me explain myself here. While just the thought of getting my hands anywhere near Logan makes me tremble and sweat in an almost pathetic manner, I refuse to risk it.

Risk what, you ask? My heart, that's what.

Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get over him the last time he left? Yeah, I know. Earlier I was yapping on about how crushes fade, and all that shit. Well, they do. But the thing is, the half-lives on the damn things tend to vary tremendously.

My crush on Logan was the uranium of crushes, okay? I thought I'd never get over him, and I guess that lends a lot of credence to the theory that I'm avoiding entanglements with him now out of lingering, unforgotten hurt and rejection. But I can't blame him for how I felt; I never have. He didn't do anything to make me all softhearted and faint over him. All he did was run around, acting all Wolveriney, and I practically fell on my face just wanting him to glance in my direction.

Not that he did much glancing. Logan is not a glancer; he stares, and three years ago, he directed most of those patented stares at Jean Grey's ass. God, that tore me up inside. Made me feel like maybe he didn't want me because I wasn't tall and willowy. Because I wasn't smart like Jean, or sophisticated like Jean.

In short, my self-esteem took a hell of a blow, and it took me a long time to build that back up again. Of course, I can't say that I'm not kind of enjoying all of his attention now; it sort of validates all that time I spent trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong with me, you know?

So, Logan hurt me, and he didn't even mean to. It was the last thing he meant to do, I think. No, I'm sure. And I have no hard feelings about that. Like I said, I can't blame him for what I felt.

But I can blame him for how he is.

Logan does one thing well. Well, okay, I'm pretty sure that's not true, so let me rephrase: Logan runs. That's what he does, who he is. When things get to be too tough or confusing, he picks up and he runs like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels. And he's good at it. Hell, he should be by now - he's been practicing that move for eighteen years. The situation gets sticky, and Logan hauls ass.

Of course, his famous retreats offer up a spectacular view of that fine ass of his, but believe me when I say it's hard to enjoy a fine ass when it's on the body of a man who has your bleeding heart clutched in his hairy little fist.

God, maybe I was a little bit in love with him three years ago.

Less than a year ago, I finally took Logan's dogtags off my neck. Less than a year. And if I let him anywhere near me, if I let him touch me. All that time I spent scrabbling around, trying to feel good about myself again, will be wasted. Because if I let him in, if I let him touch my heart, I'm not getting it back. And, when he decides to pick up and leave this time, he'll take it with him. I mean, he only had a little piece of me three years ago, and his departure almost broke me.

I don't want to know what being shattered feels like.

Every time he looks in my direction, his eyes tell me what he wants - me. And damn me to hell, I want him, too. If I were just a little bit stronger, maybe I could go to him, and we could both have what we wanted, at least for a little while. But I know that once I hear him whisper my name in that soft, gravelly voice. I'll be lost.

And, eventually, he'll go, and I'll be lost without him.

I can't let that happen. For the sake of my sanity, I just can't.

It's not lost on me, you know, the irony of it all. When I was sixteen, I wanted him with a passion that I thought could never be equaled, much less surpassed. But I couldn't have him. And now I remember that long-ago passion, and I can see how it pales beside what lingers somewhere inside me.

And I still can't have him.

Life's a real bitch.

Tonight, I'll go to bed alone. I'll wake up the same way. And tomorrow I'll carry on with my life, and I'll face whatever overtures Logan deems necessary in his pursuit of me. What he doesn't know, and I won't tell him, is that nothing he tries will succeed. Because first he'd have to tell me that he doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Then I'd have to believe him, which isn't going to happen, because to do that I would have to trust him.

And I don't. I've seen inside his head; how can you trust a man who doesn't trust himself?