F A N F I C T I O N > V . M A R S
Really (Not Stopping, Never Stopping) by Amberina
Veronica dreams, and sometimes she remembers these dreams. They lurk, soft-focus and blurry in the back of her mind the moments after she opens her eyes, quickly disappearing. Sometimes something in the day will remind her of her dream, and she remembers it then. Not all the details, never everything, but just enough to leave her brain straining to remember the rest. Or forget what it's already remembered.
She once read that the mind cast people into the roles of your dreams. Just because it was Logan standing there, smirking at her and naked, didn't mean her subconscious intended for it to be him. It could be Duncan, really, her mind pushing him away because of the whole brother possibility. It could be... anyone but Logan.
It could be... Weevil, but Veronica really hopes not, because that opens a whole new can of worms. If it were Weevil standing there, she'd be speculating on who it could really be, so she moves away from that option quickly. Wallace, maybe. The safe best friend. Wonderful, completely non-sexual Wallace.
Or it could be Logan. Which is scary in a lot of ways, not to mention disturbing, and a whole host of other negative adjectives.
Whatever. She's not okay with the way he's invading her dreams. She's not okay with a lot of things, but this is one thing she can control. She can evict him. She can decide not to dream about him. Or she can't, but she can decide not to remember the dreams in the morning.
Until he smirks at her in the hall, some kind of weird hate-tinged friendly acknowledgment, and it's just. like. the way he smirked in her dream, and pieces come back.
His skin against her skin. Him pushing her against the wall. Her hands on his belt. His mouth against her neck. Rough kisses down her body. Teeth scraping. Clothes discarded. Her on top of him. Not stopping, never stopping. Never ever.
Never, Veronica thinks, and she hates him more now. It's not his fault, but she hates him for this even more than she hated him for, well, anything.
"Veronica?" Wallace's voice cuts in, and she's grateful for the break from the remembered-dreamed-hatesex-to-end-all-hatesex. She... doesn't want to think about it.
She wants Logan Echolls out of her dreams, and she wants him out of them now. It's wronger than the wrongest thing to ever wrong. It's not like she doesn't have plenty of other things on her mind without him and his...
... without him invading her dreams like he has. Bastard.
Veronica realizes Wallace said her name a while ago, so she probably should get around to answering. "Yeah?"
"You okay?" he asks, and he seems genuinely worried, which is sweet. So very Wallace-like, and if Veronica's going to be having inappropriately erotic dreams about boys, she kind of wishes it could be Wallace, and not... Logan.
Veronica feigns a smile, and closes her locker. "Dandy as a Warhol."
Wallace gives her a look that says, "riiiight," but he doesn't say anything else. Which is good. Which means she won't have to make up excuses or try to explain why she's acting weird. See, Wallace knows not to probe when he shouldn't.
Oh, god, probe. Bad word. Bad, bad word.
So. Operation evict Logan Echolls will get underway tonight. How? She has no idea, but she can't keep on like this. It makes her uncomfortable in all the ways she wishes it wouldn't, and it has to stop. So it will. Really.
Because she wants it to. Really.
Really.