4. Just a Girl
CHAPTER FOUR
just a girl
IMOGEN
ONE WEEK BEFORE FALL SEMESTER
Arriving at Logan’s place instantly makes me feel at home, though maybe a touch inadequate. It’s a Victorian-style house with a beautiful yard, ornate windows, and a large balcony, but I think it’s the two big gargoyle statues flanking the steps I know he got at Party City that really ties it all together.
Logan says he picked this place because it looks haunted, a motivation I’m sure some of his friends think was a joke, but I’m certain is 100% true. The man is obsessed with Halloween, an obsession we share.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” I sigh as he kills the engine and we step out of the car.
“No problem. Need help with your stuff?”
“It’s just one suitcase. I’m good, dude.”
He pops the trunk and the two of us reach for my bag at the same time. I swat his hand away.
“Cut it out!”
“I’m just trying to be helpful!”
“Yeah? Well you’re being annoying!” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes and snatches the suitcase out of my hand just as I lift it from the trunk.
“Logan!”
He’s already taken off down the driveway, giggling like an asshole. I swear, this guy is emotionally seven years old.
“Close the trunk!” He shouts as he reaches the front door.
I bite back a smile, trying to look unimpressed as I take off after him.
My brother’s been one of my closest friends since we were little, and even though we drifted apart a bit over the years, we never fully broke that bond. He gets on my nerves, like all siblings do, but I still look up to him. He’s already a tenured professor who lectures all over the world, and he wrote a best-selling book about medically assisted death after he changed research areas when we lost our dad four years ago. Since then, he’s been an advocate for the ‘right to die’ movement.
Mom is proud, and I know dad would be too.
My boots crunch along the gravel as I take in the smell of an early fall hanging thick in the air. It’s crisp, with a sharp and sugary bite from the decaying leaves that litter the ground, all the way up the steps to the front door.
“C’mon. Take your shoes off, I’ll show you to your half of the house.” He ushers me inside, leaning my suitcase against the wall and taking my coat. “By the way, your stuff came in from New York the other day. How the hell did you afford to ship it?”
“You know, I am capable of saving money, Logan,” I tease as we both kick off our shoes. “Even in a place as economically fucked as New York.”
“Must not be genetic because I can’t even go for a walk without spending thirty bucks,” Logan grumbles.
“It’s because you have the impulse control of a toddler in a toy store.”
“Hey, these are collector’s items !”
He gestures at a large cabinet in the foyer, filled with horror movie memorabilia.
“You do play with them, though, right?”
“That’s besides the point,” he grins. “Anyway, it helps me think sometimes.”
Logan and I descend the long staircase, down into the basement.
“I gotta admit, dude, this is a little creepy.”
I keep expecting some ghost in a nightgown to walk out and scare the shit out of me; that’s just the vibe this place gives off.
“You say that like I designed the house.”
“You kind of did, though, right?” I laugh.
He spent a good amount of time playing interior designer and it definitely shows. His personality bleeds into everything in this place.
At the bottom of the stairs is a small closet, next to a bathroom that connects to the guest room. If you turn left, it leads to a storage room that now holds what was left of my apartment in New York. There’s not much, mostly clothes, books, and records. I sold all my furniture when Logan agreed to take me in, to make things easier on the both of us.
“Worry about that stuff later,” his words slice through my thoughts. “I’ll show you the bedroom.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve improved it,” he says with a wink. “Come on, it’s so cool, Iggy!”
Logan knows to get in front of things before I fixate on a task, quickly leading me through the en suite bathroom. It’s been scrubbed clean, and he’s even put some toiletries out for me.
“Don’t get distracted, you haven’t even seen the best part.”
He drags me into the bedroom and my jaw drops.
The room is luxurious without looking cluttered, with a leather chair, beautiful desk, and walls lined with Gothic-inspired art as well as framed posters of some of my favorite movies: Halloween, Nosferatu, The Exorcist, Carrie, all films we saw together growing up.
“Logan,” I whisper. “This is…”
“I pulled the posters out of my collection.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “I wanted this to feel like home, not just a place you were crashing.”
All that said, the bed might be my favorite part of the room.
Four-poster, overflowing with silk pillows and a cozy navy duvet. I’ve slept on this thing before, when I was first here years ago, and it was like sleeping on a big cloud. I can hear the trees rustling outside, and I imagine the leaves falling, floating down daintily with the breeze. This place is pretty fucking magical.
“So, look, I know you were pretty crushed when you didn’t get into NYU?—”
“Or Princeton. Or Dartmouth.”
“ But ,” he takes a breath. “I’m glad it meant you could be here.”
I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.
“Thanks, Logan.”
His deep laugh ripples through me as he pats my back.
“No problem, Iggy.”
Logan and I ended up even closer after dad died, once we got over some initial friction. It fucked both of us up, even if we were as prepared for it as we could be, but he took it especially hard. My dad was his hero, a world-renowned scholar who dedicated his life to breaking down barriers for people who couldn’t afford higher education.
Declan Flynn had a vicious wit and an absurd sense of humor. He loved a good drink, a terrible joke, and a chess game where he could get one. I used to watch him play Logan for hours at the kitchen table while we all talked about… well, everything.
From moment one, dad said that he wouldn’t let the cancer kill him. A while after things began to take a dire turn, he took matters into his own hands, contacting a doctor out in Oregon who could help him die with dignity.
We all flew out to be with him at the end, holding his hands as he took his last breath. My mom was a rock the whole time, very rarely talking to any of us about how she felt. I can’t be sure, but I think she was relieved that he finally had some peace.
Still, it’s hard to think about dad without feeling my heart break all over again.
“I’m gonna make some pasta for dinner,” Logan says softly, pulling me once more from my thoughts. “You’ve gotta be starving.”
I shrug.
“I ate on the plane.”
“Ate what?”
“A bag of chips. Even got a complimentary can of coke.”
“That’s not eating, so let me make us some homemade pasta! I just got the machine!” He rubs his hands together and flashes me a goofy smile, doing a stupid little jig with his long, spindly legs.
Just like dad.
“I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready! No arguing!”
I grin, stretching my arms as he leaves, in preparation for the brutal task of unpacking. Most of my fetish gear ends up in the back of the closet, still tucked away at the bottom of my bag. Logan doesn’t know what I’ve been up to, he thinks my interest in kink is strictly academic, and I want to keep it that way. I know he’s friends with my supervisor, Frankie Hughes, and maybe that connection’s opened him up to some of the concepts, but I’m just not ready to have that conversation quite yet.
One by one, I unpack the rest of my boxes, making sure to put everything in its new place. This is a fresh start. I’ll clean this room every day, keep it organized, and make sure it stays that way. It’s a promise I make every time I move into a new space, but inevitably my old habits take over and it’s a disaster within a week. Maybe this time things will be different.
Logan left me an empty bookshelf next to the desk that I start to fill up. On the top is a framed picture of me and dad at Disneyland, both of us with pink glittery Mouse ears. He looks so young, with thick dark hair, stubble on his face, and the light in his eyes that the disease stole from him in the end.
I remember this trip so well. We rode the Haunted Mansion so many times that mom had to tell us it wasn’t the only ride in the park. My dad always loved horror in any form, but it was movies he loved the most, and it’s what a lot of his work revolved around. He was obsessed with pop culture and how people responded to it, but his true passion was studying why people enjoyed being scared.
I set the picture back down, grab my phone, and flop onto my bed, noticing one unread message.
PIPES: How’s unpacking?
IMOGEN: Almost done. How’s your amazing new apartment?
PIPES: Amazing! We have a washing machine?!
IMOGEN: So classy, are you out of my league now?
PIPES: Please, I’m gonna be eating butter noodles for the next four years. By the way, there’s gonna be a mixer for the new PhD students! Pool, free beer, and hot professooooors!
IMOGEN: Gross, my brother’s one of those “hot professors.” Dude looks like Big Bird on a good day.
PIPES: Well, my supervisor looks like Tommy Lee Jones. They can’t all be winners.
IMOGEN: Old Tommy Lee Jones or young Tommy Lee Jones?
PIPES: ANCIENT TOMMY LEE JONES.
I cackle and roll onto my back.
IMOGEN: That’s not a bad thing, love an age gap.
PIPES: You need to be arrested!
IMOGEN: You need to start digging silver foxes, babe. When’s the mixer?
PIPES: Next week. Friday before the first day of classes. You in?
IMOGEN: Sure. Could be fun.
It would be nice to meet my professors in a non-professional setting. Once you get up to this level, they start to treat you less like students and more like colleagues, because in a few years, you’ll either be working together or competing for the same opportunities.
I smile and flip mindlessly through my phone for a couple minutes until I decide I want to check out the talent here. I open the KinkFinder app and set my location to Seattle to cast a slightly wider net. It’s been a while since I got laid, and after all, sometimes a vibrator isn’t enough.
My fear of losing the people closest to me has shut me off in a lot of ways, but especially romantically. I’ve convinced myself, and the people around me, that I’ve got too much shit going on for a relationship. I think the last time I had a boyfriend was just after dad died. It was intense, and things got serious fast because I found myself needing an anchor. Unfortunately, trauma isn’t as strong of a bond as I thought and things ended with me hurt and alone.
Nowadays? It’s all casual sex. A brief moment of connection, and you move on.
Or whatever people do.
Personally? I like a good high five after an orgasm.
The problem with this app is that there’s very little vetting. So, I have to do a lot of it myself through conversation and in-person meetings before we start anything. I use a fake name, too. You can never be too careful.
I match with a couple of guys who shoot me a quick ‘hey’, but I keep searching until I’m compelled to stop on an unbelievably gorgeous man— well, a gorgeous mouth and chest because that’s all I can see in his picture. He’s got gray in his beard, full lips curled into a subtle grin, with a half opened dress shirt and tattoos peeking through. He’s muscular, and he’s even showing some scattered chest hair. I can feel my skin heat up, and suddenly the collar of my t-shirt feels really tight.
I scroll to his bio.
Henry. 43. Looking for a good teacher who can take control.
A lot of the guys I play with at parties are younger, but I do love an older man.
“Let’s just hope you’re not a creep, Henry.”
I hear Logan thundering down the stairs just as I swipe right, looking up to see him looming in the doorway.
“Damn, you made that pasta fast!”
He runs a hand through his messy hair.
“Uh… turns out, I needed to read the instructions on the machine because I’m not as smart as I think I am. The dough kinda got stuck.” He holds up a finger, now covered in a little Halloween-themed bandaid. “Almost died.”
“Logan!” I choke down my laughter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you know, just a cool scar to tell the chicks about.” He grins, puffing his chest out a little. “Looks like we’re having mac and cheese instead.”
I gasp and lock my phone, tossing it down onto the bed.
“Dad’s recipe?”
Logan grins.
His was always the best.
“Yep, with four kinds of extra gooey cheese. And after dinner… I was gonna ask you if you wanted to watch a movie?”
I beam up at him. We haven’t had a movie night in years.
“I’m in.”
“Cool,” he breathes as he looks around to see that I’ve definitely made myself at home. “Room looks good already.”
We might get on each other’s nerves sometimes, but there’s nobody else I’d rather have as a big brother than Logan Flynn.
“Hey, so… thanks. For letting me stay here.”
“Well, I’m not gonna let you be homeless—” The oven beeps, cutting him off. “Shit! Okay, make it snappy, dinner’s in five!”
His footsteps sound like a herd of wild horses as he sprints up the stairs. When we were kids, he used to purposely stomp around outside of my room just to piss me off. Now, I find it kind of endearing.
My phone chimes and I flip it back over, confident with Logan safely clomping around upstairs.
You matched with Henry!
I bite my lip and immediately open the app to send him a message.
JADE: I like your tattoos.
Three dots appear and then disappear a couple times.
HENRY: Hi?
JADE: Hey? Did my message not send?
HENRY: Oh, okay, you’re not a robot.
I giggle and roll onto my back.
JADE: Why would you think I was a robot?
HENRY: Some other bot account asked to be my sugar… mommy? I just had to send her my bank account information so she could direct deposit my allowance for the month.
JADE: Sounds like a good deal.
HENRY: Yeah, love to be a fraud victim.
JADE: Damn, I should have led with that, then.
HENRY: You might be $500 richer because that’s all I got right now.
This dude is funny.
JADE: Oh, so you’re saying I’d pass the bot check?
HENRY: Well, it helps that you’re very pretty, and your competition was just a picture of someone’s ass. I love an ass, but it does feel weird talking to one. It’s nice to see a face.
JADE: Look who’s talking.
HENRY: Hey, you get most of me.
JADE: Whatever you say, Mr. Chest.
HENRY: I was hoping it might be whatever YOU say, Miss Bot.
“Hey, Logan!” I call, scrambling off my bed. “I may need to borrow your car!”