Spoilers/Warnings: Season 1, up to 115 at least.
Disclaimer: Logan isn't mine. Damnit.
A/N: It's just a very short drabble that was rolling around in my head. I don't really write much but thought I'd share this. Please review! Ya know, letting me know if I suck or not. LOL. :)

He watched the waves roll in, missing the quiet solace he used to find in the crashing thunder of liquid heaven. He, rhythmically, dug his toes back and forth into the sand, his arms tightening around his drawn knees as he fought back faint whispers of demons that never should've belonged to him. The beach, usually bringing him comfort, carried winds that brought him discontent and a deep yearning. He wasn't sure what that yearning was, exactly. For weeks he had forced himself away from the water. Nightmares and cold sweats kept him from his one and only true escape. Others would argue that his only escape was the bottom of a bottle. He knew it was only a temporary fix until he was sure he wouldn't drown. He felt too heavy. He was sure he would sink if he ventured out, his board not so reassuring at times like this.

He dreamt of her. It was far worse than simply missing her. Even in sleep, he couldn't escape his grief. But, in his dreams, she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't smiling with sparkling eyes, a mask she often wore just for him. Her expensive clothes were worn, torn in places, and stained by the sea. Her once perfect skin, blotted and bloated, was wearing away from the bones. His mother, once the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, was now this monster he feared even more than he did his bastard father.

In his dreams, he would paddle out into darkness. Black waters surrounded him but he was never afraid. This was his peace. Instinctively, he would know when the swell was coming. His arms would rip through the water until he pushed himself up. He'd ride through the barrel, his hand grazing the inside of the curl. It was then that he would always feel the change in the air. When a hand would snake out and take his, ripping him through the water... under. When her face became the only thing he could see, this monster that had become his mother, he would wake up with a scream caught deep in his throat.

That's what brought him there in the middle of the night. It was the reason he would sit in the cool sand and watch his peace evaporate. He was running out of excuses to feed his friends for not wanting to cut class and go surfing. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't make the wound in his heart bigger by telling them he couldn't go in the water because he was afraid she was out there. It was silly, really. If her body was going to show up, it would've by now. But he rationalized that it wasn't her body that brought cold shudders down through his spine. It was her ghost.

He missed her. He never thought he would have to. She was his constant, his air. Now she was his cause of suffocation. He wanted to just remember her. He wanted to think about his tenth birthday when she dressed up as a mermaid and remember how pretty she looked because that help block out the rest. He wanted to remember Christmas before his father's indiscretions went public and ruined their family. He wanted to remember her voice telling him she loved him.

He didn't want to remember the last time he saw her in school that morning. He didn't want to remember watching her fall. He didn't want his one and only escape to have been hers... to have been the reason she's no longer with him.

Because now, as he watches the waves roll in, there is no longer peace. He no longer has an escape. He has nothing.