I'm used to being hurt.

My father, lovely man he is, taught me that hurt is shown in the cigarette burns on your wrist and the welts from a belt buckle on your back. He taught me to embrace pain, to harness it until it's your own and then look the maker in its face and spit.

It was after his acquittal and his blood running across the hard wood floors, when I discovered that pain is not found in fists and kicks, the scratches which remain are those on my soul.

I'm used to being used.

Lilly was the mistress of fickle. I remember lying on her bed, and watching her dance around the room with Veronica to Kings of Leon.

She's just another girl, who wants to rule the world…

Her eyes would flash, and her blonde hair would flip and Lilly Kane would become a life force nothing could hope to contain. She should have told me, shouldn't have let me woo her back into my bed because she knew that she'd never stay there. After a while there wasn't even any point lying about it.

Veronica Mars does both. Veronica Mars does neither. She's probably got around to forgiving me for Shelly's party, and she probably never really cared about my attempts to destroy her. For being weak though, that Veronica never forgives. She traces the arch of my nose with one finger, her lips pressing lightly onto mine, and I want to tell her I'm sorry for slipping. For losing the person I was.

For becoming the person I became.

She sits and looks wearily over Neptune, and she hasn't been able to let this place go. I come up behind her and when she looks up at me her eyes are empty.

"Did you talk to Dick?"

"He won't speak to me"

She turns back to the town; it's houses awash with the pink light of the setting sun.

"Logan…"

"Yes?"

"Let's watch a movie"