He should have been the one who saved her.
He always kind of knew Lilly was heading for self-destruction somehow; it just wasn't possible for anything to burn so bright and tick so loud without being a bomb. At the time, he couldn't bring himself to care, because he didn't want some calm, different Lilly. He wanted this imploding girl who blinded him every time he was with her. He always wanted to combust and reform himself; Lilly was perfect for that. So he fucked her and partied with her and fought with her and loved her, and never ever wondered how she would look when she disintegrated.
And then she died.
It was his fault; he had accepted that. He dragged Lilly into Aaron's sphere of influence, the tangled spider's web his father used to capture all. He, stupid boy that he was, pretended that he could keep her. That his father's fingers wouldn't snatch the few things he still could cling to – his mother, his best friends, his girlfriend.
He had been wrong.
After all, Aaron had taken Lynn away with his infidelities; his promises of ruination.
After all, Aaron had taken Veronica away by the induced need to hate her.
After all, Aaron had taken Duncan away by the anesthesia after Lilly's death.
After all, Aaron had taken Lilly away.
Logan was selfish. He never reached out to Lilly to make a better person out of her; he didn't want a better person out of her. He knew Aaron could be the flickering match to Lilly's puddle of gasoline; he pretended not to and forgot to care. He remembers how widely Lilly grinned at social functions, hanging on his arm. She knew who Aaron was; he remembers how she saw him when he snuck into the Kane house late at night, back bleeding. Logan theorized that Lilly truly was fucking death itself by fucking Aaron; holding it like a lover. She wanted it.
Logan should have dragged her away from it, but she always looked so beautiful in its light.
Even as a corpse, she was beautiful. The Kanes had the biggest funeral in Neptune history; plush velvet and silk lined coffin, bouquets strung all over the church. The whole town of Neptune flocked to see Lilly Kane dead, but for Logan, it was like it always was when he was with Lilly – there wasn't room for anyone else. He remembers the first time they meant; call it cliché, but they truly were all alone in a crowded room. At least, he was with her.
He never fully knew what he meant to her.
He was her boyfriend and, for a long time, he pretended that was knowledge enough. He didn't think Lilly ever bought that, but she delighted in not showing it. He kissed Yolanda as a question; trying to prompt an answer: What am I, Lilly? Do I dare exist in your world?
And she had said yes. She had gotten angry and, by that, said yes. He had rejoiced in that even as he despaired; even as he was mad at Veronica for telling. But when he went to Mexico, then came back, he realized what he had done. He had pushed her out of the dead sunlight she craved; dragged her back down to his level. She would never forgive him for that.
And then she died.
He started hating Veronica because it was the easiest thing to do, the closest thing to Lilly he could find. He could hurt her enough to shove her in those beams; Veronica always was that calm Lilly, who wouldn't have died – he could make it work the other way around. He could break Veronica into another Lilly; one he could see and punish for leaving him.
Except he couldn't. Veronica hid from the beams and buried herself in him; stealing his sarcasm and shielding herself. She wasn't Dead Lilly and she wasn't Not Dead Lilly; she was Lilly at all anymore. Logan just hated her even more for that; hated her hated her hated her until his only choice for this hate was blinding, desperate love.
Veronica wasn't Lilly; she wasn't burning herself to a cinder. No, he was the one she set alight, and he fanned the flames eagerly. He wondered when he became Lilly; he wasn't sure, but it probably had something to do with the night he heard about Daddy Dearest taking an ashtray to the skull of the love of his life. Veronica left eventually; calling the fire all his, and he wasn't sure if she was right. He saw her with Duncan a few weeks later; peaceful blue in the middle of Neptune's inferno.
He really missed Lilly then.
The tapes got out, and all Logan could thing was: no. He couldn't let the world see the Lilly he knew; the one fucking her Grim Reaper into the void. He had loved that Lilly, but no-one else could see her, ever. Better for them to see the misty, water-colored memory Celeste always tried to create; not the blinding bright tumor Logan loved. He held those tapes and, just to torture himself like her deserved, he watched them. He saw her again.
He was selfish, with Lilly. He should have taken her hand and led her back into the darkness of life, but he was too caught up watching her dance. He wouldn't have wanted that calm, alive Lilly – he wanted something as wild and fucked up as he was. He wanted Lilly.
He lit a match, and the video burned like she did. All evidence of what he did to her was gone.