And then I waited.

"I just think it would be good, for closure, or something. I thought about it a lot while you were gone, and then you came back, and I thought that maybe I wouldn't need to anymore, but it's still there, in the back of mind. I still feel like it's something I need to do."

I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "Okay . . ."

We sat in silence for a few minutes while I thought. She didn't press on, she didn't ask me to speak sooner than I was ready. She knew me well; she knew me better than I faked it.

I continued. "If you want to see him, I'll support you. But I don't. I don't want to see him or even really think about him. I'm done."

She nodded slowly. "I understand that."

I kissed her quickly. "Do you know where he is?"

She nodded again.

"When did you want to see him?"

She swallowed audibly. "Tomorrow."

My eyes drifted shut. "I'll drive."

Amanda

I tried to ignore the skeezy looks I was getting from the inmates. I did my best to dress as least flattering as I could; I knew that Logan was concerned about that, especially because he wasn't coming into the building with me. He’d called ahead and spoke to someone to make sure that I'd be watched the entire time. I knew I would be, and that I'd be safe, but if him making that phone call meant that he'd breathe easier while I was in there—then who the hell was I to say anything?

The thumping against my chest made it hard to breathe. I admit it. I was scared. I wasn't afraid that he'd hurt me—not physically, anyway. What I was afraid of was looking into the same monster's eyes that Logan had spent years trying to hide from. And I didn't want that for me. I didn't want to have to hide from him, or be afraid of the dark, or being alone. I wanted to let go of the hatred in my heart that I carried around because of him. Not so much for what he did when he showed up that night, but for what he did to Logan all the nights before.

Before he was finally safe.

His eyes were cast downwards when I sat down in front of him. He didn't even bother to lift his head. I cleared my throat. Nothing. "Hey, asshole."

That got his attention. Slowly, he lifted his chin. Dried blood and bruises covered his face. Not a single part of me felt sorry. Maybe that made me a bad person, but I doubt it.

"Who are you?" he spat out. The asshole couldn't even remember me. Then he chuckled lightly to himself. "Don't tell me I'm your father."

"No." I assured him. "You don't need to worry about that. My dad—he's an asshole. You—you're a waste of fucking air."

His eyes widened. "Oh. You have a mouth on you."

"Fuck you."

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

Valid. I needed to calm down. I came here to speak to him, to get closure. Not to cuss him out.

"My name's Amanda—"

"Fuck," he growled, and then trained his eyes on the table in front of him.

"So you remember me now?" My name must have triggered something.

"What are you doing here, little girl?"

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. "Little girl?" I laughed. I wasn't going to bring up the fact that his daughter was the same age as me. The same one whose sex he traded for drugs.

His jaw tensed, but he still refused to look up at me.

"I came here because I thought you had the right to know. Not because you deserved to, but because you don't." I paused, trying to find a place to start. "Logan—he's an amazing person. The best, actually."

His eyes lifted slightly.

"You know he's really smart? He's studying to be a doctor, just like his dad."

He lifted his chin now, paying more attention.

"And he's so genuine. He cares about everyone, and everything, and always puts himself last." I sniffed back my emotions. "You know he feels everything, right here." I pointed to my chest. "In his heart. And he loves. He loves fiercely, with this passion and emotion that's all Logan. Every part of him. He gives you every single piece." I wiped away the tears as I struggled to speak. "And you take all those pieces, and you cherish them, because Logan—that's what he deserves." I laughed to myself. "And he's so funny. He's cocky, and rude, but he's so damn funny. He always makes the effort to make me laugh. All the time. And he watches me, with this intensity that knocks me back a step. And he doesn't know that I notice, because he's so busy giving me everything." I let it out now—all the feelings I had brewing inside, and I cried. I cried for the person I loved. My person. "He's always thinking. His mind's always churning. You know, he thinks about things that people our age don't even worry about. He wants to cure hunger, fight for world peace, stop slavery—he wants to do it all. He wants to change the world. And you know what? One day, he will." I leaned closer and lowered my voice. "But it won't ever be because of you."

His hands balled into fists on the table and a low grunt escaped him. His lips formed into a sneer, but he kept quiet.

"No matter what you did to him, you couldn't bring him down. You tried." I laughed bitterly. "Oh, you fucking tried. But you couldn't do it. Because Logan—he's better than you. He's always been better than you. And you missed out on all of it. You missed out on watching this bright, amazing little boy turn into the best man possible. And he did it all without you. He could've played the 'poor me, I was an abused kid' card. But he never did. Not once. He left you exactly where you belong, in the past—where people leave all their regrets, and mistakes, and fuck-ups. Because that’s what you are. A fuck-up. And you deserve to know that. So that five, ten, fifteen years from now, when you hear that your own son, the one that you abused every day of his life when you had him, has done something amazing, you should know that he did it all without you. And everything he achieves, every success he has, I want you to take it as personal fuck you from him. And from me, too."