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There's something dangerous about giving someone so many harmless details of your life. It's the details you don't even remember giving that hurt the most in the end. Like when you realize the boy you told one night when you were comforting him and wanted to share that white cars make you uneasy because it reminds you of the one you used to pry your mother away from when she was too shitfaced to drive, is the one who painted a long, uneven white line along the side of your black convertible. Because who else would it be but him? Someone else would have keyed it, scratched it. Logan paints an opaque white line.

Anyone else would comment on your clothes any given day, whenever they feel like torturing you. (Always.) Logan calls you (or your outfit, you don’t pay enough attention to the fine print anymore) slutty when you come to school wearing that short skirt, because it's pink. He doesn't say that. He doesn't mention the colour, but you know that's why he does it, because you know he overheard you telling Lilly months ago that wearing pink made you feel confident. And because it's the first comment on your clothing since you wore the pink cardigan last week and he mentioned it looked like you got it in a dump (because that’s where you belong).

Logan knows. Logan knows Tuesdays are always your favourite at the school cafeteria, so that's why he locks you in a classroom that particular day. Logan also knows Ronnie is what your mother used to call you when brushing your hair back when you were a pigtailed toddler, before it became drunken and hazy and you grew resentful of it. So of course that’s what he calls you all the time, with the smirk he used to have to tell you something he knew would make you laugh. Because he used to make you laugh, and have that twinkle in his eye when it worked. Now you only ever see that twinkle when he knows you’re about to cry and won’t let him see it. He knows what it looks like when you’re about to cry, too, because he used to comfort you. Now that’s when he presses on and gives the final blow. He knows.

And if you told anyone about all of this, they'd tell you you're insane. (Not that you have anyone to tell anymore, thanks to him.) There's no way he remembers, no way that's why he's doing any of it. But you know you're right, because Logan Echolls was the kind of friend who would compliment your pink scrunchie and offer to give you a lift when Yolanda suggested you ride with her in her brand new white car. He was the kind of friend who would get two of the chocolate cake on Tuesdays if you were caught up in class to make sure you'd have one.

Now he's using the same details to make your life hell, and you never even noticed he knew it all until now. Logan Echolls is nothing if not loyal.

But for the life of you, you can't figure out what it is that you did that was so bad to lose his loyalty when you had all of it so recently.