Don't Say You Love Me

Legend popped a tart into her mouth and fought the urge to rinse off her tongue with a combo of mouthwash and a fruity drink. Her cooking still needed more than a lot of work, even after all the fancy cooking classes she'd taken. She had half a mind to go to the French culinary school run by Monsieur Pierre, whose real name was Dave, and demand her money back. It probably wouldn't be of any use, though; the fraud would've already blown everything on the black dye he used on his blonde locks.

Despite the fake Frenchman and terrible cooking, Legend needed tonight to be perfect. This was the second year of her relationship with the kindest, most loving man ever. It didn't hurt that Logan Perdome was hot and famous, too. Really, a girl couldn't ask for more.

They'd met at a fundraiser her socialite friend, Marsha, had dragged her to. At first, she'd asked herself what a man like Logan could want from a clumsy, somewhat boring person like her. Looking back now, she realized that he'd seen the real her and had loved her for it, flaws and all. 

Even though Logan always balked at the idea of marriage and could get really angry and say things he didn't mean, she knew that their relationship was the stuff of fairy tales. Just like Cinderella and the Beast. Or was it Cinderella and Edward Cullen? She wasn't sure.

Legend skipped upstairs, still worrying about Cinderella's beau. How was she supposed to tell her children these stories if she couldn't tell her Stephanie Meyer from her Disney?

Slow down, Legey. Get the man to marry you before you start thinking of mini-yous.

She was a hundred percent sure this was the night. The night Logan would pop the question. The question that would change everything and make her Mrs. Perdome. Officially, of course. She might as well already be married to the guy—she did everything for him.

Hopping into the shower, she hummed through the entire Jungle Book collection and shimmied to her singing. Makeup wasn't needed; it was just going to come right off with what she'd planned for the night.

She took care of the pesky hairs on her arms and legs and finally donned on the baby pink teddy she had purchased from the lingerie shop earlier that day. The saleswoman had assured her it would make her man lose his mind.

Legend hoped her plan would work. She was really looking forward to a #Legan.

Worrying increased your anxiety level and made your heart beat faster in an unhealthy way. 

Whoever made that discovery was an idiot just stating the obvious. Like anyone actually enjoyed worrying. Legend abhorred worrying, which was why she was trying to distract herself by thinking about the most obvious discoveries ever made and also matching vampires with princesses. So far, she'd come up with Belle and Emmett, Jasper and Snow White, and was definitely not thinking about the whereabouts of the man she'd dated for two years who was supposed to get on his fucking knees and ask her a stupid question. 

It had been over an hour since she'd painstakingly made herself attractive, and five bleurgh tarts later, she'd decided to just order in. Yet her boyfriend still hadn't showed up. She went back to her cross-matching before her mind could begin thinking up worst-case scenarios.

Had he been kidnapped by the residents of a dying planet who needed a male human for the repopulation of their world? (Of course, the alien princess who he would have to have sex with would be an octopus with four heads and six vaginas.)

Or maybe Logan had been taken in by a cult of James Bond wannabes. Which would be even worse than the six vaginas because Legend had a huge aversion to James Bond. She didn't think she would want to marry anyone who had anything to do with the womanizing character.

Ordering her mind to think positive thoughts, she spent the next few minutes reading chapters on her Kindle, which she later abandoned because she wasn't in the mood for romance anymore. She resorted to coming up with ways to make the teddy look decent enough for polite society—which, she concluded, was to not wear it at all in polite society—while wearing the already thin floor of her living room thinner.

Legend finally decided to watch some TV. There might be a documentary on what to do if your boyfriend goes missing on the night of your anniversary on Netflix. Just then, her phone beeped, and she almost gave herself a concussion and a wedgie in her haste to retrieve it. 

Her efforts were in vain. It wasn't Logan texting to tell her he'd been stuck in traffic but a notification from a gossip rag she followed—reluctantly, of course. She wished she could smash the damn thing.

She was contemplating doing just that—then crying her eyes out because she couldn't afford another phone—when the TV noise filtered in.

"TV star known for his role as Darren in The Attorney is finally engaged."

That was funny. Legend wasn't aware that:

1. Her Netflix subscription had expired.

2. There was another character named Darren in the series her boyfriend was the star of.

Something even more hilarious was the fact that the man being shown was the doppelganger of her Logan.

"Logan Perdome—"

They even have the same name! That was her brain still trying to hang onto what it thought it knew. It might as well had saved itself the stress, because right there on TV was her boyfriend, Logan Perdome, with another woman.

Marsha Turner, her BFF, to be precise.

Legend felt like she was in a B-grade horror movie as she stared at the screen, willing what she was seeing to be a dream or maybe the result of a rare eye disease. Logan was her boyfriend, not Marsha's fiancé, and tonight wasn't their engagement party. Hell, they'd only met each other once and now Legend was supposed to believe they were engaged? Yeah, no. This was so not happening.

She headed upstairs, still in a daze, and as she put on some decent clothes, a wave of annoyance slapped her in the face. She didn't know what alternate universe this was, but in the real world, Logan was her boyfriend. She was going to find out why that FOX Bimbo was spewing nonsense.

She had half a mind to sue the TV station for fake news.

The Perdomes' huge home was well lit, and she could hear the strains of classical music and laughter coming from the mansion. Legend had never been. Any time she'd discreetly tried to tell Logan that she'd love to meet his family, he would flat out refuse. In his words, his family members wouldn't understand someone like her. Before, she had taken that as a compliment, but now, she wasn't so sure that he hadn't been making excuses because she was his side chick.

No! He's yours, okay? This is all just a slight misunderstanding, her brain tried to assuage her fears, but she was done listening to the bitch. It was time to find out if Logan was a shit or a dick.

Not that there's a huge difference between the two.

Shut it, brain.

The valet at the door wrinkled his nose at her casual attire, and she almost did something childish, like stick her tongue out at the guy, who looked stiffer than the Queen's ass. If only he'd seen her ride. Legend was sure her rickety Peugeot, which was probably no longer road-worthy, would give the valet a heart attack—or at least some sort of allergic reaction.

The ballroom was real fancy, with chandeliers and shit. Hundreds of the crème de la creme of the city milled about, some holding the champagne flutes that were being served by the waiters who weaved around soundlessly and efficiently. This kind of order made her sick. She fervently wished she could trip one of the waiters to cause the chaos she loved so much.

Realizing how hungry she was, Legend decided to snack on some hors d'oeuvres before going in search of her boyfriend. He still needed to explain why that woman on TV was saying shit.

"Oh, pardon me!" Well, well. For the first time in her life, Legend wasn't the one apologizing. She turned to face the klutz who had bumped into her with a smile. Who knew, they could become friends who lunched once a week and talked about how it wasn't their fault that their bones were just so long.

The woman standing in front of her would never complain that her clumsiness came from her height. Nor did Legend see her lunching anywhere except the fancy places Monsieur Pierre claimed he'd been to. She was a beautiful woman who bore a striking resemblance to her AWOL boyfriend.

Oh, shit.

"Are you one of Logan's friends?" The woman, presumably Logan's mother, enquired, eyeing Legend with a friendly albeit curious gleam in her eyes.

Legend's tongue failed her like it always did, and she said the stupidest thing she could think of.

"Your valet's an ass."

Great work, Legend. She always managed to outdo herself. Next, she'd tell Logan's mom she had smelly feet.

Mrs. Perdome was momentarily taken aback, but then she gave a little chuckle.

"I don't care for Vincent either. I hope the hors d'oeuvres are to your liking?"

"They're yummy, ma'am. What's this party for, anyway?" Legend's attempt to casually enquire what the fuck was going on around here was an epic fail.

Mrs. Perdome didn't seem to mind, though. She wore a smile that came off a little bit forced.

"Didn't you hear—"

They were interrupted by loud voices and cheers. She spun around to see her boyfriend, Logan. The first feeling that coursed through her was relief. Panic came later when Legend noticed the unwanted, unexpected appendage on his arm.

Marsha.

Marsha saw her before Logan did. She gave her a tiny smirk, one that was nothing like the Marsha she had watched movies with, who had cried on Legend's shoulder when her last boyfriend dumped her. And to think that Marsha had, with righteous indignation, told Legend to go for a guy better than Logan. She'd claimed she had a funny feeling about him. Of course the little ho had ‘funny feelings'; she spent all day on her back fucking someone else's man.

Marsha deserved a good old bitch slap. And Legend was just the woman for the job.

Logan's eyes found hers, and she froze, all traces of her fury gone. She'd expected to see surprise or alarm, had even made peace with the fact that he might feel guilty. What she saw instead was...nothing.

He stared at her like she was nothing, like he hadn't come home to her little house and told her he cared about her. His green eyes couldn't even be bothered to seem cold. No, that would indicate he actually knew the person he was looking at. His gaze was empty, and that hurt Legend the most.

Logan's lips moved into a little smirk before he looked away, smiling down at Marsha in a way Legend hadn't seen before.

To top off her embarrassment, Logan's mom was still beside her, wondering why the crazy chick who said weird things was staring at her son like he'd made a promise and didn't keep it.

Legend had to get out of there. Fast.

***

A woman was bawling her eyes out in the bathroom.

In retrospect, Raphael should've knocked before barging in, but in his defense, he had been all but ready to commit suicide as he watched his brother and his fiancée. Anyone with eyes could see that Marsha was only in this shit for that thing that started with 'm' and rhymed with 'honey.' But then again, Logan didn't give a fuck so long as all the attention was on him. They deserved each other.

Really, though, Raph was no use to his mother if he choked to death on his own rage, so he'd decided to leave. He didn't expect that someone would be in the bathroom, even more miserable than he was.

He started to walk away, but the small Raph—the one who perched on his right shoulder, not the one below who made him annoying—who was responsible and kindhearted and all the fancy synonyms for shameless busybody, wouldn't allow him to just walk away.

Sighing and calling himself all kinds of stupid, he called out, "Hey, you alright in there?" He hoped he hadn't put himself at risk. He could've just spoken to a serial killer or a human-sized Chucky for all he knew.

The woman was startled.

"I'm fine."

At least, she didn't sound like Chucky. Her voice was nice and deep, a little bit scratchy. It was the pain in it that called out to him.

He made his way over to where she was seated on the floor and sat next to her.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

She looked up quickly, not having expected him to stick around. Raph hadn't expected himself to stick around, either. He guessed he was a bigger softie than he'd thought.

A good look at her face made his breath whoosh out. The woman with the tear-stained face was no Madonna or Angelina Jolie, but something about her features made you stop and stare. Raph decided it was her eyes. They were ice blue, almost white, and they took up half her face, like an anime character's.

He realized he'd been staring and that the other little Ralph was coming out to say hello.

The woman squinted at him.

"Why are you here?" she asked suspiciously, yet she still didn't scoot away from him.

"Little me wouldn't have been pleased if I had walked away."

Now, why had he said that? She was staring warily at him like she was contemplating either running or kneeing the pervert seated next to her in the balls. The look in her eyes indicated she was leaning towards the latter.

"I know how depraved that sounded, but I meant the angel on my shoulder."

"I'm supposed to be relieved you're a psycho instead of a sick perv?" she asked with one black brow arched.

Raph chuckled. "I guess that came out wrong."

"Don't worry, I was just messing with you. Who are you?" The pain in her voice was gone; in its place was curiosity.

"Raph."

"Legend."

Legend…Legend… He didn't really know why, but the name suited her.

"What's your favorite color?"

She gave him a look that said 'Seriously? Now?'

Maybe he was crazy for trying to soothe a woman he didn't know from Adam.

"That isn't what you want to ask."

"You a friend of Logan or Marsha?" Raph asked, ignoring the fact that she'd been right in her assumption.

At the mention of Logan's name, she visibly stiffened.

"I guess you could say I'm a friend of both." Her tone was thoughtful, like she was mulling over her answer. Suddenly, she started to giggle, which turned into a full-on laugh. Seconds later, she was hunched over with her hands on her stomach, still guffawing. Raph was busy wondering if it was too late to call the cops. Maybe he could offer her some money not to harm him.

Was this how he was going to die?

"Stop being dramatic. I'm no psycho." Legend rolled her eyes, smiling. His thoughts were probably written all over his face.

She had a really pretty smile.

"I'm Logan's brother. How come I don't know—"

"I'm sorry, I have to go." The ice in her eyes was no longer just a product of their color. She didn't wait for his reply before walking away, and for the first time, he took stock of what she was wearing.

Was that an honest-to-God Shakira skirt?

Shaking his head, he left the bathroom, wondering what Legend was about.

He didn't have to wonder long.

Before the end of that night, he and the whole city knew everything about Legend Freeman.

Two years later…

I don't know why I follow this shit anymore😡😡

–@Alicia This storyline sucks huge balls!!

—@TheMadHatter Dane's dead, too? What kind of plot twist is this? Let's just kill all the characters in this stupid comic! Legend can't write to save her ass.

—@Sweetlove Legend stared at her laptop screen with pursed lips and eyes narrowed to slits. Maybe if she channeled all the resentment and frustration she was feeling, she could activate her laser eyes. These laser eyes would be so unique that they would find Hatter and his friends through the laptop and fry their judgy butts.

Now, that sounded like an awesome superpower. Maybe she should add it to the comic, along with the characters suddenly dressing like superheroes.

The next comment she read, however, reminded her why she had wished for laser eyes in the first place.

This made the top five reasons to kill myself.

#FireLegend!

—@MarrilynMonrroe People just couldn't be pleased. They were the ones who wanted more gore in the first place. She'd given it to them and now all they did was to cry ‘wee, wee, wee.'

After Logan had mercilessly ripped out her heart, torn it into shreds and then stumped it into dust beneath his red bottoms—and five jobs later—Legend had found a web comic who was willing to hire her as their comic writer. She loved her job all right, not just the jerks who were A. Big trolls because God forbid, she should actually do what they had requested she do in the first place—even if she did do in everyone's favorite character.

B. Ignorant and didn't know the first thing on writing stories so it would be much appreciated if they kept their inexperienced mouth shut tight, please.

Who was she kidding? Sure, these people were partly to blame but the other person to lay all the blame on was—drum rolls—herself.

These past few months she'd lost a little—okay, okay a lot—of the writing spirit and her muse she'd lost entirely. She had tried everything, short of jumping out a window and saying fuck you to the world, and yet she still couldn't get her old fire back.

Maybe she should get a pet. She had read somewhere that pets helped calm humans and a calm Legend meant a productive Legend. Yeah, she was totally warming to this idea. Maybe a dog or a bird or a cat. Never a kitten, though because as clumsy as she was, she could think of a thousand ways of accidentally killing it that didn't even involve plain stepping on its head.

She should stop reading these toxic comments from these unhappy readers and she would. Right after she read the last one.

Twenty comments had gone by before Legend began to question her sanity. She must either be a sucker for pain or really give a shit what people thought, she couldn't tear her eyes away from her laptop.

Some were really nice—they offered their heartfelt apologies for her lack of creativity and offered her the reasonable advice to consider writing scripts for porn movies—while some were, erm, not so nice—they told her in no uncertain terms that were she to continue this way, they'd find her and make sure she would never write again in her sorry life.

She stopped reading those thoughts before her new best friend decided to rear her fiery head. Too late, the bitch was already here.

Anger was an emotion the old Legend rarely felt. Legend 2.0 however, had her moments very often. And it scared her. She didn't want to be angry all the time, but she just couldn't help it.

After the less than fair way life, the other bitch, had treated her, she had every right to yell until her voice was raw, snap at anyone who dared to talk to her and issue wedgies and a knee to the balls to any and every man.

But in the end, what would that solve? A big, fat amount of nothing, that's what.

Counting down to ten slowly, Legend took deep breaths through her nose to calm herself. It didn't do shit to help. She still felt like sweeping her laptop off the table.

Her phone went off and she thanked all supreme forces for that much needed distraction.

Drra—cula: Good morning, sunshine.

For someone who hated the world and sought to destroy it that she might avenge her pride and yada, yada, other dramatics included, Legend turned into a big softie whenever Drra—cula, who she had never seen before in her life—texted her.

Legendstories: Morning. Aren't you supposed to be asleep, oh mighty king of vampires?

Drra—cula: And miss my favorite web comic? Sleep can go fuck itself. Loved the twist.

Sometimes it felt like it was only Drra in the seven point five billion people who claim to inhabit the earth that actually appreciated her efforts. She felt like giving him a big kiss. Even though she didn't know if he looked like Robbie Amell or Robbie the pitbull who lived next door.

Legendstories: Aww, thanks. No one else liked it, though. I've been going through death threats on my laptop. After that, I'm planning on reading a book titled How to Avoid People Who Want Your Head on a Platter of Comic Books.

Drra—cula: Lol. Look on the positive side, Doll, at least they read it.

That was true. But Legend felt like she'd rather they didn't read it so they wouldn't make nasty comments.

Legendstories: I feel like smashing my laptop.

Drra—cula: I'll help. Where's the sledgehammer?

Legend smiled.

Legendstories: You're supposed to come tie me to my seat, not encourage me to do something that would harm my already harmed bank account.

Drra-cula: We know that's a lie, Doll. You're set for life.

Legend: Not if I keep on buying those skirts.

She had an obsession for skirts that people called the Shakira skirt and she bought new ones every time she went shopping.

Drra—cula: I think they're hot. Gotta go, Sweetie. My subjects demand my presence.

Drra was a big kidder. Or was he? Maybe Drra was actually a hot, sexy as hell vampire. Now, wouldn't that be a win among the constant stream of losses that was her life?

Saying goodbye to her online friend, she tried to navigate her way through her tiny living room to get to her tinier kitchen.

Her efforts resulted to a little cut on her forehead and her precious laptop flying off the table and crashing hard on the floor.

At least she'd gotten her wish. Her laptop was thoroughly smashed now.

The woman with the red hair was staring.

Legend couldn't decide if she was staring because she recognized who she was or if she was mesmerized by the ridiculousness of her dressing.

She decided to go with the latter because it had been a long while since anyone had walked up to her and told her what they thought about her home wrecking ass. Besides, Redhead wasn't the only one staring.

Everyone in the bus—except the driver and that was because they'd all be dead if he joined the lookers—was staring hard, trying to decipher whether the style was haute couture or just the beginnings of craziness.

Thanks to her being such a Clumsy Claudia—and forgetting to fuel her car the other day—she had to put up with the rude gawkers. She hoped he would fix her laptop and maybe be kind enough to listen to her demand for a ride home.

When the bus stopped, Legend couldn't get down fast enough. Redhead kept looking. Legend was sure it won't be appreciated if she asked what the fuck she was looking at. She would likely claim that Legend was attacking her and that would confirm the suspicions of the other passengers that she was cuckoo.

"Hey, Matt!" She greeted the doorman as she stepped into the expensive apartment complex where he resided in the penthouse, of course. No cheap shit for His Royal Highness.

Matt, the old dear, didn't bat an eye at her attire.

"Hello, Ms. Freeman. Does he know you're here to see him?"

"Um, does he ever know?"

"I'll buzz you right up."

She could just kiss him. Wait, what was it with her and kissing men she didn't know? Jesus, had it been that long since she had sex? That problem needed to be rectified pronto before she started jumping random men on the streets.

She rode the elevator up, clutching her backpack while she did a little dance to the song on repeat in her head. Legend knocked before throwing open the doors. She had always warned him to keep his doors locked because there were a lot of really weird people who loved to break into houses and steal underwear, but he never listened to her.

She could hear his deep timbre in the study as she took a detour to the kitchen of his really homey apartment to pour herself a cup of coffee which tasted like shit, by the by.

"I'll have to take Madison in my hands."

The coffee mug paused on its way to meet her mouth. Madison? Who the hell was that? Oh, things were about to get interesting.

"Who's Madison?" She smirked as he jumped with a startled look on his face then, he proceeded to murmur his apologies and goodbyes.

"Quick, I wanna know. Who's Madison?"

Raphael Perdome—yes, that Raphael Perdome!—looked confused, his brows lost in his blond waves.

"Umm...Madison Beer?"

No. Way. "OMG! You're seeing the Madison Beer?"

"No?"

Characteristic of being male: never making sense. Raphael Perdome was hundred percent male if his meaningless answers were anything to go by.

"But you just said, 'I must take Madison into my own hands,'" Legend insisted, all but stomping her foot on the floor. She didn't like being confused.

"Um, no, I said matters not Madison."

Huh. She could've sworn on her every morning bagel that she'd heard Madison. And just when she'd thought she had found a new torture topic to use on Raph.

Life sucked.

She noticed him trying to not look mortified at her attire.

"oh, not you, too." Legend groaned.

He gave an embarrassed cough, rubbing the back of his neck and peering at her from over the tops of his glasses.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Ahem, is that glitter?"

"No, these are rhinestones." Seriously, the way everyone was acting, one would think she was dressed in a bear suit paired with heels rather than the shiny Shakira skirt and crop top she was rocking, if she did say so herself.

"Only you can make that look good."

"Well, fuck me. Raphael Perdome, Mr. I'm Never Pleased, just gave me a compliment. I think I'll just swoon in appreciation." Legend said in a dry tone, one brow arched. The sarcasm was not lost on both of them as they knew that Raph couldn't say a bad word against anyone, even if they were committing the worst crime of all-pairing heels with a bear suit, of all things.

Raphael had the grace to offer her an abashed smile, and for the gazillionth time since she'd had the pleasure of meeting him, Legend was struck by the sheer beauty of the Adonis that was her ex-boyfriend's brother.

Raphael wasn't a pretty boy like Logan. His face was really hard, with a Roman nose that was broken during a fateful match of rugby—or so he claimed. Legend suspected that the injury was sustained from tripping on his feet while running from the countless women who wanted Little Raphs—and eyes that were green when he wanted to be mischievous and grey when he was angry, which was rare.

His smile was the sexiest thing about him. It transformed his face, made him look softer and hundred percent hotter.

Now, if the world were fair or something close to it, a man like him would have a mole-man body and the manners of an ogre.

Well, as it turned out, life wasn't fair and Raph had impeccable manners and a wet dream body.

"I need you to fix this." She carelessly dropped the source of her earlier moment of rage on his desk.

Raph gasped and grabbed the damaged laptop, examining it with cautious fingers. He gave Legend an accusatory glare.

"What did you do to him?"

Legend rolled her eyes and plopped her butt down onto a chair, her combat boots on the table.

"Relax, Mom. It was an accident. I sorta, mighta tripped when I was trying to find where my breakfast was hiding."

Raph wasn't paying attention to her explanation. He was busy murmuring soothingly to the laptop, stroking it.

"Don't worry, son. Daddy's gonna fix you real good."

Jesus, was he weird or was he weird? Her laptop was a girl not a boy. Every tech billionaire was supposed to tell laptop genders apart.

"Can you fix it or not?"

"Fortunately, only the keyboard's damaged, by the looks of it. I should be able to get a new keyboard—"

"Great, that means you've got this!" Legend wasn't trying to be rude but whenever Raph got into tech mode? Yawn.

"Yes, I've ‘got it.' By the time Daddy's through with you, you're gonna be as good as new."

Raphael's last statement made Legend throw up in her mouth a little bit. She wouldn't be surprised if he prepared the guestroom for poor, ole laptop.

"Geez, this is worse than reading hentai"

"Do I want to know what that is?"

"I'll tell you anyway; porn manga."

He looked shocked, then speculative as he nibbled on his lower lip, looking annoyingly sexy.

"You know, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"I'm learning to adjust for His Highness's delicate ears." Legend stood and gave a mock curtsey. She knew he hated when she called him that. Hell, it was why she did it in the first place.

He frowned, predictably and rose to his full height which was fucking tall. Even his scoliosis didn't stop him from being a Lebron.

"I made breakfast. Want some?"

"Nah. I'm good. I gotta go. Remember to eat your greens. Legend loves you."

Legend didn't have anywhere to be. She was just being a big scaredy cat. Whenever she was around Raph for long, she started to want things she couldn't have. She had already fallen for one Perdome and look how that turned out: she was twenty-nine, single, and had terrible fashion sense (although the fashion problem had been since high school).

The other Perdome boy gave her a smile, his eyes twinkling.

"I love Legend, too."

She left in a rush, and as she sat in the bus heading home—because she'd forgotten to ask for that ride—she contemplated, like she did every time she saw him, if it would really kill her were she to put an end to their friendship.

She would be free of the temptation of perfect guys who helped old ladies get off the bus, recycled and had Perdome as their last name.

She did this every day, and every day, she realized the same thing.

Raphael Perdome was as dangerous as Coke.

And like an addict, she always went back.