At the same time, I wanna hug you
I wanna wrap my hands around your neck
You're an asshole but I love you
But I hate you, I really hate you,
So much, I think it must be
True love, true love
It must be true love
Veronica and Duncan's first time is really romantic. It's sweet and tender, just as she imagined it would be.
Running into Logan in the hallway of the Neptune Grand means nothing. Feeling that tug in her lower belly when he says, "FYI, if the cuddling is the best part, he didn't do it right," is just an aftershock of her perfect night with Duncan. Really, it is.
(She can almost forget that the face that flashed through her mind when her orgasm hit was Logan's.)
She's not sure why she's so surprised when Logan declares his love. She can feel him, hard against her thigh, and the truth is, right up till then she was planning on rubbing herself against him, in just that spot until they both came undone.
Then he murmurs earnestly, "What I'm trying to say is, I'm in love with you," and she ends up being grateful that a gun blast interrupts them.
(It's so much easier to hear Duncan whisper, Love you, Veronica as he snuggles his face into her hair.)
She broke up with Logan mostly because she didn't want to be his girlfriend when he died.
(This seems particularly lame when she keeps monitoring his every move, and then he's actually saving her life the time he legitimately comes close to death.)
She despises Jackie for "dating" Wallace while she's also "whatever"-ing that other guy.
It's not a form of self-loathing. Honestly. It's just because Wallace is her best friend, and it feels different when you're not picking it up through a long lens.
Righteous anger propels her across the floor at the Homecoming dance to drag Jackie from around Logan's neck, but Jackie's accusations aren't necessarily incorrect.
(Not that Veronica wants everyone to want her; she doesn't. She also doesn't want to want who she wants, so it's all relative.)
It would be a lot easier to be indifferent about Logan's sex life if she hadn't a) unwittingly heard it for herself that one time and b) if Kendall wasn't so...Kendall.
She musters up disgust (mustering, not hard at all) when Logan moves in with Duncan at the Neptune Grand and proceeds to just live his life like nobody's watching. Like they too aren't keeping his dirty secrets.
To be fair, Duncan has no problem keeping dirty secrets; he is as indifferent as Veronica eventually pretends to be.
(It probably means something that she sheds more tears over the fact that Logan's carrying an unloaded gun than that a comatose Meg Manning is carrying Duncan's baby.)
She is excellent at acting the part; she's perfected it through the years in various role-plays to get information for clients.
It's just that now she can read a fortune about love stories never ending and she can act as though she thinks it's talking about her and Duncan.
Like fortunes have a point of view, or something.
(If they did, they wouldn't be biased on account of fear, and loathing, and general I can't be that person-ism, or whatever.
They would tell the truth, just like Logan does: What's your poison, she asks him at the carnival, just to be flip, just to be stupid, and he doesn't hesitate for even a nanosecond, Emotionally unavailable women.
That's what her fortune should have said.)
As long as she has a task, she can control herself. She only approaches Logan a couple of times about Hannah, unable to suppress the righteous anger she feels. She knows he turns up the volume on his obligatory psychotic jackass schtick from time to time, but in this case, she also knows he feels justified.
He's so not, but that's obviously up to her to point out.
Then he shows up at her work, desperate, because he went and fell a little in love with Hannah Griffith. Or maybe a lot.
Veronica is somehow miraculously set free by that realization.
(Why it's easier for her to be the only one with feelings, she can't explain; all she knows is she's relieved. Logan is over her, he's not just banging Dick's step-mom. He's over her, and she sits holding his hand at the Java Hut while she agrees with him that the only decent thing he can do for Hannah is end things immediately.)
And then comes Alterna-Prom.
(Okay, no, Veronica, be honest. First comes Sadies. She saves Gia from a tongue lashing at the expense of her heart. At the expense of her mind.)
Because then she starts flirting with him. And she lets him walk them down make-out memory lane. So then she has to be mean to him again, or some more, whatever. And Wallace, of all people, reprimands her.
The problem with Logan is that he means everything he says. She's known him, in some form, since they were 12 years old. When he's cruel, he means it. When he makes epic declarations, he also means it.
It would be so much easier to hate him if that weren't the case. But hating him isn't what she wants; she desires indifference. Craves it, has studied it with longing in her heart. She has feigned it for nine tedious months, to no avail, hoping that she'd fake it till she made it, but it never happened.
So she goes back the next morning to apologize. To tell him that she didn't leave him hanging because she doesn't feel the same, but because she does so she has to be careful, she can't just be in that place again with him without seriously contemplating the ramifications. It's too scary, he's too Logan.
She's too Veronica.
The problem with Logan meaning what he says is not that what he says is true; it's that even though he means it, his actions will, 99% of the time, not reflect it.
And Veronica just can't handle that. She never has, she never will. She told her father a long time ago that the parent who stays is the parent who really loves their child. The boyfriend who loves is faithful, no matter what.
(Even when you've abandoned him in his hour of need.)
She tries to forget how Logan's parents abandoned him, in their respective ways. She tries not to justify silently to herself just why and how he could lay himself bare to her, make her realize that all along it's been there, that it never went away between them, and then immediately he could roll over and fuck Kendall. Again.
But then, there it is, the tell-tale little clue. All of her grandiose thoughts, like if he really loved me, he'd never be able to go to bed with her which isn't even what she believes, it's just what should be true.
Logan learned to cope a long time ago by doing just what would make his words invalid. He's always been best at screwing himself.
And she's always been best at judging him for it.
Her father says they aren't going to be the kind of people who obsess over the wrong wrongity wrong wrong! of the Aaron Echolls verdict.
Veronica falls in line, like a good little soldier, letting her actions be swallowed up with Woody Goodman. She waits until after-hours to call Logan.
He's appropriately drunk. Or at least he sounds that way, so she's sure he won't remember this conversation either.
When he mumbles brokenly, I shouldn't have destroyed those tapes. He'd be in prison RIGHT NOW if I hadn't destroyed them, Veronica says, "You did the right thing."
She can say what she doesn't mean and not let her actions show what she wants. She perfected that a long, long time ago.
He whispers how he loves Lilly, and he loves her, and he loves people who leave him, and Veronica wipes her own tears away while she grips the phone tightly against her ear. "No matter what, Logan, I'm always here." He sniffs, and it echoes through the line. Silence wavers between them. Maybe it's disbelief on his end, or he finally passed out.
"I love you," she says, so softly maybe just her lips move and nothing comes out.
"I know," he replies. "That's why you hate me."