(Here, have at it, Sunday's entry, out of order, unedited, unfuckingbelievable. I am a lunatic.)
Snapping into fragments under stress has become a recipe for disaster, one we cook often, with miserable results that leaves everyone hungry and foraging for comfort. And hey! There are always seconds, and leftovers. Our appetites are insatiable..and yes, what the fuck am I spending time on this simile for?
Jacob's friend Sam has a fabulously stinging theory about how and why I came to be so fragile and self-destructive like this, after the fact. He also thinks I'm addicted to sex. He can be positively engaging when I'm speaking to him at all, which is something he would take as a come-on, so nevermind.
Bridget would never act out if she were in pain, would she? No more than people cut. Or take drugs or drink or..oh wait.
Go away.
Blowed right off, the steam it did.
And I'm not leaving the flannel today. No sir.
Neverafuckinggain, okay, Jakey? I'm sorry, baby. We fucked up so bad. I know I should listen to you but you scared me so I ran and hid. And if it hadn't been for that he would probably have left me this weekend. But he won't because he loves me and I made him prove it.
Sullen girl. He can't forgive himself for scaring me. It was bad. He blames me for so little and I doubt it's fair but we're still working it out. We hurt each other magnificently and neither of us know how it even started. Maybe it was building for a while, for our life together is a mess of unresolved issues and sure, we've found a comfort level but everything is still...there.
I left Saturday evening without touching the mess in the hallway-the explosion of broken glass and splintered wood from where he broke down the door with his bare hands, I'll let him fix it.
(Just a door, Bridget.)
I stood on the steps for mere seconds before that sleek evil-looking black car came gliding silently down the snowy road. The driver exited and came around, opening the rear door for me. Deja fucking vu for the fragile Miss Bridget, naturally.
When I entered the car, the devil kissed the palm of my hand (too intimately) and complimented me and it sounded so fucking fake I swore at him and told him I had had a long day and when he was finished threatening me with his lawyers and knocking me down with Cole's ghost (all around me) he could just leave me alone already. He pointed out my beautiful diamond necklace and my long eyelashes then remarked that I was very good at fooling men into falling in love with me because so many have.
I had a drink in the car. No, I had two. Which makes three if you count the one I finished before I left the house.
I wasn't drunk enough not to notice that Caleb hadn't brought the letter with him when he came to the house. I was drunk enough to be the bad Bridget.
He smelled like cigars and he was half-cocked himself on something flammable and on being very close to me again. It turns out he's been a proud member of the Saturday Night Cigar club here for a few months now, meeting the boys (my boys) once a month downtown to indulge in expensive stogies and even more expensive single malts at a men-only club. Jacob has attended a few times but has no interest in cigars and less in the alcohol habit and yet one of my favorite smells in the world is lingering cigar smoke, probably because it's one of the things that reminds me of Cole. Everything reminds me of Cole, especially Caleb, who also surprised me by showing up with the beginnings of a beard and dressed almost casually. Which just made him look a little more Cole-ish and put me a little further on edge for the night.
He said we would swing by the hotel to get the letter. So I was angry but I agreed, and when we arrived and went upstairs he even went so far as to pretend that I planned to stay in the hallway, knowing full well I wouldn't.
At this point I'm not sure if I did it 1) to prove to Caleb that I wasn't afraid, 2) to prove to Jacob that I could be trusted, or 3) to prove to all three of us that yes, I am really that foolish after all.
Let's go with number three. Bad things happen in threes.
I went inside his suite, and Caleb closed the door behind me.
Why did you come in, Bridget?
I want the letter.
I could have brought it back down to the car.
You could have mailed it, but you want to use it as an excuse to see me again, alone. I'm not dumb, Caleb.
Maybe you are, Bridget. You're alone with me and your giant husband, I'm willing to bet, is having apoplexy right now. Why did he let you come tonight?
This isn't about Jacob. Just give me the letter.
You left my brother to be with Jake. Why does this letter mean anything to you now?
It's addressed to me and so it was meant for me, so if you want to just hand it over, I can leave.
Maybe there's a price for it.
Tell me you really didn't just go there again, Caleb.
He didn't respond, instead he pressed me up against the door, pinning my hands down exactly as I like it and he leaned down to kiss my mouth and I bit him. I swore at him and then I held my breath because I wasn't sure I knew Caleb well enough to guess his moves. Unless he's more like Cole than I hoped.
You know you want to go there.
I'm not going anywhere with you. Don't you get it? I don't want you.
This isn't about wanting me, this is about experiences I can give you that you still clearly miss.
Too late.
He won't.
Oh, he does. (I was lying.)
You're lying to save your sweet little ass.
I don't have to. I've already been saved.
Then I saw the letter on the table and I went over and picked it up. Caleb followed me and trailed his hand down my neck and whispered to me, his breath so hot on my head as he captured my hands again. My sound was fading out, I was drowning all of the sudden.
He won't ever know, Bridget. No man can be one hundred percent of everything you need, you've proven that to yourself already.
He is.
Then why are you here?
I was underwater again as he pulled my hands behind my back. He kissed a line from my neck down between my shoulder blades and then turned me around and pinned my hands up over my head with one hand against the wall while the other found my throat. His lips crushed into my mouth and I could taste his drink, and more importantly his cigar.
(The fucking cigar. The whiskers, his hands, oh God so close Cole I'm so close to you right now.)
Cole used to love a cigar after dinner once or twice a month, it was familiar and I let go just enough to forget that Caleb wasn't Cole.
I returned his kiss with tears running down my face and he let go of my hands and put both hands on my neck and he wouldn't let me breathe anymore and then he let go and I had an outlet for my fucked up misery. I found myself trying to untie his tie while he kissed me and he ran his hands all over me, all over my dress looking for a way to get it off. He forced my hands down again and then let go again while he struggled with his shirt, still with the cigar-soaked kisses, desperate, fucked-up.
He was driving me crazy. Oh God justleavemyhandsandmyheadaloneplease.
You won't regret this, princess.
I surfaced. Like a fucking rocket. More sober than I have ever been.
Get OFF! Get off me! Oh, Jesus, Caleb, GET OFF!
He froze with me locked in his arms.
Oh, I get it, no one else can use your nickname.
Caleb, just let go of me!
I whacked him in the side of the head and he let go but he kept my wrist in his hand so I couldn't go anywhere. Just like old times.
Oh, not now. I've waited for this night for a long time, and you can't come in here and then stop short. It doesn't work that way.
I promised you nothing.
So we'll call it a favor. Your own dirty little secret.
I'm leaving, Caleb. So let go. Do you want me to scream?
Scream and I'll knock you out. And then you won't even get to enjoy your fetishes while I fuck you.
I thought you were civilized.
I thought you would be more fun, like you used to be.
I have made a terrible, horrible, awful mistake.
I have to go home, Caleb. I'm expected soon.
Then you'd better get started. He dropped my hand. You don't leave until I get what I want.
You can't be serious.
I told you I was.
Oh my God. Why are you doing this?
You picked the wrong guy to play games with.
I didn't come here for games, Caleb.
Of course you did. You knew we'd be alone. Why else did you kiss me?
I felt upset and reckless and I fucked up. I've been drinking-
Oh stop hiding behind your lost-little-girl charade and tell me what you're going to do now that Jacob isn't around to rescue you?
I want to go.
Then let me make love to you and you can go.
No, Caleb, don't do this. He'll kill you and I hurt him enough tonight by coming here.
I'll worry about Jacob. You worry about you, princess.
You're a monster, just like your brother was.
Oh, don't play coy now, little Bridget. Have some fun, kick back and enjoy it. You never know, you might want to come back for more next time I'm here.
I stood there shaking uncontrollably and wishing I hadn't ever tried to come alone to get the letter. He stood expectantly while I plotted an escape.
And so I used what I had. Our own history and the knowledge that they're a lot alike.
I took off my coat and let it fall to the floor. My dress followed and I stood there in my slip. Caleb whistled and stared and I closed my eyes. He stood up and took off his shirt and took me in his arms. I ached where his skin touched mine and I had to force myself not to recoil. He steered me over to the bed again and pushed me down on it, kissing me while he fumbled for his belt. I was shivering and sniveling and miserable and unresponsive and he looked at me with disgust and then he backhanded me across the face.
Oh God, it hurt like all hell and it didn't hurt at all compared the risk I had just taken with my marriage.
You've supposed to be enjoying this.
I shook my head and turned my head to the wall, lifeless, my cheek burning. He let go of me and he turned away for a minute. When he turned back he was agitated, yelling at me suddenly.
Don't you know what you do to me? How do you expect me to have any self control when you're tempting me all the time? I wanted to give you everything and you're ruining it! It's been five years, Bridge!
And then I saw what had upset him so much. His inability to get, or stay excited. Because Bridget the fantasy was dead. A doll. Inanimate. Who didn't speak or move.
He got up and dressed quickly. Buttoning his shirt with one hand he reached over with the other and hauled me right off the bed by my arm and pushed me toward the door. He tossed my dress and coat at me.
Get dressed, you little fucking whore, and get out of here.
I pulled my things on and he threw the letter at me and then he went into the bathroom and slammed the door.
And I ran without looking back. It worked. Same way it worked with Cole-in order to be left alone all I had to do was pretend I wasn't there.
They don't get what Jacob gets, they never did and they never will.
When I exited the front door of the hotel, Caleb's driver was there waiting to take me home and home I went. The house was quiet. I went in and Jacob met me inside the porch, his arms wide open for me. I told him he was right, I am dumb. He just shook his head, defeated. Worried. But no longer angry (at me). Ashamed, relieved, curious. Scared to death. Every emotion I could check off a list in his eyes. And this night was deja vu. He'd have an outlet for all of that unspent rage soon enough. When I told him what I almost did. But first the letter.
He had to finish cleaning up the mess from the door, too.
I flew upstairs with my coat still on and ran a hot bath. I was still shivering, I just wanted to get warm and get the smell of cigars off me.
I wanted to be with Cole in private.
I stepped into the tub and sat down and I opened up Cole's envelope and with shaking fingers I unfolded the page within and I couldn't hold on to it with the violent wracking sobs my body was sending out in relief from the fear of Caleb and I dropped the letter into the bathwater.
Dropped it.
Strike three. Or is that five? Eight?
(Bridget's lost count, the stupid whore.)
When I picked it up the words had bled across the page in a blur of ink like midnight infringing on a ray of sunlight and all I could make out was,
My Beautiful Bri
I know you don
ny things w
I broke. In the dark and the cold I broke all into tiny little fucking pieces.
When Jacob came up to the bathroom at last I was still there, sitting in a now-cold tub full of water, still holding the ruined letter and crying so hard I had begun to hyperventilate. He got me out, got me wrapped in my robe and then he went and found me a glass of brandy (fourJakeyIcan'thavefour) from somewhere and I told him what had happened. All of it. I didn't blame anyone but myself this time because I put myself there, with Caleb, on purpose.
Hysterical. Not in the funny way but in that frightening Ican'tbreatheJakehelpme way.
I was allowed to drink all of it. I did. Rather quickly and boom! So fucked up and so relieved that he wasn't screaming at me anymore because he was so relieved.
He put the letter up to dry in hopes that it might be legible in the morning. Hope against hope. And I fully expect him to fly out shortly and murder Caleb, who has already flown back to Toronto, coward that he is. He's not that stupid that he would stick around and wait for Jacob to kill him. Little does he know Loch will probably kill him when he arrives. And he won't ever come back. I told you Bridget had an army. Too bad half of them are traitors and the other half who are so loyal it burns me are too busy looking after me to actually fight this fight.
But can I blame them for me?
(It's all your fault, Bridget.)
Drunk. Clean.
Safe.
And at this point I'm thinking of writing my autobiography, or maybe I already am, but instead of calling it Saltwater Princess I'll call it, How To Do Everything Wrong and it can be the story of a girl writer who had demons longs before they morphed into flesh and blood and somehow that made her just crazy enough. Just enough for her very own take on madness/genius, Cole.
Are you listening anymore when I talk in my head? Huh, Baby? Can you still listen in on my thoughts?
Because wrong. All of it, it was just wrong.
The letter was still illegible when it dried. Jake sat on the bed while I sipped from his coffee cup this morning and tears poured down my face and then his too and I realized I wasn't even able to pretend I was fine anymore, after acting it out for so long, I suddenly forgot my lines. He can't fix me now, in spite of his relief that our marriage is intact, that Caleb didn't get what he wanted.
I didn't get what I came for, either.
Redemption, absolution, forgiveness and grace. Something, anything. Acknowledgment that I mattered to Cole in this lifetime. Tell me I fucking mattered to him. Someone, please.
The amazing thing here is that I could have lied. I could have not said anything to Jake, Caleb certainly wouldn't have, or I could have downplayed it, and hell, I would love to protect him from this kind of betrayal but I didn't, I was brave. I was strong. I took responsibility for fucking up on purpose and I risked it all for that closure because if you don't have truth then there's nothing. Trust doesn't come from gloss, it doesn't come from sparing pain and it doesn't come promises you break. Jacob taught me that much. And it seems sad that the person responsible for every happiness and ounce of spontaneous joy is the one you run from and then the one upon which you exact your misguided revenge.
When we fell asleep he shook so hard. He held me in his arms and I could feel them tremble as he fought within himself to find some self-control, to rake in the emotions that were bubbling up again, to put his impulses aside. Which is kind of hard when someone you know threatens, molests and then strikes your wife. Very hard. I don't think he's going to be able to pull it off. It's worse when your wife very openly wanted one last chance with someone who hurt her every single day even though he wasn't even in that room. He might as well have been.
It's hard to live with the fucked up princess and Jacob says that last night made him feel like he felt for the many years straight that he knew I was somewhere in a place I shouldn't be, being hurt and being threatened and half liking it too and he doesn't know what to do anymore but that he understands that he drove me out when he scared me so bad, I very briefly lost my knight and so I went looking for something, anything, that would bring a familiar feeling, even if it wasn't a good or healthy or a safe familiar.
He understands me when I don't understand me. I don't understand why I have so much anxiety, why I can act out sexually, why I can take risks and land on my feet without being in charge of fuck-all and then I can turn around and efficiently do my work and run this household just well enough to stay out of the radar of the men in the white coats.
It's one hell of a talent. I wonder how long it'll hold, guys.
And now you can hate me if you want but you can't judge me until you've been chased, screaming in fear around the furniture by someone as big as Jacob when he's angry at you when he's never acted like that before since you married him. I think we both cracked up and it was a long time coming for him. For me it's been a daily battle that I'll probably wage for the rest of my life. I never think I miss Cole as much as I do until I let myself wish he was still here. And maybe this is why Jacob was so upset, he feels as if he's always going to come in second. Even though he won so long ago I don't know why this even happened.
Last night I asked Jacob what he would have done had he caught me and he said he didn't know.
That's why I did it.
This morning I asked him again, and he said he would have held on very very tight.
Cue broken girl part two, the return. Oh, wait, no she was still here, in a newly made vision of a fresh hell.
I'm glad he figured it out. Now someone please help me tie him down so that he doesn't go after Caleb, because my flimsy argument that I caused this isn't holding up very well and I don't think Jacob is thinking through the possibilities quite thoroughly enough as he plots murder.
Like we haven't been here before.
Forgiven too easily by the one that I love.
(So he forgave me, but I'm guessing no one else will, and it's fine, because you don't know Bridget the way Jacob does.)
