Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Benzo baby (now with...goats and kangaroos).

Sorry for not coming back with further entertainment. I don't think yesterday turned out to be a banner day of class, dignity or grace for Caleb or myself.

He has zero patience for games that involve locked doors (did I tell you that one? No, of course I didn't) and when I heard the glass breaking I freaked because the glass is supposed to be bulletproof. Breakproof. At least I think it is. I'm drunk. I don't remember. It should be safe, however.

Safe is an unreasonable expectation, a pipe-dream, a fairy tale.

I got tackled heading up the steps and went down hard on my chin on the top one, bit my tongue, tasted blood, dropped the bottle of rum and managed to elbow him in the face all in one motion. He wrestles me onto my back and proceeds to pin me there. There's blood dripping off his lower lip onto my chest and I don't want to be held down, thanks.

So I knee him where it hurts and he roars with a rage I haven't heard before. He straddles my waist, twists his entire body to one side and pulls his hand up and then he stops and sits there on me, staring. Out of breath. In pain. Dripping blood. I stare back wide-eyed, frozen, mute.

He shakes his head slowly. I was about to backhand you. Bridget. I'm sorry. Oh my God. You're so brave.

I shake my head in refusal. This isn't brave. This is terrible.

Did Ben take your ghosts away and then he went too? And you need someone. You do, you need someone to keep you safe.

I nod with great hitching breaths and he finally gets off me, pulling me up to a sitting position. He presses me against his chest like a doll.

You're safe. I won't leave you alone.

I shake my head, pulling back. I stick my index finger against his shirt. Not safe. I slur. SO fucken kangaroos. Dangeroos. Tell Ben. Tell Ben I want my goats back. Ghosts. Those goats. I want Jake and Coals.

When's the last time you slept, Princess?

I raise my hands, palms up. I don't have the question. I told him point-blank.

You don't have an answer, you mean.

I nod and burst into fresh tears. I don't ever have those! Can you buy me some?

He nods. Sleep. That's what you need. I'm going to suggest we get you some clean clothes and then you can come across to my house and sleep in peace. Okay?

I nod and wait as he opens drawers and closet doors and finds me an outfit. He is out of his league. He can have a Valentino custom fitted for me from memory but he's not sure the baby pink leggings and the Hello Kitty t-shirt are mine. Or even if they qualify as an outfit. Good enough. He tucks the clothes under his arm and pulls me to my feet, putting his arm around me protectively. We head outside and across to the boathouse and he asks if I can change without help.

I tell him no, because I read so much more into his question than he asked, in spite of being one hundred pounds of booze-soaked disaster.

He pulls the bloody t-shirt over my head and bends his face in to inspect my fat lip. He puts his thumb against it, pulling it down slightly and I wince.

So he kisses it. He gingerly stretches the new t-shirt over my head and then he turns the bed down so I can get in. Once I'm settled and almost asleep he comes back with a pill and a glass of water. I don't even ask him what it is, I just take it.

Out like a light.

I wake up at eleven this morning to shouting. I lie there with a pounding head and a numb lower lip and I can't focus on anything. Sound, lights, pain. It's all just gauze obscuring my mind. I try to get up but I can't even make neurons fire. It seems they are out of ammunition. So I just lie there, much like the character in the horror movie who is paralyzed but can see, hear and feel everything that's going on, they just can't move.

Lochlan bursts through the door. He's still in his version of a suit, which is his brown blazer and jeans. I smell jet fuel and bad airport coffee and complete and utter fear. I piece together that he came home, saw glass and blood everywhere and lost his mind.

I would too but I think sometime in the night I got my much-wished-for lobotomy. I can't care enough. I can't figure out how to talk. He comes in and kneels beside the bed.

Where's Ben?

I shake my head. Where in the hell are my words?

Did Caleb do this to you? Let me see you. He rips back the sheets and lifts up my shirt, front and back, he runs his hands down my limbs. He checks my head and then he resumes breathing finally and I shake my head. I feel a word or two.

I fell.

Bullshit, Bridget. He stares at my eyes and asks what the hell I'm on. Then without waiting for an answer he is up on his feet again, shrugging out of his jacket, heading back to the kitchen. I sit up but the fog hurts. Everything hurts. The gauze over my brain cinches ever tighter until I see stars. I hear more shouting only it's mostly Caleb. I drag myself to my feet, holding onto the walls as I make my way out of the bedroom.

Caleb sees me and crosses the room, his arms out. Bridget, you need-

She needs ME. Lochlan pulls him back and hauls off to throw a punch but then Caleb brings him down with words.

Right. She needed you and where were you?

Ben is home. She was supposed to be with HIM.

Then maybe it's time you talked to him about his disappearing act, because it's eating her alive.